are you here to rock?

Improve On Improv

theletterkae — Thu, 15 Mar 2012 07:42:51 +0000

These days it feels like my job is mostly compiling lists. If you need some kind of list within the span of an hour, I’ll get you a list with pictures, links, and the option of having it in a Word document or Excel spreadsheet. Grocery, comparison, quotes…you name it, I’ve probably done it.

I’ve had to do some brainstorming with my boss for specific talent over the past couple of weeks. This required me to think of things related to improvisational comedy, or improv for short. My boss sent out an email to the client to discuss specifics, and typed out “improve comedy.” I knew it was a typo, so I didn’t say anything.

The response that came back from the client also contained the word “improve comedy” in the body of their email. No biggie, they were probably typing quickly.

Two or three emails later, both my boss and the client were using the term “improve comedy.” Most of these emails came from a computer source, and not a smartphone (I’m basing this on the fact that the company logo accompanied our client’s signature every time a reply was sent). It was enough for me to question aloud whether “improv” had changed its spelling:

I’ll be honest: I felt kind of stupid to have to ask that kind of question on Twitter. But I’ve had to face the fact that “grey” doesn’t cut it anymore in America – “gray” is the correct spelling in this country, and it’s been a hard transition for me. For all I know, a memo went out that “improve” is the acceptable modern spelling for “improv,” and I missed it. And the chain of emails had me thinking that a silent e had been added sometime in the new decade.

Thank you, Twitter peeps, for setting the record straight. I love that you guys are geeky enough to worry about spelling with me.

One Letter At A Time

theletterkae — Wed, 07 Mar 2012 08:04:48 +0000

So that happened last August. I got a familiar ding on my phone and discovered that the gay ex-husband had changed his BBM username to match mine. Either due to friendship or being lazy (I think it’s the latter), it still reads “theletterjae.”

Keanu Reeves, Where Are You?

theletterkae — Tue, 28 Feb 2012 05:28:20 +0000

A few years back, I posted this picture:

If you remember the 8oz. Burger Bar that was on Melrose, and if you had a large enough party, you probably recall the large table that stood between the two rooms. What you may not know is that the table had drawers, and the drawers had notes stashed inside, written by other patrons. The note my party decided to contribute was this:

I made a joke about leaving a love note there with vague hopes of meeting my next boyfriend (a la “The Lakehouse”). After all, it doesn’t get any worse than popping letters into a box and hoping that someone else will read them, right? (And hopefully won’t show up a year or two in the past for a soon-to-be traffic victim to read.) It’d probably be safer than posting a personals ad on Craigslist.

These days I’ve gone back into the world of online dating. It’s part of the process to get back into a normal lifestyle after last year, but man, it’s a lot of work. Right now I think I’m attracting the ones who are ready to just jump into a full-blown relationship, with a focus on marriage by next year. That’s all well and good, but I’m finding it tricky to communicate with guys clearly. If you’ve taken the time to fill out sections of an online dating profile, I’d like to think that you also recall what it was you wrote about yourself.

For example: one guy put in his profile that he spent a lot of time around the Third Street Promenade area in Santa Monica. Having run out of steam in the “ice breaker” part of our emails, I thought I’d mention that I used to hang out there a lot as a teenager, with some commentary on how much it’s changed in the past fifteen years. The response I received was along the lines of, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Confused, I double checked his profile, found the specific line, and quoted him in the next email.

I didn’t realize you were referring to something I had noted in my profile. Woops! Yeah, usually when I go out there I just go to the Barnes and Noble and read for a while.

It was probably bitchy of me to go back and quote him, but hey, that was about you. Or so you’d like for me to believe. I stopped talking to this one – if it’s not coming back to mind right away, then who knows how much else is “true?”

The next gem came from another guy: you seem like such a sweet girl…where are you from originally. Would you be interested in talking more…?

Two things made me grit my teeth:
1. Punctuation was not constant. Having spent years studying English, occasionally contributing to two geek culture blogs in the past, and the added pressure of Asian parents makes for a Grammar Nazi.
2. I wrote in my profile that I’m from Chicago but grew up in LA (which is probably too much information). This section is at the very start of my profile. If you didn’t take the time to read it and just looked at my picture, I have a pretty good idea of what you’re looking for.

I thought I’d give this guy the benefit of the doubt and looked to see if his profile was written the same way. It had pretty decent punctuation and wasn’t worded at all like his email. Little warning bells went off: if your messages don’t match the writing style in your profile, then I’m going to pass.

The following day, this popped up in my inbox: i noticed that you took a look at my profile but i didint see any response mesaage from you….i guess you just arent interested in this great guy. lol

Once again, lack of punctuation was a deal breaker. Also, I’m not quite sure where the “lol” is coming from – maybe a sarcastic laugh at my poor decision to not connect?

Dating is a tricky thing, especially at the starting stage. Where’s Keanu Reeves when I need him?!

This Is Harder Than I Thought It Would Be

theletterkae — Tue, 07 Feb 2012 04:50:40 +0000

I don’t blog as much as I used to. Possible reasons:
1. The people who got me started on blogging on a non-Livejournal website rarely blog these days.
2. It’s all about micro-blogging. (If you want to stalk me on Tumblr, you can do it here. I don’t post regularly on that site, but this could always change.)
3. Not working in some form of customer service doesn’t really bring in fresh ideas/funny stories.
4. Working in entertainment is kind of neat, but you can’t really talk about what you’re currently working on. (Confidentiality agreements and all that.)
5. I don’t feel like my writing style is up to par these days.
6. Death does not get easier to process as I get older. (Not my own mortality, but the taking-away of people part.)

When things really throw me for a loop, I tend to revert back into things I’m familiar with, and a lot of that is compromised of pulling out books and journals from my teenage years. On a whim, I pulled out this book:

I received a copy for my 11th or 12th birthday and read it dozens of times. Eventually I moved onto the harder stuff (Haruki Murakami, Junichiro Tanizaki, Ryu Murakami), and Banana Yoshimoto became my go-to book when I wanted something girly to read.

After Lisa’s passing, I went through my bookshelf and pulled Kitchen to read. I knew it was going to be an easy read: no elaborate storylines, no drama-filled love affairs, no violence. It’s a book I could read just for the story.

Or so I thought. Right off the bat, there was a death of a close relative, followed by the stages of grief. All I could recall was the transsexual mother and a budding love story.

I’d never see my own grandmother again. Never again. I don’t care for the loaded sentimentality of those words or for the feeling of limitation they impose. But just then they struck me with an unforgettable intensity and authority.

That’s just the English translation. I have no idea how close it is in the original Japanese text, but those sentences really struck a chord in me. And then there’s this:

To the extent that I had come to understand that despair does not necessarily result in annihilation, that one can go on as usual in spite of it, I had become hardened. Was that what it means to be an adult, to live with ugly ambiguities? I didn’t like it, but it made it easier to go on.

“Moonlight Shadow” is a short “encore” story that also deals with death and grieving (and had somehow completely slipped my mind). In this story, a young girl gets to “say” goodbye to her boyfriend who was killed in a car accident. Because she lost her love so abruptly, she finds immense relief in being able to wave goodbye to his spirit.

It sounds cheesy to write this (and I’m wincing as I type this out), but this book literally pulled me from a dark spot. There were so many times I came across a passage where I wanted to shout, “THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT I’M FEELING RIGHT NOW!” There were a few times I came across a passage that gave me hope about dealing with last November and December.

I’ll never be able to be here again. As the minutes slide by, I move on. The flow of time is something I cannot stop. I haven’t a choice. I go.

I just came across that line while looking up passages I wanted to include here. Absolutely love it.

The next post will hopefully bring me back to my usual smart-assed self, especially since I’m doing the whole online dating thing again. But in the meantime, thanks for sticking with me while I’ve been in limbo.

Wrapping Up

theletterkae — Sun, 01 Jan 2012 01:12:34 +0000

2011 was a bag of mixed nuts. In March a terrible earthquake and tsunami hit Japan and almost destroyed a quarter of my heritage. In the spring I got to play with puppies. In May I left a job I hated (which I didn’t realize I hated until I quit). In June I lived in Las Vegas for almost three weeks while working on a pageant. In the fall I realized that my efforts in dating someone that I’d met a year ago just weren’t worth the time. And the last two months brought on the loss of two people who touched my life more than I realized.

In between all of that, there were family and friends who managed to keep things together for me. There’s no way I could ever truly thank or repay them for what they’ve done for me, but I hope they’re aware of the tiny fraction of appreciation I have for them (even you crazy internet friends whom I’ve yet to meet in person).

Tonight I’m spending time with new-found friends, and tomorrow will be spent with friends and family. I’m still amazed that these people let me into their lives the way that they do (well, except for my family – they didn’t have a choice). Here’s to a more stable 2012.

theletterkae — Wed, 28 Dec 2011 07:07:19 +0000

I’ve dreaded coming back to this blog, mainly because my last post dealt with something that should have been a happier memory. Seven weeks have passed since my dinner with Lisa, which should be ample time to “recover” and get back into the swing of things, like life.

More than likely it’s just a coincidence, but after Lisa passed away I was called to attend two more memorial services. One was for my boss’ mother, the other for a former co-worker at Hilton. At this point I’m really, really hoping the rule of “bad things happen in threes” will apply here, but I’m not holding my breath. 2011, you’ve got less than a week left to throw whatever shit you were saving – I’m not dealing with anything negative come 2012.

My boss’ mother’s death was not that much of a surprise. She had been diagnosed with a terminal form of cancer, and in her final days my boss was doing all he could to make them as comfortable as possible. The atmosphere in the office was a little bit strange, but it might have just been me – I was going through my own stages of mourning. As if it wasn’t enough, I was asked to assist at the funeral. It wasn’t anything difficult – I was there to deal with the caterer and help set up the food. To make things a little bit easier, I told myself that this was a funeral rehearsal to help prep me for Lisa’s funeral.

A month passed, and I thought I was slowly getting back to “normal.” I wasn’t prepared when I discovered through Facebook that a director from my former workplace had passed. I frantically emailed and called old co-workers, trying to piece together what happened. This director had battled cancer twice (like Lisa), but the second round spread to another part of her body and just wore her down. The memorial service at work was incredibly bittersweet – so many people from my old team were there, and it was like no time at all had passed.

Things were so familiar, I half expected Anna (the late director) to burst into the room, apologizing for causing such a fuss and greeting me with her usual “Hello, Miss K!”

These past two months have been extremely trying, to say the least. I took time off from Pop Bunker with the intent of returning two weeks after Lisa’s funeral, but I haven’t found the energy to write. I’m not pleased with this post, but it’s the closest thing to therapy for me at this point.

Cupcakes & Wine

theletterkae — Fri, 23 Dec 2011 08:39:40 +0000

It’s been seven weeks since Lisa Kelly’s passing. It’s a Japanese custom to acknowlege each week for the first seven weeks, something that almost, I’m sorry to say, slipped my mind.

Because on my bad days, it feels like I just had dinner with her the night before.

On my good days, it feels like it’s only been a week at the most since she passed.

The only reason I started counting is because Lisa’s friend, Kim, mentioned that a month had elapsed in a blog post. No way, I thought. We just had the memorial. But pulling up the calendar proved me wrong, and I realized that I had three weeks left to make up for it.

My friend Nina had suggested holding a small birthday celebration last Saturday for Lisa at her “new place.” I stopped by Whole Foods and picked up some cupcakes for the occasion – I managed to convince Lisa to have dessert *that* night, and figured she wouldn’t object to another round of sweets. (When you’re in Heaven, calories don’t count. If they do, then it’s not Heaven.) The day was cloudy with patches of rain, but the sun did eventually pop its head out towards the end (just like at her funeral).

There was wine, chips, cheese sticks, a sausage and cheese platter, and those sugar cookies you see at the grocery store that are frosted and covered with sprinkles. We were just a main course short of having a full-fledged meal in the hills of Forest Lawn. Since our location was a cemetary, we couldn’t help talking about funerals and other loved ones who had passed. I couldn’t keep the tears back, but for once they weren’t from grief – I was crying because it felt like we were slowly getting rid of a heavy cloud that’s been hanging around since November 4th.

Our little group (Kim, Nina, Will, Lisa’s friend Jodi, Lisa, and myself) decided to sing “Happy Birthday” to her and “share” our wine (a fancier version of pouring one for the homies). It took almost everything I had left in me to make my voice sound cheery, but I’d like to think that Lisa got a kick out of us being a little tipsy and singing a little bit off-key just for her.

One of the last things I said to Lisa is that I wanted us to get together again for a drink before the year was over. And in a way, we did have that drink.

Going to visit a grave is typically a somber experience, but it wasn’t the case this time around. It’s still a sad occasion, to be sure, but when you’re with a group of friends who are gunning to make the best out of things, you can’t help but feel a little bit lighter.

theletterkae — Mon, 07 Nov 2011 00:36:01 +0000

This has been sitting in my drafts for longer than it should have. I’m ashamed to post this, as it’s so incomplete and lacking in words, but I want to share the last time I saw Lisa with you.

I cannot wrap my head around what’s happened over the past few days. I’ve gone from numb to sadness to anger to confusion, and back again.

As some of you know, Dr. Lisa Kelly passed away unexpectedly. I haven’t known her for very long; at the most maybe a bit over two years.

The hardest part of her passing is that I had dinner with her the night before it happened. She was the picture of perfect health, and it seems beyond cruel that she was taken from us like this.

Our dinner together was over a year in the making. We’d been talking about getting together for a girls’ night for what seemed like forever, but trying to find a free moment in both of our schedules was tricky. And then, like magic, we suddenly settled on having dinner on Wednesday at Osteria La Buca (her choice). Her message to me about the place: “[it] has the most amazing flat bread pizza. I’ll break my diet for it.”

I was excited about this. My work day was a long one, and I was looking forward to unwinding with her over a cocktail. She looked absolutely adorable when she came in and I felt a little bit shabby next to her. She was wearing a red dress with a short jacket; I was wearing jeans and a shirt (my only saving grace was that I’d thrown on some eyeliner and eye shadow beforehand). We hugged, sat down, and kept the girl chat flowing: dating, shoes, the gym, and nothing in particular. We probably only stopped talking in between sips of wine or bites of food.

We said goodnight to each other and headed home. She headed east and I went south. I’d never have even guessed that would be the last time I’d see her.

I’m still in shock. There’s a lot I’m trying to come to terms with. I’ve replayed that evening over and over in my mind, trying to see if there was any hint that something was wrong.

This woman worked with babies and volunteered to go to places like Haiti and Mongolia to help save lives. This is a woman who practically told cancer twice that it wasn’t going to keep her from doing what she loved. This is a woman who found time in her life to sit down and have dinner with me.

Aluminum Foil: the Jack O’ Lantern’s Best Friend

theletterkae — Mon, 31 Oct 2011 15:11:43 +0000

My family has never been one to go all out for Halloween. We’re the type that puts up smiling ghosts, mildly scary monsters, and the odd witch here and there on the door. All of our jack o’ lanterns come generally in the classic triangle eyes, triangle nose, missing teeth grin/grimace.

The one thing that makes our jack o’ lanterns better than yours is how bright we get ours to shine at night.

For as long as I can remember, my parents have used foil to line the inside of our pumpkins to enhance the glow of the candle. (And yes, we still use candles. If your children don’t have fire-resistant costumes, then that’s something you should have thought to consider before coming to our house.) At least two groups of parents will always ask, “Do you use mirrors to get the inside really bright?”

No, we just use foil. It makes things really shiny and also makes cleaning up a breeze.

Try it out this year. I guarantee you’ll make even the suckiest pumpkin look good.

It Doesn’t Get Any Better Than This

theletterkae — Sun, 30 Oct 2011 06:05:57 +0000

I’m working again (albeit it’s just a temporary position). It’s your typical Entertainment Industry assistant gig, but in my recent experience, the only industry that is still hiring assistants on a regular basis is the one that Los Angeles makes a good chunk of its income from. There’s nothing challenging about it, but I do need the industry experience if I’m going to try and make a living in this town.

This past Tuesday was tough on me physically: global warming decided to turn it up a few degrees and it was my turn to run errands. My list included the following:

1. Go to my boss’ new home in Beverly Hills to pick up a couple of items.
2. Drop off Time Warner Cable property at the location on Cahuenga.
3. Visit Marshall’s to purchase a comforter for my boss (preferably in brownish hues).

The house gig was the trickiest one. I had a key, but didn’t realize that the house alarm had been set and would go off as soon as I opened the door. I’ve heard house alarms go off before, but they’ve always been deactivated by the owner well before a stern recording tells me to vacate the premise and that the cops are on the way.

I literally told the recording that I’d love to go, but I had things to get from the house and couldn’t leave until the items had been picked up and were in my car. It was a brand new low for me as an assistant, especially since I’m only a temp – I had doubts that the company would come and pick me up from the station once the police realized that I’d set off the alarm in error. Luckily, I managed to turn off the alarm without any cop cars rolling up the driveway, and I was able to finish my task.

The day was a warm one, and I was still a little bit rattled after the house alarm fiasco. I managed to make it to Time Warner and Ross without any further mishaps, but the heat, the slim chance of me having to deal with the fuzz, and dealing with LA traffic left me cranky. My mood didn’t improve when my phone suddenly indicated that I had three new text messages.

Daytime text messages are on par with nighttime phone calls: someone has either died or wants you in his/her bed. Since I’m single, I had a gut wrenching feeling that something was very, very wrong.

Luckily, no one had died. It was my old roommate, Jamison, on his way back from Rome via Chicago.

Our conversation went a little something like this:

J: Kkkaaatthhhhrrryynnn
J: Dunkin donuts?
J: They have one herein Chicago and I’m going to grab some before I leave
K: Yes please! :D
J: What’s your preference?
K: Pumpkin if they have it; otherwise chocolate
J: Okie dokie
K: Thank you!

That quick exchange (and the promise of a donut) had me turn my frown upside down.