“Dear Dr. Kim”

“Dear Dr. Kim,
“I recently started dating a nice girl, and things were going well for a while. Then she invited me over to her place for the first time (for Saturday brunch), and I noticed that she had four cats. I’m not allergic to cats, and in fact I quite like them. But isn’t four cats a little excessive?”
—Worried, Scranton

Dear Worried,
Run, do not walk, to the Relationship Exit. Any single woman who owns more than one cat has issues so profound and so dangerous (for a relationship) that I dare not speak of them in polite company. But don’t take my word for it: ask any of your male friends for a second opinion. If anything, their advice will be stronger than mine.
—Dr. Kim

Wrong Kind Of Update

When I quit blogging, I pretty much stopped going to blogs altogether, and lost touch with many old friends. So when I received a kind donation from someone with a familiar name at my GoFundMe appeal, you may imagine my shock upon reading the note attached:

Dear Kim,
When my husband (Chris, AKA Spoons of The Spoons Experience) and I visited Texas for a weekend, you and Connie insisted on our visiting you, which, as admirers of your blog, we were very excited by. You and Connie cooked us up a brunch fit for a king, then took us shooting (lending me your supercool Colt Python to try at the range!). A truly marvelous day was had by all. These are memories that now make me smile and tear up at the same time, because Chris died suddenly of a heart attack at 41 nearly four years ago. We had finally managed to accept that that we could never have children, but we had each other, and we knew we’d grow old together. But that wasn’t in the cards. What I did have, though, thank G_d, was parents who loved me and helped me, emotionally, financially, every way way they could. They still do. I can’t, *shouldn’t* forget how many blessings still remain in my life, though I’ll admit that some days it’s still hard. May G_d bless you and your family in your time of grief and hardship, and may you too come to be able to tell (or type) anecdotes from your life with your own beloved with smiles as well as a tear.
Laura

This broke my heart. I loved visiting The Spoons Experience, enjoyed his wicked sense of humor and sharp intellect, loved meeting him and his wife in person — they were such a warm and friendly couple — and to learn of his death like this was a complete smack in the face.

R.I.P.  Spoonsy; and Laura: please keep in touch, and yes,  I’ll be telling stories about Connie for the rest of my life. Smiles can come later.

 

Altered Ego

Writing that postscript about my friend Patterson last week brought up a random thought about alter egos, because when I first made him public on the old blog a couple of people genuinely thought that I was using him as a proxy to make all sorts of outrageous and non-PC utterances. I let it ride and never commented one way or the other because I found it amusing.

For pretty much all of my online life I’ve blogged, written and commented using my actual name — it’s called “taking responsibility for what you say” — and therefore I don’t need to hide behind anyone else’s persona to call Hillary Clinton a rancid Commie bitch, John McCain a wartime hero / peacetime fuckup, or Chuck Schumer a loathsome cocksucker, as I have been known to do on occasion.

With all that said, though, I have to say that there have been two Kims in my lifetime: a naughty, horrible, cruel and mischievous Kim who would do anything for a laugh or a dare, the more outrageous the better — and let’s just call him “Evil Kim”. Evil Kim once told a boss to stop fucking with me and instead go home to fuck his wife, as I had done the night before (and yes, I had indeed done just that, while he was out of town on a business trip — it was her idea, by the way, and she eventually left him because he was a total dickhead). As Evil Kim, I once put a fist through an office wall because I got sick of some asshole taunting me — actually, the punch was intended for him, but I misjudged the distance between us.  When the CEO called me into his office to reprimand me for the action, I told him the circumstances behind the punch, and said that he could fire me if he wanted to, but I wasn’t going to apologize either privately or in public. He didn’t fire me (I have no idea why not, other than maybe because I was really good at my job and our clients loved me). Evil Kim was also a serious philanderer who kicked down the door of several ladies’ boudoirs to have his way with them, sometimes two in the same night and once, memorably, four times over a single weekend. Evil Kim also stuck a gun (Colt Combat Commander) into a guy’s nose when said guy took offence to Evil Kim having bedded his wife on a camping trip while the cuckold was out on the lake in a boat, fishing — and it wasn’t the first time I’d stuck a gun up a guy’s nose, either.

That, then, is a thumbnail portrait of Evil Kim.

Many years later came a quieter, kinder, less abrasive Kim — and we’ll call him “Nice Kim”. Nice Kim was (and is) more respectful of people’s feelings, would be less likely to get into fistfights in bars over trivial arguments, is not on first-name terms with most barmen (and especially barmaids) in the area, and might only lash out when severely irritated or provoked.

Nice Kim came about because I met and fell in love with a woman named Connie, back in 1996. Within a very short space of time Connie gentled me, made me less of an absolute bastard and more acceptable, say, in polite company — something that no other woman, including a brace of ex-wives, had managed to do.  What may astonish you is that the person you’ve known through this and earlier blogs has actually been Nice Kim writing.

I’ll leave to your imagination what kind of blog would have been written by Evil Kim.

I won’t say that Nice Kim has had the field all to himself, though. A good friend once called me long-distance to tell me of his frustration about the fact that his kid sister was being abused by her asshole of a husband. I listened till he reached the end of his story, and asked him what he wanted me to do about the situation — and without prompting, Evil Kim outlined his options. Did he want me just to chastise the little prick, say, into a hospital ward? Or did he want the wife-beater to go away? When my friend realized the implications of what I was actually offering, he calmed down a great deal and told me that I didn’t need to get involved, he’d take care of the matter himself.

Now that Connie has left my life, I’ve noticed that Evil Kim occasionally pokes his head around the corner, eager to make my re-acquaintance. I have to say, I’ve kinda missed the old rogue and we may go out and play together in the future.

Just in closing, I told a close friend about Nice Kim and Evil Kim (he’s only ever known Nice Kim). He listened as I went through a small part of the catalog of horrors (and they were far, far worse than the ones I mentioned above). When I was done, I warned him about the possibility of Evil Kim putting in the occasional appearance. His only comment: “I can’t wait.”

Which should tell you all about the caliber of my friends.

Fernando And Me

Some time back, I happened upon an interview with F1 driver and former World Champion, Fernando Alonso. At the end of the interview, Alonso was asked a series of questions, and the eclectic nature of the questions intrigued me. So, if Fernando will forgive me, I’ve posted his responses with mine immediately underneath.

If you could pick just one meal to eat for the rest of your life, what would it be?
Fernando Alonso: Pizza.
Kim: Boerewors [South African sausage] with Jarlsberg cheese on the side.

If you could pick just one [tropical] holiday destination…
Alonso: The Maldives.
Kim: The Seychelles — if not so far away and spendy, I’d go there annually. And I don’t even like tropical paradises.

If you could pick just one track to race on…
Alonso: Suzuka.
Kim: Spa Francorchamps, in any type of car.

If you could pick just one F1 corner to drive…
Alonso: Eau Rouge [Spa].
Kim: Ditto. Here’s why.

If you could pick just one race car to drive…
Alonso: McLaren MP4/4.
Kim: 1959 Ferrari 246 F1 — still one of the most beautiful racers ever made.

If you could pick just one F1 era to race in…
Alonso: The 90s.
Kim: The late 1950s — yeah, it was dangerous; don’t care.

If you could pick just one road car to drive…
Alonso: The McLaren P1.
Kim: 2017 Bentley Continental.

If you could pick just one other motorsport to watch…
Alonso: MotoGP.
Kim: World Endurance Championship Series, esp. Le Mans (long video).

If you could pick just one video game to play…
Alonso: I play a lot of football games. Probably it would be FIFA.
Kim: Probably none; maybe EA Sports Cricket, if I had to choose one.

If you could pick just one colour to wear…
Alonso: Black.
Kim: Dark blue or -green.

If you could pick just one sport to play…
Alonso: Basketball.
Kim: Cricket. Test cricket, at Lord’s.

If you could pick just one song to listen to…
Alonso: “Have A Nice Day” by Bon Jovi.
Kim: “Carry On My Wayward Son” by Kansas (assuming the genre is rock ‘n roll).

If you could pick just one thing to drink…
Alonso: Apple juice.
Kim: Fresh squeezed OJ, from South African oranges.

If you could pick just one book to read…
Alonso: “Open” by Andre Agassi.
Kim: Fiction: “Goshawk Squadron” by Derek Robinson; non-fiction: “The Proud Tower” by Barbara Tuchman.

If you could pick just one city to live in…
Alonso: Oviedo, my hometown.
Kim: Vienna, Austria:

or Plano TX (my new apartment will be just around the corner):

If you could pick just one movie to watch…
Alonso: It would be a comedy…
Kim: “A Good Year” by Ridley Scott — I watch it about once a month anyway.

If you could pick just one person to live with…
Alonso: That is a work in progress.
Kim: Nobody. Splendid isolation, remember?

If you could pick just one fruit to eat…
Alonso: Banana.
Kim: South African white peach, or papaya (paw-paw).

If you could pick just one vegetable to eat…
Alonso: Courgette.
Kim: Potato, in all its various forms.

If you could pick just one mode of transport to use…
Alonso: Train. I like to use trains. Everywhere that I can, I take trains.
Kim: A performance saloon car like a Maserati Quattroporte or Bentley.

If you could pick just one gadget to own…
Alonso: iPhone.
Kim: Laptop PC — I’d say a Smartphone, but the screen’s too small to read.

If you could pick just one age to be…
Alonso: 23 or 24. From then on it is only going downhill!
Kim: 25 or 26. (I absolutely ruled at that age.)

If you could pick just one band or singer to listen to…
Alonso: Bon Jovi.
Kim: Procol Harum.

If you could pick just one thing to collect…
Alonso: Probably watches.
Kim: Also watches, or electric guitars.

If you could pick just one type of shoe to wear…
Alonso: Sneakers.
Kim: Minnetonka moccasins. That’s pretty much all I wear anyway, unless it’s cold or raining.

If you could pick just one type of chocolate or candy to snack on…
Alonso: Lollipop.
Kim: Buchanan’s Clotted Cream Fudge, from Britain.

If you could pick just one famous celebrity to date…
Alonso: Probably Charlize Theron.
Kim: Nigella Lawson or Carol Vorderman.

And of course, I have to justify my two choices with completely gratuitous pics of Nigella and Carol:

  

Yeah, I have a type. And finally:

If you could pick just one piece of exercise equipment to train with…
Alonso: Bicycle.
Kim: Bar stool.

Giving Your Life Away

I don’t mean that literally, of course; I’m talking about moving from a 3,000 sq. ft. house into a 650 sq. ft. apartment, and what that entails with your stuff.

The Mrs. and I were a little magpie-ish, and I think it was because as we were both once self-employed, we watched the pennies carefully when it came to office- and business-related purchases. Both of us hated having to buy office stuff — overhead and operating costs were a constant niggle — but even worse was having to buy the same thing again because we’d tossed the earlier one prematurely. So we ended up with old desktop PCs, old laptops and an astonishing number of monitor screens (I think there were eight, the last time I looked). And having a large garage as a store room just made that worse.

And that’s fine; it’s all become junk now, and I have no problem taking it all to Goodwill. (Did you know that Goodwill is listed as a primary “green” disposer of old computer hardware? I had no idea.)

Speaking of garages, we also had an astonishing number of tools (mostly woodworking, because that’s what I know how to do). But I wasn’t the cause of the Ace Hardware catalog in the garage: it was The Mrs. who, once she’d discovered that I knew how to use those things, insisted that I buy them and show her how to use them; then, having mastered them to her satisfaction, she’d elbow me out of the way and I’d never have to touch them again. Jigsaws, scroll saws, miter saws, drill presses, belt sanders, finishing sanders, routers, planers, nail guns — you name the tool, she used it constantly. She nearly burned out the drill press.

They’re all gone, now; I traded them all with a guy who’s going to put a new floor in the master bathroom in return, and I gave them away without a second thought, because I know I’m never going to use them again, nor will I ever have enough space to do so. There’s no emotion because they’re just tools.

What I hate — absolutely hate — is getting rid of books. As I watch the Son& Heir and Canucki-Girlfriend take the books down off the shelves, I have to make the dreaded Keep / Discard decision for each one, and I have to tell you, for a man whose entire life has revolved around books, it’s like losing knowledge, piece by bloody piece.

(I’ve never bought into e-books, by the way. I tried a Kindle, but it might as well been kindling for all the appeal it had to me. Here’s the reason why: my eyesight is failing [Old Fart Problem #4], which means I have to increase the font size to see the words properly. Problem: I read at about 2,000 words per minute (always have), which means that I’d get a blister on my thumb from hitting the “Next Page” button on a Kindle. The Mrs. even complained about the noise of the constant rapid-fire clicking.)

And that’s the problem, right there: I love the feel of a book in my hands. I love the ability to flip backwards to re-read a passage that turned out to be important later on. I love the fact that once I own a book, it can’t be taken away from me electronically by some algorithm which decides that I’ve had the content “long enough” (as though there’s an expiration date on ownership).

Yet now those same books are being taken away from me, not by an algorithm but by real estate — or the lack thereof — and maybe it’s just because I’m in mourning anyway, but the loss of my books is causing me unbelievable heartache. The more popular ones are going to Half Price Books, the gutless gun-haters, because I need the money. The “good” books (in my opinion), the history books, the philosophy books, the political books — all those are going to Goodwill and Salvation Army because I want them to reach people who really need them.

The Son&Heir estimated that there were about 5,000 books on the various bookshelves scattered around the house, and I’ve had to say good-bye to all but maybe a hundred or so. For a book-lover like me, it’s Sophie’s Choice, times thousands. Here’s the main bookshelf in the library — yes, it was called the library, because that’s what it was — and all the books you see are hardbacks. All but about twenty are gone.

And the same applies to the other eight bookcases located in other rooms and the upstairs den. Two are larger than this one.

This plain sucks.

And just let some wise-ass say that this is a First World Problem, and I’ll come over to his fucking house and burn it down. With him inside.