Rock Concert

Before our daughter was born I would often take the boy in his stroller, then three years old, and the dog for a weekend morning walk to the nearby park. This one specific morning there was a crew setting up an extensive arrangement of temporary chain link fencing. Something major was underway.


9/12/2004

“What’s going on,” I asked a guy.

“George Thoroughgood is playing today,” he replied. Thoroughgood. That’s a rock band. A decade or so beyond their prime, but still, playing here? At the park?

“They’re opening for Blue Oyster Cult,” he continued.

With that my attention was fully piqued! BOC, for those of us in the know, was a favorite rock band of my brothers back in the ‘80s. Having been fortunately furnished with this chance information, my day’s plans were to be altered.

I had a few chores to do, but my boy and I were going to see BOC live! He was excited when I proposed that we come back for a picnic lunch to watch a rock concert. I liked his enthusiasm. Although I venture to say he didn’t really grasp what ‘rock concert’ meant.

Returning home I had to hustle around to complete the yard chores before we went. It was getting close to start time when I had just finished. Stepping into the house I was expecting to have to quickly make sandwiches and pack a lunch. But I was instead greeted by a smiling Wife Klem who had packed lunch for me and the boy and offered to drop us off near the park. How lucky am I? Thanks, Wife Klem.

“Are you ready?! On your feet, or your knees, for the amazing . . . Blue Oyster Cult!!” blared through the sound system as we entered the park. The big ‘80’s rock band had just taken the stage. We navigated around the paying customer seating and luncheoned 50 yards to the left of the stage beyond the metal chain link temporary perimeter fence under a tree on a grassy knoll. Sandwiches in hand, along with binoculars, we took in the scene. Good view of the stage, beach balls bouncing among the crowd, and the money-paying spectators, of which we were not. A $25 ticket price secured them a patch of grass in the sun within their fenced-in confines.

The event was hosted by Harley Davidson. This would be readily attested by the amusingly rugged contingent of Harley gear-wearing folks in attendance, in addition to the numerous limping personnel and various other physical observations seemingly resultant of a hard living.

We stayed for an hour. He had fun, but I sensed that he had his fill when he started to ask after every song, “It’s over, Daddy?”

We got home, put the guy down for his nap. The next day his sister would be born.
-klem

Klem’s Corollaries on Life, excerpt iii

(21) Reach for a dictionary once in a while. Look it up.

(22) Dude, if you’re rocking a pony tail and it’s not for a Halloween costume or a prank, cut if off. Who’re you, Steven Segal?

(23) When picking up a heavy object, lift with your legs, not your back.

(24) Vanity license plates. Almost never a good idea.

(25) Happiness comes with seeking satisfaction and fulfillment. Not from the pursuit of happiness.

(26) Have a plan. Periodically review that plan for improvements.

(27) Read constantly. Novels, newspapers, magazines, the Bible. Doesn’t matter, just read something. When you finish it, pick something else to read. Repeat process.

(28) If you feel compelled to criticize, mix in constructive comments.

(29) If you feel you have to mumble, then it’s probably not worth saying. Stop mumbling.

(30) Use spell check.

-klem

My Involuntary NFL Sabbatical

It was September 1, 1996 at 10:04 am Pacific Time. Sunday morning, Week 1 of football season and a game was just then kicking off.


I’d been a football fan since 1975, I was eight, and my team had always been the Cleveland Browns. Very sadly, the Browns had moved to Baltimore at the conclusion of the previous football season and changed their name to the Baltimore Ravens. My Cleveland Browns no longer existed!

I was tremendously disappointed with this development, but couldn’t be certain how it would affect me until football returned. I’d been a football watcher on Sundays during football season for 20 years. Would I still feel compelled to watch the great pageantry that is professional football even though I was now without a team? For whom, now, should I root? I was riddled with confusion. Today I would find my answers as the first games of the season kicked off across the country.


“Honey, do you want this?” My girlfriend at the time, who later, to my glee, would become my bride, asked if I had an interest in watching the football game that was airing on the television.

Thinking briefly upon Sweet Pea’s query, “No thanks.”


Silly thing, I didn’t know how I would feel about football again until that first kick off of the new season. Here we were. I was surprised at how easily I had turned the page on the NFL. Its draw for me had been extinguished.
-klem


[Note: An NFL team returned to Cleveland in 1999. It would be a few years more before I made my peace with the NFL and returned as a spectator.]

Student Discount

The student discount has been a favorite of mine for many years. You know, you go to the movie theater, zoo, or other fee-for-entry establishments and the student discount is often available for the asking and photo ID verification. I’ve rarely taken advantage of it, but have cherished it each time as one might cherish an unassisted triple play in baseball or a safety in football.

I was last officially a student in June 1990 when I graduated from college. Strictly speaking the student discount was no longer available to me for the balance of my days.

In 1992 I took Scuba diving classes with my kid brother and we became certified divers. We were issued student diver ID cards on the front end of the our training.

It was this student identification card with photo and official student number that I called into use over the years to score this youth-intended discount. I pulled the stunt as recently as last year when Team Klem went to the Los Angeles County Museum of History. My boy likes dinosaurs, we go periodically and let the fella refresh his interest by staring at the ancient bones.

I saved maybe $2 with the discount that afternoon. Wife Klem amusedly suggested that I retire from the student discount racket. Maybe she’s right. I should probably give up the ghost on this. But in a moment of weakness I cannot guarantee that should I be under the influence of a squirrelly mood that I’d be able to muster the needed gumption to once again resist pulling that card from my wallet and showing it to a clerk. I can only try to do my best.


A rascal or a scoundrel, am I? You decide.
-klem
non-student

The Water Park. Defeat.

We’re on the cusp of admitting defeat, is Team Klem. The goal of 20 is a distant thought well beyond the horizon from where we stand at present.


In May we bought season passes to the local water park and were excited at the prospect of pushing toward our personal record for number of visits in one summer! Sadly, we’ve visited the amusement locale only seven times since the acquisition of said passes. I’m embarrassed about how I let ourselves fall so far behind pace. The park closes in two weeks. We’ll have until May 2010 when it reopens next year to ponder how we’ve underperformed this summer.

I could blather on, offer explanations, reasons, and excuses as to our rather pedestrian number of visits. But it’s best if I just provide the facts and let them speak for our lack of gumption in this regard. Seven.

I suspect we’ll try again next year with another batch of season passes. The goal may have to be set at a more lackluster, though attainable, elevation. Or do we abstain next summer breaking the streak that links back to 2003?


Disappointed but not entirely dejected. Tomorrow we’ll seek something different on which to claim victory.
-klem

A Gift of Ears

“Who mailed us corn,” asked a surprised Wife Klem the other day staring down at the contents of an unsolicited package that arrived with the mail and had just been opened. After barely a moment’s pause I knew from whence it came. I also knew without any further inspection that it was of the sweet corn variety.


I’ve got this friend of mine, quite a chum, really. We’ll call him Dan At A Slower Pace. We met at work nearly two decades ago, a friendship that transcended the work confines. This friend and his family have ample property at their home and have employed a portion of it as a generously dimensioned personal “garden”. How generous? And why is “garden” in quotes? 15 acres dedicated to a noncommercial farm operation is tough to call a garden, but qualifies easily as generous. He, too, blogs and recently posted about his crops and this season’s haul.

Growing up in southern California, as I did, a farm, or 15 acres of personal garden, holds a certain mystique for me. Upon reading his post I couldn’t contain my unsophisticated agricultural curiosity. To read his post, peruse the photos, and mock my city boy comments [click here] and fast forward to his August 9 post. Dan graciously volunteered to feed my curiosity with the aforementioned unsolicited gifted ears of corn.


Thanks for the sweet corn, Mr. At A Slower Pace. The ears were delicious and consumed enthusiastically.
-klem

Klem’s Book of Observations, excerpt vii

People who dress their dogs in outfits or a sweater. That’s too bad.

Pumpkins are deserving of better standing than the secondary thought attributed to a seasonal fruit.

Based on it’s pronunciation, I’m not comfortable with the spelling of ‘colonel’.

Cardigan sweaters do not exude a spirit of aggressive intent.

Cats bury their guano. Sissies. But then, you gotta respect their tidiness when compared to poo-throwing monkeys.

-klem

Canine Insectivore

[Warning: A graphic carnage-filled video follows.]


It happened this summer during a slumber party. The entire Team Klem was being hosted by the entire Team Adornato. It started with the cats, of which there were two.

One feline had caught a moth, a large one, while playing outside and brought it indoors where it was released. The cats jumped and chased the thing as it skittered along near the ceiling. The dog got worked up by the frenzy and joined in the rumpus. Perhaps it was due to the confusion of the melee, the moth made a strategic error by recklessly diving down to a more attainable altitude for it’s landlubber assailants for which it paid dearly. Snatched!

Emerging from the room victorious was the dog, Lucy Chew. She plopped on the ground holding her prize, the moth, deftly between her paws and ‘playfully’ pulling at the moth’s wings with her teeth. An entertaining scene for the callous of heart. The carnage was caught on video.

Thanks again to Team Adornato for hosting the slumber party this summer. Good times, unless you were the moth.
-klem

A Little Treat

‘What happened to my car,’ I thought to myself walking past it in the parking lot at work the other day. It looked so . . . clean.


I have a field job. I drive to the office Monday morning, retrieve the company car, and drive it around all week in the name of work. My personal car domiciles overnight in the parking lot three or four nights each week.

A vendor is contracted to periodically visit the lot and wash the company cars. You know, it puts up a good clean positive image when employees meet customers looking tidy. It makes sense.

The company cars are parked in two aisles and don a company sticker on the rear bumper. My personal car is a former company car. The company sticker, though cracking and far from pristine due to age, remains affixed on my rear bumper. On Monday morning I parked it in a spot adjacent to the two aisles, but not in one of the aisles.

The car cleaning vendor washed cars this week. I saw my personal car the other day as I walked to the office after parking my company car. It had an unfamiliar shine to it. They had cleaned my car by accident! I smiled at the treat of an unexpected washing, then left it in the lot two more nights.

I drove home from the office this afternoon into the weekend looking through a squeaky clean windshield. Well, at least squeaky clean on the outside. I wonder if they’da vacuumed the interior if I left it unlocked?
-klem

Health Care Reform

Health Care reform has gotten plenty of attention the last few months, and for good reason. The cost of providing health care and the level of care that best befits one’s family are important issues. Anyone would be hard pressed to successfully argue that improvements are not needed.

The ongoing health care reform discussion presented by the President and Congress are based on two major points:

1) Our current health care system is too expensive.
2) Health care should be provided to everyone, mainly the uninsured.


I’d like to air out my concerns by addressing both.

(1) Health care is expensive. Most people will agree with that. Estimates place health care costs in the United States at about 15% of Gross Domestic Product. That’s a significant amount of jack. The Federal government is looking to interject itself as the solution by actually providing health care. Does anybody really expect that health care will become less expensive if the Federal government takes over?

From an expenses standpoint, this health care reform has absolutely no merit. The private sector is, and will continue to be, a less expensive option than any version of Government health care. As the saying goes, ‘If you think it’s expensive now, wait until it’s free!’


(2) So you want the uninsured not just to be insured, but to be provided health care at no charge. That sounds like an expensive proposition. This in itself seems to defeat the first point.

There’s some disagreement as to the actual number of Americans without health insurance, but let’s go with the high estimate of 15%, 45 million. Are we really going to change the entire health care system to accommodate 15%? Does that not sound extreme? In the least it sounds like a reckless thing to do.


A few additional issues to discuss in the face of the proposed legislation:

(a) We are told that people will be able to retain their employer-provided plans if they prefer them to the public option, the Government plan. That’s baloney! Once the government offers a free plan, employers will more than likely drop the employer-health care benefit feature. ‘Why continue with this expense if government provides it at no cost,’ employers will ponder. This employer-option will cease to exist.

(b) Health care options would decrease. As the other health insurance options disappear in the wake of the Government’s plan, options for health care will actually become fewer, not more as is being boasted with this reform. That’s too bad, this result of fewer options. People need options because we all place different priorities and values on health insurance and the level of care people want depending on what stage in life they’re in. Whether a person is single, married with young kids, or elderly drives this sliding scale of need.

A one-size-fits-all plan is inappropriate for health care. In fact, one-size-fits-all does not work outside the realm of tube socks and spandex.

Think of houses, for example. People place value on different features. Some folks may want a fancy house, ranch style for others, a two story home versus a one story, and beach front preference to mountain areas. Our current health care system does offer different choices. A government plan ultimately stifles choice as explained above.

The same level of health care for all is a bad idea. This is especially so when this ‘same level’ relegates everyone to a sub par standard. People want different things and strive to complete their own dreams, desires, and goals. If some desire, have planned for, and have secured the level of care they want for themselves they should be able to have it. These freedoms of choice are motivation for people to improve themselves and their circumstances to meet their goals and provide for their family.


Health care is in need of reform. Perhaps these reform ideas are worthy of consideration:

1) Amend the way medical services are charged. How about paying for medical and health care based on results rather than services performed and medication dispensed? That pair of $50 aspirins maybe won’t be prescribed unnecessarily if there’s no 1,000% mark up.

2) Malpractice law suits. If a suit is deemed to have no merit, then the claimant and their law firm should be subject to absorb the entire cost of all legal expenses or a significant penalty. The desired effect is to discourage frivolous lawsuits. This will bring down the cost of medical malpractice insurance which will result in a lower cost of practicing medicine.


Health care is an important topic that is worthy of more detail than these abbreviated offerings. But if I don’t cut this down to a more digestible size nobody would bother to read this but Mom Klem. With that, I close.
-klem

Bitten By a Goose

The petting zoo never disappoints. All those baby goats, sheep, and pigs available for the petting. Cool stuff. Except for the time a goose gave me a bloody lip.


1973

The family went to the Los Angeles Zoo. I was just a little guy of six years entering the petting zoo quadrant. After looking at the caged beasts for over an hour my siblings and I were pretty lathered up at the idea of actually touching some.

Petting zoos are commonly equipped with feed dispensers. Toss a coin into the slot, turn the knob, get the feed from the dispenser, and commence enticing the animals to come close for a touching. If one hasn’t coins to load into the machine, guile must be employed to get within arm’s reach of the more elusive creatures. My older brother, I saw, had seemed to prove hearty in this area.

With nothing in his hand, he would cup it, as if it were loaded with oats and whatever, and extend it toward the desired animal. This proved effective in getting the animal’s attention and they would approach, unwitting prey. The downside, though, was that the animals would scamper off once they were close enough to observe the cupped hand was merely nude. So close, but lacking success. Try again.

I liked the sense of sport in this. Optimistic that I’d work this technique to fruition, I spied the object of my desire. A big goose. I wanted to pet that goose. Empty hand was cupped and extended. Goose’s attention gained, he approached, observed the deceit in my hand, honked, and walked away.

‘Oh no you don’t,’ I thought to myself. I pursued. Goose quickened its pace, I equaled it. He went under an unskirted building that had been raised on pillars. With almost three feet of clearance, I followed. At this point the goose turned. ‘I’m gonna touch him!’ I thought. And I was right. But not as I had hoped.

He ran at me, too fast for the clumsy unhoned motor skills of my six years. He bit me on the lip!

I emerged from under the building a crying little guy and a bloody lip. Pop Klem bought me a snow cone in hopes to minimize the swelling. Once he saw that I was fine, more scared than harmed, I can imagine the effort he had to summon to suppress the laughter that this lip biting goose must have inspired.

I have since forgiven the goose and bear it no ill will.


1976

A second incident at the same petting zoo involved my sister and a baby goat. The goat head-butted my sister. ‘A baby goat. How cute,’ one might think initially. Except for the small set of horns starting to protrude from the goat’s head. My sister, a tough five years, remained afoot despite blood flowing from her forehead. With a handful of napkins Pop Klem was present to staunch the bleeding.


My two kids have remained unscathed in their petting zoo visits. Though Wife Klem and I will continue to tempt fate.
-klem

Football Haiku

It’s nearly football season! The pageantry of the game, the highlights, the statistics, the emotional highs and lows of the football games enriching each game day. The anticipation of the NFL puts a little extra spring in my step. Really I can’t wait. With that, I offer a football haiku.

Hundred yards of green
Pigskin hash marks pads and ball
Football I’ve missed you

-klem

Klem’s Corollaries on Life, excerpt ii

(11) Don’t be rude.

(12) Don’t use foul language. It depreciates your own character rather than that of the person to whom your foul language is directed.

(13) It’s not always what you’re obligated to do that’s most important. Oftentimes, it’s what you don’t have to do but care enough to do it anyway.

(14) Change the filters in your furnace and air conditioning intake.

(15) Don’t be a one-upper. Let someone else have their moment.

(16) Complaining is for those who have given up. Remain above that self-degradation. Just think of a solution and move on.

(17) Sun block. Use it. Your kids too. This’ll make more sense once you’re 40+ years old.

(18) Eat vegetables.

(19) Read to your kids. And once they’re able to read, take the time to listen to them read.

(20) Train your dog.

-klem

Heroes. Not Dorks.

We recently visited a college buddy of mine and his family for a weekend. We’ll call them Team Adornato. They’ve got a pair of kids, same ages as ours, and they all played well together with only a few minor flare-ups.

At one point Adornato and I slipped away to get in some video gaming. Yes, my weakness for video gaming raises its head yet again. The gaming system for the weekend was the Xbox. The game was Guitar Hero III Legends of Rock.

“You guys are dorks,” said his daughter, a smart eight years old, as she came across the two of us discussing our gaming. There is certainly a healthy dose of validity to her comment. Although I am humbly inclined to suggest that ‘Heroes’ might be more accurate, ‘Guitar Heroes’ to be precise.

For those not familiar with the Guitar Hero game series, please allow me to briefly explain. You have the option of one or two players. Team Adornato being equipped with two guitar gaming controllers, we rocked out simultaneously alternating duty between lead and bass guitars. We proved to be a commendable force in this capacity.

In the game, the players select a song and the game delivers a color coded sequence denoting the guitar riffs. The players are to duplicate the color coded sequence of notes with their guitar controllers. If performed inadequately, players miss too many notes for example, the players are ‘booed off stage’ and the game abruptly ends the song. You may then try again, choose a different song, or try an easier setting. More songs are gradually unlocked, made available, as the players proficiently complete the easier songs. I don’t mind admitting, it’s fun stuff.

Sunday night when the kids went to sleep, we unleashed a fury unto the game that unlocked the 35 songs plus 15 bonus tracks in just over two hours! There remained a number of songs available on the Guitar Hero virtual store, but those remain for purchase rather than earned on merit as we had become accustomed.


Upon this recounting, I feel compelled to reconsider my earlier rebuke. Perhaps Dorks is more appropriate.
-dork

Wingtip Repair

My first week of work at a full time post-college job concluded 19 years ago today.


August 1990

I reported to work, my first day on the job, in the pinstripe suit, a striking blue tie, my favorite, and new black leather wingtip shoes. By the end of the first day my feet were blistered and sore. So recent from college was I that the footwear to which I remained best accustomed were sandals and high-top basketball shoes. But being one who enjoyed personal milestones I cheerfully noted, at the end of day one, that this had been the longest I’d ever worn the wingtips, nearly ten hours including drive time to and from the office. Hopefully, the shoes would become more comfortable with each successive day, I thought to myself.

By noon on the fifth day my tender toes had had enough. Blisters were several, one had popped, and walking had become painful. At lunch I walked 200 yards to the neighboring enclosed shopping mall where I located a retail Florsheim shoe store. Having pleaded my case of too tightly bound feet, the shoe merchant gladly took the lightly worn dogs and placed them on the shoe stretching machine in the stock area. This machine, in those few minutes, became my favorite mechanical innovation.

While the wingtips were being racked, I perused the shoe shelves from the comfort of my stockinged feet. Eating a honey roasted turkey breast sandwich with American cheese, which I had packed myself, I felt somehow gleeful in the setting what with my suit and tie, but no shoes as I strolled the aisles with sandwich in mid-consumption.

In due time, the shoes were returned, sandwich taken down, stockinged feet neatly enveloped by the complimentary stretched leathers, and 200 yards were counted off as I returned to the 11-story office building.


My first professional conundrum had been swiftly tackled. A mounting sense of invincibility began to develop.
-klem

Compiled Quotes, viii

“I was gratified to be able to answer promptly. I said I don’t know.” Samuel Clemens, better known as Mark Twain, author [1835 - 1910]


“I didn’t like the play, but then I saw it under adverse conditions, the curtain was up.” Groucho Marx, comedian [1890 - 1977]


“Nothing gives one person so much advantage over another as to remain always cool and unruffled under all circumstances.” Thomas Jefferson, U.S. President from 1801-1809 [1743 - 1826]

A Professional Wardrobe

July 1990

It was the first suit I ever owned. I recall trying it on, liking it very much, but thinking it was too powerful, if that sounds odd. Black pinstripes. I tried to express that sentiment to the salesman.

“No old man’s going to be offended by this,” he reassured. He knew this was the suit for my first real job interview.

I bought it. A week later I was offered the job! I had successfully maneuvered the transition from carefree college student to contributing member of the workforce. I was pleased with myself.

There were two weeks until I was to report for work. The clock was now running and there was much to do. Other than one suit, my wardrobe consisted of generous servings of sweat pants, t-shirts, white socks, and athletic footwear. An upgrade was needed to suits, leather shoes, sports coats, collared shirts, ties, black socks, and slacks.

This clothing upgrade was a very difficult issue for me. I did like the cut professional attire would furnish a fella. The purchase of the correct pieces and donning them in a combination to be considered an acceptable ensemble in the workplace, however, seemed a stretch for someone of my casual stylings.


August 1990

I was a young scribe freshly emerged from the coastal University of California at Santa Barbara. It was Monday. I commenced my professional infancy looking both awkward and adorable in my black pinstripe business suit.


Work. This is how it began 19 years ago this week.
-klem

Klem's Book of Observations, excerpt vi

A beard without a moustache bothers me. No intended offense to Abe Lincoln.

Surface area. It’s underrated.

The sound of pure innocence? An infant laughing.

A new tub of Play-Doh. Is there a better smell?

To concern yourself with what others think of you is a sure route to losing track of your priorities.


-klem

Too Cold To Walk

I Have mentioned that my collegiate years were spent at U.C. Santa Barbara. It’s a lovely campus matched by scenic coastal beauty and wonderful weather. The weather, at its coldest, can reach the 40s-F, however. Sure that’s a long way from frostbite, but cold presents a nuisance for students prepared to go the length of the year with an abbreviated roster of jeans, plaid shorts, t-shirts, and a flannel shirt.

A large student community lived immediately adjacent to campus in overstuffed sub par overpriced apartments. The students, naturally, want to be close enough to campus so that they may walk, bike, or skateboard to class. This creates a strong gravitational pull to the rental dominated community described above. Isla Vista.

With such a large collection of pedestrian related personnel, Friday and Saturday night socializing often entailed walking the streets looking for parties denoted by people spilling out of an apartment and loud music blaring. A keg was often at hand. A smile, self-introduction, and a smattering of decent manners yielded access with surprising success.


Q1 1989

It was very late and very cold on a Saturday night. Parties had concluded and stragglers could be seen in the streets making their way back to their apartment units on foot. A friend and I were amongst this straggling classification. We’ll call this friend McGettigan the Elder. Our hands were tucked in deeply into our jeans pockets and we were shivering. The sound of footsteps quickly approached from behind, a jogger passed.

“Jogging at this hour,” McGettigan asked loudly with no intended mockery of the running man.

“No. It’s just too cold to walk,” replied the jogging stranger with his body swiveled slightly toward us to project his voice before continuing on his way.

“Good point,” McGettigan said to me.

We were a block away from our apartment. We were neighbors in the same apartment building. We jogged it.


The weather would return to its gentler temperature range within weeks. In the meantime we did occasionally jog when motivated by cold. Though infrequent, those impromptu jogging fits, we enjoyed a sophomoric chuckle as one of us was bound to say, “It’s too cold to walk.”
-klem

Don't Talk To Strangers

This past Friday Night Movie Night Wife Klem and I watched Taken (2008) starring Liam Neeson. It’s a good movie. Without giving the story away, the guy’s 17-year old daughter travels to Europe with a girlfriend and they get into grave trouble. Can dad come to the rescue?

It reminded me of a vacation tale a friend shared with me during a solo stint he was carrying out in Europe. We’ll call this friend Lee. It wasn’t grave trouble as in Taken, but an alarming experience when you’re in a foreign land alone.


1991

He was in a western European town taking in the historical sights and beautiful architecture. It was possibly the backpack or map that cast him as the obvious tourist, but two locals approached and engaged him in conversation.

“Where are you visiting from,” asked one knave.

“Have you seen any good sights,” was a follow up.

After sizing up their prey, they went for the hit. “Hey, we’re going to a pub. Want to join us?” He said yes, and off they went.

The experience was going swimmingly for over an hour and they were enjoying lively conversation. The table was littered with bottles, glasses, and plates when my pal got a sinking feeling, ‘Who’s gonna pay for all this?’ The owner of the establishment apparently shared the same concern. He came to the table and broached that subject.

Turned out the two locals had no money. Zip. They were empty and had been looking for a free night in a pub getting fat off someone else’s wallet. My buddy didn’t have enough to cover the evening’s tab, but he had some money. The owner liberated him of his cash and kicked out all three under a flurry of harsh foreign-tongued remarks.

They parted ways. One group happy with themselves for pulling off success. The other feeling low with embarrassment but wiser in the ways of ‘Don’t talk to strangers.’
-klem

Ant-Laden Chocolate Wafers

I’m not a guy who feels compelled to make eating an exciting activity. An event, even, thank you, no. Delicious and ample are adjectives that I find desirable when thinking of a preferred meal. Exciting, however, not so. Having said that, Wife Klem and I had a snack today that is clearly outside my comfortable food parameters.

We ate four ant-laden white chocolate wafers. Truth. No, they were not yard ants captured in the wild, those miniscule pests that scurry about in a seeming complete absence of the need for sleep. These ants, that are currently in our bellies, were an actual intended ingredient in the wafers. They were of the large ‘farm raised’ variety. Yes, farm-raised ants, raised for the purpose of consumption.

“How so this came to be, Klem, you eating ant wafers,” you legitimately ask.

My cousin married recently. That delightful occasion was mentioned briefly here. Her husband is a learned entomologist. Bugs are a passion of his and this package of chocolate ant wafers were amongst the party favors.





The minor members of Team Klem opted to forgo the wafer consumption. This put Wife Klem and me in a bind. Being advocates for avoiding waste, we had to stomach the entire task so that the kids could be spared the burden.

The treats were delicious, this fella tasted only the chocolate. The ants were undetectable with not even a leg or antennae presenting itself as a troubling misalprobe during mastication.

Should you have any curiosity as to the wares of an entomology merchant, please click on the link for or an entertaining and colorful review of possibilities available from www.BugUnderGlass.com. Insect populated dioramas and colorful butterflies abound.
-klem

A Word From Woodward

We have all met people along the way that make life interesting, trying, amusing, and grating. With that preface, I refer to a certain friend of mine. He’s a different kind of animal who often bears a unique, though often faulty, perspective, so says I. I mentioned him previously here. We’ll continue to call him Woodward.

In what manner does he rankle, you ask? Two opposing positions can be discussed in a conversation. At a later date, when he finds that he was, indeed, incorrect, he’ll conveniently reverse possession of the two positions so that he was ‘correct’ all along.

After a lengthy Cost-Benefit Analysis it remains to be seen whether or not this Woodward makes the world a better place. But more entertaining? I say yes, so long as you maintain a safe distance from him.

We had a phone conversation last weekend. He thinks he has taken legitimate steps toward attaining business success. I’m feeling oddly out of synch on his business prospects. In the bulk of his prior professional decisions I’ve played the devil’s advocate. He thinks he’s on the right track this time, and I feel myself standing on unstable ground because I actually agree with him!

“I’ve always been a jackass and money’s not gonna change me,” was his amusing revelation to me over the phone. Yes, he referred to himself as a jackass and I was plenty prepared not to talk him out of it.

The downside, should his action plan come to fruition and he experience success, would be that I’ll have to hear about it. Me and the other handful of friends he claims to have, and hear about it in very pompous and obnoxious tones. But he’s my pal and I’ll keep him. Though in only small intermittent doses.

I do hope you find business success, Woodward. Enjoy yourself jackassing it up.
-klem

A Regrettable Spanish Conversation in France

A friend of mine during our college years met, dated and, ultimately, married a woman who hailed from France. During their courtship years friends of each party became chummy. A second pal of mine, by the time the wedding had come around, was dating a friend of the bride. We’ll call this friend of mine McGettigan the Elder. She was living at the time in the U.S., but hailed originally from France and her parents lived there still.


July 1996

The wedding, for the first couple mentioned above, was in France, Toulouse, and a number of college chums were to be in attendance. This McGettigan the Elder was to meet the parents of his French girlfriend for the first time. He and I were actually to be overnight guests at their abode. There was a hitch, however. The parents spoke no English, the two of us spoke no French, and the daughter was not yet to be present as a go-between by the time we were meeting her parents. This first impression was to be formulated over a two hour period where verbal communication could not be achieved. Tough going.

The mom, as it turned out, spoke a minimal amount of Spanish and I had taken three years of Spanish in high school. But, sadly, I’d never really put much focus on learning the language. These meager bits of an auxiliary tongue was the only linguistic overlap until relief arrived. The awkwardness reigned.

McGettigan had comfortably, and smartly as it turned out, decided to make due with generous amounts of smiling, head nods, and polite behavior. To the contrary, at the height of awkwardness I tried making conversation with the mom implementing my poor Spanish skills. Regrettable. I recalled some family and clothing related Spanish vocabulary high school class and clumsily put it to use. In what probably equated to a first or second grade-level chit chat, I made an effort to communicate. I feebly asked the mom about her family to which she amusingly tried to respond. After a subsequent awkward silence I mentioned that my shoes were for playing basketball ‘but that I could not slam dunk.’ I was wearing high top basketball shoes.

We were at the airport in Nice, France awaiting the daughter’s arrival. It was delayed! With no relief in sight the father, seeming to have lost patience with the Gong Show proceedings, suggested we go for a walk.

The airport was in a nice coastal area. Walking we passed numerous souvenir shops along a boardwalk abutting the Mediterranean coast. I tried to indicate that I wanted to buy a Scuba diving sticker (i.e., ‘I dove in Nice’) but couldn’t find one. I tried to ask and somehow mimicked a Scuba diving motion. The horror I experience now just recounting the episode bothers me still.

Based on my reading of his gesticulating, the dad thought I wanted to Scuba dive, rather than simply buy a sticker. There wasn’t enough time for a scuba break as his daughter’s flight would be arriving within the hour, but he didn’t want to be a dud. The parents seemed to have begrudgingly given in to this perceived request as I tried to explain that there was a misunderstanding. Meanwhile, the dad became gung ho asking shop owners about scuba rentals. I tried explaining ‘sticker only’ in English.

Meanwhile, my friend was enjoying a very hearty laugh at the misunderstanding. Dad looking for a Scuba merchant, me explaining ‘no thank you’ and hoping he wouldn’t find one, and McGettigan laughing at my plight, “How are you gonna get out of this?”

Thankfully, daughter’s flight arrived with no further delay and my Spanish skills were solidly locked away from further usage. My time in Nice ended without the purchase of a Scuba sticker.
-klem

College Orientation Weekend

He had finished high school just two months ago and was on his way to college. The university offered an Orientation program which entailed incoming freshman students making a two-day overnight visit to become acquainted with the campus. He accepted.

It was Saturday night of the Orientation program and a movie had been scheduled. His interest in the film had waned and was soon extinguished. He wanted time away from the hundreds of other incoming students to clear his thoughts on the rapidly approaching adventure that would be college. He grabbed his skateboard and walked away from the congregation and into the night.

He wasn’t familiar with the campus, where he was going or in what direction, but he strode forth. With little concern he skated, occasionally weaving in and out and around obstacles. After some time he eventually came to the 30-foot wide break. A line of demarcation, if you will. No buildings or trees for this 30-foot wide concrete path. He would months later recognize this as a major bicycle thoroughfare at the northern perimeter of campus where students trafficked to and away from classes.

Looking beyond, he saw apartments lining both sides of the street. He paused, then picked up his skateboard and started to walk on the path perpendicular to the residential neighborhood. He noticed two ladies nearby and they him. They were his senior by perhaps two years, maybe three. The three of them got to talking and walked along the path. Both ladies had large beverage cups from a fast food franchise in hand.

“It’s beer. You want a sip,” asked one.

“Please,” taking a pull of the warm unpleasant alcohol and handing it back. “I’m here for an Orientation program,” he explained.

The ladies were students returning for another year of schooling. As they walked they came across a gentleman passed out on the path. The guy was face down, gone to the world. Not beaten unconscious, just hooch-induced. Clutched firmly in one hand was a plastic ring. Attached to the ring were the remaining five beer cans from a six-pack. One could only guess how many six-packs had preceded this partially consumed one.

The erstwhile high school kid reached down and pulled two beer cans from the ring and handed one to each lady. They accepted and issued amused ‘Thank yous'. The slumbering inebriant was unfazed.

With that he initiated good byes. He hopped back on his skateboard and took a leisurely skate back to Orientation. He looked very much forward to starting college two weeks later.


[This was my introduction to college. Q3 1985]
-klem

Compiled Quotes, vii

“When you do the right thing, good stuff has a way of happening.” Randy Pausch, professor Carnegie Mellon University [1960 - 2008]


‘when he was asked last week to name his first love, he replied, without hesitation, “Cartoons.” forgotten


“When evil men plot, good men plan.” Martin Luther King, civil rights leader [1929 - 1968]

Ooops. Sorry, Amigo.

Team Klem had been on the road this past weekend. My lovely cousin married a fellow of whom we’re quite fans.

We stayed at a hotel, nice accommodations, with a complimentary breakfast. Saturday morning found the dining area to be tight, the upper reaches of capacity were at hand. We managed to secure a table but we were one chair shy. There was a guy sitting next to us, he was alone. I sought to politely plunder his chair.

“May I take this chair, please,” I asked the solo diner.

An affirmative head nod was issued.

“Thank you,” I said with a smile dragging it away.

Two minutes passed. His wife and daughter arrived, said something in Spanish, and he set about rustling chairs for his own team. I felt bad. I had asked him for the chair in my own native tongue, but I am to surmise now that he probably did not understand my question. The head nod may have simply been body language for ‘I don’t know what you’re asking me. Please be gone.’

I kept his chair even after I became aware of his plight. I guess that makes me crummy.
-klem

Klem’s Corollaries on Life, an excerpt

(1) Say ‘Please’ and ‘Thank you’.

(2) The way you speak of others tell others about you.

(3) In carpentry a person is taught to measure twice and cut once. Same premise applies to speaking. Think twice, speak once.

(4) Admitting errors or folly is Step 1 toward self improvement.

(5) Doubt is to be expected, but not obeyed. Kevin Carroll, author of The Rules of the Red Rubber Ball.

(6) Don’t write in ALL caps. It takes longer to read and makes the author look like a pompous clown.

(7) Fertilize your lawn. Easier to keep it healthy than to heal it or replace it.

(8) Eat fruit.

(9) Teach your kids to swim.

(10) Teach your kids when and how to dial 9 1 1.

-klem

Nickel! Nickel!

Video games please me, they do. I have a weakness in this area that is immune to almost any degree of strength that I might muster up for resistance. Given that, you can imagine my glee when a friend proposed a jaunt to the video arcade last week! That friend we’ll call Cassidy.

Would you believe that a place exists where a guy can play a video game for a nickel? Would you believe that some games could even be played for free? Of course not. Foolishness to let one’s mind get lost in such bacchanalian thought. But it does exist, this place!

The name of the arcade is Nickel! Nickel! There was an entrance fee which got me off to a skeptical start. Skeptical, but not yet jaded, was I. When I was advised the fee was a meager $1.95 per person, I withheld the skepticism until further cause. Next step was coinage with which one was to feed the machines. It was here I noticed the bags of nickels behind the counter. The games actually worked on nickels! And with that, my fear that I’d been roped in under embellished promises slipped away like hunger at an all you can eat pizza deal. Admittedly, some games required the insertion of as many as four nickels! The horror. But most of the games that I wanted to play were entirely free! Truly free.

The games from my youth, apparently, get very little foot traffic as these games were the freebies. Centipede, Galaga, Tetris, Ms. Pac-Man (Pac Man was not present) and others were available at no charge. The majority of the games were newer video games, or at least from the 1990s and more recent. Would’ve been nice if the video gaming availability from my era were better represented (i.e., Joust, Berzerk, Asteroids, Bosconian). But legend has it another Nickel! Nickel! video arcade exists. Per’aps also this desired vintage representation.

To stand in the arcade and experience the relentless drumming ambient noise resonating from each machine no longer has the enticing embrace I experienced over two decades ago during my gaming era. More like a headache inducing throb to my older self of today. It took over two hours before I was sated and able to make a safe means of egress.

Nickel! Nickel! I hope to be seeing you again soon.
-klem

Root Beer Floats

A new Klem family tradition is upon us. The boy, eight years old, made a bid for root beer floats on the 4th of July. Actually, he wants that this be done every July 4th.

The guy’s been a picky eater, but he’s been open to negotiation over the past year. It’s his sweet tooth that Wife Klem and I tug to entice a meal of ‘strong’ food down his gullet. A hot dog today qualified him for the float. His little sister qualified as well!



Root beer float Year 1 is in the bag!
-klem

Cap-And-Trade, a look at farcical legislation

The House of Representatives passed a Cap and Trade bill last week. The bill seeks to address climate change concerns and how the United States produces and uses energy. The bill sets limits, caps, on emissions of heat-trapping gasses (i.e., carbon dioxide) while some industries, such as energy production, will be allowed to trade pollution permits or allowances among themselves. If passed by the Senate it could be in effect in 2012.

The idea behind Cap and Trade is to steer business toward less ‘greenhouse gases.’ It’s a nice utopian idea to encourage alternative energies, but the steps implemented to achieve this end are faulty. The harmful business and economic hurdles created by the bill would yield an end contrary to the stated goals.

The presumption is that as costs of energy production and use increase over the years, from fees and costs created by the bill, companies will be motivated to find cleaner ways of making and using energy. It won’t work because it only applies to U.S. companies, these are not worldwide emission standards. The bill burdens U.S. companies with the built in disadvantage of additional production costs. This would result in U.S. companies producing less energy because of these costs.

‘OK,’ an advocate will say, ‘the company produces less heat-trapping gases, so the climate change concern is successfully addressed.’

‘Not so,’ is my retort. The Cap and Trade regulations will push U.S. energy companies to produce less, even close plants, and seek to make up demand by increasing their imports. The non-U.S. companies produce the same product, but under less restrictive pollution and emission regulation. So the end result is actually more heat-trapping gases or greenhouse gases, the very thing the bill is hoping to reduce!

Energy companies based outside the U.S. would also be operating at an advantage; (1) it costs less for them to produce and refine than U.S. companies and (2) they would have increased demand because there is less supply being produced by their U.S. competitors. In addition, this increased import demand has the unfortunate result of making the U.S. even more dependent on foreign oil.


I offer a better idea than penalizing the energy producers to reach a desired goal. Just create a reward. If you want green energy, incentivize the desired behavior.

Example: Give tax breaks or incentives to reward the desired behavior of researching and developing alternative energy. For tax purposes, treat these clean energy or renewable energy producing companies as nonprofit organizations during their Research & Development stage. Once a product is ready for market, decrease or phase out these tax incentives.

A rewards-based incentive plan would have the illuminating effect of putting the U.S. alternative energy producing companies at a global advantage!


Cap and Trade does not do this. It attempts to penalize into submission. Here’s one kid that hopes Cap and Trade meets defeat in the Senate.
-klem

Turning 21, Alcohol Eligible

I consider myself a beer snob, but it was not always so.

In my early college years, when drinking related recreation was on hand, I would typically drink whatever alcoholic beverage was present. This ‘settling’ for any alcohol was due to the fact that I was not yet of legal drinking age, but details can be a bother. This left me with the choice of either ‘Drink it or not’, rather than, ‘Would you like this or that’. I quickly realized that the hard alcohol affected my tender young body more harshly than beer, pushing my preference to the carbonated barley drink.

Drinking and driving was not a problem at U. C. Santa Barbara. The community of Isla Vista was immediately adjacent to the university campus and was jammed packed with students. This made ample local party roving conducive to bicycle, skateboard, or feet. My mode of transport consisted of a skateboard and, intermittently, a bicycle.


June 1988

I turned 21. My alcohol intake took on a surprisingly steadying change. Now that I was 21 I could drink whatever I wanted. No longer was I subject to the inhospitabilities of a ‘take it or leave it’ drinking prospect. My drink of choice became beer. I typically knew the affect beer was going to render unto me. I knew how many beers I could consume in a night without involuntarily discarding my motor skills.


When I graduated from college, socializing was no longer foot traffic friendly. It now involved driving. My friends and I might meet at a rendezvous point and then drive to the designated entertainment area.

With driving as the primary mode of transport, my beer consumption was limited to one or two in an evening. Naturally, I wanted to retain my senses so as to be able to drive. With the decrease in my beer quantity, quality of said hooch became the emphasis. I now began to take some preference in what I wanted to drink. [A friendly note, here: Drinking and driving is dangerous and should not be done.]

This was the early stage of me becoming the beer snob that I am today. I have traversed much land in my beer studies. I have enjoyed my findings.


Thank you Wife Klem for the lovely birthday beers; Paulaner Original Munich, the Belgian Peche Lambic, Franziskaner weissbier, Warsteiner, and the two fancy soda pops. I’m lucky to have such a temptress as you.
-klem

Sunday Dinner at The Safehouse

Every family has their traditions. A family favorite of mine is Sunday night family dinner.

When I was a kid my grandparents lived only a few miles away. For as long back as I remember we went to my grandparents’ house every Sunday. Yes, every. As a wee tyke this entailed breakfast. I still remember grandma’s huge pile of pancakes on a platter and her complaining to my mom that the kids (me and four siblings) weren’t eating enough and that my mom should make us eat more. At some point this changed from breakfast to lunch. In the late 1970s the final incarnation became Sunday Night Dinner. When my maternal grandparents passed away Sunday dinner tradition moved to my parents’ house.

We live 30 miles from my parents’ house, code name The Safehouse. On account of the mileage Sunday dinner tradition has been modified to every other Sunday. Sunday dinner entails my parents, my team with two kids, and my older brother’s team and their two kids. It’s always a nice bonus when out of town siblings or aunts and uncles join in. A few weeks ago my younger brother was visiting from Alaska with his two kids. Good times getting all the little cousins together to cause a jovial ruckus.

I look back on my youth going to grandma and grandpa’s every Sunday. I didn’t appreciate it at that time fully as time with the grandparents and family. When I was in college, and occasionally still attending Sunday dinner, grandma regularly issued me extra homemade sauce and boxes of noodles to take back and share with my roommates and friends.

As I got older I became aware of a grander sense of what I had gained from this weekly get-together and knowing who my grandparents were and what their experiences were at different stages of their life.

The memories I have as a kid horsing around on Sunday at the grandparents’ have taken on a new perspective. The younger generation of my kids and niece and nephew now occupy the former role of myself and siblings, while my siblings and I have bumped up to my parent’s former role, and so forth.

Importance of family has been thickly and delightfully entrenched. I like that the kids have so much interaction with their cousins. Over the years seeing each other with such regularity will carry on into the future in a significant way.

Tonight’s dinner was a pre-July 4th barbecuing of burgers and hot dogs with beans. The nightcap included cake and ice cream, on top of the Drumstick ice cream bar I snaked out of the freezer before dinner when nobody was looking. My belly is flush with good times.
-klem

Child Development

It’s a sad occasion when your child is sick. The runny noses, coughing, the fever, and the helplessness experienced as a parent being unable to take the illness yourself and having to watch the kids suffer on. Of course, as the child gets older they’re able to tend to themselves to some extent. While that may help to ease the parental burden of providing care as the child becomes more self-sufficient, the mental burden remains with the inability to remove the child’s pain. But even in illness there are occasional thresholds worthy to note.


2006

Our boy was five years old and had been feeling punk, as Pop Klem is apt to say. We were having supper and the boy came to a momentary pause. As a parent you know your child’s expressions and body language.

“Do you want to throw up,” I asked him.

“Yes,” he replied calmly.

“Can you make it to the sink in the bathroom?”

He hopped off his chair and sprinted down the hall into the bathroom. Emission completed and sink rinsed.


Sure, it’s a bummer about the sickness, but hey, no clean up! Let’s hope future vomit episodes meet a similarly tidy fate.
-klem

The Los Angeles Zoo, a trespassing

July 1979

Two sets of brothers hopped on their bicycles and rode. One set of siblings was me and my younger brother, the other brothers we’ll call the Stewarts.

“What do you guys want to do,” asked one.

“Let’s ride to the park,” suggested a second.

The park was fine and crowded on this sunny Saturday afternoon. Crowded, but not overextended. We bicycled to a walking trail overlooking the Los Angeles River. Seeing a compromised section of fence we discarded the bicycles in a thick batch of vegetation in a sub par effort to hide our vehicles. We stepped through the fence and onto the gentle concrete perimeter downslope toward the water. The water was curiously high and rapid for the summer.

The first set of brothers entered the water with their jeans pulled up over their kneecaps and shoes tied together and hanging over their shoulders with stockings stuffed within. Like fearless pioneers they traversed the 50-foot expanse of water and progressed up the gentle concrete upslope on the other side of the river. My team now set in motion. We crossed helping each other for strength to defeat the current and equaled the performance. Socking up and shoeing forth we inclined the embankment to find another opening in the perimeter fence and removed ourselves.

Proceeding on foot we traveled briskly to the foot of a hill and blazed straight up until we reached a well worn dirt path. Impossible to resist, the path was engaged. Talking, joking, and throwing rocks we walked. Then we came to a 10-foot tall metal chain link fence. The condition of the fence was impeccable with the exception of the fact that the bottom of the fence was a full three-feet above the ground! The intention of the fence was now no more than a farce. We went down onto hands and feet, keeping our pants tidy, and awkwardly crab-walked underneath. With not so much as a dirt stain, we stood up to reevaluate our doings.

We each had an adrenaline rush brought on by the thrill of trespassing and were incapable of retreat. With a heightened sense of awareness the sound of dirt under our shoes was occasionally interrupted by a flurry of unique bird and animal noises. But most curious was the ambient noise as would be dispersed by a large gathering of people. The path intersected with an asphalt paved maintenance road. Craning our necks around the corner and peaking down this same path revealed an aviary, nicely maintained lawn, and a sign. The sign indicated the ELEPHANTS were down a path to the left and JUNGLE CATS to the right. We had entered the Los Angeles Zoo! And at no charge!

We scrounged up a map and perused the wild caged beasts. With a mild feeling of remorse at the unlawful transgression, I thought to pump a dollar into the zoo as a way of dissipating a degree of guilt. One dollar was slipped into the machine and it produced a wax tiger souvenir. It was pastel blue and ill shaped as exhibited by a coarse unformed wax ball in the hind vicinity where two legs and a tail were expected. The machine had performed inadequately; fitting given the means by which access to the premises had been gained. I shoved the figurine into my pocket and we exited the zoo through the main gate.

Crossing the LA River, via a bridge this time, we came to the sloppily hidden bikes and exchanged good byes.

-klem

Klem’s Book of Observations, excerpt v

Insatiable? My capacity for cheese puffs.

Elephants. Now there’s an example of no arch support.

Silly? Furniture with manufactured stress marks.

People don’t eat enough beets.

In regard to domesticated beasts, I’m glad that homosapiens ended up with such likable beasts as the dog rather than domesticated kangaroos or giraffes.


-klem

Klem’s Corporate Corollaries, an excerpt

21) A goal without an action plan or road map is a mere dream. Don’t settle for being a dreamer.

22) Stop complaining. If you want to be heard, you need only speak constructively.

23) In regard to rumors and gossip, practice avoidance. You’ve got better things to do than to get intertwined with them or accidentally connected as a source. Don’t foster the denigration of your own good name by becoming attached to such stuff. (i.e., ‘ . . . so and so said . . .’)

24) Afraid to speak in public? So is everyone else. Prevail over this fear and speak up, lest you relegate yourself to the ranks of everyone else.

25) Have a comment, pertinent remark, or idea when asked for one.


[Corollaries #1-10 can be viewed here]
[Corollaries #11-20 can be viewed here]

-klem


[The enumeration of these 25 Corporate Corollaries completes a 2009 Goal.]

Austrian Night

September 1995

On a late Sunday night in the sleepy little town of Salzburg, Austria six friends and I slowly chewed back dinner and enjoyed a leisurely conversational recounting of the trips’ highlights.

Exiting the restaurant after the meal we found the town dark, quiet, and no shops of any sort still open. On the saunter to our accommodations one fella offered up a round of cigars which he had purchased earlier that afternoon. Four blocks to the rented loft and not a soul on the streets. With a stogie alight and a failed attempt at blowing a smoke ring, "Wouldn’t it be great if we had a beer in our hand right now," said one aloud just to say what we had all been thinking.

Turning the corner the streets were empty but for one person. A beer vendor of all people! What’re the odds?! One man with a large push cart of merchandise and an ice chest of cold beers. In the spirit of the moment we pondered the following: The beer vendor was certainly thinking that one of two possibilities was about to take place as he saw seven men walk toward him. The vendor was thinking that he was either (1) going to sell many beers to the seven that approached or (2) he was soon to be manhandled and mugged with no chance of police intervention or even a single eyewitness. With concealed relief he was pleased to be dealt option one.

The beers were not your very average 12 oz. cans or bottles one could expect to encounter stateside, they were the larger bottles of the local good stuff. Stiegls. Having already been enjoying ourselves the evening had received an unexpected, though welcome, upgrade. Stogies and chilled bottles of beer we trudged forth.

Returned home I reflected back on the beer vendor transaction in terms of a riddle of who was happier to see whom? The vendor happier to see the seven guys approach to purchase his wares and not get mugged? Or us who had eagerly purchased his wares?

-klem

Afloat

The breeze was cool, almost cold, and constant. But he had stopped being bothered by this more than a week ago.

He lay uncomfortably on his back. He was barefoot, shirtless, unkempt, and his trousers were torn and soiled. His shirt had been long ago removed and arranged to block the sun from his face. His lips were badly swollen and cracked. They hurt. He was long beyond the thoughts of applying a layer of soothing lip balm in hopes of relief.

He thought only of water and food. A glass of water, he wanted. A gallon, really. He had been without drink for five days, maybe six. Food was ample, but frustratingly inaccessible. Numerous tins of meat, fish, and soups lay at his feet. The labels has been torn from several cans and severely dented from violent smashings together in a bootless attempt to defeat the canning process. The can opener lay on the floor of the vessel in two parts. Broken! Maddening beyond belief.

He didn’t know how far, or near, he was from the nearest landfall. It had been two days since he last had the strength to raise his head and look over the edge of his small vessel. A wooden boat, a row boat, twelve feet in length. He saw nothing but water at his last peak, an endless sea.

Several nights ago a fish jumped out of the sea and landed in the boat. Dumb luck. He ate it hungrily. Raw, squirming in his hands until he discarded the head and fins. Last night two fish landed in the boat. He was too weak and clumsy to handle either of them. They tumbled through his fumbling hands and safely back into the sea.

Despite the circumstances, the nights were actually beautiful. With not a light shining for miles around, the stars appeared as bright as street lamps. The shirt was removed nightly from sunscreen duty and, instead, employed as a pillow as he let his mind wander amongst the stars. This was his escape from the cageless captivity. He was an astronaut floating weightless in space. He was an ancient Phoenician sailor traveling from one land to the next looking to the stars to confirm his way. A 25th century B.C. laborer building pyramids in the desert of Cairo enjoying the night’s break from labor and heat as he stared at the stars and lost himself in his imagination.

An island with fresh water and fruit trees was on the starboard side. It was less than a mile away, but he didn’t know. He hadn’t looked over the side since the island had broken the horizon. The vessel was drifting parallel to the coastline and was getting no closer. Even if he saw it he probably wouldn’t have the strength to swim to it. He had only one oar, the other was lost fighting off the other passengers of the sinking ship. He had been concerned the food would not be enough for everyone.

It was a calm gentle rolling sea that kept him afloat.


-klem

Klem’s Top 25 Books

I've made prior mention of my strong standing as a bibliophile. In my younger days I would read a book and keep it, like a trophy, I guess. I couldn’t bear to give it away, retaining every book I read and, ultimately, stuffing them in boxes where they might go years without seeing daylight.

I later came to understand that’s a sad existence for any tome. It was 2002 when Wife Klem and I moved to our current abode. I realized my folly on moving day. There were several heavy boxes of books to lug forward. It was at that moment I began to formulate my new book purge program. Read it, then find it a new home. No more heavy boxes than I need. Besides, a book deserves to be read, not locked away like a criminal. [With the exception, of course, any book written by James Joyce.]

The books were slowly given away to friends or donated to the library. I still have two shoe boxes full of books in the garage that I have retained over the years. I also have a bookcase in the garage loaded with books that I intend to read. Of course, we’ll actively seek another home for them after they’re done with me.

The bookcase is divided into three shelves: (1) Books on the List of Top 150 novels of the 20th century, (2) Novels not on the List, but have piqued my interest, and (3) war and history books. The bulk of these books have been purchased used (predominately from library book sales - I’m not much for new books) or gifted from friends after they’ve read them.

I’ve voiced my disappointment with the List of the Top 150 novels of the 20th century. Once I recognized and acknowledged that disappointment, I started compiling my own list. A therapeutic activity, it was, to help me overcome some of the tripe listed in the 150. I offer you this list of verifiably good books.


Klem’s list of 25 Favorite novels:

1. Lonesome Dove – Larry McMurtry
2. Dry Guillotine – Rene Belbenoit
3. Papillon – Henri Charriere
4. No One Here Gets Out Alive – Jerry Hopkins
5. Count of Monte Cristo – Alexandre Dumas
6. Soldier of the Great War – Mark Helprin
7. Slaughterhouse 5 – Kurt Vonnegut
8. The World According to Garp – John Irving
9. Uncle Tom’s Cabin – Harriet Beecher Stowe
10. Catch 22 – Joseph Heller

11-20

Interview With the Vampire – Ann Rice
All Quiet on the Western Front – Erich Maria Remarque
Gone With the Wind – Margaret Mitchell
The Call of the wild – Jack London
The Hobbit – J.R.R. Tolkken
Shogun - James Clavell
Watership Down – Richard Adams
The Good Earth – Pearl Buck
The Godfather – Mario Puzo
Curious Case of Sidd Finch – George Plimpton

21-25

Roots – Alex Haley
Catcher in the Rye – J.D. Salinger
The Fountainhead – Ayn RandTime Machine - H.G. Wells
Hunchback of Notre Dame – Victor Hugo
Tai-Pan - James Clavell


The list is a work in progress. Please advise if you've a book worthy of consideration.
-klem

Compiled Quotes, vi

“To explain his feelings to people would mean he needs their good opinion.” forgotten


“It is best to be concerned with the quality of one’s goals than the quantity of one’s goods.” Lyndon Baines Johnson, U.S. President from 1963-1969 [1908 - 1973]


“A writer’s function is not to write what he must, but rather, to write what he would write if his life depended on his taking responsibility for it.” J.D. Salinger [1919] in his book Seymour

A Las Vegas Alley, alternate ending

A reader of this blog requested an alternate ending to Saturday’s ‘A Las Vegas Alley’ post. It is my pleasure to comply.


A Las Vegas Alley, alternate ending


I was in Vegas with a friend of mine. We’ll call him Jones. It was late Sunday afternoon and we were en route to the freeway to drive home. We were at a traffic signal waiting for a left turn arrow. There had already been several greens, but only a few cars were trickling through per signal.

Across the street to the left was an alley, and in this alley were five or so guys. One of the alley dwellers crossed the street and approached me.

"If you pull in over there (pointing to the alley), I can fix that dent," pointing to the dent over my front left fender.

Eager to have the unsightly blemish repaired, I swing a U-turn at the green arrow.

After pulling into the alley I exited the vehicle and extended a hand to greet the artisan. A knuckle sandwich was awaiting me making direct and solid contact with my nose. I collapsed like a heap of wet towels. Jones bolted out of the car and put forth a scrappy effort, so he told me later, but also succumbed to the violence of several aggressors.

Five minutes passed.

"You can stop playing dead. They’re gone," said a bludgeoned Jones tapping me with his shoe.

The vehicle had miraculously not been vandalized nor tires slashed. The keys were still in the ignition, car door ajar, with a beeping emanating from the vehicle warning not to lock the keys in the cab.

Swollen nose and various other wounded parts and blood stained clothes, we got back in the car and drove away in silence. Would have been nice to get a cool drink for the drive, but our wallets were long gone. So also were our adversaries.

The fender dent remained sorely visible as if now mocking my naiveté.


-klem

A Las Vegas Alley

1993

I was in Vegas with a friend of mine. We’ll call him Jones. It was late Sunday afternoon and we were en route to the freeway to drive home. We were at a traffic signal waiting for a left turn arrow. There had already been several greens, but only a few cars were trickling through per signal.

Across the street to the left was an alley, and in this alley were five or so guys. One of the alley dwellers crossed the street and approached me.

“If you pull in over there (pointing to the alley), I can fix that dent,” pointing to the dent over my front left fender.

I politely declined the offer.

I don’t know if I actually thought he had a Bondo application ready to go, but in reflecting back, I’m confident it wasn’t really for reasons of dent repair I was being encouraged into the alley. I probably avoided getting rolled. It was not my street smarts that saved me, but because it was late and we had to hit the highway. The street signal finally turned green.


Maybe getting beaten down and mugged in an alley in Vegas would’ve made for a better blog post.
-klem

Parenting Milestone - The Toilet Masters

There are certain moments a parent tends to remember. Milestones in a child’s development, their special achievements, and happy events. While we can agree that these special moments may vary from parent to parent, all can agree that the day a child no longer needs diapers is memorable.


November 2004

Our boy was three years old. In an effort to entice him out of diapers Wife Klem and I had established a reward. Guano in the toilet instead of diaper yields a viewing of Jurassic Park (1993) and two handfuls of m&ms. (The guy loved dinosaurs and he had asked many times if he could watch that film.)

Late one afternoon after considerable coaxing, the guy delivered! He triumphantly took his position on the couch and stuck an eager hand in the full Tupperware container of m&ms. As per the agreement, he was prompted to take a second handful. He gave a double take pondering his good fortune before sending a second hand swimming amongst the candy delights.

He sat mostly in silence with eyes fixed to the tv watching for his dinosaurs taking down m&ms until he could gag down not one more. It wasn’t until then that he then offered to share with mommy and daddy.

In retrospect, Jurassic Park is not appropriate for three year olds. The guy had a nightmare that night. Oh well, sorry fella, but thanks for not regressing from being a toilet master.


Q1 2006

Our daughter was not yet two and her diaper typically needed a change shortly after dinner. We had come to the amusing practice of asking our boy to smell his baby’s diaper to see if she needed a change.

“Will you smell your baby's bottom, please. Does she have go-go," I asked the boy one evening after dinner. Overhearing the conversation she ran away as he approached. She knew the routine.

"There's your answer," said Wife Klem.

He caught her, put his nose to her bottom, and confirmed, "She has go-go." I carried the crying little girl off toward that clean diaper.

She wasn’t going to suffer that indignity for long. Her toilet master status was attained prior to three years.
-klem

If I Could Stop Time . . .

Imagine yourself with the ability to stop and start time at your whim. Snap your fingers and everything stops around you, yet you alone retain freedom of motion. Finger snap again and movement commences. What would you do if you could stop time and then start it back up at your convenience?

Maybe I’m an oddball, but I get this very strong desire to stop time when I am in a snack food establishment such as an ice cream store, yogurt shop, or bakery. If I could stop time I would gorge on the yogurt and assorted toppings, the wonderful olfactory peaking baked goods behind the bakery’s glass counter, and milk shakes and multiple ice cream scoops with chocolate coated waffle cones.

Silly thing is, I have little hankering to freely consume the prepackaged goods, those encumbered with the UPC tracking codes, under these same imagined time-stoppage intervals. Soda pops and fancy bottled teas in the beverage refrigerator I say ‘No thanks’. Ice cream sandwiches and It’s-It ice cream treat in the stand-alone ice cream cooler, ‘Thank you, no,’ again I say.

Delicious, all, undeniably so, but little desire to abscond with these. Maybe its the idea that the missing prepackaged items with UPC codes could mess up a business owner’s inventory tracking. Possibly even cause an employee to falsely get nailed for alleged employee dishonesty on account of my weakness. The loose merchandise such as the frozen yogurt that is dispensed at the flip of a lever seems almost a temptress. Scoops of ice cream from the five gallon tubs, ‘Who’ll miss two scoops,’ says I. I might even employ a courtesy hand washing before engaging the tubs.

The idea of stopping time to take a nap or get in some bonus reading is also appealing, but curiously not as strong as the pull of the free desserts.

I guess I would need to rotate the merchants, should I be able to cultivate this ‘time-stoppage’ ability, so as not to decimate the supplies of any single store. I mean, I’d be in it for an occasional treat, not to crush someone’s bottom line . . . or my appetite for supper.


Feel free to chime in on when you’d implement your time stoppage.
-klem

My Annual Clothes Shopping Trip

I am not a manufacturer’s dream. Retail stores do not know me by name. I’m a stubborn consumer who frowns upon the accumulation of stuff.

As recent as only a few years ago I had difficulty accepting that an article of clothing had run its course and needed to be chucked. When is an item deemed worthy of one last wear before it is taken off at the end of the day and thrown into the garbage bin instead of the hamper? A pair of favored trousers with a frayed cuff. Must they be thrown out with as little consideration as a spent watermelon rind? A loyal shirt is faded rendering it a shadow of its former self. Must it be duly cast out like a glass of juice unfortunately bejeweled with a fly?

With some exceptions, I have come to accept the truth that articles of clothing do eventually achieve their expiration date. And to replace the discards I must be willing on occasion to play the part of consumer, reluctant though I be. Rather than throwing a tantrum at the prospect of clothes shopping, I decided to embrace the idea of one annual clothes shopping trip per year. This past weekend was my big trip! The task is done until 2010!

A man of such decadent taste as myself deserves the best. For that reason the bulk of my clothing purchases, since the inception of this doctrine, has transpired at Kohl's. This 2009 shopping venture was fairly modest and was carried out satisfactorily quick; two trousers and three pull over polo shirts. I tried on four pants, selected two, was processed through the cashier, and was out the door in under 30 minutes!

I give full credit for this impressive efficiency rating to Wife Klem. We discussed in advance my goals, she mixed in smart prompting queries to help hone my needs, and even checked online for availability and pricing. With coupons in hand to double team an in-store sale, we emerged unscathed for the experience.

Onward to 2010!
-klem

Happy Hour

1990

I had graduated from college, gotten a job, an apartment, and bought a new car. The professional stage of my life had been engaged. The evenings of Sunday through Thursday, for over two decades known to me as school nights, were now relatively free and not laden with the burden of homework. Was this to be the fruits of my years of study? Evenings of leisure?

I had the good fortune of stumbling across a few local friends who hailed from the college years. We convened weekly for a happy hour, and it was good. We’ll call several of these locals Wolfe, Picarelli, and Storer. Happy hour was about the camaraderie, though the inelegance of cheap dining was a definite mood enhancer. For the price of a beer one was granted free reign of the taco bar. Not so much tacos as ‘bowel burners’, so dubbed not because of the zesty zing at the point of entry. This gregarious meal became a highlight of the week.

The happy hour schedule was maintained for well over a year. Eventually people moved and jobs changed until happy hour was no longer a mainstay. The weekly gatherings dwindled to intermittent and finally disbanded. Over the years I lost touch with several cohorts.


After a gap of many years I came across a friend from this era of young adulthood at LinkedIn.com. Turns out he’s a freelance journalist, among other things. Last week he generously endured a battery of questions I posed regarding freelance protocol. I have enjoyed writing for several years and a foray in the area of freelance writing has been a recent curiosity of mine. Wonder if I learned anything from our conversation?

Oh, you can read his blog here.
-klem

A Science Experiment

Our boy is closing out second grade this week. He has done well with his schooling, Wife Klem and I are proud parents. A high note was when he attained the Star Reader Award! That entailed the reading of books and taking tests to show his level of reading comprehension.

Wife Klem had dangled an incentive where if he earned the Star Reader Award we would furnish him with a $50 Borders gift card. Last weekend we went to the book store to use up the card.

The boy maximized his $50 credit by adding in a 20% discount that Wife Klem found online! He bought seven books including a few graphic novels and The Book of Totally Irresponsible Science - 64 Daring Experiments for Young Scientists by Sean Connolly.

The Experiments book is pretty cool. Most of the experiments are not very time consuming and typically only require common household items. We liked the Overcoming Gravity experiment on page 188.


Things needed:
drinking glass
water
postcard
towel (in case experiment’s results are flawed)


Method:
1) Fill glass 3/4 with water
2) Place card, glossy side, completely over mouth of glass (make sure there’s no gap)
3) Press the card to the rim, turn over the glass
4) Once the glass is upside down, remove the hand from the card
5) The card should remain attached and no water leaks out! [Note: Don’t wait too long. If the postcard gets soggy, the experiment will come to an abrupt end.]


[Video removed by Klem on 7/26/2010.]


-klem

Birth of Bongo

June 7, 2001

Our first baby was born. Wife Klem had been anticipating the projected June 7 date and made up her mind that she was done lugging the guy around in her belly. She took it upon herself to get this thing underway.

We engaged a lengthy and vigorous walk after dinner the evening of June 6. I was somewhat alarmed at her tenacious pace and was mentally making emergency preparations in my head in case we didn’t get home before the birthing commenced; ‘If it happens right now, I will run home, get the car, come back to retrieve the laboring Wife Klem, rush to the hospital . . .’ Luckily the contractions didn’t begin until after we returned from the walk.

At 10:00 pm we arrived at the hospital and had the whole place to ourselves. We were early by several hours, as it was explained to us, and other than the appearance of a few medical professionals, there wasn’t any real commotion until the morning.

The boy was born at 10:30 am ranking in at 7 lbs. 13 oz., 21” tall, roughly a 2-Regular in suit size, we’ll say.

He came out looking like an ape what with his purplish wrinkled skin. Luckily, he quickly morphed into a lovely little guy. This was the first grandchild on both sides, so you can imagine the fawning reception as he was being passed around the horn to family members.

Those first 24 hours after birth were very hectic. At one point while Wife Klem and the baby were still in the hospital, I made a return visit home. Retrieve some gear for another overnighter at the hospital, feed the dog (Kira), take her out for her toileteering, and refresh her water bowl. We were advised by the dog trainer, a few months prior, to bring a blanket home that had wrapped the baby to let the dog get familiar with the scent. By doing this, when the baby comes home the dog will have had some introduction to this new animal in the home.

So on this trip I let Kira smell the baby blanket. I was very busy so I put the little blanket on the floor for her to smell while I completed my checklist of things to do. When I finished my chores I found Kira lying on the floor with her nose on the baby blanket. I took this for a good omen as to how she would be with the baby. A good dog.

When the boy arrived home from the hospital the dog’s tail was wagging vigorously like I’d never seen before. This was the first time they met, she and the baby boy, and she wanted to see what kind of little beast we had brought home in mommy’s arms. She got in many good snufflings of him. The next day the dog slept on the floor at the foot of the boy’s crib during his nap, just as Wife Klem had hoped.


The baby’s first Friday Night Movie Night was Castaway with Tom Hanks. The boy was one week old. We didn’t want to break completely from household protocol just because of a baby, so we continued our FNMN tradition, but slimmed the viewings down from two videos to one.

Those first few days we occasionally thought it odd to be handed the kid and sent home in fairly quick succession. ‘What? No manual for this thing?’

Eight years later and he’s still alive! Thankfully he’s shown more resilience than pet guinea pigs and hamsters I’ve had as a kid.

‘Considering all the time and work that babies require, good thing they are cute so that parents would fall in love with them,’ observation from Wife Klem.


Happy Birthday, Bing! We love you, man.
-klem

Friday Night Pig Ear

I’ve made no secrets here of my eager anticipation of each and every Friday night. Every Friday brings Friday Night Movie Night at the Klem homestead. It denotes a break from the drudgery of gainful employment to bask in the glories of a well earned leisure.

The Friday night pleasantries date back to when I was just a little rascal of four years, at least that’s my earliest recollection. Mom and Dad Klem would put out a bed sheet in front of the tv and allow me and my brothers, I don’t think my baby sister was yet tossed into this Friday night melee, to heartily ply ourselves with Cheetos, potato chips, popcorn, and soda. It was an hour of magic.

Wife Klem and I have enjoyed our own Friday Night Movie Night routine for over a decade now. As Friday winds down at work a smile crosses my face as I realize I’m closing in on movie time.

We also implemented a Friday night treat for our dog. After the kids are in bed on Friday she gets a pig ear. Pig ears! Actual ears of pigs that’ve been baked up to a crunchy goodness. Some ears are even visibly equipped with the numerical ID tattoo from the commercial pigging operation. Good times! She, Kira the dog, takes her pig ear and lies down on her rug and eats it down with the elegance of a child placed in front of a plate of donuts.

Today is a special day, I lift a pig ear prerequisite. I had been requiring that our noble beast eat all her dog food to qualify for the pig ear. If she didn’t eat it all, she didn’t qualify for the ear. She dines daily on 1/2 can of wet food and almost two cups, or a pint as we prefer in the grog shops, of dry food mixed together in one bowl. She likes the wet, tolerates the dry. She’s a good dog, that Koob. Even if she sometimes leaves a few dry food kernels in her bowl.

[Proudly showing that she’d zeroed out her dinner.]


































[Waiting for the ‘pig ear’ cabinet to open and yield its reward.]


After putting the kids to bed she eagerly greets me at the bottom of the stairs and prances into the kitchen. The dog prances, I just walk, where she’ll stare at the ‘pig ear’ cabinet waiting for it to open, wagging her tail in anticipation.

Tonight’s Friday Night Movie Night is The Wrestler (2008) starring Mickey Rourke.
-klem

A Tumble From a Moving Vehicle

Vehicles today have numerous safety features that were absent a few decades ago. Present day, the vehicle tells you if a passenger’s seat belt is not fastened. If a door is not securely closed a light will indicate this compromised condition to the driver. Good thing that these safety upgrades, amongst numerous others, are in place. After all, wouldn’t want someone to tumble out of a moving vehicle.


1977

It was Sunday morning and the Klem family had visited an aunt and uncle en route to our weekly visit to grandma and grandpa’s. As us five kids exited the residence we piled into the station wagon, the ‘Steaming Pile’ was this vehicle dubbed for reasons not to be elaborated here. I was second to last, and thinking that the final sibling would simply enter the vehicle after me, I didn’t latch the door.

As things would have it, the sibling entered through a different door. I quickly forgot that my door was ajar, plus I was not belted, and the automobile pulled away from the curb of this peaceful residential neighborhood. These were different times the 1970s, the ‘Click-It or Ticket’ slogan was decades away.

As the vehicle gained speed the door swung open, I had been leaning on the door and I slipped out of the car. Moving my legs as fast as I could, I took a few steps running alongside holding the car door. I looked at my older brother who had been sitting next to me. He looked at me and he got a visual of the terror that was certainly on my face. I was ten years old and my little legs couldn’t keep up, too fast, slipped, tripped, I tumbled to the pavement in the middle of the street. Asphalt. I had been sitting on the driver’s side in the middle row. Luckily, no vehicles were heading in the opposite direction. My left arm was scraped up and bloody, but no major injuries, stitches, breaks, or hospital visit needed.

I recall lying on the couch at grandma and grandpa’s and being offered a 7-Up. I declined because I had this silly notion that the carbonation of the beverage would somehow translate to an uncomfortable bubbling of my open wound. I know, that’s crazy talk.

On the drive home I did not sit adjacent to the door.
-klem

Daring Gambit

1993

I was a bachelor, it was a Saturday night, and I was out for the evening with several bachelor pals at a club. A night club or dance club, if you will. Not an exotic dance club, just to make perfectly clear in case Mom Klem is listening in.

It was crowded and the line to get inside was several people deep. There was mild jostling at the entrance with people vying for position, plus the doormen appeared to be experiencing confusion amongst themselves. One doorman checked ID, a second guy collected money, and a third stamped one’s hand signifying they had paid and then allowed entrance.

Visibility at the front door was limited on account of the crowded tightly packed confines and poor illumination. In the melee of limbs and bodies, mixed with the distraction of the glut of doormen, I sought to take advantage.

While my ID was being checked by guy #1 I saw that the money collector, guy #2, was occupied with another patron. I reached my arm ahead to the hand stamper, guy #3, whose attention was momentarily directed elsewhere. Without even looking, he stamped the hand that found its way to him. Mine. As everyone advanced one slot I proceeded to the money collector and confidently showed my hand stamp. He waived me through with no money collected!

I beat the system. Net gain from this daring gambit? Five bucks. Sweet victory.
-klem

Paralyzed!

1977

It was Saturday morning and my oldest brother was playing in a soccer game at a local school. The established routine during the games was that the siblings, however many of us were lugged forth, would roam the school grounds while mom watched my oldest broheim in his soccer match. On this day it was my younger brother and I who tagged along with Mom Klem. Furthermore, it was I who got into some trouble.

We were eight and ten years old. We were walking around the classroom buildings just wasting time hoping the game would be over quickly. I don’t recall the specifics of our unsupervised mischief, but at one point I was lying on my belly on the walkway leaning over a storm drain adjacent to a building, and I fell. My hands and arms were occupied somehow so they were not free to stop my fall. I landed on my head. It was only a three foot drop, but the landing surface was concrete.

“I can’t move my arms,” I said to my brother. I was a scared little guy, but not yet frantic.

I awkwardly got back to my feet without the use of my hands and arms on account of the paralysis. (Really awkward without the benefit of these two nifty limbs. Try it.) I then had to get back up to the walkway. There were handrails that I could previously have used to pull myself back up to grade level, but they were useless to me given my state of paralysis. The walkway to which I was trying to reestablish myself was at belly button height. I bent forward lying on my belly and chest then rolled over to get back up there. I again awkwardly got to my feet.

The plan, I guess, was to tell mom that I had an accident and half my limbs were now nonfunctional. Luckily, after taking a few steps my arms and hands tingled back to life and their use was restored!

A scary two minutes quickly faded away and was never discussed again.
-klem