Obamacare. One Man’s Gripes.

[Gripe 1] Affordable Health Care, the bill was called. It’s important to note that the bill is called ‘Affordable’ Health Care, not Good or Improved, but Affordable. The fallacy of ‘Affordable’ aside, let’s consider the meaning of the word.

Week-old bagels are more affordable than fresh bagels, but at least fresh bagels are available if you want them and can afford them. The problem with the Affordable Health Care bill is that to achieve the stated goal, only the ‘week-old bagels’ will ultimately be available. Fresh bagels (i.e., the world’s best health care as we know it) will become a thing of the past once the bill is fully implemented.

[Gripe 2] Analogizing Health Care to Transportation: Transportation is important. You can’t work if you have no means of getting to the workplace, but government doesn’t furnish the populace with cars. Instead, the government sensibly makes public transportation available for a nominal fee. It doesn’t make all citizens abide by this same means of transport. If someone wants better transportation than a bus, they provide for it themself.

I would’ve preferred that government take the Transportation approach to Health Care instead of sticking us with this bill.

[Gripe 3] Medical costs will increase as a result of this bill, despite being told differently. The Federal Government said they had to get involved in health care because it is too expensive. Citizens were further advised that the bill would provide expanded coverage and include more people with no increase in supply (i.e., no increase in medical professionals to provide these increased services) and still bring costs down? Under what economic model does that work? That, plus the expense of a new bureaucracy to enforce this debacle.

[Gripe 4] Access to health care does NOT equate to accessible health care. Tales have been well publicized about the long waits for health care services in England and Canada, countries with socialized health care systems. Is that our future?

[Gripe 5] The forthcoming loss of employer-provided health care. Effective 2014, under this bill, employers will have an incentive to drop health care for their employers. If an employer does not provide health care for employees they will be fined, but that fine is far cheaper than the expense of actually providing health care. Employees would then be picked up by the government-provided plan instead. Affordable health care means it’s more affordable to drop the coverage for employees than actually providing it.

Additionally, even if an employer decided to continue providing health insurance for their employees, a fine will be imposed if the employer-provided health care does not meet a certain standard of coverage. The fine for inadequate health care coverage is larger than the fine for not offering it at all!

Under such a ridiculous and perilous plan, what employer would opt to provide their employees with health care? Employees will be lopped into the government plan by default like so much ash in the dust bin.

[Gripe 6] If Congress is so proud of themselves for passing this bill, why did they except themselves and their family from abiding by it? Because they know the bill stinks. They’ll let the citizens wallow haplessly in this frothy mess while they hold a handkerchief to their nose and tell us how swell it is.

-klem

Koobi

With much sadness we recently had our dog put down. We got her as a puppy from the Pasadena pound 13 years ago. They didn’t know with certainty what specific kind of pooch she was, they said a husky/shepherd.

Wife Klem and I bought our first home in 1998. Our dog, Kira (aka Koobi), would be the second major acquisition [not monetarily, but as it pertains to a commitment]. The third major purchase was unforeseen, Koobi’s knee surgeries, both hind legs.

Four months after we got her it became evident that both hind legs were faulty. We’d be playing in the backyard chasing tennis balls and she’d suddenly do what looked like a series of beleaguered bunny hops, then she’d lie down in the grass panting. It was gruesome to see. We didn’t have ample jack, but she got her knee surgery. Those improved knees, turns out, was money very well spent.

As a puppy, after her new knees and dog training, I would take her into the hills north of La Crescenta and let her off leash. She never ran off. She would run 20 to 30 feet away enjoying her sense of independence and, every so often, she’d look back at me as if to make sure it was still OK that she was off leash. It was. If people were approaching I’d call her back and she’d return without hesitation and easily allow the leash. I was really surprised how quickly and well she responded. Her dog training really paid off!

After we had kids, she was very protective, but never aggressive. If we were out for a walk with a kid in the stroller, if anyone came near, Koobi would growl, raise the fur on her back, and put on a good show, but she never bit anyone. Wife Klem and I liked how she considered the kids to be her babies too and wanted to keep them safe.

Since early this year her left hind leg had deteriorated to the point where she used it as little more than a pivot. Her right hind leg had recently also become a major problem. Near the end she had difficulty squatting and had trouble standing up from a laying position. Once she was up on all fours she could get around in a tentative hobbled manner but often looked as if she were in need of assistance. If she was outside and out of sight for more than a few minutes I was inclined to look for her, make sure she had not collapsed somewhere, lying out there in the sun unable to stand. Anytime we’d been away from home for more than an hour we’d hope to return to find her peacefully sleeping in one of her spots, instead of being splayed out on the floor waiting for help to arrive because she had slipped and couldn’t get up.

Kira was a sweet beast that brightened our home and softened our hearts. I hope she finds doggy heaven to be a place where she receives a Friday night pig ear every night.

-klem

The Pink Uzi

[The following is a fictionalized account of an actual conversation.]

1996

It was a lazy Saturday afternoon in Pasadena. A friend and I, we’ll call him Cassidy, and a friend of his, let’s call him Gates, had been chucking a baseball on a grass field at a local school. Having exorcised this urge we retired to the nearby home of Gates’ mother. With cups of cool water in hand we absconded to his former bedroom, a room he had vacated more than a decade ago when he had left for college, yet the room remained as it had been after his final day of occupancy. During a lull in our nonsensical conversation, Cassidy noticed something unusual in the closet through the doors that were slightly ajar, something pink.

“Dude, what’s that,” asking his pal Gates with an unexpected amount of excitement in his vocal inflection.

“Oh, that’s a pink Uzi. Want to see it,” having reached into the closet and retrieved the Israeli-made submachine gun, he was holding it out to us.

“No thanks,” Cassidy and I declined on cue wanting not to contribute our fingerprints to such a highly illegal possession.

The room’s window blinds were mostly drawn, but the bright late afternoon sunlight oozed through well enough to clearly see the gun. Pink, yes, it had been spray-painted pink, but the black metal did show through in the numerous scuffed areas. He was handling it with the familiarity one might handle a baseball bat well honed after many hours of swinging at pitches.

“You know it’s illegal to own that, don’t you,” cautioned the knowledgeable Cassidy who was like a databank of reliable information when it came to firearms.

“Yeah, I know, but there’s no way I’m going to give that up. Besides, even if I wanted to, to whom do I deliver it and what do I say,” countered the gun-bearing Gates.

“Where’d you get it,” asked Cassidy.

“I’ve had it for a few years, since I was in college,” said Gates holding our interest with a long pause.

“Go on,” I prompted being enthralled now with the tale that was being spun.

“When I was in college I let someone borrow my car,” he began. “They returned the keys the next day, this was on the floor of the back seat,” he said as he rewrapped the machine gun in an old jacket and placed it back in the closet. “Turns out they let someone else borrow the car, unbeknownst to me, and the third party had, what I’ve always assumed, was probably a drug run. Maybe they left in haste at the end of the night and forgot it.” Cassidy and I eyed the Uzi but said nothing. He continued.

“I usually just keep it in my old golf bag, but I went golfing last month. Luckily I remembered to remove it so I wasn’t lugging it around the links all day, and, so, I left it in the closet wrapped in this jacket.”

Nothing more was offered. Cassidy and I, not knowing where to continue the questioning, simply let the subject go. We went out for milk shakes then parted ways. The Uzi was forgotten and not discussed at length until now.

-klem

[It turns out that time has taken advantage of my powers of recall. I spoke last week with the above mentioned Cassidy regarding this long ago Saturday afternoon. This Gates did, indeed, find a firearm in his vehicle after someone had borrowed it. But it was a rifle, not an Uzi, and he did keep it. When asked by the car borrower, Gates avidly denied having found the rifle. The pink Uzi that my brain remembered in its place was from a subsequent conversation that immediately followed the telling of the actual sequence of events involving the rifle. The pink Uzi was merely an item Gates strongly desired to own, but in no way managed to accomplish ownership. Over 16 years my brain simply transposed the rifle with the Uzi.]

The Rock Tumbler

1995

I was a young professional returning to my apartment on a weekday evening, an apartment I shared with three other mid-20s bachelors. Each of us had our own rooms and maintained good jobs. It was surprisingly spacious and comfortable, though cleanliness, as one might image with four fellas residing within, was a constant struggle. I do not recall from whence I was returning, but from 50 feet away from the front door I could hear a horrendous racket, the source, though, not yet evident. The noise was constant, no gap or pause, the kind of noise I thought that might be capable of driving someone mad should it not be extinguished before long. I smiled to myself confidently thinking, ‘I don’t know what that is, but it sure is nice to know I can go home to an apartment that would not foster such a noise.’

The smile was short lived. As I approached the front door the noise was indeed getting louder! As I unlocked the door and opened it, I felt as if I were walking straight ahead into a strong breeze. A look of horror on my face with mouth agape, I turned to the kitchen to see a roommate casually eating a bowl of cereal.

“Dave got a rock tumbler,” he yelled to me from 15 feet away. Yes, he yelled so as to be heard over said tumbler.

I looked at a five-foot tall tower of sofa cushions along the kitchen wall. The rock tumbler, as a courtesy to his three roommates, had been buried under every cushion from our four sofas. [Yes, our apartment had four sofas which had been acquired over time at no charge from friends. Sofas were positioned two-deep in the family room facing the television, plus one sofa on each side of the room.] Nice, I thought, he did what he could to temper the tremendous racket generated from the tumbler, but the decibel level remained unbearable. Not wanting to be the one to throw a tantrum, I went to my room without disabling the thing. The noise continued after I closed the door, the door having a negligible affect on reducing the noise.

It was some time after going to bed, lying in bed tossing and turning, that I finally tackled the cushion tower and unplugged the rock tumbler, or was it one of my roommates. Regardless, I slept. The rock tumbler lived on intermittently for another few days before finally becoming a thing of the past.

My son recently asked about getting a rock tumbler. This past experience came to mind. I asked if it were OK if we did not get a rock tumbler. My boy, lucky for me, did not push hard for the acquisition.

-Klem

A Healing Hamburger

Madrid, Spain


August 1996

I had been in Madrid for only 24 hours and something was wrong. A bodily ailment of some kind. I had eaten hardly zilch since my arrival, I classify buttered buns as such, still I felt no pang of hunger. I surmised that my body was at war but had yet issued an adverse noticeable result of said ailment. Experiencing no hunger after a day of little intake left me inclined to force a meal into my belly to dissuade my fear of collapsing of an unknown illness while traipsing through the streets of a foreign land.

Concerned as to whether or not I could force my belly to consume and still retain the meal I’d be tossing down my gullet, I aimed for something that my insides would readily recognize. Recognition, I thought, would increase the retention possibilities. My self-prescribed antidote, I’m embarrassed to say, but here it is, I went to McDonalds.

I know, ‘The horror! A land of wonderful and delicious foods and Klem eats at McDonalds.’ ‘This is for medicinal purposes,’ I told myself. As a form of penance I made myself order in Spanish.

“Dos hamburgesas con queso y una Coca grande,” I spoke to the Spanish cashier. I was flattered at my language skills when she responded in Spanish and handed me change. ‘I spoke well enough to make her think I’m a Spanish speaker,’ so pleased I was with myself.

I sat at the table staring out the window in the sunny street and, despite the total lack of hunger, consumed the meal in its entirety and in delight. I discarded my wrappers, placed the plastic tray atop the bin, and exited the franchise fast food establishment. I conferred with my map then continued en route taking in numerous wonders of the fabled city. Hunger later returned at the appropriate interval. Concern subsided and I pronounced myself healed.


A month later I met up with a friend of mine, McGettigan the Elder, with whom I’d vacationed with briefly in Barcelona immediately prior to Madrid. Turns out he suffered from the same belly ailment. With this knowledge we pinpointed our mistake to a walkup food kiosk in Barcelona where we dined the morning before our travels took us in different directions. It was a bad schwarma that did us in.
-klem

Jim Morrison’s Grave

August 1996

Alone in Paris. What to do today? Ah, yes, Pere Lachaise Cemetery. Jim Morrison, former flamboyant singer of the Doors, is buried at this reputed world’s most visited cemetery. He passed away in Paris in 1971 at the age of 27 of a presumed drug overdose.

I exited my flat this morning to engage a sunny glorious day. With a freshly opened room temperature liter juice box of peach-orange nectar in hand from the previous day’s shopping, I purchase a pair of quiches from the local quiche shop, selected from the glass counter display, to be consumed on the saunter. Yes, the shop sold predominantly quiche plus numerous other enticing bakery items. I ate the two and walked to the underground Metro which I had by this time become quite familiar. It no longer enjoyed any intimidation over me, what with its foreign words and illegible posted notifications, as my confidence was handsomely buoyant.

With no difficulties I located the noted celebrity graveyard and entered. Very old, as estimated by the dates on many gravestones, but impressively well maintained. I possessed no French tongue so I didn’t burden the guards with an unprofitably cumbersome query as to the whereabouts of the American singer’s resting place. I walked the grounds leisurely reading the names on the head stones fully expecting to accidentally come across Morrison. After a brief respite on a bench where I read a book, refreshed, I resumed the casual search. I was certain of a victorious outcome, and, in the end, my expectations were not betrayed.

I came upon a large swath of grounds that was very heavily shaded. Shortly, I heard weeping. Not the lonely weeping of a single human, but that of at least two weepers plus additional folks in the distance coupled with the ambient noise of a small crowd. Possible funeral? Or folks spending time with a loved deceased family member? No. This was the crowd of about 15 people visiting the grave of Jim Morrison. The crowd was not together, meaning they were not of the same visiting party. The crowd was waxing and waning in a constant fluctuating roster of rotating personnel. Several would leave, another small group would appear. They were sight seers, as was I. Seeing this ridiculous scene of the crying and gawking, I was suddenly embarrassed of myself for now being part of this same silliness.

I stood 25 feet away and observed the goings on. Two girls appearing to be in their early 20s or late teens openly weeping and writing notes to the deceased singer. The tear stained documents were lain at the foot of the head stone. Several male members of the crowd retrieved bottles of liquor from their backpacks and left them unopened for the singer’s ghost to imbibe, I guess. A collection of five or so bottles had already accumulated. The guards certainly were very thankful for the offerings of these youthful buffoons, gifts of booze they would gleefully divvy up after hours.

It was a silly scene, one I could not muster the strength to embrace. Unable to overcome my embarrassment I turned and absconded with the balance of my dignity.


I next stopped at a nearby grocery store to purchase a number of croissants, a piece of chocolate, and a bottle of water. A snack to remain properly fueled.
-klem

The Day I Became a Conservative

Summer 1996

I entered my adolescence as a Republican on the merit of my parents having been on that team. The nonthinking acceptance continued until one day in the summer of 1996 when I became a Conservative under my own volition, my own conscious choice.


My job entailed much driving and I’d recently become burned out listening to music, I needed a break. Acting on a recommendation from a colleague with whom I worked, I tried talk radio. On this sunny summer morning driving around Southern California there had been a discussion about a bill President Clinton signed. The bill provided a segment of the population with free phone service. My initial thought was, ‘That’s OK with me. The phone company can afford to give it away to a few folks.’

I naively figured the phone company would carry the burden of being required to furnish the free service. But the discussion continued that this was not the way it worked out. The radio host insisted that the phone company passed those lost service charges forward to the paying customers by simply adding a fee. ‘No way,’ I thought to myself. ‘There’s no charge back. This guy is a wind bag.’

My next phone bill arrived and I scrutinized the thing. There it was, the fee! The guy on the radio may be a bag of wind, but I was indeed paying for someone else to have the same service that I paid for. ‘This sucks!,’ was my prevailing amended sentiment. My naiveté was rendered a powerful blow. I was a singe fella renting a 500 square foot hovel in a 40-unit apartment complex in Pasadena at the time. Why was I paying for other peoples’ goods when I had few things of my own?


Turns out nothing is free, especially if the government says it is. Free, in government parlance, just means that the folks receiving the service or benefit aren’t paying but everyone else is.

To look at it another way, let’s consider milk shakes. I’m a guy who is very fond of milk shakes and am wildly in favor of them being available to the populace. Yet, I have no interest in being required to pay for someone else’s milk shake. Those who desire this wonderful concoction should be prepared to either pay for it or pass it up.

Certainly phone service is more important than milk shakes. [Note: This even holds true while we’re within grasp of McDonald’s seasonal Shamrock Shakes.] But the point is that the Government, both Federal and state, are much more generous with give-aways than I prefer.

While the ‘Free Phone Service’ discussion may have some merit, the scenario just brought the reasoning home for me. And so it came to be that my politics turned away from the language of enablers and took a large step toward self-reliance.
-klem

Four Eyes

1979

I was a generally well behaved 7th grade kid which resulted in me being assigned a seat at the rear of the class. Trouble was, my eyeballs couldn’t see the chalkboard. I wasn’t aware of my vision deficiency, I just assumed the other kids in the back row couldn’t see either, so I squinted and never thought to complain. The annual school eye exam was the revelation. It was under these conditions that Dr. Dressler, now retired, fixed me up with my first set of glasses. The chalkboard was restored to my visual realm.


February 2012

Both Klem kids have been issued glasses. The boy, 5th grade, needs spectacles for seeing distance while my daughter, 2nd grade, needs them for reading. Each, curiously, has a properly functioning eyeball countered by a crummy one.

“How do you feel about getting glasses,” I asked the boy after the eye exam with the optometrist.

“I’m OK getting glasses. Anything that will help me do better,” came his mature response.

“Did you know you needed glasses,” was my follow up question.

“Yes, because we had a test at school and it said I needed glasses,” he replied. Before the school test, though, he said he thought he could see just fine.


He and Wife Klem joked that it’d be cool to get a monocle for his one problematic eyeball. Luckily the monocle option was no pushed forward.

“I can read the titles of the books on the fireplace,” he said of the Harry Potter series on the mantle from 20 feet away while sitting at the kitchen table wearing his new glasses and a smile. His formerly blurry world had regained some range.


And so it starts, another generation of four eyes. Cute looking four-eyed animals, though, these ones.
-klem

The Drive

It’s true that I’m a football fan. My team is the Cleveland Browns, a troubled franchise that is one of only four NFL teams (there are 32 football teams in all) to have never advanced to the Super Bowl. We can wax and wane effortlessly for hours as to the number of ways in which this team is troubled. But I prefer instead to share with you the closest the Browns have been to the Super Bowl. The following tale recounts what transpired during the closing minutes of the ball game and my sentiments as the game crumbled and fell away.


The Drive
1987. January 11

I was in my second year in the dorms at UC Santa Barbara. The tv reception in my dorm room was poor, only ABC was rendered watchable. Sadly, Sunday football and the playoffs were on CBS and NBC. Since I didn’t get those channels, I had simply given up Sunday football as a viewing option. So much so, that I hadn’t been watching the football playoffs even though my Cleveland Browns were a viable participant.

I recall this particular Sunday morning, I was having breakfast at the on-campus dining commons with several chums. We got to talking about the AFC Championship game between my beloved Browns and John Elway’s Denver Broncos, winner would advance to the Super Bowl. As we dined someone mentioned that the Browns were ahead in the 3rd quarter! Game was still on when we got back to the dorms so we traversed the the tv lounge to catch the end. The game was being played in Cleveland, it was now in the 4th quarter and the Browns were leading 20-13!

The tv lounge was surprisingly packed. I ended up in the back of the room on the floor, but I didn’t mind because my Browns were winning and I figured it’d only be a few minutes to finish this thing off and I’d return gleefully to my dorm room to either study or take a Sunday morning skate through campus on my skateboard. And so I watched.

After a muffed kick return by the Broncos they were backed up to their own 2-yard line with five minutes to play. A field goal would not suffice. My confidence was strong knowing that they’d have to drive 98 yards for a touchdown just to tie the game. Giddy almost, was I. It was under these circumstances that Broncos QB John Elway took the reigns on a possession that would be dubbed The Drive.

The first play from scrimmage had Elway in his end zone to pass the ball, a short five yard catch. Then came a scramble, another pass, mix in a sack somewhere, more short catches, it was agonizing to watch them move the ball steadily downfield. When the Broncos converted the 3rd down and 18 from the Browns 48 yard line with 1:47 to play, that marked the onset of panic for me. They scored a touchdown with 37 seconds remaining to tie the score 20-20. This game was going to sudden death Overtime.

Bernie Kosar and the Browns had a quick three plays and punted. The Broncos went on to win 23-20. Cleveland Browns tanked in the playoffs again. My gripe with Elway before this game was that he had giant teeth and a too-confident swagger. To my grave disappointment his giant teeth would slide from the radar of angst as he completed the first of a three year annual decimation of my beloved footballers in the AFC Championship game.


Looking back 23 years later I am confused as to how I was not watching this game from start to finish. What was I doing with a leisurely breakfast in the dining commons with an important playoff game underway? An important playoff game hosted in Cleveland Municipal Stadium with Quarterback Bernie Kosar at the helm? I even recall talking smack to someone at a party the night before about how my Browns were going to ruin the Broncos. And then come game time I’m absent?

Two weeks later the New York Giants would beat the Broncos in Super Bowl XXI by a score of 39 to 20. The Drive still hurts to this day, thankfully though, not nearly as much as it did immediately after that game in the winter of ‘87.
-klem

The Payroll Tax Cut

‘Hip Hip Hooray! The Senate graced us with a tax cut!!’ Or did they?

Congress voted last week in favor of extending, by two months, a payroll tax cut allowing the citizens to retain an extra 2% of their pay checks. “A tax cut is a tax cut, right,” ask the citizens looking for reassurance. Not exactly. These payroll taxes are earmarked specifically to fund, or ill-fund, Social Security. The end result is a deepening of an already vacuous funding hole.

Social Security already lacks the money needed to pay current benefits. This rerouting of 2% back to the tax payer simply means that the Government will shortly be asking for the money back to repay Social Security for the additional short changing this will cause. “We’re gonna have to raise taxes because we just don’t have enough money to pay Social Security,” we’ll be told by the Federal Government with a vacant look on their collective faces. To put it in terms as seen by this Klem, ‘Don’t tell me that you’re buying me a milk shake only to ask later for the funds to be returned in full plus interest.’

If you want to stimulate the economy beyond the purchase of Christmas presents, which this essentially accomplishes, make it a tax cut that will actually stimulate. This stimulating effect may be achieved by implementing a tax cut that households and businesses can make intermediate and long term decisions on (tax cuts on income or capital gains are two examples). Allow people to make spending decisions going forward into the future. Businesses must be able to plan on tax cuts for them to have a positive effect. So let them make plans to retain a larger percentage of their gross sales to reinvest back into the business in the form of buying equipment, constructing new buildings, and hiring new employees.

A two month 2% tax cut allows individuals to buy Christmas presents for the family. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a huge fan of both presents and family. But I’m not in favor of a tax cut that will later obligate me to pay for the presents of someone else’s family. That’s what’s happening here. Those 46% of Americans who pay no Federal income taxes [46% figure was obtained from Forbes.com] are probably fully in favor of this bonus because they’ll have no obligation to pitch back in to fill the Social Security funding hole. Me? I’m feeling gypped.

-klem

$10 Million in Cash!

Wife Klem and I saw Fast Five recently, a fun movie starring Vin Diesel and Paul Walker. A high-culture ‘art house’ piece it’s not, but it’s fun occasionally enjoying a film for the visual pleasure in lieu of scintillating dialogue. Justification for the viewing aside, the film raised an interesting topic. How would $10,000,000 in cash change one’s life?

In the film, a crew of thieves in Brazil aim to steal $100 million in cash from a drug dealer mogul. If they succeed, each of the crew members would get $10 million. Initial thought is, ‘Oh yeah! $10,000,000 is a life changer!’ But after some thought, the fact that it’s all cash raises a few problems: [1] You can’t take it home to the United States because you can’t carry such massive amounts of cash across borders without raising unwanted questions, [2] You can’t keep it safe in the bank because you can’t simply bring a series of duffel bags stuffed with $10M in cash to the bank without raising unwanted questions, [3] and then there’s the theft and life-safety exposure that comes with possessing $10M in cash. Not only could the stash get stolen, but who knows what danger a person may be willing to cause in order to steal the $10M. So Wife Klem and I got to thinking, ‘How could $10 million in cash improve our lives?’

Despite the hurdles noted above I’d be delighted with the problem of having $10,000,000 to bog me down. For simplicity purposes I allowed myself the luxury of starting with the $10M already in my possession, no border crossing conundrum with which to contend. I don’t think, however, I’d be able to quit my day job because it’s questionable I’d be able to convert enough of the cash quickly enough to pay all the monthly bills. For example, consider the monthly mortgage. I guess I could go to the bank monthly with a bag of cash to pay the bill, but I’d prefer to avoid any such questions about the origin of the stash. You also can’t pay off the balance of the mortgage with the cash because of the same concern. Traditional bill paying is also problematic without the ability to write a check or make a electronic payment. In order to do that you must first be able to get the hefty load of cash into the bank. Other areas, however, would easily flourish if one found themselves flush with ill-gotten cash.

Retail purchases would become a snap! Groceries, clothes shopping, meals, gas, and entertainment suddenly all become cash purchases! How swell to buy merchandise with no trailing obligation for payment! I’d open additional bank accounts, possibly as many as eight to ten, and make weekly cash deposits. Not huge enough amounts to raise eyeballs, just enough to be of functional use that can slowly be ciphered, by means of electronic payment or check, into retirement accounts and stock market transactions. Donations would also be an easy outlet, unless the charity started asking uncomfortable questions about the source of the ‘bottomless bag of cash’.

Money laundering was raised as a possibility for consuming the cash. This degree of difficulty, however, seems like too much work. We could periodically bring a briefcase full of cash to a casino, convert it to chips, and later go back to cash out, but we’d still be bogged down with cash, it’d just become ‘scrubbed’ cash. Wife Klem had the astute idea of opening a Check-cashing business! Bring us your checks, we’ll hand over cash, and everyone’s happy. A legitimate business to convert the cash! Except, of course, at that point we’d actually be working instead of just enjoying the easy life. Sure, we could just hire employees, but we’d still have the hassle of being involved in the rat race. Not as good as simply being worth a cool $10,000,000 and be free to spend it at will, as opposed to being obligated to surreptitiously disseminating it with the burden of trying to remain anonymous. Giving off the appearance of being worth $10M would be a luxury we’d be unable to portray.


In conclusion, $10,000,000 in cash would come with some inconveniences, but I’d be happy to try to prevail and triumph. But, yes, I would feel compelled to keep my day job.
-klem

My First Lesson in Compassion

Summer 1976


I was nine years old and my older brother and I were sitting on the front concrete walkway at home observing a line of ants. Well . . . we were maybe doing more than just observing the ants. In fact, mischievous youngsters that we were, it’s even possible that we were in possession of a magnifying glass at the time.

On this bright, hot summer day, my brother expertly maneuvered the magnifying glass to produce a small solid beam of havoc-wreaking sunlight. He was able to blast ants one after another, and by blast I mean kill. This meant instant death to each of these miniature social insects that was unfortunate enough to catch our attention. Impressed, I asked for an opportunity to wield the magnifying glass myself. He consented and handed over the instrument of destruction.

The magnifying beam emanating from my clumsy handling was not as crisp as I had seen him produce. Nor were the results as decisive as he had achieved. Turned out I was doing little more than punishing and crippling the ants, not killing them. Each ant I engaged became crippled up and writhed around in pain. It was an ugly scene I had orchestrated, even to these nine year old eyeballs. I was harshly damaging these little guys and it wasn’t right.

My brother leaned over the carnage-riddled mess, extended a finger and, one by one, squished the ants that I had assaulted, putting them mercifully out of their misery. “You don’t want to hurt ‘em,” he compassionately instructed while killing them.


And so it was that I learned compassion from my sensitive older brother.
-klem

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