LEE ANN

Lee Ann Kim is a dog, virgo, recovering television news journalist and boss lady of the San Diego Asian Film Festival. Among her many talents are barking like a chihuahua, doing the splits, and the ability to remember random lyrics to cheesy 80s songs. Hailing from the mean streets of Chicago (Downers Grove, IL to be exact), she’s known among Filipino gangstas as “Lizelle” and aspires to take over her father’s OBGYN practice. IUDs anyone?

Last week, a package exploded near my house at a Fed-Ex Shipping Center. I saw the coverage online, with shots of the facility from a news chopper, hovering like a hawk overhead. The first thought that crossed my mind was, “Thank God I’m not covering that shit.”

For 15 years, I trudged through mud in heels, hid in bushes and motel bathrooms with dirty old men, entered homes of tweekers, and nearly choked to death while covering wildfires…. And my worst assignment, no joke, was on opening day of the Padres 8 years ago, when I was sent out to find out which Padres player had the nicest ass. It was an all time low.

If I were still in the biz, I guarantee that I would have been deployed to be part of Team Coverage of the exploding package. One person would focus on the evacuations. Another reporter would focus on the “nuts and bolts” of the explosion. A third would be in that chopper overhead, saying the exact same things that the other reporters would be saying. And then a fourth would do some sidebar story on the do’s and don’ts of how to ship a package. The same team coverage rules would apply if it were raining or a huge sinkhole developed on the freeway. No thanks.

Team Coverage circa 1995, Tuscaloosa, AL or "Anchorman: The Ron Burgundy Story Pt. II"?

Truth be told, being in the news biz is like being in a domestically violent relationship. I entered into the relationship for love – of storytelling, of the community, of my peeps who have no voice. But most of the time, there’s no freedom to do what you want, and you feel beaten down all the time serving “the man,” chasing after ambulances, ratings, and validation. Anyone who’s been in a victim of domestic violence knows, you can’t change the abuser, best thing is to GET OUT.

Which I did. And I don’t miss it a bit, although the pay and clothing allowance was pretty sweet. (Anyone need a woman’s suit in bright orange, green, yellow, or turquoise?)

I hate having to explain it too when I see random viewers in the feminine hygiene aisle of the supermarket who give me that knowing while I grab some KY-Jelly and Monistat. “Hey, aren’t you that news lady?” they always ask.

“Yeah, but I’m no longer on the news. I’m actually working in nonprofit.”

“Sorry to hear that. I knew it was you, though! I always loved your broadcasts, Connie.”

I smile, promise to say hello to Maury for them, then immediately head over to the liquor aisle to grab lunch. Yup, I’m done with news.

Oh and by the way, the exploding package… turned out to be a lithium battery.