Bullshit

Esquire magazine’s March issue published a list of Bullshit. I agreed with much [i.e., LinkedIn endorsements, emails without subject lines] and disagreed with much [i.e., wedding rings, NBA playoffs]. Here’s my list of stuff they neglected to mention:

1.   Button-fly blue jeans.

2.   Dogs raised to be weapons.

3.   People who raise dogs to be weapons.

4.   Moments of silence. Spare me the captive participation in your pomposity.

5.   The war on tobacco. Sure it’s not healthy, but people have a choice.

6.   The same people fighting tobacco are advocating for the legalization of marijuana. You’re telling me that tobacco is bad but Mary Jane is good? That illogical line of thought carries an odious waft.

7.   Anecdotal evidence offered up to debunk statistics. Those anecdotes are the outliers, not debunking material.

8.   The ease with which too many people deploy foul language in public. That’s shamefully lazy conversation.

9.   Politically Correct speech. Do we really need to mask factual statements that make some tender-minded individuals uncomfortable? PC constraints lead to confused discussion and counterproductive policy implementation.

10.People who speak in terms of a slippery slope. Unless they’re actually talking about a slippery slope.

11. Pennies. The coins, not people bearing the name Penny.

12. Taking nuclear off the table as a viable energy source. Think about the telephone in the 1970s with the rotary dial, then the breakthrough of the push buttons to where we are now. I’m inclined to think there’s been a similarly impressive trajectory for improvements in the field of nuclear energy.

13.Vegetarian chili. No, it’s a bean casserole, don’t taint the name of chili with that swill.

14.Advocating for renewable energy in Africa. Look, I realize Global Climate Change is the catalyst for much farcical activity around the globe, but the key to saving the lives of the poor is to elevate them out of poverty. Providing access to fossil fuels is a more effective way to help save lives [i.e., refrigeration, medicine, clean cooking fuel, electricity by which to read and effect learning] than the climate change-induced guilt payments to corrupt governments. Solar panels in these poor villages will recharge a cell phone, provide a single lightbulb, and ensure the continuation of poverty.

15.People who too willingly take offense rather than engage the opportunity for discussion. Taking offense is a choice, a cowardly one.

16.People who cower in the face of the offended rather than engage the opportunity for discussion. This cowardly reaction feeds the ‘I’m offended’ industry.

17.Graffiti ‘artists’. If it’s not your property or you were not commissioned to do it, then it’s graffiti, not art.

18.Hotels that do not offer hot chocolate with their complimentary breakfast.

19.Gay Marriage arguments. Like it or not, it’s legal and is never going away. Can we talk about something constructive now?

20.Pro-Choice and Pro-Life arguments. Like it or not, abortion is legal and is never going away. Can we talk about something constructive now?

21.The appendix. The body part, not the book part.

22.The curious criminal justice reform movement and the push for early release of prisoners. Explain that position to the victims’ families. Convicts are not in prison for stealing a slice of pizza, a prison sentence is a lifetime achievement award. No recidivism for you, go back to your cell.

23.California’s drought reminder public messages after a rainfall. You know, just in case we thought that ½-inch rainy afternoon ended the water rationing.

24.Publicly funded sports stadiums. It has been proven that these are not good for the communities that pony up the millions of dollars. Works great, however, for making rich guys vastly richer.

25. The Olympics. Unless they’re performing in the nude like the original Greco-Roman Olympics, I’ll skip the pageantry.

Thanks for hearing me out.
-klem

Errant Shoe

It was a bitter cold northeast night with temperatures dropping and rain in the forecast. On a busy highway there lay a shoe along the curb, laces awry conjuring an image of struggle. From whence had it come, this shoe? Or the foot that once bore it, what of it? Was there some sort of scuffle resulting in the shoe being cast away or merely horseplay resulting in it being thrown from the open window of a rapidly moving vehicle?

Night was by now in full swing and rain had commenced with snow projected to follow the next day. Should no recapture be worked out the shoe was in for a rugged time. And what of its compadre? Is it, too, lost or is it still safely ensconced in its domestic existence? How long could that be maintained if its errant partner remains on the lam? The healthy shoe at some point will be deemed rubbish without its teammate and be cast into the ash bin.

The youth who had most recently worn the shoe returned home from school quickly tossing aside his backpack and gym gear. He was an athletic fellow boasting of average skills for the three main North American sports. He was in a hurry to fulfill his post-school routine of securing an afternoon snack. He disembarked his gear in an impressive single-motion of haphazard discardment allowing the vacancy of the aforementioned missing item to go unnoticed.

One gym shoe landed in the vicinity of the shoe pile just inside the garage door adjacent to the recycle bins. He saw the one land, did not observe the second, of course, because the second never made it home. ‘Maybe in my gym bag,’ he thought, but he was in too much of a food frenzy-induced haste to seek verification. He was not entirely aware that the second shoe was absent. The pile of shoes was generously engorged with those of his three brothers. It could be, and likely would be, months before it is even noticed that it was missing, weeks, easily. Even then the remaining shoe would experience a period of time in purgatory to see if its compadre somehow turned up.

The wayward shoe had slipped from its cozy tight pocket of the book bag while the boy rode his bike home from school. The bicycle was ridden roughly over the curb in avoidance of a group of people at the bus stop. This knocked loose said shoe because they had not been tied together nor properly secured. They had been stuffed into each side pocket of the backpack, but the constant jostling of the bike ride resulted in an eventual easily attained freedom.

A deep blue canvas quartertop basketball shoe, a left shoe, with a dark black smudge on its side, a hole by the toe, several overlapping layers of duct tape wrapped around the front near the toe, plus the iconic swoosh. Not a fashion statement, the carefully laid duct tape, but remedial action necessitated by the host’s vigorous and plentiful skateboarding. This shoe will never be worn again. It was in a depression along the curb and rain was already pooling. This was shaping up to be a very bad first night on the loose.

-klem

Goals 2016

Every year I lay down some goals, they help me to stay on track when I feel like doing nothing. The following are my targets for 2016 plus background on why or how they came to be.

1.            Read 14 books

A friend and I have been working through a list of the Top 150 novels of the 20^th Century, of which I’ve completed 114 through 2015. Turns out many of these books are actually not very good and they’ve induced me to make two concessions:

[1] I limit myself to four books annually from the list of 150. The other 10 are books that I choose to read, you know, good books.

[2] Due to the overall faltering quality of these supposed ‘Best books of the 20^th Century’ I have come to the very recent conclusion that I may not, after all these years of pursuit, complete the 150 in its entirety. I’ll knock back those tomes already in my possession patiently waiting for me in the bookcase. I’ll then give serious thought to cancelling this quest of 150.

Reading. I have managed to turn this great joy into a chore. Cancelling the silliness of catching the 150 will, hopefully, return the joy of reading as I shift from assigned reading to desired reading.

2.            Monthly blog post

Ø  [http://wdklem.blogspot.com]

It started in 2009 with the goal, and successful completion, of 200 posts. I was pent up at that time with much in the way of anecdotes, short fictions, and collected nonsense that I wanted to get off my chest. That was a year of much cleansing!

3.            Watch 3 foreign films

My pal [you know who you are, Jam] made a suggestion a few years ago to add foreign films to my annual goals. I have kept it up supposing there’s value in working to become more perspicacious.

4.            10 hours of Spanish language learning

Ø  self-study by means of Rosetta Stone software

It riles me up that there are so many countries where the citizens can chew the fat in several languages toggling back and forth at will. Here in the U.S. the vast majority of citizens, including myself, possess only the single tongue. I took three years of high school Spanish and the retention was disappointingly little because I didn’t take language studies seriously as a youth. Now, with the wisdom of age, I’d like a language, but honestly am not willing to commit the time necessary to acquire one. I’m hoping that 10 hours per year will help me to recapture just a little bit each year of what I temporarily picked up during high school and retain what little I have learned.

If I were to be teleported into a Spanish-speaking country I’d probably manage well enough to employ something useful from these few wisps of a second tongue. Fluency is not on my horizon, but a fumbling chance of clumsy interaction remains possible in a pinch if I keep at it.

5.            225 combinations of either  . . .

Ø  25-minute set on Wife Klem’s ‘cardio machine’ averaging 13+ calories/minute OR

Ø  one-hour walk with Ghost dog

‘What the hell do they think they’re doing? They’re just walking, it’s not really doing anything.’ That’s what I used to think of people rocking their stair-steppers and self-propelled conveyer belts. Then I sampled the cardio machine that we owned. I recall my first time on the machine with the setting on the easiest level. After eight minutes I was a sweaty mess, short of breath, and had to stop for a water break. Then another break at 15 minutes! Boy, was I surprised! Surprised that [1] it was so much more work than I thought it was and [2] that my cardio capability was so miserable. Three years later I really dig the thing! Also, curiously, my body craves those 25 minutes on the machine.

So, why the 25 minute increments, you ask? I stream Netflix while rocking the machine. I used to watch The Office television series [the U.S. version, not the English] and each episode required 25 minutes. I have since completed the series and haven’t the patience to extend my time on the machine. Instead of going longer I have cranked up the degree of difficulty over the three years, but have retained the 25-minute threshold. Over the course of a week I watch a movie.

6.            25,000 Sit-ups

I see humanity and my peers getting older and the affect it has on a person’s sack of flesh. I’m simply intending to treat my body with respect as the years pass. Hopefully I’ll be around awhile without having to lug around too much pork belly and other signs of decades of neglect. It’s too easy to do nothing, this goal keeps me making an effort, even if it’s only 100 sit-ups a night a few times each week.

7.            20 bike rides

Riding a bike looks like fun. I don’t need nor desire the click-in bicycle shoes and all the tight gear, although some cushion on the ‘downstairs cheeks’ would add much in the way of comfort. Turns out riding is fun, although those crummy uphills stink compared to the nice level terrain. Getting familiar with the gear shifting was an integral part of not blowing out my thighs on a single mild incline.

The Kids

We’ve been discussing our 2016 goals, the whole team and I. Last year was the kids’ first year with enumerated goals, they committed to a certain number of sit-ups, and they both successfully achieved! Last year was just a matter of getting them to commit to something, this year I asked if they’d be willing to increase their goals. Here’s what they chose.

·      Exercises:

o   Each child committed to 5,000 sit-ups. The boy prefers knocking them out in the morning before school, my daughter prefers getting it done before bedtime.

o   My daughter also committed to 1,000 push-ups. I told her I’d match her goal at a 5:1 ratio, so I’m obligated to 5,000 push-ups. I’m not worried, though, I’ve already done 250 this year, so only 4,750 to go!

·      They’ve both also agreed to the 52-hike challenge! This entails 52 hikes, or walks, in 2016. We took a family hike in the hills of the local park the other weekend to get this tally underway. Good times being out there as a team walking with Ghost dog.

Hope you have a successful year as you hone in on your goals.

-klem

My Syrian Refugee Plan

What to do with all the Syrian refugees that have fled their homeland? The U.S. has committed to accepting 10,000 by year end plus 20,000 more in 2016. Tiny numbers, really, for a country of 330,000,000 citizens, yes, but taking relatively few is better than taking none at all, and better than taking too many. Meanwhile, some U.S. governors have said ‘Yes, we’ll take refugees’ or ‘No, we don’t want them.’ An unconditional ‘No’ or ‘Yes’ is equally unconditionally ignorant.

Many Syrians will be Muslims, sure, some Christians. Who to accept? Who to pass on? Acceptability should be no more a matter of their religion than it should be their physical characteristics. Base acceptability on the values they hold for themselves and family. To blithely say no to a large swath of people makes no more sense than ‘No, we do not want to take left-handed people,’ or ‘Yes, we want those with blonde hair.’ The yes or no must be dependent on the values hierarchy held by that person or family. The U.S. should accept the refugees whose values fit those of America. So then, how to assess this?

Syrian refugees would be accepted based on the quality of their family and friends who are already citizens of this country. Look, every society does not hold the same values with the same level of reverence. The U.S. would do good to take in people whose values best align with those of the United States. As individuals we already do this in real life when we assess someone whether they be a friend, a prospective boyfriend or girlfriend, or an acquaintance. The easiest way to figure a person out is by looking at their friends. What kind of person do they hang with? What are their personality traits and goals? If a person’s friends are goofballs and jerks, odds are you’ve figured out the person in question. If their friends are smart, well behaved, productive people, you’ve probably figured out the person in question. Apply this test to the refugees.

The background checks of which our government boasts will almost certainly prove to be a ridiculous charade. Who can possibly conduct a background check with no documentation and a homeland in chaos. Vet by ‘Who do you know?’ Rate the refugee applicants based on the quality of a sponsor family already citizens in the United States. But not just a sponsor, someone they know or knew from the homeland. If those citizens are productive Americans, then the refugee family goes to the ‘green light’ pile, else the application ends up in the recycle bin. At the end of the process we simply select the best 10,000, then rebalance for 2016.

-wdk

Thanksgiving 2015

In the spirit of giving thanks, the following are a few things for which I am thankful:

[1] The written word. Admittedly, some words are more deserving of thanks than others as evidenced by the works of Alexandre Dumas and Kurt Vonnegut Jr.

[2] Arch support inserts! Walking around carrying out a normal day’s activity would be less pain free without these inexpensive shoe accessories.

[3] We are not insectivores. Thanksgiving dinner and traditional stuffing would not evince the same salivation-inducing reaction if the meal were insect based.

[4] Dogs for their desire to take an active role in a family, rather than a more casual role such as that of a roommate.

[5] The pure enjoyment of junk food. Just as importantly, I’m also thankful for the occasional restraint that makes them a treat rather than a dietary staple.

[6] For having secured the Klem parental college scholarship. This allowed me to imbibe heartily of the college experience without the pressure of bill paying and graduating without the burden of college loan debt. [Thanks, mom and dad!]

[7] Having found my bride and, 17 years ago, securing her ‘I do.’

[8] In-laws that are fun to be with. They were the bonus package to the marriage.

[9] Parents that never lashed out, but instead smartly stated, and showed by example, their positions on life, family, and all things important.

[10] For having two smart and healthy kids that sometimes play nice together.


Happy Thanksgiving!

Dirt Storm!

Fall 1998

It was an exceedingly windy morning following a recent and large wildfire in the neighboring mountains. Not merely windy with occasional gusts, this particular morning, but a constant wind visibly loaded with debris. Not bags and litter debris, but minute remnants left over from the burn.

I was at work and burdened with a task necessitating that I leave the clean office confines and drive to an appointment. Staring out the rear glass door into the parking lot I could see the company car 35 feet away. But I was reluctant, not on account of the wind, but on account of the tremendous amount of dirt that was being blown around and carried in the wind. Really, dirt was airborne and in tremendous volume. It was gross.

Action was needed. I stood at the door planning my move, hoping for a break in the wind that would not come. The clock was ticking and my action plan was being mentally formulated. Settled on the course of action I exited the building into the airborne filth, stepped to the car on the double quick, mouth closed tight, eyeballs squinted to reduce chance of dirt intrusion, unlocked doors while en route via key fob, opened door, tossed gear into front seat, got inside, closed door, took a breathe, assessed myself. No grit in mouth, eyeballs were clear of dirt. Success! Wind and dirt blowing around outside, I turned off the dashboard vents so as not to taint my clean sanctuary. Safe! Start the car and drive to the appointment leaving the dirt storm behind. As I pulled the vehicle around to the front of the building, a sight that continues to haunt me to this day!

I approached the driveway to exit the premises and there, horror in plain clear sight caused time to slow down to slow motion. There was a pedestrian, a man, walking on the sidewalk across the driveway, I had no choice but to stop and watch him pass ten feet in front of the car. My first thought was ‘How awful to be out there walking in that miserable dirt storm.’ And then I saw it, the motion of his arm, HE WAS EATING! True. The air aflutter with dirt and this guy was eating. He had in his hand a wrapper from the nearby Jack-in-the-Box, it could have been a Breakfast Jack [those things are delicious]. He was looking straight ahead, walking, moving his handful of food to his mouth, bite and chew. The horror, I thought, how much dirt and grit is he taking down with each mouthful!? How much dirt-induced crunching is he enduring to fill his tummy? Could he not wait three minutes to dine inside the restaurant instead of subjecting himself to this? He appeared in no hurry, stay inside, consume the item indoors in sanitary leisure, then be on your way. But no, he endured. Commendable determination or just dumb?

The slow motion of the scene sped back up to regulation as he crossed the threshold of the driveway and his back was now to me. Even ensconced safely inside the cab of the vehicle my mouth was still closed tight at the thought of being enveloped in that mess. But this man, an exercise in ‘ignore it and it doesn’t exist’ proceeding with his day without so much as an inconvenience to trouble him. I was soon on the freeway driving away from the minute airborne debris. I could breathe freely, the dirt storm behind me. The vision, however, would go on to haunt me in all its glorious horror for decades to come.
-klem

Kleptomaniac

He was a kleptomaniac. Not harmful or dangerous, really, actually kind of playful under most circumstances. He had three large taped up cardboard boxes of inconsequential stolen loot buried deep in his closet behind an outdated video gaming console with corresponding game cartridges, a guitar with a couple missing strings, an old pair of favored mid high-top basketballing shoes, two skateboards – both lacking trucks and wheels, several packages of unopened and long forgotten baseball cards, and a leather football – mostly deflated.

He was an architect by trade who enjoyed skiing – except for the cold, fantasy football, intramural basketball at his local community center, and competitive brisket barbecuing. He was a founding member of the city’s unofficial Curling squad and they were hopelessly, and errantly, convinced they had a chance to make the next Winter Olympics! He did yoga thrice weekly, participated in marathons, rode his bicycle on weekends, and blogged monthly. All that plus a thief with a compulsion that could not be sated. There seemed, yet, a meager level of respect, or gamesmanship, by which he attempted to maintain. He would never steal from friends or family, but almost anyone outside that tight concise off-limits circle was fair game.

It began simply enough while vacationing as a youth with his family in La Jolla, California. To his parents’ amusement he hoarded hand lotions, shampoos, and a shoe mitt provided by the hotel. In his early teen years this escalated to a Sports Illustrated magazine from the lobby of his dentist and plastic shoe horns from retailers when trying on shoes. His pilferings were never anything significant [car keys], destructive [asthma inhaler], useful [package of batteries], resale merchandise [a store’s inventory], or expensive [except for the antique crystal-handled letter opener with an image of an Arctic Fox which he swiped from an office while at a client meeting - he thought it was a mass produced glass-handled item from a Pier 1 retail chain store mocked up to look like an antique]. There was one exception to this ‘useful’ thievings classification, aside from the hotel lotions and soaps, the silly waif, writing instruments bearing the name of the host from whence they’ve been nicked. A fine upscale hotel, of which he felt so out of place, should they take an inventory after one of his infrequent visits, would find themselves considerably lighter in the column of retractable pens, especially the variety bearing blue ink.

He’d been operating marginally astray of the law for so long that it no longer phased him when his hands reached out seeking acquisition. When dining out he regularly swiped a single unused utensil before the waiter could remove the unneeded place settings. He even occasionally absconded from restaurants with the bowl of after dinner mints from the reception area. He didn’t even like after dinner mints, nor the bowls in which they were typically housed! He’d get back to the car after dining to find that his hands couldn’t retrieve the car keys from his pocket because there was something in them already. ‘Oh,’ he’d notice, ‘they’ve done it again’ as if his hands behaved of their own volition.

The culmination and turning point of his silliness was the 40^th birthday party of an acquaintance. Shortly before the mint chocolate chip ice cream cake was presented the waif went into the kitchen and needlessly, without thinking, slipped the wax candle shaped like a five from the kitchen table into his pocket. The birthday boy’s age did not require the five and it sat in a Pick Up Sticks pile with the eight unneeded numbers.

“Hey mister, what are you doing,” asked a voice from behind.

Without even turning to face the child, the voice of a young girl certainly less than 10, he unslipped the candle from his trousers pocket and replaced it amongst the pile. He shortly thereafter departed the festivities, but not, of course, before taking down a piece of ice cream cake.

The compulsion for his incidental heists faded as quickly as a bad dream from a sudden awakening. The retractable pens, though, proved a weakness not as easily tamed.