Kimopolis

My kind of town.

Archive for September, 2009

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Money Makes the World Go Around

Posted by kimlno on September 26, 2009

A mark, a yen, a buck, or a pound, it makes the world go 'round.

A mark, a yen, a buck, or a pound, it makes the world go 'round.

As much as some people may claim to abhor social networks and deem them the end of civilization and precursor to the apocalypse, sometimes they can be a useful forum in which to discuss relevant topics such as politics, environmental issues, and (not surprisingly) social affairs. True, the majority the time I spend on Facebook is dedicated to the discussion of the subtle nuances of the season finale of True Blood, or leveling up in Mafia Wars. However, on occasion, important issues are debated.

Such an instance took place shortly after I changed my status to read: “Kimberly Nordlinger is pretty sure money can buy you happiness. If you’re rich and sad, you’re doing it wrong.” I hardly thought my only semi-serious opinion would cause such a lively discussion amongst my friends, but then, you never really know what’s going to spark off the next great Facebook debate. These heated tete-a-tetes usually involve two of my more opinionated acquaintances who rarely, if ever, agree with one another.  However, being that they are both highly intelligent and insightful, their individual arguments, either pro or con, are always well thought out and quite indefensible.

One of them agreed with my status statement, and the other did not. Since I am always right, the one that shared my view, that more money would lead to more happiness, isn’t the one I took issue with, of course. The friend that immediately quoted real facts and figures regarding the correlation of wealth and happiness (a completely unfair tactic, if you ask me) is the one I felt the need to explain myself to. He claimed that studies have shown that people with less money are, in fact, happier than those with excess. Poppycock, I say. He continued to point out that money simply afforded the wealthy more freedom. Well, duh. He even went so far as to create an equation to clarify his point of view:

Freedom = Time = Whatever You Choose To Do = The Ability To Find Happiness

My other friend (and I) begged to disagree with his over simplistic explanation of the correlation between money and happiness. She went on to give specific examples of the things she would be able to do if she had unlimited funds, and how they would, without a doubt, increase her happiness quotient. Because I respect her privacy, I won’t share her wish list, however I will instead substitute mine. If I had access to large sums of money, I would make immediate changes to my current status. Most importantly, I would either attempt to have, or adopt, a child. Of course, I’d like to buy my own home, a new car, and give everyone of my friends and family whatever their hearts desired…but mostly, I’d just like to be a mom. Without the proper financial resources, it would be socially irresponsible of me, and possibly detrimental to the development of a healthy, happy child, to do so.

Of course my opponent was quick to point out that many people have children who can’t afford to. In addition, having a child isn’t a guarantee of future happiness, and, although they may be loathe to admit it, being a parent is a choice some even regret. Indeed we all agreed on this point in particular. Still, given the opportunity, I’d like the chance to find out for myself.

I am not so naive to think that money can solve any problem. I’d even be willing to admit that, for some, money can lead to a world of misery and sorrow. However, no amount of money could possibly buy me more time. I have all the time in the world. And, believe me, I am NOT complaining. I love that I have the freedom to do whatever I want. It’s my personal financial constraints that keep me inexorably tied to the reality of my situation. So, and I am only speaking for myself, the money-happiness equation looks more like this:

My Life + More Money = More Opportunities for Increased Happiness

Who knows? Perhaps if I had billions of dollars, I’d feel just the same way as I do about my life now. It’s possible that more money would just lead to more problems. Some would say that I don’t have a husband, or children, because that’s actually the way I want it to be (the inescapable influence of a self-fulfilling prophecy, perhaps?). Those same people would probably assert that even if I were filthy rich, my life would still have followed the exact same course. Maybe they’re right. All I’m saying is, I’d love to have the opportunity to experience being wealthy first-hand, and then draw my own conclusions.

Donations are now being accepted at http://kimopolis.com.

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My Mom

Posted by kimlno on September 22, 2009

My mom and me.

My mom and me.

To celebrate turning 39 for the 27th time (you do the math), today’s post is dedicated to the one woman who can proudly (cough) call me her daughter, my mom (everybody say, “aw”). Yes, I’ve decided to share all the wonderful ways my mom is super special with you, my audience (which I am pretty sure consists solely of my friends and relatives, who, and this is a big bonus, are already acquainted with my mom). Behold the list of all things that makes her uniquely extraordinary, and all the reasons I love her as much as I do. Happy birthday, Mom.

  1. Dinner. What we are going to have for dinner, whether she cooks it or not, is of utmost importance to my mom. Above almost all other things, the dinner question must be answered in a timely fashion and WELL before the dining hour (second only to, “where’s the bathroom?”). Usually the dinner question makes its first appearance after lunch. Which is logical, because, lunch comes before dinner. However, and I don’t know about you but, after lunch I am FULL. The farthest thing from my mind is thinking about eating more food. Often, my mom has even solicited dinner suggestions as she heads off to bed the night BEFORE. Apparently, it’s all about dinner.
  2. Bathrooms. As previously mentioned, the definitive knowledge of every location of each bathroom within a 5 mile radius of our home is a given. This includes temporary bathroom structures, otherwise known as Port-A-Potties, ingeniously placed in residential areas where access to public bathroom facilities may be limited. I don’t know what my mom would do if people stopped remodeling their homes. Perhaps she’d have to resort to wearing Depends, but let’s hope it doesn’t get to that stage any time soon.
  3. Grammatical Errors. Bearing in mind that my mom taught high school English for 42 years (yes, 42 YEARS), the proper usage, spelling, and punctuation of absolutely everything in the entire universe is under scrutiny. Signs, billboards, books, magazines, anything that relies on the 26 letters of the alphabet is fair game. And, my mom wants to correct it ALL. Of course, that would be impossible, but she still tries.
  4. Walking. My mom has walked 3 miles every day for the past 4,627 days IN A ROW. Take a moment and try to think of something you have done every single day since January 21, 1997. Bodily functions don’t count. I got nothin’, and you? Just for fun, I decided to calculate exactly how far my mom has walked. That’s 13,881 miles. That’s almost TWO TIMES the circumference of the Earth. The EARTH, people! Neither rain, nor sleet, nor snow, nor dead of night can keep my mom from taking her walk. Before she retired, there were many days she would wake up at 4:00 in the morning to take her walk, because she knew she would be too tired when she got home from work. To most people, this seems commendable, an example of true dedication. To me, it seems insane.
  5. Crossword Puzzles. Each day, my mom completes at least three crossword puzzles: The New York Times, The Los Angeles Times online crossword, and The Los Angeles Times Crossword that comes in the morning paper. Don’t ask me why there are two different L.A. crosswords. I have no idea. And, when vacationing in Hawaii, she adds two more crossword puzzles to the daily tally, The Honolulu Advertiser and The Honolulu Star Bulletin. She’d do more, if there were more available. Seriously. I kid you not.
  6. Indomania. According to Wikipedia, “Indomania, or Indophilia, refers to the special interest India, or the Indian subcontinent, that has generated in the Western world.” That being said, my mom’s enthusiasm for Indian culture, books, music, and movies has turned her into an INDOMANIAC. She hasn’t gone as far as wearing a sari and a bindi, but I wouldn’t put it past her.
  7. Cats. If there is one creature in this world my mom hates more than any other living thing on Earth, it’s cats. In her opinion, cats are as revolting as cockroaches. I honestly believe, if she were forced to choose, she’d rather live in a house full of cockroaches, than a house full of cats. And don’t even mention purring.
  8. Dark Chocolate. Although she loves dark chocolate more than life itself, my mom is allergic to it. Not one of those serious “one-bite-and-you-will-die” allergies, but an allergy nonetheless. Eating chocolate makes my mom sneeze. Oh, and not just one sneeze, we are talkin’ major double digits and no less than 5 tissues. One would think that all that sneezing would put her off chocolate altogether. One would be incorrect. For future reference, dark chocolate ganache is her absolute favorite.
  9. Choking. My mom is the only person alive who can practically choke to death on a single grain of rice. Sometimes, she chokes on air. Again, I have no explanation to share with you, it’s just a fact.
  10. Freshness. Perhaps it’s because for the past 30 years she has lived within 50 feet of Gelson’s, because my mom is obsessed with how fresh food is. She will rifle through every single loaf of bread to find the one with the best “sell by” date.  And it’s not just bread. It’s everything. Absolutely anything that can possibly expire including, but not limited to: deli meats, cheese, eggs, bacon, chicken, and chips. If it’s not fresh, she won’t eat it.
  11. Food Temperature. If her food is one degree less than scalding, my mom won’t eat it. At home, she heats up the dinner plates in the oven so the food won’t catch a chill by being placed on a room temperature plate. And it’s not like the kitchen is another wing of the house or anything. If I had to estimate, I’d say the oven is approximately 5 feet from the dining room table, maybe less. You think I am kidding, don’t you? Come over some time, and you can see for yourself.  God forbid we should ever eat in a restaurant where she can see the food waiting under the heat lamps to be served. Every ounce of restraint is needed for her not to go and pick up the plates herself. Most especially if French fries are involved.
  12. French fries. There is no other food my mom loves more than French fries. If she could have fries with every meal for the rest of her life, she would die a happy woman. Fries are to be served plain. No ketchup. Not too much salt. Possibly a side of Ranch, but not entirely necessary. But they’d better be HOT, or you will hear about it.
  13. Mary J. Blige. For some unexplainable reason, my mom cannot accept that Mary J. Blige pronounces her last name as B-L-I-G-E and not B-I-L-G-E (as in pump). She always says it incorrectly and she doesn’t care anymore. As far as she’s concerned, the woman’s name is Mary J. Bilge (sorry, Mary).
  14. Drugs. One does not venture forth from the house without a wide selection of medications to treat one’s ills, especially not my mother. I’m not saying she’s a drug addict or anything like that, it’s just that my mom has quite a few prescriptions for a number of different complaints. Got a headache? Here’s a Darvon. Feeling stressed? Take a Xanax. Tummy upset? Pick your poison: Nexium, Ranitadine, Immodium, Advantix?  I’m probably missing one, but you get the idea. My mom’s motto is to be prepared, lest you be in pain.
  15. Ready for Anything. As I just mentioned, my mom believes heartily in being prepared. This means that at any moment my mom is equipped with the proper tools to get the job done. If you find yourself without a pen, just ask my mom. Scissors? Paper? Nail file? Bottle opener? Measuring tape? My mom has it. She’s not unlike a walking Swiss Army Knife, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she pulled out a magnifying glass or a saw from her bag. She is absolutely prepared for anything and everything. Bring it on.
  16. Chablis. You can keep your fancy schmancy Chardonnay, my mom prefers a nice, chilled Chablis. On occasion, she might have a glass of Pinot Grigio or Merlot, but for her, Chablis is where it’s at. Oh, and toss a few ice cubes in her glass while you’re at it because as much as she likes her fries hot, she demands that her wine be cold.
  17. Cleanliness. Nothing can be too clean when it comes to my mom’s standards, and you can bet your bottom dollar that if there’s even the tiniest spot or smudge or stain, she will zero in on that sucker like a hawk. She has a full arsenal of cleaning potions and solutions to rid the world of its filth, and she uses them liberally. Dirt has no place in my mother’s world.
  18. Organization. Aside from dirt and cats, nothing bothers my mom more than clutter. Disorganization is the eighth deadly sin as far as she’s concerned, and everything under her management is color-coded, labeled, and alphabetically arranged.  I’d say she has OCD, but she’d rearrange it as CDO.

And you people wonder why I’m insane. Now, you know. (Kidding, Mom…kidding.)

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One Man’s Trash Is Another Man’s Treasure

Posted by kimlno on September 15, 2009

"Dirty White Trash (with Gulls)" by Tim Noble and Sue Webster

"Dirty White Trash (with Gulls)" by Tim Noble and Sue Webster

Have you seen Hoarders? It’s GNARLY. I literally had to pop a Xanax (okay, TWO) to finish watching last night’s episode. Somewhere around the second commercial break, I realized I was clenching my jaw and sitting on my hands (I don’t know why I sit on my hands when I’m feeling stressed, I just do…so, get over it). If you haven’t seen the show, you’re probably asking yourself what could this reality program be about that is so totally disturbing that Kim would have to self-medicate in order to watch? Well, I’m going to tell you.

Hoarders, on A&E, is about people who never throw anything away. And when I say never, I mean NEVER. These certifiably insane men and women have so much crap that they couldn’t possibly even imagine having to part with, it’s taken over their lives. Their houses are filled to the brim with everything you can imagine: books, bottles, boxes, and a whole boatload of junk that doesn’t necessarily start with the letter B. Most of this clutter is simply garbage, foul rubbish these freaks can’t separate themselves from because each tiny scrap of paper or empty to-go cup from Wendy’s MEANS something to them. Like a keepsake, or a souvenir. It’s not only incredibly disconcerting the way these people cherish their trash, it’s disgusting.

Some of the rooms in the hoarder’s house are completely inaccessible due to the giant piles of stuff covering the floors, tables, chairs, and shelves. Most have managed to fashion themselves a footpath that grants them access to the essentials: the bed, the bathroom, the front door. However, some of these folks can’t even FIND the bathroom or the bed anymore. Many just carve a small spot out of the giant heaps of garbage where they manage to live, eat, and sleep…if you can even call that living. It’s some serious Grey Gardens shit.

When I was younger, members of society who preferred to live in such squalor were referred to as “pack rats” or just plain, old “slobs”. I’d be willing to bet that many of you have known someone who fits the description. Heck, you’re probably even related to one or two of them. I am. My great-grandparents fit the general depiction of hoarders, and I loathed visiting them because of it. Thankfully, they’re dead now (oh, I’m already going to Hell so why not excel at it?). But when they were alive, my grandma would bribe me with a McDonald’s Happy Meal on the condition that I would save it to eat while she had a short visit with her in-laws. I’m still unconvinced this was a fair trade-off.

Usually, I wasn’t permitted to explore any other parts of their house other than the front room, but I do remember going out to the backyard once or twice. It wasn’t so much a yard as it was a make-shift swap meet. The garage was separate from the house itself and my great-grandparents had strung up a large, green tarp to cover the outside area. Obviously, they didn’t want their precious refuse to be exposed to the elements. Duh. They had extraneous furniture that couldn’t fit in the house anymore placed outside so they could heap more crap on top of it. Sure the junk was relatively organized into various identifiable stacks (e.g., newspapers, magazines, shoe boxes, etc.), but garbage is still garbage even if you arrange it neatly.

I remember being worried that one of the giant pillars of newspapers might come crashing down on top of great-grandma or great-grandpa, trapping them until the other one found a phone to call for help. I seriously considered buying them a Life-Alert system with my allowance money (“Help! I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!). Once, I tried to eat a piece of candy from the candy dish they kept on the table in the front room, but my grandma nearly smacked it out of my hand before I could unwrap it and put it in my mouth. I faintly remember her telling me not to eat anything I found in my great-grandparents house, and to stick to the food I’d brought with me. You know that’s some sketchy shit if McDonald’s is a healthier alternative. But that was cool by me because I’d seen some pretty scary looking jars full of unidentifiable substances in their kitchen. You don’t have to tell me twice. But now, looking back, I realize they were definitely hoarders albeit tidy ones. My grandma explained to me they kept all that junk because they’d survived the Great Depression and learned to never throw anything away. I just thought they were crazy.

And that’s the thing about these people on Hoarders. Are they really crazy? Or are they just LAZY? I think it’s a little of both. I mean, you’ve got to be slightly touched in the head to keep drawers full of empty wine bottles for safe keeping. Right? Plus, these people have obvious visceral reactions to having the trash taken out of their home. The producers of the program send along a psychiatrist (absolutely necessary) and what can only be described as a “special forces” garbage collecting crew to rid these homes of their vile and potentially dangerous contents. Each and every scrap of paper, empty can, and broken floor tile piece has to be “Okayed” before it’s tossed. As you can imagine, this is a long and arduous process that takes DAYS to complete. I think they should just douse the place with gasoline and light a match to those pig sties, but apparently there’s some sort of healing process or something the hoarder has to deal with so he or she doesn’t end up in this same situation a few months down the road. Whatever. You KNOW they’re going to do it again.

Personally, I just don’t get it. I’m not OCD organized, but there’s no way in HELL I’d let filth fester in my home. If I make a mess, I clean it up. Put it away. Toss it. Just get it out of my house. Otherwise, you could end up like the cat lady hoarder. I won’t even discuss with you what they found in her stacks of shit. The very thought of it makes me want to go take another shower. *shiver*

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Real Fake Leg

Posted by kimlno on September 15, 2009

I never had the honor of meeting Patrick Swayze, but I did meet his brother once and it’s a funny casting story, so I’m going to share it with you. I hope you like it.

Casting for The X-Files was always an adventure. Invariably, we’d have to find actors with unusual abilities or attributes. Sideshow freaks, magicians, snake charmers…the list goes on and on but, I can tell you this, it was NEVER boring.

So, it’s late in 1998, and everyone is looking forward to the holiday hiatus when a script comes out that calls for a one- legged man. Always with the missing limbs, those kooky writers. Oy vey (why I just became Jewish, I have no idea…maybe it’s because Yentl was on this afternoon and…sorry, TANGENT…let’s get back to the story). Just because a script calls for a man with one leg, that in no way meant we were expected to actually cast a man with one leg. They are actors. They know how to pretend like they don’t have a leg. It’s their job. Although, if the producers could’ve had their way, they’d probably opt for the authentically handicapped (handicapabale?), rather than having to fake it. Perhaps some of you remember the totally true tale of casting a man with no legs at all? If not, click here.

ANY24/7freakshow, the casting session begins and I’m sitting in a room with the writer (Jeff Bell) and the director (Kim Manners*) when in comes Don Swayze. He’s the spitting image of his brother so, at first, it’s a little off-putting. I’d be willing to bet dollars to donuts that’s why he didn’t book many leading roles. For better or for worse, Don just looked too much like his older, and much more famous, brother.

So, he’s reading his lines, and doing an excellent job of it, and then, when he gets to the part of the sides where he’s prompted to acknowledge his fake leg, Don swings his leg onto the table we’re all sitting at, and raps on it (no, not “bust a move” rap, rap like knocking on a door, rap). The sound his knuckles make when they hit his shin is pretty realistic, and I figured he had knocked on the underside of the table or the chair with his other hand where we wouldn’t see it to create the desired effect. My second thought was that he also could’ve slipped a shin guard up his pants leg to bring real authenticity to the scene (actors will do almost ANYTHING when it comes to getting a role, trust me).

Don Swayze finishes the scene and before he leaves, Kim Manners pipes up, and asks him how he made his leg sound hollow, like a real fake leg. And, with a smile as wide as Texas, he said, “I lost my leg jumping out of an airplane once.” And we all started laughing, like, “Good one, Swayze!” or “Boy, you sure had us going there for a minute!” Then, the next thing I know he’s pulled up his jeans to his knee and revealed to us his genuine prosthetic leg. Well, shit. How could we have possibly known, or even anticipated, that? It wasn’t like it is nowadays where you can look anybody up on the internet and find out their life story. His agent hadn’t told me anything about him being an amputee when I’d set up his appointment, it certainly wasn’t on his resume, and neither I nor anyone else in the room that day could’ve guessed the dude really didn’t have a leg. I mean, what are the odds?

Needless to say, we needed more than a minute to compose ourselves before bringing in the next actor. It wasn’t the first time I’d been shocked silly in a casting session, and it was most definitely not the last, either. However, it ranks pretty high up there with some of the most memorable.

The best part about the entire audition was the whole time Don had this shit-eating grin on his face, as if he couldn’t believe his luck that a script was actually written in which the character had the same unique, however unfortunate, legless situation. Don was just tickled pink that he got the opportunity to surprise us with his real fake leg, regardless of whether he booked the job or not. It was his good-natured smile that told me he was from a big, happy family that liked to poke fun at each other lovingly, and often. Just like mine.

Unfortunately, the producers chose a different actor for the role. The guy we ended up hiring had both of his legs, and he did a great job as the one-legged rainmaker, but Don Swayze’s audition was much more special and something I know I’ll never forget. All my love goes out to the Swayze family tonight, and to Kim Manners’ as well. I am eternally grateful to have been lucky enough to know you.

*Sadly, Kim passed away a few months ago. He was awesome. I miss him.

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Raisins Ruin Everything

Posted by kimlno on September 11, 2009

Raisin

Raisin

Why is it that everything that has cinnamon in it ALWAYS has raisins in it too? Is there some unwritten epicurean law that I am unaware of that mandates the coupling of these two ingredients? For once, I’d like to bite into a cinnamon roll and NOT have my unsuspecting taste buds assaulted by withered fruit. Raisins ruin everything. Don’t get me wrong, I like raisins. Just don’t go hiding them in my food. Raisins are fine all by themselves. They’re sweet and tasty and make the perfect snack, but if you insist on adding them to salads (BLEECH!) or jello (“But, Lane, you love raisins.”) I am going to have to call a Food Foul.

As long as we’re discussing salads, do you know what else is NOT okay to put in a salad? NUTS. Just keep your slivered almonds and pesky pistachios OUT of my lettuce. That goes double for sunflower seeds. An uninformed diner could choke to death on one of those tiny food assassins, and they’re too damn small to pick out every single one. Nuts and seeds are fine on their own, I’ll even go as far as allowing nuts, seeds, and raisins to co-exist together in a nice hearty trail mix, but they are meant to be enjoyed separately. They are not a garnish, they are a snack food. If I find them in my salad, I’m gonna be pissed.

Another food that’s fine on its own, but should NEVER be coupled with anything else besides carrots in a simple cru d’ete, is celery. Celery does not belong in TUNA. At no point should tuna be CRUNCHY! That’s disgusting. Want to ruin a perfectly good stuffing? Put celery in it. You might as well add some nuts and raisins while you’re at it, because I’m not going to eat it. Not every food needs to have “texture”! This isn’t Top Chef! Michael Ciccarello is not judging you on your creativity and none of the above ingredients are part of a “Quick Fire Challenge”.

While we’re on the subject, the only proper way to serve onions is deep fried. Don’t go sneaking any onions into my tuna, either. But, most importantly, do NOT put onions in my enchilada. When enjoying a cheesy, gooey enchilada, smothered in red sauce, the last thing I want is to crunch down on a hard, raw piece of onion. Are you happy, now, because you just ruined my dinner?!? If you insist on adding onions to something, they should be cooked well enough as to be unrecognizable to the human eye. Translucent, small, and indistinguishable from the food in which it has been added to. Any other method of onion adding is just plain WRONG.

Furthermore, as a general rule, don’t put cold, wet things on my sandwich. Maybe you haven’t noticed but bread is not good when it’s soggy. Just save the lettuce and tomato to make a nice side salad. Oh, and all you grill masters out there? Don’t even consider putting that ice cold vegetable crap on my hot juicy burger. I will cut you.

(Can you tell I’m on a diet?)

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