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.

Bucket List Entry #1: Mille Miglia

I have alluded to my Bucket List before — those things I’d like to do before I kick the bucket — and I was going to put up the entire list, but that’s too much to digest in one gulp, I think. So rather than that, I’ll do one item at a time. Here’s the first.

From Wikipedia:

The Mille Miglia (Thousand Miles) was an open-road endurance race which took place in Italy twenty-four times from 1927 to 1957 (thirteen before the war, eleven from 1947).
Like the older Targa Florio and later the Carrera Panamericana, the MM made Gran Turismo (Grand Touring) sports cars like Alfa Romeo, BMW, Ferrari, Maserati, Mercedes Benz and Porsche famous. The race brought out an estimated five million spectators.
From 1953 until 1957, the Mille Miglia was also a round of the World Sports Car Championship.
Since 1977, the “Mille Miglia” has been reborn as a regulated race for classic and vintage cars. Participation is limited to cars, produced no later than 1957, which had attended (or were registered) to the original race. The route (Brescia-Rome round trip) is similar to that of the original race, maintaining the point of departure / arrival in Viale Venezia in Brescia.

And here’s the course:

Remember that the course uses only public roads, and in the old days, it was one of the most dangerous races in the world… for spectators. (That’s why the actual race was suspended, by the way. Cars were getting so fast that they were becoming uncontrollable, and because people are stupid, they weren’t backing off from the cars whizzing past; they were trying to get closer to the track — with the inevitable results.) Nowadays, it’s more like a moving Concours D’Elegance, more’s the pity.

Now let me be perfectly clear: I don’t want anything to do with the race. What I do want to do is drive the circuit, but in a gentlemanly, leisurely fashion, with a companion in a small but quick car which can navigate some of the tiny, ultra-narrow village streets through which the course runs when it’s not barreling through the northern Italian countryside.

I also don’t care what vintage car I use, as long as it’s a convertible. It could be an actual Stirling Moss-type Mercedes 300 Gullwing in powder blue:

Lovely, except that the color is really gay. How gay?

Or the car could be modern, so that we don’t spend  a week or two marooned in some tiny dago village while the car’s getting fixed, with nothing to do but drink and… okay, let’s leave that part in abeyance for the moment, until we get to the discussion of Kim’s Partner.

So, a more modern conveyance, there’s the Fiat 124 Spider Lusso:

…which fits the bill best in terms of beauty and the ability to make it through some really narrow streets:

But enough about cars. Let’s talk about my companion. There are two options, male and female. Leaving aside the obvious attractions of a comely wench for the trip:

…I think I’d rather make the trip with a buddy than with a broad. Why? Let me count the reasons:

There aren’t many public restrooms along the Mille Miglia. This means I’d have to stop at several intervals along the way — i.e every time we saw a public WC — so that Milady would not be caught short in the middle of the countryside. Also, I’d probably want to stop often because romantic countryside plus miniskirt in the passenger seat… well, you get my drift, ’nuff said. Finally, most women are not capable of consuming large quantities of Italian plonk en route — something which cannot be said about any of my rowdy friends.

I’ll let you know if this part of my dream comes true.

 

Hell Week

Folks, please forgive me if posting is a little light this week. The realtor called last Monday (that would be Feb 27 ) to tell me that in order to sell the house and get top dollar, I have to be fully moved out by Mar 14 — that is, leave a house with walls ‘n floors only so that the rehab crew can come in to make the necessary repairs and paint the place so she can list it on Apr 1.

When she said that, I told her I thought it was a pretty elaborate April Fool’s Day trick, whereupon she just repeated, “March 14,” and hung up.

The first of (I think) three 30-yard dumpsters arrives at nine this morning, and I’ve hired a team of young men with strong backs and lots of energy to clear out fourteen years of crap, detritus and junk (yeah, I know it sounds like a German legal firm) in the space of a week.

To add to it, Daughter moves out and into her apartment on Wed 8, so there’ll be her movers moving stuff around my set of movers. Let’s hope this doesn’t turn into some kind of mover-imbroglio like a West Side Story dance routine, because then I’ll just have to throw up.

As for me… well, I’m not actually going to be doing anything other than sitting on a garden chair with a gin & tonic in hand, barking orders and whipping the workers when they start getting tired. I mean, I have to turn this:

into that:

Uh huh.

Anyway, there should be a post or two each day nevertheless — even if I have to recycle that damn old Pussification thing just to keep the Red Meat Readers in full voice.