An Epic Saturday

Team Klem had an exciting Saturday this weekend past. Every member of the team had something to be pumped up about.

1) The day started with a local Family Health themed 5k run followed by a 1 mile walk/run. This event had Wife Klem pumped, she was running the 5k. Running visibly brightens her spirits when it’s her against the road. She acted as the catalyst in getting the family signed into participation.

After a short respite the family 1-mile run/walk got underway. I was planning to fulfill my mile obligation by walking, but at the onset both Klem kids started running! It was a small crowd so we were not concerned about losing either animal, for me it merely meant that I was now going to have to increase my pace until this ‘running with the crowd’ novelty wore off. I was not initially alarmed because I figured the kids couldn’t possibly run a whole mile, but after a short walking stint in the middle, daughter Klem bolted again. ‘Here I go,’ I thought to myself. Down the home stretch she even accelerated her pace and was pulling away from me! I really liked that. Not that I was now running instead of my preferred easy jog, but the fact that the kid was so energetic. This was awesome!

Wife Klem and I have concluded that the boy’s track event may be the 1/2-mile, as he held a significant lead over us at the 1/2-mile mark, and the girl’s event might be the mile. She was the first Klem to cross the finish line.

2) Neatly wedged in between the 5k and the 1-mile events was a ‘healthy breakfast’ that was made available to the participants. With some concern I thought that ‘healthy’ was code for ‘meatless,’ but the breakfast was included in the entrance fee so I was going to make the best of the offering and gorge on whatever was being served. But I was pumped to find that ‘healthy’ and ‘meat’ could find room to cohabitate. The menu included a crescent sandwich with cheese, sausage patty, and eggs (it sat in my belly like a half-serving size of a bowling ball, but there was no limit so I ate three of them), oatmeal (I added chocolate chips and dried cranberries, but it was still oatmeal), juice, and a banana. It was not delicious, so I made up for that deficiency by engulfing a large quantity of it.

3) The girl has been pumped about the rapidly approaching Halloween season. She’d been asking these last few days if we could get the orange bin out of the garage, this vaunted orange bin houses the Halloween decorations. Saturday afternoon, at the consent of Wife Klem, the desired bin entered the house and the contents were rummaged, to her delight, and Halloween decorating commenced!

4) The boy was pumped about Independence Day. Not the 4th of July Independence, but the film from 1996 starring Will Smith. I’ve mentioned previously about the boy’s interest in outer space and aliens. After dinner we went to the big bed upstairs and watched the aliens attack earth and try to take over. [Spoiler alert: Humanity was not eliminated.] It’s not a great film, but it sure was fun watching with my guy. Next weekend we plan to watch War of the Worlds from 2005 starring Tom Cruise.


Life is a pretty good time.
-klem

Summer Highlights

As summer comes to a triumphant close and the kids conclude their second week of a new school year, I reflect back on a fine three months. My summer highlights in order of occurrence:


1) Alaskans. My brother and his two daughters visited from Bethel, Alaska and stayed the whole summer! They bunked at our parents’ abode, a 30 minute drive from us, and we saw them every weekend. That was super getting an opportunity to gorge on these folks because we typically get them for only a week or two every year.

2) iPad acquisition. Wife Klem gifted me an iPad, or iPal as we sometimes say at home, for Father’s Day. It’s a fun toy whether you’re a video gamer, like to read books and newspapers electronically, or enjoy watching movies on a neat portable screen with super resolution. For me? It feeds my video game fix and I stream movies from Netflix. I know, this does not have the waft of a titan of industry, but I have embraced my humanity. When we go on vacation, though, I leave the iPad behind to give myself a break from its enchanting affect.

3) Movie watching. My boy’s interests are morphing and growing up. Not grown up, but growing up. We now watch movies together with a shared interest rather than choosing a child’s movie obligating the parent to please the child. Sure he still likes movies that are geared to kids, but he also enjoys End of the World genre films (i.e., 2012 starring John Cusack) and space alien-related films, both goofy (i.e., Men In Black) and scary (i.e., Skyline). We’ve got more movies slated for viewing that we’re both looking forward to seeing in due time (i.e., Cowboys Versus Aliens, Day After Tomorrow, Independence Day, and War of the Worlds).

4) My sister got married! It was a very fun weekend seeing her calmly and cooly orchestrate her wedding shin dig and enjoy herself. I never saw the smile leave her face the entire weekend as if there was no stress or pressure. Oh, yeah, and I like her husband and am pleased to be able to call him brother. The wedding ceremony by the pool with the rolling hills as a backdrop and the wedding churros and mousse, because wedding cake just isn’t enough for a foody.

5) Swimming. My daughter learned to swim this summer! She is rumored to have swam a few feet under her own propulsion last summer, but the results were inconclusive and were not repeated. This summer, though she clearly owned swimming! It’s a relief knowing that if she takes an accidental tumble into a body of water she’ll be capable of swimming to an edge and getting out.

6)Washington state vacation. Wife Klem’s people live in Washington and we eagerly go every year. The typical daily routine: a delicious breakfast, a hike, lunch on upscale sangwich fixings, swimming, nap, a top shelf dinner, and a movie at night topped with a beer! Also mix in a few beach visits to look for sea glass plus a bike ride. Those, my friends, are the ingredients for an above average vacation heavily loaded in favor of relaxation.

7) NFL lock-out was resolved. I dig watching professional football. The emotional swings, the highs and the lows, over the course of a three hour game at relatively low consequences make each game, or most games, a fun experience regardless of who’s playing. Fall and winter would be knocked down a notch without the boost they receive from the NFL. Maybe this sounds like silliness, but I will dig it from September through Super Sunday in February, then long for its return next September.

8) Pacific Grove vacation. We go to Pacific Grove, near Monterey, California, every year for a family vacation; my parents, a brother and his family, relatives in the Bay Area, and, if we’re lucky, additional family from out of state. [We scored the Alaskans this year, which was big!] A week of daily family walks along the coast, thrift shopping, an auction, sea glassing, horsing around with family, and enjoying cool overcast beach weather when the temperature at home reaches into the 90s and higher. Plus, a few fancy desserts of caramel apples and gourmet cookies enhance the high esteem enjoyed by Pacific Grove.

9) Dungeons & Dragons. My boy played D&D for his first time while we were in Pacific Grove (me, him, and two of his uncles). My guy really got a kick out of it. So much, in fact, that I’m in the process of studying up on the rules so that we may go adventuring again just the two of us. It takes hours to play and the rules are very involved. We have Christmas break slated for a D&D adventure. This is a turning point, of sorts, as mentioned above about sharing movies with an equal interest. This is a turning point in that we are sharing the fun equally rather than the parent simply orchestrating play time for the child.

10) Figs. Our neighbor dropped off a batch of figs last week and they were delicious! The day after I finished the last fig they brought another batch, larger than the first! This evening I ate eight figs. A delight, was this consumption! Nine more remain to be consumed tomorrow. At which point my fig inventory will be extinguished and I’ll be clamoring for the next drop off.


Life is grand!
-klem

Video Game Season - Canceled!!

The football lock-out between the team owners and the players union ended this week after five months of negotiation. The 2011 football season has been saved! But what would have happened if common ground was not reached and there was no season? What was my back-up plan? I’d have been video gaming instead of football watching.

‘You’d play video games instead of watching football,’ you reply to me with a shrug of your shoulders and a questioning look. Yes. I know, that’s weak, but that was my Plan B.


I admit to you my weakness for football viewing. Two scenarios could have negated the season for me:

1) If the owners and players could not reach an agreement and decided to forfeit the 2011 season, or

2) If the owners and players reached an agreement too late to play the entire season and decided, instead, on an abbreviated schedule. [example: 12 games rather than 16.] At that point my plan mandated that I would have skipped the NFL until next year.

In scenario (1) there would simply have been no games to watch. Under scenario (2) motivated by my disgust for how both parties of the NFL handled themselves, I would have self-imposed my own lock-out and not watched the games. In either case, Football season would have given away to Video Game season. The football games would have been a considerable temptation though, but I would have relegated myself to video games. Certainly we agree that my back up plan, had it become necessary, sounds less than heroic. Regardless, thankfully such harsh action is now obsolete.


Football games dating back to my youth are etched crisply into my memory. The age old question, ‘Where were you when JFK was shot?’ Well, I was not yet alive then. But I do recall where I was when I was watching my first Super Bowl [January 1976, the Steelers beat the Cowboys 21-17]. [I was lying on the floor, we had deep dark green carpeting, in the family room. I recall it was a bright sunny day.] I also recall where I was during the viewing of every Super Bowl since then. I can reflect back on significant games dating back to the 1970s remembering where I was and who was there (i.e., 1978 - the Holy Roller game where the Raiders intentionally fumbled the ball forward twice into the end zone on the final play of the game to beat the Chargers, 1993 - Buffalo Bills coming back from a playoff record 31-point deficit to beat the Houston Oilers, 1982 - Joe Montana’s pass to Dwight Clark in the back of the end zone to beat the Cowboys in the NFC Championship Game and propel the 49ers to their first ever Super Bowl ever, 1985 - Joe Theismann’s leg getting brutally broken on Monday Night Football followed by opposing player Lawrence Taylor wildly signaling for the medical crew to tend to the shattered player). Great memories I could list for another page or two. I look forward to adding more memories this football season.

Hopefully you’ve got a few things in your world that make you tick. For me, one of those things is the NFL. Week 1 commences September 8. Happy footballing. Or if you’re disgusted, play a video game.

Game on.
-klem

The Bridge To Nowhere

I hail from a family that is large in number and spread out, five siblings in all. One sibling resides in Alaska but is spending the summer with our parents in Southern California. Another local sibling and I plan to take advantage of this summer of proximity. ‘How so,’ you may be compelled to query. Last weekend we hiked the Bridge to Nowhere, a trail in Azusa. We plan for this to be one of several such engagements to capitalize on this above noted proximity.

The Bridge to Nowhere is a ten-mile round trip to a grand concrete bridge built in 1936. ‘A five mile hike to a bridge,’ you say out loud with a puzzled look on your face, ‘Why not just take the road leading to the bridge.’ There was once an asphalt road, but it was washed away shortly after its construction and was never rebuilt. The bridge and road were a depression-era make-work project from the Federal government. But anyway, really a neat bridge!

I was expecting a quaint neat little hike, but not so. To our bewilderment there were already 100 cars and two buses parked at the trailhead by the time we arrived at 7:50 am! The trail itself was loaded with hiking traffic. We arrived at the bridge to find a bungee-jumping business with 40 paying jumpers! Truth, the Bridge to Nowhere was now a bungee destination!

Regardless, nice hike. We also observed a dozen people along the river panning for gold. Five hours round trip. We hope to encounter less traffic on our next hiking venture during this summer of proximity.


-klem

Play With Better People

‘Play with better people’, wrote Cousin Roger in a recent letter. Certain things spark memories long past, for me. This statement impressed me lots and reminded me of college on more than one account.


1] I lived in the dormitories my first year at UC Santa Barbara. Dudes two doors down from me smoked out hard the first night of school. [Smoked out not of the tobacco variety, but of the dope variety.] The waft emanating from their dorm room was abundant and unmistakable. They did the same on night #2 and successive nights. The trend remained a constant.

When we crossed paths in the hallways, dining commons, and community bathrooms, the dudes and I, we offered a courtesy ‘hello’ in passing. You know, a guys gotta be polite. They didn’t last the year at university. There was possibly an academic issue leading to that result. I didn’t play with them while we lived in proximity, I sought better people. People not functional dependent on the herbal delight.


2] In my third of five college years I lived in an apartment building loaded with college students and cockroaches in every unit. Fun times, all the students, and the cockroaches didn’t bother me nearly as much as they should have. After a weekend visiting my folks at home I returned with a box of cookies from grandma. It was Sunday night and I made a few visitations offering cookies to chums in my apartment building. One fellow, a roommate of a friend, declined the cookie but said, “Wait, I want to show you something.”

I sat on the couch watching Sunday night television and ate a cookie. He returned with a pistol, beaming with pride, was he. “You want to hold it,” he asked sliding it across the coffee table.

“No, thanks,” I said, “I’m good.” Cookie down, commercial break on the tv, and I exited into the cool safe night. I found better people to play with. People not haphazardly suggesting guests handle the contents of their munition’s chamber in an effort to impress.


‘Better people’, they’re amongst my favorite.
-klem

World Cup 2010!

Soccer and I have an unbalanced relationship. I’m not a soccer guy by any means. I don’t follow any soccer teams, leagues, or players. No periodicals, headlines, or blogs on the sport do I follow. But I Jones hard for the World Cup every four year, I do.

For an entire month I can’t get enough of this futbol action. I’ve got a one page printout charting every game, teams, brackets, groupings, point tallies, and start times of every match. I even diligently fill in the results of each match on the sheet for future reference as the Cup progresses.

I root for the U.S., naturally, as the country of my citizenship, as well as for Italy and Germany, the countries of my heritage. Outside those core three my rooting tendencies become more abstract. Root against Greece because almost a third of their workforce is government employees which is for too high to be self sustaining. Root for Uruguay because at 3,500,000 people they are the least populous of the countries to advance to the knockout round. Root against France because of the incredibly bizarre behavior of their former captain in the 2006 World Cup Final where he got riled up and transformed into a billy goat before our eyes and caved in a paisan’s chest with a head butt. Root for South Africa as the host country and underdog.

There’s been much talk and discussion about poor calls throughout the first round of this 2010 World Cup. My early sentiment was that the referees were doing a disgraceful job what with their (1) taking away goals due to apparently erroneous off-sides calls and (2) robbing players of opportunities to represent their countries with poorly attributed red cards. My sentiments have since broadened to a wider web of disgust. Yes, the referees have made some horrible calls, the kind of calls the referees hopefully have the good sense to be embarrassed about once they’ve seen replays. But I offer the suggestion that the players are at least as guilty as the referees.

Have you ever seen a sport with so much flopping? Players universally faking wounds and illegal contact followed by a bout of writhing around on the ground in imaginary pain? This offends me beyond all else. How can a referee be expected to commendably call the action of a game when he’s simultaneously trying to corral 22 clowns through a 90-minute match with these buffoonish antics?


Watching soccer game these two weeks so far have trained my eyes for fakery by these infallible observations:

(1) Player flops to ground and covers face with both hands. When have you ever fallen to the ground and covered your entire face with both hands because your entire face was injured? Never happened, or at least it is a rare occurrence far below the frequency occurring in soccer games.

(2) Player flops to the ground and throws his hands in the air while falling. When have you ever fallen to the ground without your hands instinctively going to the ground to try to break the fall?


Hey, but what’s this guy to do? I’ve got a World Cup-Jones to feed and a good gorging will not be denied. For these four weeks I will maneuver my daily itinerary best I can to enhance viewing time. Than shortly after the July 11 Final I will forget the sport without much more than an occasional cursory thought and a good riddance to the vuvuzela that you’ve heard throughout every single game of this Cup.


Maintaining a flop-free existence.
-klem

Annual Clothes Shopping Event

I’ve mentioned previously my aversion to clothes shopping (CLICK HERE) and have been so afflicted for many years. Over the last few years I have compromised between this aversion and the necessity to occasionally replenish my clothing resources by allowing myself one clothes shopping trip each year. A funny thing happened since the inception of this compromise. The dread of shopping gave away to acceptance which then slowly evolved to anticipation. The fact that it’s only once per year makes it novel enough where I have recently started to look forward to the event.

Throughout the year I maintain a list of clothing items that I will seek out during the event. It’s a modest list, my shopping needs. As the shopping trip nears fruition I keep a Post-It note at the back of my itinerary listing the needed duds. Yes, a Post-It note offers enough space to capture a year’s worth of clothing needs. Not the big Post-Its, the littlest variety with dimensions of 1-inch x 1-inch. My clothes shopping needs are minor is the point I’m stressing.

But enough background information. Let’s proceed to the victory parade! My annual shopping outing was last week. With glee I present my take:







inventory:

one pair casual shoes
one black belt
two pair trousers
one t-shirt
four pull over collared shirts
one casual drawstring shorts







The host of 2010’s outing was Kohl’s. [Turns out I’m a Kohl’s man. If I can’t get it at Kohl’s, I don’t want it.] Wife Klem, a street smart consumer, took on the role of event coordinator and orchestrated my big night. We descended upon the store amidst a large sale and then she topped us off with a coupon. She’s good, this bride.

Total expenditure? $177.08.

Not shopping for clothes again until 2011? Priceless.
-klem

Sports cards, I’m all in.

I’ve been amusing myself the last few months with sports cards. It’s a hobby I’ve recently revisited after a break of many years. I collected cards as a youngster in the mid ‘70s and my interests were reinvigorated when I leafed through my old collection late last year and put the better cards in protective sleeves.

I struggled internally with this card collecting hobby because I’ve never been one for amassing possessions, especially those ranking in on equal ground as knick knacks, pretty glass menageries, and dust collectors of this ilk. So this compulsion to collect cards is contrary to my existence, like petting a dog opposite to the lie of its fur or walking to the mailbox in my socks. I felt like I were partaking of a behavior that should best remain unspoken lest I be embarrassed or somehow tainted. Collecting for the sake of amassing and having, no practical application, simply acquiring. I have since come to terms with my harmless vice and embraced the prospect of a heartily issued teasing. Such abuses would be greeted with a guilty smile and an acknowledging head nod.

There’s a dime bin at the local card shop where cards can be had for a dime each. I rummage through the bin on occasion and have pulled a number of premier players, though not necessarily premier cards like rookie cards and those with autographs which are the most sought after and higher valued cards. The pleasure of riffling through the cards is immense, pulling good cards out from the general population, sorting, estimating worth, and generally enjoying the difference in variety of cards. During an enthusiastic riffling there’s no thought of state and federal budget woes, the mind is free of work hassles, and other weighty bothers. It’s just cards and I’m ten years old again for those 15 minutes.




















The store clerk mentioned one time that I could have a box of 3,000 cards for $30. A few weeks ago I broke down, went $30 deep into my wallet, bought one, and was pleased. There was, as one could imagine, some landfill or garbage cards amongst those 3,000, but at a penny per card I’m overall very pleased with the lot. I’d like to buy subsequent boxes of 3,000 cards as well as specific singles and rookie cards, but I’m staying within a budget. But, you know, if I could sell some cards on eBay I bet I can justify the acquisition of more cards.


Meanwhile, if you need me, I’ll be hovering over the dime bin at the local shop.
-klem

Health Care Debacle

Hey, so you’ve probably heard about this crummy Heath Care Bill that passed through the House of Representatives. [219 Yes votes (219 Democrats, 0 Republicans) to 212 No votes (34 Democrats, 178 Republicans)] To speak in terms of my own enragement at the bill, specifically referring to how it was passed and the lack of integrity of those who carried it out, only begins to touch on my unhappiness at its passage. I don’t know where to start. The lies and deception or my rage and disgust?

I’ll go with lies and deception:

Lies: ‘Deficit neutral’ the health care bill has been called. Only way you can call this thing deficit neutral is by placing that term in quotation marks and adding a ‘nudge nudge wink wink.’ More people covered, better coverage being received, a disregard for underwriting guidelines, and all for less money?! We’re being told that there’s more demand with no increase in supply, yet it’ll cost less? That defies the most basic of economics lessons. Sounds like research that can only be accomplished based on a government-supported model. It couldn’t be a private industry model, because its models actually need to be viable lest the business implementing and relying on such a flawed study would go out of business. Government models are not so encumbered by such an inconvenience as working oneself into a deficit without the possibility of extinction.

Deception: The House passed this major piece of legislation outside the parameters of regular protocol because there wasn’t enough support for this steaming pile of garbage. Reconciliation, it was called. We have come to know this term only because the intended procedure for creating legislation was breached so boldly.

Backdoor deals: It disgusts me how a No vote can be so easily amended to Yes with the free flowing pork. The obesely abundant pork offerings. More like tainted tripe, this pork. It disgusts me further that the bloated stimulus money is being used to fund this abomination. Stimulus money was not intended to grease palms.


My concerns about the Health Care Bill:
It is not sustainable. There isn’t enough money available to fund all the entitlements and goodies being promised. All the new fund raising, read ‘taxation’, needed to keep this thing afloat will be another lead-weighted shackle working against a U.S. economic rebound in the near and not too near future.

How can health insurers provide coverage for preexisting conditions without increasing rates as is being required by governmental mandate? Example: Imagine a Homeowners policy with the same rule in effect. An uninsured home burns to the ground. The homeowner would need only buy a Homeowner policy after the fire and with no ability to decline an application due to the preexisting fire damage, the homeowner would now have insurance coverage in place to rebuild the home. Not only is there no profit in that, there’s no breaking even. How can health insurers be expected to stay in business? Or is this the scheme by which the private insurance option is later to be phased out in favor of the public option?


The sad reality is that this Bill that was unceremoniously thrust upon us is here to stay. Even if November should yield large Republican gains in the House and Senate there is no cleaning up this mess. I hope I’m wrong, but Republicans have no gumption. Repeal is out of the question due to the 2/3 vote requirement to overpower a Presidential veto. Plus as recent as the Bush years when they enjoyed majorities, they’ve proven to have no appetite for hard fought battles. They’re too quick to cower and backpedal at angry words rather than standing up and fighting for what’s right. I expect November gains for Republicans followed by their boisterous speeches with chests puffed out and wild celebratory gesticulating. They will then sit back with feet on desks basking in the glow of electoral victory with no intent for remedial action. But maybe I’m wrong.

Meanwhile I stew in the disgust of Barack and Joe’s ‘big f---ing deal’.
-klem

Pie Day

I’ve got this thing about free food, you see. If it’s free, good, and I’m invited to partake, I lose all restraint like a stack of papers being scattered in a steady breeze. Yesterday was an employer-provided pie day. The reason for which I knew not but assumed to be a simple morale booster. Regardless, Pie Day had been duly noted on my schedule with engorging to commence at 2:00.


February 26, 2010

It had been a productive week of work. A few minor chores remained before engaging the weekend and the unwinding tedium was to be broken up by pies. I heard the ruckus or the ambient noise, rather, of a large gathering. This I took to denote that 2:00 was upon us and that the pies had arrived and were being unleashed.

A quick visual revealed a congregation of personnel equipped with plastic forks and paper plates. They had assembled themselves in two lines flanking the pie runway. Several tables had been pushed together to accommodate what appeared to be about 20 pies. My desk was near the event, but given my low tolerance for lines and large groupings of people, I returned to my task of employment with the intent to return in ten minutes. My assessment and plan yielded more than satisfactory results. The lines were greatly reduced and the pie inventory remained abundant. By the time I had been sated four slices of pie were locked away sloshing about in my belly as I made a safe egress from the office later that afternoon.

‘Four slices,’ you ask. ‘Is this not excessive? How so you managed to consume them all?’

My initial foray was a slice of blueberry pie sharing the plate with a slice of chocolate no sugar pie. Blueberry was delicious, chocolate no sugar was disappointing. Seems someone made up for the lack of sugar by overloading it with salt. I couldn’t end on such a downer. And I would not. So a lemon meringue was called into duty to top off the bummer and it cheered me adequately to return to close out my week’s tasks. Not long passed, however, before I felt inclined to peruse the debris for a pie inventorying.

‘Were they now empty,’ I thought to myself. ‘What progress had my colleagues and I made on the pie front?’ I decided I would saunter over for a review of the rubble.

At the far end of the pie runway I spied a unique opportunity. A rhubarb pie. Yes, rhubarb! It was mislabeled as cherry, but clearly this was not the case to an experienced pie crusher. A moment’s hesitation as I considered the larger slice or the modest one. A few minutes later I was sitting at my desk having knocked back the larger selection.

I sat back and reflected on my lack of restraint. Maybe this was not healthy. Certainly this was not healthy. I couldn’t argue in favor of what I had done. Four slices. That’s a lot of pie for one fella’s belly. Yet I had no regrets. 24 hours later I know well that I’d do it all over again if I had the chance, only changing out the no sugar chocolate for a different pie. Maybe I’ve a problem, this free food decimation compulsion, but I seek not intervention.

The power ranking of my pie slices:
1) Lemon meringue
2) Blueberry
3) Rhubarb
4) Chocolate no sugar


How many sit ups does a guy need to do to neutralize that?
-klem

du är söt (guest blogger)

Many years ago several friends and I took a trip to Greece to vacation under the warm Mediterranean sun. It was a much deserved holiday after a year of tedious corporate toil. The Greek Islands were, as it turns out, as beautiful as expected with sweeping views of deep blue waters and whitewashed dwellings precariously perched along the rocky faces of the islands. The food was also fantastic, my favorite being the chicken souvlaki.

Interestingly we did not run into many Greek people in Greece but instead came across fellow travelers from so many other nations, from England to Australia to Holland as well as so many other places. To travel between the different islands we took huge ferries as large as cruise ships. As we traveled to Ios, one of the islands in the Cyclades chain, we met some guys from Sweden (players on the National Basketball Team, as it turns out.) They were a crazy bunch of Swedes sporting blue and yellow afro style wigs and blue inflatable hats emblazoned with the flag of Sweden. We got to talking and I asked the Swedish fellas if they could teach us some Swedish. They responded by saying, when you meet a Swedish girl tell her this: 'du är söt' (due are soat). "What does it mean?" we replied. "Don't worry; just say it," we were told. We later found out that it meant 'you are sweet.'

Once getting to the island and upon meeting our first Swedish girls we tested the phrase with trepidation at first and gusto later. It worked beautifully with the Swedish women who would melt and at the blatant line-magically, it was successful! Their faces would light up and they would warm to us right away. We had a lot of fun tossing out the phrase. Thankfully the Swedish girls always spoke excellent English as the three-word phrase was the extent of our knowledge of their language. It proved to be a fun-filled trip with many memories that we will relish for years to come.

Fast forward to six months later. My cousin, John (who had accompanied me on the trip to Greece), related the following story: He was in a meeting with a telecommunications firm headquartered out of Sweden. He and his team were attempting to sell them some new technology. Upon meeting one of the clients, the man indicated to John that he was from Sweden. John, trying to impress with his knowledge of the foreign phrase, told the man: "I know a little Swedish." "Is that right?" the man replied. John continued, "Yes: du är söt," he said with a wide grin. The man was visibly taken aback and John's comment was met with an icy stare. After an awkward silence between the two everyone took their seats, the man careful to take a chair far from John. The meeting commenced, business was discussed, and the meeting ended. As the clients filed out of the meeting and last minute 'thanks' and 'nice to meet you's' were exchanged, the man refused to look John in the eye or even shake his hand. Needless to say, that particular business was not won by my cousin's firm. "I think I may have screwed that one up," John confessed to me as he reflected upon the incident.

-McGettigan

Writing

I’ve been a recreational writer in one form or another for well over a decade. I enjoy writing, which is funny since I spent a good deal of my schooling years avoiding classes and projects that required it. There were certain writing requirements to graduate from college. I put those classes off until the last two years.

Since the early ‘90s writing had been something I did when I had the luxury of free time. This yielded an unsatisfactory amount of written product. In fact, I had been feeling pent up with anecdotes and assorted trifles that I felt compelled to transcribe. 2009, my blogging year, was an effort to release the backlog of this writing compulsion and to make writing more of a priority. I wanted to make writing something I did as regularly as reading a book or watching football. I have achieved that goal to some extent, yet the time commitment was more than I had expected. I will continue writing in 2010, though not always blogging. Blog entries will be shy of last year’s 200 posts.

If you’d like a dose of blogging to make up for my 2010 shortfall, I am pleased to offer my sister. She started blogging this month and can be read here. She’s a pleasure, this one.

-klem

Happy Gay New Year!

December 31, 1994

New Year’s Eve! I was single and would be ringing in the New Year with a friend of mine and a roommate. The party plans were vague, but looked strong on paper. We were to go to Santa Barbara, 70 miles up the coast, and party on State Street. Hop from bar to bar before finally settling into one to our liking for the midnight culmination. What our planning failed to take into consideration was the overabundant crowds and inability even to gain entrance to many bars and clubs.

We tried to get in to a few clubs but were unable due to overstuffing beyond allowable fire capacity. In addition to reservation-only arrangements, under which some clubs were operating on this very busy night, we were on the cusp of dejection. It was under this dark cloud we heard a large partying congregation down a side street. With our prospects already dim, we approached. Sure enough, New Year’s Eve revelers spilling out of a club! The place sounded great inside, like a great raging party. We paid our entrance fee and entered.

We were very pleased that our New Year’s rambunctious intent was not to be a lost cause. We victoriously walked to the bar and ordered up a round of drinks. The club was pretty cool, and also very large. The dance floor was off near the back of the club, the music was loud, and good. With hooch in hand we headed for the dance floor. It was here we realized the unexpected.

We’ve all been to a club where the only folks dancing might be a few ladies. Perhaps a group of three or so dancing with each other. This was not only the reverse, but to a whole new extreme. It was predominantly guys, by a generous ratio, and they were dancing with each other. This seemed odd to me. But it didn’t yet dawn on me until I was mentally able to wrap my brains around the way they were dancing with each other. Provacatively. The men were dancing close enough clearly disregarding the publicly acceptable bounds for one’s courtesy space. This was a club that catered to gay men! This was shocking for me to see. How frail I was.

My two teammates and I decided our options were few. If we left we’d be celebrating the New Year on the streets toasting with cups of hot chocolate or coffee. We stayed. They, my heterosexual male chum and female roommate, then decided to spend the bulk of the evening dancing closely amongst themselves. I was an awkward little boy in my mid 20s trying to lose myself in a crowd of gay men.

Later that evening there was the topless gentleman smoking a cigar who took a liking to me. I made polite responses to his advances, but he wouldn’t take a hint. I finally had to tell him I was straight. He was surprised and asked a few times to make certain. It later dawned on me his level of surprise. What was it about me that generated surprise that I might be heterosexual?

As the evening wound down toward midnight things got more daring including the fellow dancing on the bar in his underpants with another patron trying to pull them off.

That New Year’s Eve brought more excitement than I had hoped. We gayly entered 1995. It was with much relief I exited from the club.
-klem

Year-End Thoughts

NFL’s sudden death overtime > Major League Baseball’s extra innings.

Video games inspired by movies? No thank you.

I’m amidst Team Klem’s year-end investment review. Reallocate investment dollars and change funds as needed. Start the new year fresh and properly calibrated.

Gratuitous nudity. I take no offense.

Libraries. They're under appreciated.

YouTube. I can't remember how I got along without this thing.

The control panel on an airplane’s cockpit. Can a pilot really know what every knob, lever, switch, and gauge are for? Come on, really? Every one of them?

The television series, The Office, is a delight. I just completed streaming season 3 (I think there are 7 seasons now) off Netflix the other day. Good times, that program. Someday I’ll be current.

Never say . . .
a) “It goes without saying . . .” and then proceed to say it.
b) “Not to mention . . .” and then proceed to mention it.

Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie. What’s he still doing with that nut?

This is a very busy time of year when it comes to eating sweets, cakes, cookies, and related holiday treats. There is sometimes a bountiful volume of such treats that is far more than can be safely consumed. This very topic has been discussed with several siblings. Despite valiant team efforts there have been some casualties as the gluttony peaks out and a few expiration dates set in. Too many fronts, not enough gullets, attrition takes it toll. I’ve been reduced to employing the freezer. I’m not ready to concede defeat, but I’ve gone to the freezer for several items to be reengaged in January. My hope is that a few weeks in the hole will help to balance the odds to a more manageable feat.


-klem

Year-End Thoughts, politics

I can understand how people are unhappy with the inefficiency of the Health Care system, but how can people honestly think that government intervention will improve it? If you don’t like the level of inefficiency now, just wait until government ‘fixes’ it.

I can understand how people are unhappy with the price of Health Care services, but how can people honestly think that government intervention will improve it? As the saying goes, ‘If you think health care is expensive now, wait ‘til it’s free.’

The atomic weights of the elements on the Periodic Table are very precise. They were scientifically and mathematically determined with only a handful of atoms too volatile to get an exact weight. While estimated weights have been attained, consensus at no point came into play.

Consensus is not altogether a bad thing. Heck, I think it’s great. Especially for deciding whether the office holiday lunch should be at TGI Fridays or Chilis. Not a good method, however, at deciding whether or not global warming is upon us and caused by mankind.

I’ve made it clear that I don’t subscribe to the global warming clap trap. My two main gripes with it? (1) It’s consensus, we are told, that makes this silly talk ‘true’. That doesn’t sound very scientific. (2) The dangerous misallocation of resources it manipulates.
Example: A household has money set aside to put into their home. They’d like to do a home improvement project, plus the home needs a new roof as there were a few roof leaks during the last rainy season. There’s money enough for only one of the two, however. The household decides on the home improvement project instead of the needed new roof. Global warming is that luxury choice of the home improvement project at willful neglect of something else that is a dire need that could have been remedied, but will continue deteriorating.

How stubborn and silly are they, politicians? If the city / state / country are in such desperate financial problems, as many are at present, can the politicians really not see that ‘No new expenses’ and ‘No new social programs’ is a necessary start until cash flow gets heading in the correct direction?

Smoking. I don’t, although I’ve knocked back a number of stogies in my earlier years. My gripe with smoking? The litterbugging. Next time you’re stopped at a left turn signal going onto the freeway, look down at the curb of the island. A shameful mess of cigarette butts sit there in the street looking back.

I don’t subscribe to Sarah Palin’s spooky death panel talk in Obama’s health care scheme. But I’m perfectly OK setting up a death panel for litter bugs.

Insurance fraud and health care fraud add an estimated 25% to the cost of insurance. People found guilty of fraud should be assigned a date to face the death panels.

Frivolous law suits add significant expense to medical malpractice insurance costs. These costs are passed down to health care customers. My proposed solution? A plaintiff that is deemed by the judge to have brought a frivolous lawsuit to court be assigned a date to face the death panels.

Politics is dirty. It’s a shame that politicians so frequently revel in the filth.

-klem

The School Christmas Program

Elementary school programs are a healthy source of amusement. It’s fun to see your child perform in conjunction with all their classmates, plus, naturally, you want your kid to do well. Can they remember what they’re supposed to do? And what they’re supposed to say or sing?

If it’s a big program, getting a good line of sight on your child can be a major frustration, unless they’re amongst the tiniest students in class at which point they’d be placed in the front. Then there is also the jostling and vying for position as parents try to video record or photo their kid.

My boy’s 3rd grade class recently had their Christmas program. Between him getting buried in the back row and my contesting with the heads in front of me, the view was OK, but not video worthy. I asked my boy afterward if he’d be willing to let me record him going solo . . . and ‘a capella’. He graciously consented.


Click here for Part I of the program.

Click here for Part II.


He did a good job. He’s a good boy. And many years into the future I’ll seek to embarrass him with this recording.

Merry Christmas.
-klem

Christmas Boat Parade

Christmas parades. Once a person’s attained a certain age we’ve probably all had enough of parades, unless you change it up. How about a Christmas parade of decorated boats? This past weekend Team Klem saw just such a parade. Kind of fun.

We were novices at such an event and so had little idea as to the heavy draw a boat parade could bring. We allotted a single hour of drive time when two would have been more appropriate. But we won’t dwell on the unpleasantness of a long slow drive with two restless squabbling kids in the back seat. We were late, so available parking spaces were long ago extinguished by the time we arrived.

I dropped off Team Klem at the party destination and got back in the car to complete the quest for parking. I parked the car a mile away, wrote down the address and cross street where I parked, took off my shirt, and started jogging. Enjoy that amusing visual. Guy wearing jeans and belt with shirt and sweater in hand jogging down the street. What’s life if you can’t make a spectacle of yourself once in a while and laugh about it?

‘You stripped down why,’ you rightfully query. The event was nearly underway and I wanted not to miss it having endured already a rugged drive, so I decided to jog. I also hoped this shirtless precaution would minimize my outwardly sweaty cool-down upon arrival and before socializing would be engaged. Result: It helped but did not negate.

Once at the destination, good times. A small gathering of good friends, delicious grub, and cups of hot cocoa. We walked to the beach and watched the Christmas boats float by.

I’m no sailor, but it looked like chaos out on the water. Some boaters were clearly moving too fast while some boaters had no decorations at all and were trying to float in the middle of the waterway for a ‘front row’ viewing. This created a significant and dangerous logjam. For a while we stood at attention expecting to hear the cracking fiberglass of collision. To our surprise, only close calls.

[video removed by klem on 12/12/2012]


A peaceful and safe Christmas week to you.
-klem

Wall-E

What happens to the Klem household when the stabilizing influence of Wife Klem is absent on a lazy Saturday? I recently reviewed a few old video clips and came across visuals documenting this very circumstance. Maybe I should be embarrassed to share this, but I’m not. My Amusement-drive easily overpowers my Pride-drive.

‘So what happens,’ you prod. First, grooming of the kids and myself is quickly waived. My daughter’s hair, as seen here, irrefutably establishes that fact. Also, pajamas go the distance.

Last year our daughter took an amusing obsession toward Wall-E, the good-hearted robot in Disney’s animated Wall-E movie (2008). This particular Saturday morning in November 2008 the Boogie and I decided to do something about it, this obsession. She wanted to be like Wall-E. She then outlined an action plan how this could come to be.

[You can see that this video was recorded with the built-in camera. My daughter was very amused at seeing herself on the monitor as it recorded. Also, please pardon the image reversal, right-to-left. I know not how to amend it.]

[video removed by klem on 12/12/2012]


Having the outline neatly laid out we went to work taking scissors and yellow crayons to a large cardboard box.

[video removed by klem on 12/12/2012]

That secured me a brief 15 minutes of peace and quiet while she walked around being Wall-E and the boy finished the Mt. Rushmore art project on which he’d been working.
-klem

Things They Say

Parenting duties are occasionally a strain for any parental team. Balancing work, family responsibilities, school drop-offs and pick-ups, extra curricula activities and trying to find brief episodes of down time to rejuvenate a healthy disposition can be difficult to orchestrate. But it’s not all trials and tribulations. There are little bonuses that are mixed throughout these parenting calisthenics.

I’ve made mention of my boy’s early penchant for dinosaurs. His interest in the field of paleontology has seriously waned in recent years as Hot Wheels gained ground. But back in the day he’d like to play dinosaur. I’d be assigned the role of the meat eater and he explained that I’d have to chase him, the meat.


October 2004

“Catch me, Dad. Be a T-Rex,” requested my boy.

“What do I do when I catch you? Do I get to eat you,” I asked. This was followed by the adorable pause of a three year old thinking of how to safely navigate his dad’s dangerous misunderstanding.

“Chase Koobi,” he then suggested directing me to his dog, Kira. “Eat Koobi. She’s tasty,” encouraged the boy with an eye towards self-preservation.


Much laughter ensued on the strength of his witty remark and he was clearly pleased with himself. Then I chased him and ate him.
-t-rex

Klem’s Book of Observations, excerpt x

Sign observed outside a church: ‘Serve Jesus. It’s hell without him.’

Sign observed in Chicago: ‘Italian Ice, a Chicago original’. If that was so would it not be called ‘Chicago Ice’?

If I could have anything? A weed-free back yard.

Hearsay sucks.

Underrated: Extra thick milk shakes, though not so thick that a spoon is required thus rendering it a malt.

-klem

Initiative

I’ve got this friend of mine, likes lemons, he does. We’ll call him Adornato. There is a specific variety of lemon he holds in high regard, the Meyer lemon. All others are simply lemons, descriptors are not required, nor deserved, as is the venerable Meyer.

It is the taste of the Meyer that outpaces its lesser behaved brethren. It’s sweeter, believed to be a cross between a lemon and a mandarin orange. One can tell the difference by the shape as Meyer lemons are more round.

The guy’s lemon consumption easily outdistances the per capita consumption for the typical U.S. resident. It is the beers, largely, that has caused his spike in lemon volume. Not that he has an imbibing problem, just that each imbibing incident requires a Meyer. It’s as if the lack of one made the other obsolete.

Realizing that his citrus related needs could cause a painful indentation on his family’s household expenditure he sought a long term solution. He bought and planted a Meyer lemon tree, then researched how best to trim and mold it to maximize the tree’s productivity. In the meantime, though, sufficient product would trail by a year or more while the thing took root and grows. This is where his initiative percolated up. When he told me of his next step, I found the telling very amusing. But to him, crucial. His implementation of the action plan would be the difference between success and continued retail grocery prices for the yellow fruit.

He had observed a Meyer lemon tree two blocks from his domicile, but it was inconveniently rooted in a fenced yard. The premises was occupied by a real estate office tenant, a small operation of five or so folks. He paid the office a visit one afternoon and requested an audience with the business owner. Audience was granted and Adornato explained the reason for his visit.

‘It’s not just a lemon tree you’ve got here, it’s a Meyer lemon tree,’ he confidently explained. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d like and appreciate very much the opportunity to pull some lemons off that tree (pointing to the tree out the window) as they ripen up.’

The business owner, having patiently heard him out, granted authorization. Was he just a nice guy, the business owner, for saying yes? Or maybe intimidated by a possible imbalance in a person who’d approach a business for access to their rented lemon tree. Either way, lack of initiative would have left those lemons as a distant coveted object. Instead, the tree was harvested multiple times. He’d enter through the rear gate, wave to the real estate personnel looking on from the safe confines of the office, pick the fruit, and place it in the sack. He even dropped by once to fertilize it.

I never did ask him how committed was his harvesting, but I can only hope he was going whole hog. I want the imagery of him hauling a ladder two blocks from home and climbing up in the tree rather than just casually pulling off what low-bearing fruit he could reach.


The real estate office has since moved. A new tenant exists. But another sales pitch for the Meyer lemon tree access is no longer needed. His on-site tree is now grown and bearing it’s favored fruit.
-klem

A Word For the United Nations. Useless.

The United Nations is a bloated carcass of undulating rubbish not worthy of the high level of press coverage, pomp, and elitist sentiment that it and its members enjoy. But that’s just this guy’s opinion.


The United Nations is hosting a climate change forum in Copenhagen, Denmark. The United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change began Monday and is in progress through next week.

There’s been much embarrassment on the global warming/climate change front lately. There was the damning documents that were ‘leaked’ showing that data had been manipulated to support the global warming claims while stifling ‘troublesome’ data that countered its desired position. The correspondence shows that many of these scientists were fighting for a cause, rather than science and truth-seeking [click here for the story].

The U.N. is deep into supporting global warming / climate change. My gripe with this movement is that the focus is not in handling the sources and causes of the problem, such as China and India, because these developing countries have no interest in playing along. The target, instead, is the U.S. and western countries that have already taken measures over the years to clean and improve their society’s earth-friendly behavior. So the climate changers peddle their wares to those willing to drink deeply. This creates a major misallocation of resources away from actual problems into these unsubstantiated claims.

But my point in this missive is not to discuss the merits, or lack thereof, of climate change. It is how to revise the appropriate level of perceived worth unto the U.N. from its current undeserved elevation.

Certainly there are larger issues with which to fault the U.N.; its existence, the corruption, and the vaguely worded statements that make its every movement a farcical motion. But this is the issue at hand.


How to amend the U.N.’s undeserved stature? Punish the U.N. by having the U.S. drop out? No. My proposed fix is two-fold:

(1) Treat the United Nations as what it really is. Treat it like an elaborate Rotary Club. Everyone gets together periodically, socializes, slaps each other on the back, pretends to exchange some very important patter, and then adjourn with no expectation of follow through. You go there to mingle, not to get anything done. It’s a giant cocktail party. By realizing this and acknowledging this one can go about properly allaying one’s expectations.

(2) Much of the U.N.’s enhanced visibility is made possible by its New York address. New York is one of the most enormous media hubs in the world. Temper the headlines and photo ops by moving its U.S. locale to a Dakota; North or South, doesn’t matter. The U.N. is certainly not deserving of the headlines or press coverage it receives. Move it to one of the above noted and the future press sessions will likely be reduced to little more than newswire stories or 10-second sound bites collected by static-laden phone interviews. That would seem to be more fitting for an organization such as this that is rife with ethics related conflicts of interest, get-rich siphoning schemes, and a lack of putting any teeth into meaningful causes.


Thanks for hearing me out.
-klem


[The above noted essay intends no ill-sentiment or insult to Rotary Clubs or either Dakota.]

Den Jaevla Naboen

He’s of Norwegian descent, this friend of mine, Mr. At A Slower Pace. A viking heritage I have teased him over the years and he has proudly, chucklingly so, accepted it. Flaunted it, even.

A number of years ago he made a visit to the homeland of his people. He returned bearing a gift for his chum, me. A tee-shirt with foreign words, foreign words to me, not Norwegians, scrawled across the front, ‘Den Jaevla Naboen’. Neither of us knew the meaning of the words but much enjoyed saying the words aloud. I wore the shirt with much satisfaction and delight.


June 1994

I was en route to vacation with friends at a Mediterranean coastal destination and was aboard an international flight. The language capabilities of an international flight, one could assume, would be robust. It was amongst such a diverse crowd that I walked down the aisle in the airplane wearing the shirt emblazoned with ‘den jaevla naboen.’ Two folks, very possibly grandparenting sorts, flagged me down to chuckle at the verbiage.

“I’m busted, right,” I asked. By their effusive laughing and gesticulating I suspected that something was unintentionally amiss.

“Yeah, right,” said the old guy laughing, “Busted.”

His spouse spoke Swedish which has many similarities to Norwegian. If you’ll please pardon the vulgarities, it was explained to me that the shirt said, ‘f___ your neighbor.’


I was embarrassed. Following that trip I wore the foul language shirt only amongst my non-Norwegian speaking citizens.
-klem

Klem’s Corollaries on Life, excerpt iv

(31) Globes that spin are irresistible. Own one. And occasionally look at the data it holds.

(32) When the batteries of your smoke detector go out, don’t just take them out and forget it. Replace the batteries.

(33) Going on vacation? Turn off your house water lest you tempt a water loss from a leaking pipe or a burst laundry hose.

(34) Don’t use your teeth to open things (i.e., bag of chips or candy). Retain your dignity.

(35) It’s good to know your boundaries or limits. But it’s not OK to be content simply knowing them. Overcome and expand. [Note: please disregard if you are a jailbird currently holed up in the big house. Do not apply this corollary until post-release date.]

(36) ‘Be grateful for our good moods and graceful in our low moods.’ Richard Carlson in 'Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff'

(37) Do not breathe deeply when in close proximity to a dumpster.

(38) Less complaining and more doing.

(39) Don’t eat out of boredom.

(40) A person’s perspective of the world reveals more about that person than about the world.


-klem

Compiled Quotes, xii

“Nothing in all the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance and conscientious stupidity.” Martin Luther King, civil rights leader [1929 - 1968]


“The temptation resisted is a true measure of character.”
Henri Charrière, convicted murderer and author [1906 - 1973] in his book Papillon. (note: incidentally, an awesome read)


“Cause for celebration is less significant than the quality of one’s indulgence.” forgotten

The 1-900 Number, my introduction

I was watching football when an old memory came to me. My introduction to the 1-900 number.

I was in 8th grade and my interests were coming into focus. There was something on the other end of the line that I strongly desired, a little harmless fun. And going without it wasn’t doing anybody any good. No, I’m not talking about the sexy 900 numbers. I’m talking the football 900 number.


1980

On any Sunday during the Fall when football games abound. Yet the scores were announced with a maddening infrequency. This was before the advent of the former ground-breaking 10-minute ticker where game scores were given every ten minutes during the Sunday football game broadcasts. But wait, the new 1-900 number had the NFL scores on Sunday and they were constantly updated. Call the number, listen to the recording and get scores. Then call back again soon for further updates.


Present day football watching comes with the opposite problem. Scores are almost too annoyingly updated constantly streaming across the bottom of the screen.

Too annoying versus too infrequent? I choose the too annoying constantly streaming. I try to avert my eyes, but this takes excruciating discipline. I sometimes fail myself, but I grant immediate forgiveness.
-klem

Eater’s Remorse

‘Buyer’s remorse’. It’s a term with which we’re all familiar. The buyer thought they liked it, bought it, and later conclude that they regret the purchase. Several times each year I am afflicted with eater’s remorse. Not that I regret having eaten something or how much, but rather that I did not eat enough of it. In the face of a prime opportunity for gluttonous consumption I regret not being able to eat more.

Example: Thanksgiving. First there is the giving of thanks. There is then the grand style feasting to serve as the culmination to top off the giving of thanks. Turkey, ham, potatoes, cranberry sauce, biscuits, stuffing, yams, corn, and abundant desserts.

As the eating commences I load my plate the first time. I feel already overwhelmed because there is so much deliciousness before me. A second generous serving is engaged and places me on the cusp of an uncomfortable engorging. Yet, I try valiantly to jam more tasty grub down my gullet but discomfort has set in necessitating that I stop. I’ve stretched out my belly to capacity and taken down as much as is possible. Couldn’t eat another bite, not even if it were wafer thin. And this is just dinner! Dessert is on the horizon and is bountiful. I will somehow find the courage to proceed, discomfort be damned.

Eater’s remorse sets in the day after the feasting. As stuffed as I had been I am beset with the illusion that I could have, and should have, feasted more the day before.

I diagnosed myself with eater’s remorse several years ago and discussed it with my eldest brother. He was amused, but cared enough to ask a few questions to better understand my affliction. I am currently aware of my mental state and I approach the ‘eating holidays’ with the appropriate frame of mind to temper the feelings of remorse that will soon be upon me.

I stand 5’11” and 160 lbs., plus two temporary pounds around Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter.
-klem

Robbed!!

I got robbed last night. Unauthorized personnel penetrated my vehicle and made off with less than $2 in change. I think I forgot to lock the car yesterday. There were no signs of forced entry.


November 25, 2009

I park my car in the driveway. This morning I found my glove box opened with contents spilled out onto the passenger seat, the console was open, and the driver’s side car door was ajar.

‘What gives,’ thought I. Then it donned on me. I got robbed! Oh, boy, that’s a creepy feeling. Somebody was in my car right where I’m sitting scouring around for something good to steal.

The thief took only a small plastic film canister which contains coins, parking tokens as I call them. I had probably less than $2 in coins. Nothing else was taken. They didn’t want the $8 sunglasses from Target. My cell phone charger and hands-free ear bud were also unmolested. If they’da popped the trunk they could have basked in the riches of a Thomas Guide map book, jumper cables, and my emergency gear - hiking shoes, sweatshirt, and a wind breaker ‘cause you never know.


Oh, well. Lock your doors.
-klem

The Way to a Man’s Heart . . .

. . . is through his stomach. I remember hearing this as a youngster and thinking what rubbish. Yet I wonder presently if I have become an embodiment of this very statement.

As we approach Thanksgiving I’ve been thinking of things for which I’m thankful. After quickly rolling through the most important items such as family, friends, dogs, and video games, the subsequent items have made me face that remark from years back.

So I continued working through the mental list of thankful things and food dominated. Maybe I was hungry, but these items are worthy of my thanks: Wife Klem’s Apricot Scones, lasagna, mango salsa, and her crock pot creations. Omi’s lasagna, spaetzla, chili - I’m smitten by those carrots, and split pea soup. Mom Klem’s angel food cake, chili, pineapple-marshmallow-sweet potatoes [honest, pineapple and marshmallows are key ingredients on that dish and a single serving is insufficient to sate this fella], and the mashed potato dish with the crushed cereal on top - really, it’s got crushed Corn Flakes. Grandma Tedesco’s lasagna, gnocchi, and pineapple upside down cake. Grandpa Tedesco’s extra-hot pasta sauce of which he’d boasted many times, “I made it with dirty hands, extra flavor” [I’m pretty sure, and hopeful, that Gramps was just joking]. Opa’s world famous two layered vanilla over chocolate pudding - ‘world famous’, he declared, and my pleased taste buds made me hesitant to question its veracity. Grampa’s butterfly shrimp and egg muffins also hold a position of high standing. And, of course, the vegetarian ‘Jackie Pie’ - a real-life vegetarian entree, but not to be denigrated by the lack of animal flesh.

It appears that I have become the embodiment of the very slogan to which I formerly scoffed. Oh, yes, I’m also thankful for non-edibles such as football and YouTube footage of monkeys, but wait, there’s more food.

These are the general delectables that are not host-specific: sweet potato french fries, peanut brittle, marshmallows - exclude the seasonal pastel variety, fig Newtons, Captain Crunch with the Crunchberries despite the cereal’s ability to ruggedly tear up the roof of one’s mouth due to the harsh texture [the cereal’s worth the pain to endure a second bowl, but it makes a third bowl out of the question], Nestle Crunch ice cream in the carton - not the bars, those pink and white frosted circus cookies with the sprinkles, candy NECCO wafers - a head nod here to a certain Mr. At A Slower Pace, hot chocolate, hamburgers - no mayo, burritos, pizza pie - just don’t make it either cheese-only or anchovies [sorry Dad Klem about the anti-anchovy remark], black olives, and milkshakes.

Food, as it has become newly apparent to me, plays a larger role in my happiness as I have gotten older than I was ever previously aware. As I age will this longing for food become further pronounced? If so, I’ve got some very tasty years ahead of me. I’ll have to put ‘trousers with adjustable waist’ on my Christmas wish list and don them for special ‘eating’ holidays.

A peaceful Thanksgiving to all.
-klem

Hot Wheels. My Guy Makes a Commercial.

I’ve made it abundantly clear on this blog that our guy’s a big Hot Wheeler. Supporting evidence takes the form of cars, tracks, and notebooks that contain drawings of own track designs.

When he builds, his Hot Wheels tracks often begin with modest ideas and plot plans. But like a government program, it quickly expands well beyond its intended design and constraints until its out of control and resources have been depleted. The growth ends only when he runs out of tracks or space. The spatial constraint often encompasses his entire room to the point where it’s not possible to walk from the door to his bed. An attempt to do so will render you the role of Godzilla to his Tokyo where you’re accidentally knocking down pieces of track that hang precariously on the edge of a chair or taped ever so loosely to a table or his dresser.

The creativity is to be encouraged, though the track typically deteriorates to a cleanup brouhaha after a week or so. The scuffle gets underway with Wife Klem or me suggesting that it’s time for him to put his tracks away and then him bellyaching saying that all his cars haven’t yet done the track.

His Hot Wheels interest ebbs and flows like a gentle tide with occasional flashes of supercharged focus. It is under these piqued conditions where he requests, “Dad, can we record my Hot Wheels commercial?”


[the stunt track]


[the 7-foot drop]


[the predecessor, the video that started it all]

His room is currently clean with no track occupying his room. This wide open floor space, however, is listed as day to day.
-klem

Year-End Goals and Checklists

As 2009 winds down, it’s time to make one last review of the year’s goals and checklists and try to get a few more items crossed off the list.

I’m well off pace in a few areas, but with a valiant final burst I can still check off a couple spots in the completion column. For example, another 1,600 push ups and 2,100 sit ups to go - sure it might be better to measure one’s physical fitness on a more balanced scale such as two hours per week or what have you, but I can’t stick to that kind of regiment what with getting distracted by parenting or work duties and vacations. So I pursue a specific number spread out over a year.

My completion column is not empty at present, though. I’ve already got ‘Know all the capital cities in the European continent’ occupying that column along with ‘Watch 3 Foreign movies.’

I present this photo of the back gate as an example of a final push:



I’ve spent a number of weekends this fall painting the trim in several areas along the roof line, a couple window frames, and, completed this last weekend, the back gate.

I’ll have to assess my final tally for 2009 as I look ahead to the goals and checklist I’ll set for 2010. A number of things are merely basic maintenance issues (i.e., drain the hot water heater for 15 minutes twice per year, review the 401K and reallocate as needed, get free credit report for myself and the kids to peruse for irregularities) to projects that I hope will not have to be revisited for many years after (i.e., paint the garage - I’ll fall short on this one in 2009 and will try again for 2010). Then there’s also the personal challenges (i.e., make 200 blog entries in 2009 - 19 to go, read 14 books - two more to go).

A pal of mine got me started on written goals several years ago. We’ll call him McGettigan the Elder. I started as a courtesy to him thinking maybe he needed another person to join in for moral support. We share quarterly progress reports. At this point, I’m hooked.
-klem

Klem’s Book of Observations, excerpt ix

Dogs. They’re like perpetual infants what with their stuffed dolls and squeaky toys.

‘Expect the unexpected’. Such meaningless blather is to be ridiculed.

Note to gum chewers: Close your mouth.

Vegetarian chili. What’s the use? Why not just eat salsa or beans? This vegetarian concoction is not chili.

I prefer snails to slugs. Easier to pick up and hurl.

Coraline

I’ve probably mentioned already the Team Klem snack and video proceedings for the kids before bed. The choice of video alternates with our daughter choosing Monday, Wednesday, and Friday and the boy taking Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday with Sunday available as my wild card.

Both kids have recently taken a striking interest in Coraline, an animated film from 2009. My daughter really enjoys a certain short scene where the ‘button-eyed-father’ sings to Coraline. The song is admittedly very catchy and my girl is rather smitten with it.

Seeing as you can find anything on YouTube, I looked for this one scene. I found it and then played it for my daughter. The following video documents what ensued:



I could watch that thing all day what with my giddy chuckling Boogie laughing and singing along!
-klem

The U.S. Air Drink Recovery Program

How sweet a gift is retribution? A retribution that aims to make right a preceding wrong? That would depend on how purposefully the wrong had been issued. This is my tale.


December 1994

A friend and I were en route to vacation. [We’ll call him McGettigan the Younger.] We were tired and the time of the flight’s departure was late into the night. Once in our seats we slept with uncanny determination as evidenced by the screaming child at lift off that could not prevent the slumber from taking place. Unfortunately, we lapsed out before the beverage service and meal. Hours passed. I awakened feeling famished and parched.

“May I have a Coke and one for my friend, please,” I asked the stewardess.

“We’re about to land,” was the curt retort issued with a smile.

I thought it was just jokes. I smiled and awaited the soda. But we were denied and landed absent of drink or snack.


One Week Later

My chum and I returned to the airport for the homebound trip. This refreshed our bitter sentiments surrounding the drink and snack denial from the front end of our sojourn.

We recounted our miserly tale to our new stewardesses. They were rightfully horrified by what they heard and offered unlimited beverages for the flight trying to undo the damage disseminated by their harsh colleague. It was under these favorable circumstances the U.S. Air Drink Recovery Program was off to a bountiful start.

Charged with that top notch support we both imbibed pull after pull failing to consider that our innards may have a limit as to how much juice and soda could be safely processed in a short time span. We were blindly buoyed by this commitment to remedial action and were helpless to stop ourselves. Like goldfish eating until their insides capitulate, we drank more.

It was well shy of our destination when it became clear that our plan had backfired. Our digestive systems had become significantly honked up. It became difficult to sit still. We needed relief. Sadly, very sadly, the seat belt sign was illuminated well prior to descent and the powder room had to wait until the airport.


We easily made up for the beverage denial from the initial leg of the trip, but personal agony was the counterweight.

The U.S. Air Drink Recovery Program. Success? Let the record reflect, it didn’t feel like it.
-klem

Compiled Quotes, xi

“Being master of one’s moods is the privilege of the larger animals.” Albert Camus [Algerian-French author, 1913 - 1960] in his book The Fall


“Restlessness is a sign you’re hungry for meaning in your life.” forgotten


“Joe, you’ve never heard such cheering,” Joe DiMaggio’s then wife, Marilyn Monroe, told him in 1954 returning from entertaining troops overseas. “Yes,” said Joe, “I have.”

Esquire Magazine Fiction Writing Contest

Esquire magazine had a fiction writing contest this past August. The rules were few:

-Choose from three titles:
An Insurrection
Twenty-Ten
Never, Ever Bring This Up Again
-Entry can be no more than 4,000 words
-Entries were due Aug. 1, 2009


I entered the imbroglio, but didn’t win. My non-victorious entry follows. I apologize in advance to Mom Klem for the upcoming offending language and one risqué scene:



An Insurrection
by Klem


“You jackasses aren’t gonna believe who I saw today,” exclaimed Woodward enthusiastically upon entering the apartment without knocking.

Two disheveled jackasses in their mid-30s donning dirty shorts and undershirts sat on separate couches watching TV, reruns of old game shows from the ‘70s. They were roommates. Neither was proud of it.

“Who you calling jackasses,” replied Cassidy not looking up from the television.

“You bastards. I’m calling you bastards jackasses, bastards. I saw Emmett,” continued Woodward losing some of his initial zest.

“Emmett?! From high school?! Where were you? Prison,” asked Cassidy.

“No! Not prison. Why’d you say such a thing,” said Woodward with a disgusted look on his face.

“Seemed he had a high incidence of theft,” added Cassidy still not looking away from the TV.

“Thefts? Emmett? What’re you talking about,” said Woodward irritably.

“The liquor store,” Mondo chimed in.

“The liquor store from over a decade ago? He didn’t get the correct change. He got upset,” defended Woodward.

“He bought Tic-Tacs, was short changed a nickel, so he grabbed the hot dog rotisserie machine off the counter, including dogs, and ran,” Cassidy recounted calmly.

“He didn’t get the Tic-Tacs, though,” said Woodward as if that negated the act from constituting theft.

“What about the hot dog cart,” added Mondo.

“Come on, you bring that up from high school? That thing during summer break? He was really hungry. You remember his appetite,” said Woodward trying to stick up for his buddy.

“The whole cart, though,” was Cassidy’s retort unswayed by Woodward’s feeble defense.

“Will you guys stop? Something happened to him,” said Woodward in a more serious tone hoping to get back on topic.

“What’d you mean,” asked Cassidy looking at Woodward for the first time.

“I saw him at the grocery store,” replied Woodward taking a seat on Mondo’s sagging couch staring at him so he’d sit up and move over.

“What’d he have to say,” Cassidy asked.

“What was he stealing,” Mondo wondered out loud.

“He wasn’t stealing anything,” blurted a near exasperated Woodward. “I didn’t talk to him. He just had this great big man-purse over his shoulder. I was too horrified to approach.”

“Man-purse? You mean like a purse? Or was it a grocery bag? He was in a grocery store, right,” asked Cassidy in an effort to clarify the foggy picture Woodward was painting.

“I didn’t ask him about the contents. I didn’t want to embarrass him. A buddy sees you with a purse, you want him to nail you for it and ask a battery of awkward questions? Wouldn’t you rather he ignore you like the whole thing, including the man-purse, never happened,” asserted Woodward.

“Man purse? Sure it’s not a diaper bag? Didn’t your cousin say he’s got two small kids,” asked Mondo.

“Call it what you want, if you saw him you’d say ‘Look at that guy with the man-purse.’ I’m telling you, he’s fallen a long way from the stud we knew years ago. Remember that football game in high school where he practically single-handedly beat the San Dimas Wild Stallions? He was a ferocious beast, Emmett. It was beautiful,” regaled Woodward losing himself momentarily in the past glory of his friend.

“It’s true. He was a beast,” uttered Mondo trying to contribute.

“How about that rock concert years ago. There was a fight in the mosh pit, naturally he was at the center of it. He emerged triumphant, climbed on stage, and then dove back down into the pit! A maniac, that guy,” said Cassidy smiling in pride for his buddy.

- - -

A month went by with no further mention of Emmett, until a lazy Saturday afternoon. The three guys visited the local department store. Each held a single item with intent to purchase. Mondo was holding a package of shoe sole inserts to help beat back that troublesome malodorous emanation. He was unaware that the smell was actually coming from his mouth resulting from his sub par dental hygiene. Cassidy had a new toothbrush. Mondo had scrubbed his old toothbrush in the toilet after an argument over whose turn it was to do the dishes. Woodward carried a six pack of beer. He had substituted a cheaper sticker price forgetting that it’s the UPC code that the scanner would read, there would be no manual entry.

The three guys were looking at Hot Wheels; they never entirely outgrew their interest, though Woodward stubbornly held fast to his preference for the Matchbox brand.

From down the aisle came a guy with a man-purse over his shoulder. He had a double stroller with two adorable moppets, a boy and a girl, and was accompanied by a beautiful woman. They looked happy and content. The three fellas, a fine contrast, looked slovenly and in need of a thorough scrubbing.

“See anything good, you punks,” Emmett asked also approaching the Hot Wheels rack. He was smiling and sincerely happy to see his buddies after a gap of at least five years.

“Yes, a dude with a man-purse,” said Woodward pointing at Emmett’s shoulder.

“Diaper bag. These two are real factories in that regard,” advised Emmett tossing a thumb at the stroller.

“You still Hot Wheeling, too,” asked Woodward too energetically.

“No, but I sometimes look when we come here. I give them to my two year old,” replied Emmett.

“Oh,” said Woodward dejectedly having to face the thinly veiled charade that, while appearing a full grown man, he remained but a child.

“Hey, I want you to meet my wife, Kira,” introduced Emmett. “Honey, this is Woodward, Cassidy, and Mondo. We hung out together back in high school.”

Kira, almost overjoyed at actually meeting friends of Emmett took to the three goofballs and looked past their obvious deficiencies. Her husband had many acquaintances and people with whom he was friendly when they crossed paths in town, but he was largely a lone ranger. His social schedule was almost bare beyond family outings. He seemed to take on the perspective that extracurricular socializing wasn’t a matter of overstepping his reach, it was just that it was an inconvenience. She knew this chance passing would not come to anything unless she took action. The boys had been speaking for a few minutes and it was winding down.

“Hey, why don’t you guys come over tomorrow. You can play bocce ball in the back yard or watch football. I’ll make a few sandwiches and watch the kids,” she offered.

“What do you say, fellas? We’ll have cheese puffs on hand,” Emmett said picking up a bag from the back of the stroller and waving it.

- - -

It was early Sunday afternoon. The football game was just underway on the television when the doorbell rang.

“Hi, guys. It’s nice to see you again,” said Kira in fine spirits. “Emmett’ll be out in a minute. He’s changing both diapers. A simultaneous double whammy.”

“So, you’re friends from high school,” making conversation.

“Oh, yeah, we chummed around quite a lot,” confirmed Cassidy while Mondo nodded affirmative.

“We played on the high school football and baseball teams. You know, Emmett used to be quite the athlete. Usually the best player on the team,” continued Woodward.

“Usually, the best on the field,” Cassidy upgraded without embellishing.

“Well, you can see it’s just the four of us. He’s never really had many friends over or done anything with other guy friends. He did have a softball team through work several years ago, but he stopped playing after our son was born,” said Kira. “He never goes out. I thought it was flattering when we first started dating. I never had to compete with anyone to get his time. But I’d like him to go out once in a while. I don’t want him to think he can’t go out because he feels I expect him home all the time.”

“Not compete for his time? We did. Looks like we’re face to face with the reason we lost,” mentioned Cassidy graciously acknowledging the victor in that battle. “Justifiably so, I must say.”

“How old are these things,” asked Mondo pointing at a picture of their children hanging on the wall.

“Our son is almost two years and our daughter is six months. He’s so good with them, Em. Do any of you have children,” Kira asked.

“No biological children, but we kind of look out for Mondo,” answered Woodward not aware of how silly this sounded.

“Hey, how’d you and Emmett meet,” asked Cassidy.

“The batting cages. I was in the fast pitch softball cage and he was in the fast-pitch baseball cage,” explained Kira shyly.

“Batting cages,” Woodward asked quizzically.

“I played softball in college. We were pretty good, went to the College Softball World Series tournament two years in a row. Anyway, we had a game and played poorly. It was embarrassing. I mean we couldn’t hit anything. After the game me and five other girls decided to hit the cages. It was a post game cleansing routine. Well, during the game I slid into second base to break up a double play. Ripped my pants. So, we’re hitting at the cages after the game and you could see my underwear through the rip. He walked by and said, ‘Nice swinging, pink lilies,’ referring to the lilies visible through the rip. I was surprised he knew the name of the flowers,” smiling as she recalled the episode. “They were lilies. He really got my attention. Anyway, I countered with ‘You think you got game, elbow guard,’” visibly pleased with the recounting of her retort.

“He had the elbow guard going back to high school,” remembered Cassidy.

“He asked me out that night. We still go to the cages on our anniversary,” she said.

“It sure would be good to get him out of the house once in a while. Heck, if you can get him out I’ll even buy the first two rounds of beer,” she offered.

Emmett emerged just then from the hallway with a child in each arm. After the handoff to Kira, bocce was engaged.

Emmett dominated as they all expected, even Mondo. He excelled at everything, it didn’t matter what the challenge. Basketball, chess, Gnip-Gnop, or hangman. He was a fierce competitor and usually found a successful strategy whether it was his natural ability or his opponents lack thereof. In face to face competition he was tough to equal.

At one point Mondo managed to cut his finger with a bocce ball.

“Mondo, what the hell did you do? You’re holding round balls. How’d you cut yourself,” Woodward pressed.

Nobody saw what he did to get cut and Mondo was virtually blank in trying to explain what happened. Emmett went into the house and returned presenting a choice of two bandages.

“You prefer a Hello Kitty or a Hot Wheels Band-Aid,” Emmett asked him.

“Come on, you got no real Band-Aids,” yakked Woodward mocking him.

“We haven’t had regular Band-Aids since the first baby was born,” Emmett advised.

Mondo grabbed the Hello Kitty but Woodward quickly slapped it away. Cassidy opened the Hot Wheels bandage and applied it to Mondo’s finger. First Aid concluded, they went inside and ate sandwiches in front of the TV.

“Hey, Emmett, may I please have a glass of milk,” asked Mondo politely.

“Help yourself. It’s in the refrigerator door,” Emmett authorized.

“No glass for you, remember? Use a plastic cup,” advised Woodward curtly looking at him with raised eye brows.

He found the milk, but it was beyond the expiration by two days. Mondo abided strictly by these dates on account of a bum experience as a child. It was suspected that expired milk adversely affected him on that fateful day resulting in an embarrassing public self guano incident that only Woodward continued to bring up, and reveled in so doing. He reached for an 8-oz. milk box, chocolate, and then saw the stash of juice boxes. Picked one and rejoined the living room.

“A juice box. Look at this guy. Nice find, Mondo,” said Cassidy with a playful lilt in his voice.

“What happened to your milk hankering,” Woodward asked suspiciously.

“It expired, the milk carton. Then I saw the small milk boxes, but I didn’t want to take one of them. I figured Em’s kids probably drink those,” said Mondo explaining his thought process.

“Who do you think drinks the juice boxes,” Woodward asked pointedly.

“Guys, Mondo’s cool. Actually, Kira and I often deploy the juice boxes for mixing drinks. We don’t always have a lot of large juice containers. We just don’t drink it that often. But those individual servings will last for months. Probably a year or more, even,” asserted Emmett.

The afternoon passed. The football game concluded and the previously flaunted bag of cheese puffs were zeroed out. The three boys set a follow up play date and said goodbye.

- - -

They returned to Cassidy and Mondo’s as they did most evenings. Woodward still lived at home and his weekday routine had him wolfing down supper with his parents before excusing himself to his friends’.

“Poor, Emmett. He’s a broken man! He’s totally defeated,” blathered Woodward getting himself riled up. He lived under the illusion that he lived a life that other men envied, Emmett included. In his own mind he was a man to emulate.

“He looked pretty happy to me,” Cassidy countered.

“He’s changed. Really. He uses his kids’ juice boxes to mix drinks,” continued Woodward irately. “Instead of measuring out drinks by tablespoons, ounces, jiggers, or shots, he now mixes by number of juice boxes.”

“Sounds like logical reasoning,” replied Cassidy again defending his friend.

“Logical reasoning? A grown man using Hot Wheels and Hello Kitty Band-Aids,” said Woodward upgrading his complaint.

“Dude, you have a problem with Hot Wheels Band-Aids? Meanwhile your entire Hot Wheels collection remains intact after age appropriateness is 20 years past,” challenged Cassidy. “Besides, he’s got kids, man. One can reasonably justify they’re for his kids. What’s your excuse?”

“We must break him out of this fettered domestication. He’s locked in like he knows no better,” continued Woodward not having any of what Cassidy was pushing.

“What do you mean break him out? Like an insurrection,” Mondo blurted.

They both looked at Mondo, but he’d already turned away not paying attention.

“An insurrection. Yes, good. Impressive range, Mondo,” answered Woodward surprised at the use of his pal’s fancy word. “You accidentally been watching the History Channel again?”

“What do you mean an insurrection? From who,” asked Mondo having already forgotten that it was his idea.

“From whom,” schooled Cassidy.

“OK. From whom? His family,” pursued a confused Mondo.

“Hey, look smart guy,” announced Woodward to Cassidy with an air of self importance. “We’re fighting for our buddy here. Let’s find a way to save Emmett. You can play smart guy with someone else. So an insurrection’s been proposed.”

“But his wife wants us to take him out. Heck, she’s offered to buy the beer if we just take him out. Doesn’t seem like a revolt to me,” Cassidy retorted.

“Stop clowning around you two. I’d like to find a way to save our friend. Can you do this with me,” asked Woodward. “OK, so his wife offered to buy beers. Good. There’s our seed money for the movement.”

- - -

After much bickering, the boys convinced Emmett, guilt-tripped, more accurately, into entering the dark confines of the exotic dance club. Emmett was a decent man, but not impeccable. They ordered their draft beers, the first of their two minimum drink purchase as required with entry fee, approached the main dance floor, and spied several available seats. Three ladies were sharing center stage with two smaller stages along the perimeter at the back of the club, each smaller stage hosting a single dancer. Woodward, Cassidy, and Mondo, mouths slightly agape, head tilted slightly aloft to view the dancers at their performance elevation. Each man reaching for his wallet in a non-thinking action. With a stack of singles pre-folded they set the bills at the edge of the stage resembling small green pyramids when viewed from the side. These three were lost in their debaucherous desires as the commendably physiqued fancy nubiles shook their junk on stage. To the credit of the boys, they were not yet drooling on themselves.

Emmett, though, kept himself together. There was no ogling. He had not given himself up to the vile environment in which he was relegated. The dancers were not the focus of his attention. He had not descended to the existence of non-thinking inanimate objects, as had his chums. He sipped his draft beer. It didn’t matter what brand. His enemy here was time, the sipping of a beer would be his prop in accomplishing this task. Burn off those few hours that must be killed so that he may retire back to his homestead and his people. But first, he must endure.

As the three full grown delinquents turned themselves over to this voluntary debasing, Emmett fell prey to his own. Over the robust ambient cacophonous racket that passed for music, he heard, so he thought, a faint noise indicating a delight beyond his expectations.

He parted from the three without a word or gesture and went in hunt. He walked in the direction of one of the smaller stages and passed without so much as a courtesy glance at the sweaty undulating body wearing little more than body glitter. It would be through the doorway dead ahead if his instincts were correct, instincts that had been honed over very many hours from the incessant video gaming of his youth. He stepped in. Bliss. Video games. Full standing cabinet arcade style games. Vintage games. Classics. He felt like a teenager again. The exhilaration. He could feel the forthcoming action in his fingers from so many hours of playing, training, those years ago. Five games, one stool, no other patrons. Like his pals reaching for their folded singles, he reached for a stash of quarters in a pocket of his wallet. Setting his beer down and moving the stool into position, he got things underway.

- - -

Two hours passed. One by one they all went broke. Mondo was first as he accidentally tossed out a few tens on stage while lost in his trance. Cassidy, taking an avuncular approach to Mondo, kept him in the game by floating him a few singles and another beer. Woodward, lost to the world, couldn’t hardly tear his eyeballs away. And when he did, the adjustment to darkness after staring at center stage caused a nearly painful squint. The three of them sitting up front with no money left. That lasted almost two minutes before a bouncer forcibly asked them to vacate the seats so that paying customers may occupy them. They stood up without complaint and moved into the shadows away from the lights of center stage. They noticed now for the first time that Emmett was absent.

When they found him, he was a sweaty mess. His shirt soaked through and his hair matted down on the sides and back with wetness. He was still gaming and had been doing so nonstop, taking only short breaks to move the stool from one game to the next. His beer was sitting on top of the Galaxian arcade game where he’s set it down over two hours ago. Mondo, without asking, grabbed it, drank it with relish, and put it back where he got it.

“Emmett, have you been in here the whole time,” asked Woodward almost sympathetically.

“Not now, I’ve almost got the high score in Joust,” exclaimed Emmett lightly agitated at the distraction. He wasn’t angry, just laden with adrenaline.

“Look at this. He’s got all the high scores,” announced Cassidy, pleased with his friend’s skillful craft.

“Dude, give it a rest. You’re getting all worked up,” said an irritated Woodward.

“You’re one to talk. You were pretty worked up watching the dancers,” responded Cassidy keeping Woodward from unduly elevating himself.

The video game ended. Emmett entered hs initials. Another high score. He grabbed his empty pint glass and walked away with no words. The four made for the exit and he placed his glass on the end of the bar without breaking stride.

- - -

They drove to Emmett’s, nearly silent except for the radio. With the motor idling Emmett exited the vehicle.

“Thanks for the time, guys,” Emmett offered. With a wave to the three in the car he walked to the front door and reached for his key. The three yelled their final denigrating remarks.

They drove away in silence for a few blocks. Pals, they were, and would continue to be for years. But socially it was over. There would be very little intersecting, if at all, from this point forward. They shared a common beginning, but are different today. They all knew it, even Mondo.

“He’s damaged goods. He can’t be fixed,” Woodward said seeing that Emmett was beyond them now.

“He can be fixed. Wasn’t he vasectomized last year,” Mondo said proud of his clever comment.

“That’s not what I meant,” Woodward said wrestling with the realization that it was not Emmett who was the damaged goods. They were perpetual adolescents with such trademark maneuvers as short changing the part-time fast food cashier with a flurry of questions while they were counting change or trying to tilt a vending machine looking to score free junk food.

Emmett was lost to them. Yet he was happy. Somehow whole. The three had extended their best effort, and were defeated. Emmett had seemingly evolved, while the three remained in flux. There would be no successful intervention. Nor an insurrection.

END
7/2009


The winner, if you’d like to give it a whiff, can be read by clicking here.
-klem