Adam the Urban Cowboy
Monday, November 14, 2005
Sunday, August 28, 2005
Dead Cats Float
Howdy. I think the International Committee of the Red Cross set a new speed record for international mail with my rejection letter. My application package made the trip to Geneva, Switzerland and back to St. Louis in roughly eight days, thus releasing hydrocyanide gas into the box containing the humanitarian cat.
I got the news when I was in Kansas City helping my best friend, Wes, and his new wife, Jess, move into their new house. I couldn't be happier for them because I know that's what they've been working toward: the ultimate symbol of stability, comfort, and security. It's the American Dream, man! They've arrived! I have to say though, that all the "30 YEARS of payments" and "We're never moving again!" talk made my stomach flip!
It's so strange that even after my vagabondery and my newfound respect for having a home base, I still had that primal gut reaction. My instinct tells me that, under those circumstances, one necessarily limits their opportunity to experience new things and facilitates falling into a rut. Where did I get the perception that one moment a person makes that commitment and the next moment he wakes up elderly, wondering where life got off to and why he didn't experience all he'd wanted to? Why has it been my basic assumption that any security or stability is an illusion and that to embrace it is self delusion?
Three weeks ago, I flew to Philadelphia to interview for a sales position with a world renowned aviation safety consulting firm. In the week prior to the interview I had done everything I could think of to prepare. I studied the company website, re-read industry association websites, and wrote out and practiced answers to possible interview questions. I'd already had two phone interviews, but I figured this interview would go into still greater depth in order to make a final decision.
It wasn't more than two minutes after shaking hands with the CEO when he said, "Well, I wouldn't have brought you all the way out here if I wasn't pretty interested in bringing you on board, so if you're still interested, let's talk about money!" For some reason, that was the one question I hadn't prepared for! It hadn't even occurred to me that I might be offered the position on the spot, but we came to an agreement on salary and benefits and agreed that I'd start in two weeks.
I was really glad I'd gone to Kansas City earlier in the summer and sorted through all my stuff and moved everything that was worth keeping from mom's house to St. Louis. Having accomplished that, I was able to pack all of my earthly belongings into three rubbermaid tubs, three cardboard boxes, two duffel bags, a laptop bag, and a guitar case.
Since all that was more or less taken care of, I was able to spend the next two weeks searching Craigslist for a place to sleep in the Philadelphia area, selling my 20 year old car and my 4 month old laptop on eBay, and researching public transportation between Philadelphia and Palmyra, New Jersey, where my new office is located. The transportation was much more difficult than I had anticipated. I ended up finding a place with roommates in North East Philly, about five miles from the office. To get there using public transportation would take at least an hour and a half utilizing three different transportation systems (SEPTA, PATCO, and NJ Transit). Luckily, I've been able to car pool most of the time with roommates and coworkers. I'm also planning on moving over to Palmyra as soon as possible so I'll be able to walk to work.
I got to Philly the Thursday before I started my new job. Leeanne, one of my new roommates met me at the airport and then we met up with Sean, her boyfriend and my other housemate and went out for a very nice barbecue dinner. Yep. No cheese steaks to get in the Philly state of mind. We went straight to Famous Dave's BBQ (which also has a location in Kansas City).
I spent the rest of the weekend buying respectable clothes (since I've been living in flip flops, shorts, and silly T-shirts for the last 8 months), and taking wrong SEPTA busses into shady parts of town late at night. At one point, I actually decided it was a better bet to accept a ride from strangers than to continue occupying a particular street corner/bus stop. The couple had actually given me directions a little earlier as they waited for their Chinese takeout. Apparently, after thinking about where they had sent me, they decided they didn't want my fate on their collective conscience.
Friday marked the end of the first forty-hour work week I've ever spent in an office, and it really wasn't all that bad. I think I'm really going to enjoy learning everything about this business and then teaching others about what we do. It's been great having the mental stimulation and human interaction again.
I just re-read "The Unbearable Lightness of Being," by Milan Kundera. In the opening, he writes hypothetically about a concept attributed to Nietzsche called "eternal return" by which everything we do in our lives recurs ad infinitum.
"Putting it negatively, the myth of eternal return states that a life which disappears once and for all, which does not return is like a shadow, without weight, dead in advance, and whether it was horrible, beautiful, or sublime, its horror, sublimity, and beauty mean nothing...
If every second of our lives recurs an infinite number of times, we are nailed to eternity as Jesus Christ was nailed to the cross. It is a terrifying prospect. In the world of eternal return the weight of unbearable responsibility lies heavy on every move we make. That is why Nietzsche called the idea of eternal return the heaviest of burdens...
The heaviest of burdens crushes us, we sink beneath it, it pins us to the ground. But in the love poetry of every age, the woman longs to be weighed down by the man's body. The heaviest of burdens is therefore simultaneously an image of life's most intense fulfillment. The heavier the burden, the closer our lives come to the earth, the more real and truthful they become.
Conversely, the absolute absence of a burden causes man to be lighter than air, to soar into the heights, take leave of the earth and his earthly being, and become only half real, his movements as free as they are insignificant..."
I realized that Wes and Jess's recent marriage and home acquisition were heavy because from my perspective, our lives are our eternity, and committing yourself to doing the same thing every day is like creating a miniature eternal return. I also realized that I'd always assumed lightness to be the positive and heaviness the negative. I guess I've realized that's not necessarily the truth. I've always been "as free as I am insignificant," and I've realized that my friends are just embracing the positive aspects of heaviness and that there's nothing illusory or delusional about doing that.
I still don't think I could totally embrace heaviness, though, so I think I'm going to shoot for "buoyancy."
I got the news when I was in Kansas City helping my best friend, Wes, and his new wife, Jess, move into their new house. I couldn't be happier for them because I know that's what they've been working toward: the ultimate symbol of stability, comfort, and security. It's the American Dream, man! They've arrived! I have to say though, that all the "30 YEARS of payments" and "We're never moving again!" talk made my stomach flip!
It's so strange that even after my vagabondery and my newfound respect for having a home base, I still had that primal gut reaction. My instinct tells me that, under those circumstances, one necessarily limits their opportunity to experience new things and facilitates falling into a rut. Where did I get the perception that one moment a person makes that commitment and the next moment he wakes up elderly, wondering where life got off to and why he didn't experience all he'd wanted to? Why has it been my basic assumption that any security or stability is an illusion and that to embrace it is self delusion?
Three weeks ago, I flew to Philadelphia to interview for a sales position with a world renowned aviation safety consulting firm. In the week prior to the interview I had done everything I could think of to prepare. I studied the company website, re-read industry association websites, and wrote out and practiced answers to possible interview questions. I'd already had two phone interviews, but I figured this interview would go into still greater depth in order to make a final decision.
It wasn't more than two minutes after shaking hands with the CEO when he said, "Well, I wouldn't have brought you all the way out here if I wasn't pretty interested in bringing you on board, so if you're still interested, let's talk about money!" For some reason, that was the one question I hadn't prepared for! It hadn't even occurred to me that I might be offered the position on the spot, but we came to an agreement on salary and benefits and agreed that I'd start in two weeks.
I was really glad I'd gone to Kansas City earlier in the summer and sorted through all my stuff and moved everything that was worth keeping from mom's house to St. Louis. Having accomplished that, I was able to pack all of my earthly belongings into three rubbermaid tubs, three cardboard boxes, two duffel bags, a laptop bag, and a guitar case.
Since all that was more or less taken care of, I was able to spend the next two weeks searching Craigslist for a place to sleep in the Philadelphia area, selling my 20 year old car and my 4 month old laptop on eBay, and researching public transportation between Philadelphia and Palmyra, New Jersey, where my new office is located. The transportation was much more difficult than I had anticipated. I ended up finding a place with roommates in North East Philly, about five miles from the office. To get there using public transportation would take at least an hour and a half utilizing three different transportation systems (SEPTA, PATCO, and NJ Transit). Luckily, I've been able to car pool most of the time with roommates and coworkers. I'm also planning on moving over to Palmyra as soon as possible so I'll be able to walk to work.
I got to Philly the Thursday before I started my new job. Leeanne, one of my new roommates met me at the airport and then we met up with Sean, her boyfriend and my other housemate and went out for a very nice barbecue dinner. Yep. No cheese steaks to get in the Philly state of mind. We went straight to Famous Dave's BBQ (which also has a location in Kansas City).
I spent the rest of the weekend buying respectable clothes (since I've been living in flip flops, shorts, and silly T-shirts for the last 8 months), and taking wrong SEPTA busses into shady parts of town late at night. At one point, I actually decided it was a better bet to accept a ride from strangers than to continue occupying a particular street corner/bus stop. The couple had actually given me directions a little earlier as they waited for their Chinese takeout. Apparently, after thinking about where they had sent me, they decided they didn't want my fate on their collective conscience.
Friday marked the end of the first forty-hour work week I've ever spent in an office, and it really wasn't all that bad. I think I'm really going to enjoy learning everything about this business and then teaching others about what we do. It's been great having the mental stimulation and human interaction again.
I just re-read "The Unbearable Lightness of Being," by Milan Kundera. In the opening, he writes hypothetically about a concept attributed to Nietzsche called "eternal return" by which everything we do in our lives recurs ad infinitum.
"Putting it negatively, the myth of eternal return states that a life which disappears once and for all, which does not return is like a shadow, without weight, dead in advance, and whether it was horrible, beautiful, or sublime, its horror, sublimity, and beauty mean nothing...
If every second of our lives recurs an infinite number of times, we are nailed to eternity as Jesus Christ was nailed to the cross. It is a terrifying prospect. In the world of eternal return the weight of unbearable responsibility lies heavy on every move we make. That is why Nietzsche called the idea of eternal return the heaviest of burdens...
The heaviest of burdens crushes us, we sink beneath it, it pins us to the ground. But in the love poetry of every age, the woman longs to be weighed down by the man's body. The heaviest of burdens is therefore simultaneously an image of life's most intense fulfillment. The heavier the burden, the closer our lives come to the earth, the more real and truthful they become.
Conversely, the absolute absence of a burden causes man to be lighter than air, to soar into the heights, take leave of the earth and his earthly being, and become only half real, his movements as free as they are insignificant..."
I realized that Wes and Jess's recent marriage and home acquisition were heavy because from my perspective, our lives are our eternity, and committing yourself to doing the same thing every day is like creating a miniature eternal return. I also realized that I'd always assumed lightness to be the positive and heaviness the negative. I guess I've realized that's not necessarily the truth. I've always been "as free as I am insignificant," and I've realized that my friends are just embracing the positive aspects of heaviness and that there's nothing illusory or delusional about doing that.
I still don't think I could totally embrace heaviness, though, so I think I'm going to shoot for "buoyancy."
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
But They're All Hip
Howdy. I hope all is well with everyone. I’m still unemployed in St. Louis. Yesterday, I googled the airline whose hiring pool I supposedly occupy. In doing so, I discovered they have suspended flights in New Mexico because they haven’t been paid by one of the cities they service. Needless to say, I’m not expecting a call from them this week.
My ambitions have sort of turned a corner. I realized that I could manage a Kwik Shop and make more than what I would as a pilot for a regional airline. This epiphany was extremely liberating. I realized that I could do whatever I wanted and it wouldn’t affect my immediate financial situation in the slightest. What’s more, with my background in sales and aviation (not to mention accomplishments related to peripheral interests and hobbies), there are a lot of things I could do where I would earn significantly more than I would as a pilot. Also, if I ever want to go back to flying full time, I’ll be in exactly the same spot I am now: needing multi time. After obtaining the twin time, I’d be current again and ready to go. Frankly, I don’t miss flying every day. Sad to say, but it’s true.
One of the more larkish things I’ve done lately was to apply to be a delegate of the International Committee of the Red Cross. If by some miracle I were to be accepted, I would be responsible for interviewing prisoners of war and inspecting the prisons in which they are held. My friend, Erica, having heard of the gig by virtue of her being goddess of foreign affairs and general intellectual diva, encouraged me to apply. The only stated requirements are proficiency in French and English, willingness to travel, and passion for human rights.
Completing the application process was a fantastic reawakening of a version of myself that I had all but forgotten. In rewriting my resume to include all the warm fuzzy things I’ve done for others (had to dig a bit to remember those…) and in writing the “Why I Want To Be A Delegate” cover letter, I was forced to remember the version of me with foreign language and interpersonal skills; the version who thought maybe he could do something with a direct human impact.
Thus was born my humanitarian alter ego. That’s how I’ve taken to viewing myself; as a collection of identities, only one of which will survive. Who will it be? Adam the pilot? Adam the aerospace sales big shot? Adam the international humanitarian aid worker? Adam the guitar shop guy? Adam the barista? Adam the street musician?
It's as if each of these identities is one of Shrodinger's Cats, locked in an atomic death box (or a basement), alive and dead at the same time, until fate has made its choice and the box is opened.
My ambitions have sort of turned a corner. I realized that I could manage a Kwik Shop and make more than what I would as a pilot for a regional airline. This epiphany was extremely liberating. I realized that I could do whatever I wanted and it wouldn’t affect my immediate financial situation in the slightest. What’s more, with my background in sales and aviation (not to mention accomplishments related to peripheral interests and hobbies), there are a lot of things I could do where I would earn significantly more than I would as a pilot. Also, if I ever want to go back to flying full time, I’ll be in exactly the same spot I am now: needing multi time. After obtaining the twin time, I’d be current again and ready to go. Frankly, I don’t miss flying every day. Sad to say, but it’s true.
One of the more larkish things I’ve done lately was to apply to be a delegate of the International Committee of the Red Cross. If by some miracle I were to be accepted, I would be responsible for interviewing prisoners of war and inspecting the prisons in which they are held. My friend, Erica, having heard of the gig by virtue of her being goddess of foreign affairs and general intellectual diva, encouraged me to apply. The only stated requirements are proficiency in French and English, willingness to travel, and passion for human rights.
Completing the application process was a fantastic reawakening of a version of myself that I had all but forgotten. In rewriting my resume to include all the warm fuzzy things I’ve done for others (had to dig a bit to remember those…) and in writing the “Why I Want To Be A Delegate” cover letter, I was forced to remember the version of me with foreign language and interpersonal skills; the version who thought maybe he could do something with a direct human impact.
Thus was born my humanitarian alter ego. That’s how I’ve taken to viewing myself; as a collection of identities, only one of which will survive. Who will it be? Adam the pilot? Adam the aerospace sales big shot? Adam the international humanitarian aid worker? Adam the guitar shop guy? Adam the barista? Adam the street musician?
It's as if each of these identities is one of Shrodinger's Cats, locked in an atomic death box (or a basement), alive and dead at the same time, until fate has made its choice and the box is opened.
Monday, July 04, 2005
Culminations
Howdy. So all of my studying and simulator preparation was for naught with regards to Airnet. I totally choked on the simulator check. I won’t bore you with details of fire and twisted metal, but they didn’t waste any time in sending me an “I don’t even think we could train you after the way you flew that simulator!!” letter. I still can’t believe how badly it went. Maybe it was just delusions of grandeur, but I really thought I had prepared myself well. I mean, ALL I’d done for almost two weeks was study and prep in the simulator. I wouldn’t have hired me either, though. That’s the tough part. I know how poorly I performed. What a blow.
A day after returning from Ohio, glad to have the distraction from the Airnet debacle, I caught a flight to DFW. The principal reason for the trip was to go to Las Cruces, NM for another job interview, but my best friend, Todd and his wife Cynthia had just had a baby boy, in Fort Hood, TX and my friends Josh and Maria from Panther City Coffee in Fort Worth were getting married. So all things considered, Texas was the place to be last weekend!
Seeing the offspring of a lifelong friend could only be described as life altering. Little Richard (the baby, not the singer) was truly beautiful. All the clichés about babies came to my heart and mind as if I were the first one to think and feel them. All the potential I was holding in my arms! All the beautiful innocence of that child! He doesn’t know the difference between rich and poor, Republican and Democrat, gay and straight, or Christian and Muslim. He gave me hope.
After a couple of days of oogling the mini-Todd, I headed back up to Fort worth for the wedding. I should say that Josh and Maria are not your average couple. They are way cooler than average. And as such, their wedding was way cooler than average. I just saw an editorial in the paper today about how insane and commercialized weddings have gotten and I laughed. I laughed because I’d just been to a wedding that was beautiful not for the flower arrangements or the bridesmaids dresses or the country club reception, but for the evidence of the purest love that can exist between two people. Perhaps it was because the ceremony took place in the loft of a coffee shop, or because the groom was wearing flip flops that all there was to witness was the event of two people proclaiming their rock solid, eternal love for each other. And that was way more beautiful than some prefab fairy tale concoction. It gave me hope as well.
Soon after the wedding, I was off to the Las Cruces for my other interview. I was the only passenger on the flight (which was operated by the company with which I was about to interview) from Albuquerque to Las Cruces. The captain and FO were very friendly, and even gave me a headset so we could all chat en-route. After getting the low down from the pilots, I was actually still excited about the prospect of working there. Lots of pilots are grumpy and bitter, but these guys actually seemed to enjoy their jobs. In my view, that says a lot. The chief pilot, who would be conducting the interview, called up while we were cruising along and, not knowing that I had a headset, asked the captain to “feel [me] out.” He was speechless when informed that I was listening in, except to say that he would be arriving a couple hours after we would.
After traveling all day, and sitting around for a couple hours waiting at the airport, I finally met with Bill, the chief pilot at about 5:30 pm. The offices were in an un-air-conditioned hangar and subdivided by plastic sheeting and 2x2’s. I felt like I was in a military field hospital. I think he asked me three questions…
“Do I have your resume?”
“What Airplanes have you flown?” and,
“What are your career goals?”
It was the only job interview I’ve ever had where the interviewer groaned and took off his cowboy boots in the middle and asked me to step out so he could change clothes. It was really damned hot in that hangar, though.
After he changed and joined me in the lounge out by the swamp coolers, I asked a couple questions that hadn’t been answered by the pilots. He offered me the number six spot in their hiring pool, which means that they’re not hiring me right now, but as openings become available, I’ll supposedly be the sixth pilot they call.
Better than nothing, I guess.
A day after returning from Ohio, glad to have the distraction from the Airnet debacle, I caught a flight to DFW. The principal reason for the trip was to go to Las Cruces, NM for another job interview, but my best friend, Todd and his wife Cynthia had just had a baby boy, in Fort Hood, TX and my friends Josh and Maria from Panther City Coffee in Fort Worth were getting married. So all things considered, Texas was the place to be last weekend!
Seeing the offspring of a lifelong friend could only be described as life altering. Little Richard (the baby, not the singer) was truly beautiful. All the clichés about babies came to my heart and mind as if I were the first one to think and feel them. All the potential I was holding in my arms! All the beautiful innocence of that child! He doesn’t know the difference between rich and poor, Republican and Democrat, gay and straight, or Christian and Muslim. He gave me hope.
After a couple of days of oogling the mini-Todd, I headed back up to Fort worth for the wedding. I should say that Josh and Maria are not your average couple. They are way cooler than average. And as such, their wedding was way cooler than average. I just saw an editorial in the paper today about how insane and commercialized weddings have gotten and I laughed. I laughed because I’d just been to a wedding that was beautiful not for the flower arrangements or the bridesmaids dresses or the country club reception, but for the evidence of the purest love that can exist between two people. Perhaps it was because the ceremony took place in the loft of a coffee shop, or because the groom was wearing flip flops that all there was to witness was the event of two people proclaiming their rock solid, eternal love for each other. And that was way more beautiful than some prefab fairy tale concoction. It gave me hope as well.
Soon after the wedding, I was off to the Las Cruces for my other interview. I was the only passenger on the flight (which was operated by the company with which I was about to interview) from Albuquerque to Las Cruces. The captain and FO were very friendly, and even gave me a headset so we could all chat en-route. After getting the low down from the pilots, I was actually still excited about the prospect of working there. Lots of pilots are grumpy and bitter, but these guys actually seemed to enjoy their jobs. In my view, that says a lot. The chief pilot, who would be conducting the interview, called up while we were cruising along and, not knowing that I had a headset, asked the captain to “feel [me] out.” He was speechless when informed that I was listening in, except to say that he would be arriving a couple hours after we would.
After traveling all day, and sitting around for a couple hours waiting at the airport, I finally met with Bill, the chief pilot at about 5:30 pm. The offices were in an un-air-conditioned hangar and subdivided by plastic sheeting and 2x2’s. I felt like I was in a military field hospital. I think he asked me three questions…
“Do I have your resume?”
“What Airplanes have you flown?” and,
“What are your career goals?”
It was the only job interview I’ve ever had where the interviewer groaned and took off his cowboy boots in the middle and asked me to step out so he could change clothes. It was really damned hot in that hangar, though.
After he changed and joined me in the lounge out by the swamp coolers, I asked a couple questions that hadn’t been answered by the pilots. He offered me the number six spot in their hiring pool, which means that they’re not hiring me right now, but as openings become available, I’ll supposedly be the sixth pilot they call.
Better than nothing, I guess.
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
Still Vagging the Bond!
Howdy. So it turns out that sailing isn’t an activity I’ll be satisfied with doing just once. I had a blast learning the basics on the Hunter 30. It had been a while since I’d had someone yelling at me to “Watch your heading!” while I was trying to do three other things. My instructor was a retired pilot and flight instructor with over 11,000 hours in airplanes, so at least we spoke the same language. From camber and angle of attack, to all the navigation stuff, I thought it was pretty interesting how many concepts and terms transfer from flying to sailing. I still felt like I was learning a whole new language while dealing with the sails. I never knew there were so many different names for “Rope.”
It felt great to be out on the water though, and in my opinion, being close hauled and healed over is the most exhilaration you can get at five knots. I kept having to remind myself of how slow we were actually going because it felt like things were happening as fast as on an airplane. The scale and pace of sailing really sank in when toward the end of the day, we were 4 nautical miles from the canal and I realized that it would take almost an hour to get there! Hey, if you want to get there quickly, take a plane.
I feel like I’m sort of back in the real world now. I’m renting my sisters basement in St. Louis while preparing for job interviews. I actually have a couple! My second day on the beach, I got a call from Airnet, a cargo company based in Ohio. Of course, my phone was in the car! I finally had a phone interview with them a few days later and found out last Wednesday that they wanted me to come in for the full interview. Later that day, I was also invited by Westward Airways to go to their base in Las Cruces, NM for an interview.
If I got on with Airnet, I’d be flying cargo four nights a week in a piston powered twin or a single engine Cessna Caravan turboprop. The position with Westward would be Second in Command of a Pilatus PC-12 (nine passenger single engine turboprop) carrying passengers around the southwest.
I really hope I don’t screw up these interviews. I’ve been studying hard and have set up a few lessons in the same model simulator used in the Airnet interview. Westward doesn’t have a simulator and they’re a new operation, so I’m really kind of lost as to how to prepare for that one. The Chief Pilot made it sound like he was just going to look at my logbook and ask about my goals etc. I guess we’ll see.
I still have almost a week before the Airnet interview in Ohio and almost two weeks before the one with Westward. In between the two (on the way from one to the other, in fact), I'm returning to the great state of Texas to see Todd and Cynthia's new (as yet unborn) baby. I'm also looking forward to seeing all of my Fort Worth friends at Josh and Maria's wedding.
You didn't think I'd stop traveling just because I'm unemployed, did you?
It felt great to be out on the water though, and in my opinion, being close hauled and healed over is the most exhilaration you can get at five knots. I kept having to remind myself of how slow we were actually going because it felt like things were happening as fast as on an airplane. The scale and pace of sailing really sank in when toward the end of the day, we were 4 nautical miles from the canal and I realized that it would take almost an hour to get there! Hey, if you want to get there quickly, take a plane.
I feel like I’m sort of back in the real world now. I’m renting my sisters basement in St. Louis while preparing for job interviews. I actually have a couple! My second day on the beach, I got a call from Airnet, a cargo company based in Ohio. Of course, my phone was in the car! I finally had a phone interview with them a few days later and found out last Wednesday that they wanted me to come in for the full interview. Later that day, I was also invited by Westward Airways to go to their base in Las Cruces, NM for an interview.
If I got on with Airnet, I’d be flying cargo four nights a week in a piston powered twin or a single engine Cessna Caravan turboprop. The position with Westward would be Second in Command of a Pilatus PC-12 (nine passenger single engine turboprop) carrying passengers around the southwest.
I really hope I don’t screw up these interviews. I’ve been studying hard and have set up a few lessons in the same model simulator used in the Airnet interview. Westward doesn’t have a simulator and they’re a new operation, so I’m really kind of lost as to how to prepare for that one. The Chief Pilot made it sound like he was just going to look at my logbook and ask about my goals etc. I guess we’ll see.
I still have almost a week before the Airnet interview in Ohio and almost two weeks before the one with Westward. In between the two (on the way from one to the other, in fact), I'm returning to the great state of Texas to see Todd and Cynthia's new (as yet unborn) baby. I'm also looking forward to seeing all of my Fort Worth friends at Josh and Maria's wedding.
You didn't think I'd stop traveling just because I'm unemployed, did you?
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Thursday, June 02, 2005
Just Call Me Steve Zissou
Howdy. A lone sail peaks up from the panoramic horizon as peaceful little waves break in a continuous hiss on the beach before me. I lick my lips and taste salt. I’d never swum in the sea until a few moments ago. A small boy in a red and blue wet suit finds a treasure in every seashell. His mother attempts to match his enthusiasm as he offers them up to her, but fails. And so he chucks each prize back into the sea.
As of today, I’m no longer gainfully employed. In my final few days on the job, I left Michigan to do a few hours of mapping in Louisville, KY. I had no idea! That place is almost as hip and weird as Madison, WI. Bardstown Road very much reminds me of State Street in Madison.
A very serious looking man in socks and sneakers passes in front of me waving a metal detector over the sand. Another man asks if he’s ever found anything good, to which he responds that he’s just recently purchased the device. However, to demonstrate its effectiveness, he reaches into his pocket, tosses a coin on the beach, and waves the sensor over the coin. He points at the display and the other man gives an affirming nod with the up-side-down smile that says, “huh… not bad!” As the treasure hunter sweeps his way further down the beach, the inquisitor doubles over with laughter as he recounts the exchange to his wife.
From Louisville, I made my way to Kissimmee, Florida via good ol’ Athens, Georgia. None of my Athens friends were in town due to it being Memorial Day weekend, so I made some new ones at a five-star establishment called “The Taco Stand.” They were serving very inexpensive Anti-Grandma Juice ($4 pitchers of Amber Bock!!) so I stayed a while (all evening).
The next day, I had a beautiful flight down the Atlantic Coast of Florida to Kissimmee, which is just south of Orlando. After settling in and realizing why Bob Schneider found the place so depressing (all the kitsch of Branson, Missouri, but on a much larger scale… and Disney-fied…), I heard a familiar voice; the one that often leads me into trouble and adventure that I’ve previously referred to as “THE DEVIL!”
“So Adam, you’re in Floooorida…” His tone seemed innocent enough.
“Yeah… So?”
“So you’re really close to two very large bodies of water…” I could tell where this was going. “You should go take a sailing lesson!”
I didn’t even argue with him this time. He was obviously right. When else am I going to be down here and have a chance to go out on the open water on a big sailboat? So I decided to postpone my return to Kansas City until Saturday. This afternoon I headed for the Gulf Coast based on the recommendation of a man at a local lunch counter. He suggested I go to Long Boat Key near Sarasota if I wanted to find a nice beach. I wish I could thank him because it’s unbelievable here.
My day-long intro to sailing is billed as the “Like a Virgin” course by Wind Song Charters in St. Petersburg. (Insert your own punch line here) I’ve got that set up for Friday and I can hardly wait.
In the mean time, I think I’ll look for one of those red and blue wet suits.
As of today, I’m no longer gainfully employed. In my final few days on the job, I left Michigan to do a few hours of mapping in Louisville, KY. I had no idea! That place is almost as hip and weird as Madison, WI. Bardstown Road very much reminds me of State Street in Madison.
A very serious looking man in socks and sneakers passes in front of me waving a metal detector over the sand. Another man asks if he’s ever found anything good, to which he responds that he’s just recently purchased the device. However, to demonstrate its effectiveness, he reaches into his pocket, tosses a coin on the beach, and waves the sensor over the coin. He points at the display and the other man gives an affirming nod with the up-side-down smile that says, “huh… not bad!” As the treasure hunter sweeps his way further down the beach, the inquisitor doubles over with laughter as he recounts the exchange to his wife.
From Louisville, I made my way to Kissimmee, Florida via good ol’ Athens, Georgia. None of my Athens friends were in town due to it being Memorial Day weekend, so I made some new ones at a five-star establishment called “The Taco Stand.” They were serving very inexpensive Anti-Grandma Juice ($4 pitchers of Amber Bock!!) so I stayed a while (all evening).
The next day, I had a beautiful flight down the Atlantic Coast of Florida to Kissimmee, which is just south of Orlando. After settling in and realizing why Bob Schneider found the place so depressing (all the kitsch of Branson, Missouri, but on a much larger scale… and Disney-fied…), I heard a familiar voice; the one that often leads me into trouble and adventure that I’ve previously referred to as “THE DEVIL!”
“So Adam, you’re in Floooorida…” His tone seemed innocent enough.
“Yeah… So?”
“So you’re really close to two very large bodies of water…” I could tell where this was going. “You should go take a sailing lesson!”
I didn’t even argue with him this time. He was obviously right. When else am I going to be down here and have a chance to go out on the open water on a big sailboat? So I decided to postpone my return to Kansas City until Saturday. This afternoon I headed for the Gulf Coast based on the recommendation of a man at a local lunch counter. He suggested I go to Long Boat Key near Sarasota if I wanted to find a nice beach. I wish I could thank him because it’s unbelievable here.
My day-long intro to sailing is billed as the “Like a Virgin” course by Wind Song Charters in St. Petersburg. (Insert your own punch line here) I’ve got that set up for Friday and I can hardly wait.
In the mean time, I think I’ll look for one of those red and blue wet suits.
Friday, May 20, 2005
Thursday, May 19, 2005
From the Birthplace of the Republican Party
Howdy. Guess it’s time for an update. I flew from Rochester, MN to Jackson, MI about a week and a half ago. Took the route south of Chicago and Lake Michigan to avoid the fish food fate. My first impression is that Jackson is an undead zombie of the city it used to be. You can still almost feel the hard times this town has seen at various times due to auto industry woes. Oh well. At least the strippers are nice here.
I bought an airline ticket to Kansas City from Detroit to go home for my brother, Andrew’s graduation from Kansas State University. The trouble was in getting from Jackson to Detroit, which is about a 45-minute drive. The rental car places wanted to charge me a boatload to drop off at a different location, so my options became Greyhound or Amtrak. Amtrak ended up a couple bucks cheaper and dropped off closer to my hotel in Detroit, so I went with them. The line guy here in Jackson was nice enough to drop me off at the train station, but I had a couple hours to kill before my train left. I had some paperwork to do and packages to send so I asked if he could recommend someplace to hang out and have a frosty beverage. He pointed across the street to Cooper’s Pub. “Perfect,” I thought.
I dragged my rolling duffle bag, laptop bag, and guitar through the alley door and down a long dark hallway. At the end of the hallway, I was greeted by four young ladies, and let’s just say I felt overdressed. What the hell. I bellied up to a table sufficiently removed from the stage and close to an electrical outlet (for the laptop) and started on my paperwork. It wasn’t long before a couple of nubile employees pulled up seats next to me to inquire as to the nature of my work and my choice of venue.
“We thought maybe you had some porn on there that was better that what was up on the stage…”
I explained that my ride had failed to mention that this was a strip club and that I was just finishing up some paperwork while waiting for my train. One of them stuck around and chatted while I finished up my work. When I asked how long she’d been in the business, she proudly proclaimed,
“Since two weeks after my 18th birthday. I was actually still in high school and living with my parents.”
“Really?! When you were a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up?”
“Famous!”
“And you thought this would get you there?”
“I don’t know. I used to watch a lot of Jerry Springer, and I think it sort of glamorized it some.”
“Huh.”
Eventually, I left and caught my train and my flight and ended up in good ole Kansas City. I think everyone had a good time at graduation and the ensuing revelry. Mom made no bones about the day being as much a celebration for her as for Andrew, since all three of her children have now graduated from college. Go us.
She may have a couple of unemployed college graduates before long though. Andrew is waiting to hear about teaching jobs in the KC area and I’m still not sure exactly what I’m doing when I leave this job at the end of the month. There are a couple jobs in regional airlines or cargo that I’m qualified to apply for. I really need to hit the books before I’ll feel comfortable going into an interview and answering questions about multi-engine systems and procedures, though. My little Skyhawk hasn’t done much to keep me current on all that. I started today by reviewing some of the interview cheat sheets posted on the internet by previous pilot job candidates. That only reminded me of how much reviewing I have to do. So the current plan is to put out some resumes and head to a peaceful, exotic, locale (KC, St Louis, DFW???) to bring myself back up to speed while waiting for responses. I hope I get some. I’m not a very good dancer.
I bought an airline ticket to Kansas City from Detroit to go home for my brother, Andrew’s graduation from Kansas State University. The trouble was in getting from Jackson to Detroit, which is about a 45-minute drive. The rental car places wanted to charge me a boatload to drop off at a different location, so my options became Greyhound or Amtrak. Amtrak ended up a couple bucks cheaper and dropped off closer to my hotel in Detroit, so I went with them. The line guy here in Jackson was nice enough to drop me off at the train station, but I had a couple hours to kill before my train left. I had some paperwork to do and packages to send so I asked if he could recommend someplace to hang out and have a frosty beverage. He pointed across the street to Cooper’s Pub. “Perfect,” I thought.
I dragged my rolling duffle bag, laptop bag, and guitar through the alley door and down a long dark hallway. At the end of the hallway, I was greeted by four young ladies, and let’s just say I felt overdressed. What the hell. I bellied up to a table sufficiently removed from the stage and close to an electrical outlet (for the laptop) and started on my paperwork. It wasn’t long before a couple of nubile employees pulled up seats next to me to inquire as to the nature of my work and my choice of venue.
“We thought maybe you had some porn on there that was better that what was up on the stage…”
I explained that my ride had failed to mention that this was a strip club and that I was just finishing up some paperwork while waiting for my train. One of them stuck around and chatted while I finished up my work. When I asked how long she’d been in the business, she proudly proclaimed,
“Since two weeks after my 18th birthday. I was actually still in high school and living with my parents.”
“Really?! When you were a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up?”
“Famous!”
“And you thought this would get you there?”
“I don’t know. I used to watch a lot of Jerry Springer, and I think it sort of glamorized it some.”
“Huh.”
Eventually, I left and caught my train and my flight and ended up in good ole Kansas City. I think everyone had a good time at graduation and the ensuing revelry. Mom made no bones about the day being as much a celebration for her as for Andrew, since all three of her children have now graduated from college. Go us.
She may have a couple of unemployed college graduates before long though. Andrew is waiting to hear about teaching jobs in the KC area and I’m still not sure exactly what I’m doing when I leave this job at the end of the month. There are a couple jobs in regional airlines or cargo that I’m qualified to apply for. I really need to hit the books before I’ll feel comfortable going into an interview and answering questions about multi-engine systems and procedures, though. My little Skyhawk hasn’t done much to keep me current on all that. I started today by reviewing some of the interview cheat sheets posted on the internet by previous pilot job candidates. That only reminded me of how much reviewing I have to do. So the current plan is to put out some resumes and head to a peaceful, exotic, locale (KC, St Louis, DFW???) to bring myself back up to speed while waiting for responses. I hope I get some. I’m not a very good dancer.
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
Sunday, May 08, 2005
Tour of Beauties
Howdy. I’m still in Rochester, Minnesota. I’m supposed to be ferrying to Jackson, Michigan today, but there is a possibility of embedded thunderstorms between here and Chicago, so I’m just sort of hanging out and keeping an eye on things. Getting ready to have lunch here at “Mr. Pizza.” I’m not really hungry, but I was feeling inexplicably grumpy. Food sometimes helps with that. The parking lot was full, so I figured it couldn’t be too bad.
An owl hooted me to sleep last night and I woke up this morning to a blue jay’s screech. The air felt like rain, so I got up and started breaking camp. Just as I finished packing up my tent, the sky opened up and poured cold rain.
Mother Nature is my subservient concubine.
So the other day, after my precautionary landing, I walked into the maintenance hangar and was greeted by an absolutely magnificent Beech Staggerwing. An old Beech 18 and music from the big band era added to the remarkable atmosphere in the hangar. What a great surprise!
As I entered the office, the whole crew was apparently sitting down for breakfast. These guys seemed more like family than co-workers. They reminded me of my grandpa and great uncle in from the alfalfa field for lunch.
“Would you like some cinnamon toast?” the super-friendly desk gal asked.
“Uh, sure…” I was now a member of the family.
A salty 727 cargo pilot and one of the mechanics reminisced about their experiences flying the Alaskan Highway as I munched on toast and almost forgot about the reason I was there. Finally, I got a word in and explained what had transpired with my engine. When I asked if they might be able to get to my oil changed and spark plugs rotated earlier than previously planned, they barely even acknowledged the question. They weren’t being rude. It just wasn’t even a question. Of course they could do it.
I went back over to the FBO to check my email while the maintenance was being done. While I was there, a guy in his forties named John walked in to ask about learning to fly. I didn’t really notice anything in particular about him at first. Then I heard Tom, the manager of the FBO, exclaim,
“Is that guy smoking out there?!”
Apparently, he started smoking on the ramp as Dave, one of the instructors was giving him a tour. Then, cigarette dangling, he removed one of the fuel caps on the Cessna 150. Dave came in and said, “This guy’s not quite right! Its like he’s strung out on something!”
John really wanted to fly today. Tom and Dave stalled him by explaining that they needed a copy of his birth certificate or passport for new TSA requirements. So he came into the flight planning room where I was checking my email and called his parents on the speakerphone. I never could have predicted the conversation that followed.
“Hi Dad! Do you have a copy of my birth certificate?”
“What?! Where are you?”
“I’m at the airport and they need a copy of my birth certificate so I can start flying lessons!”
“So you can do what?”
“I’m going to learn how to fly…”
His mom got on the line, and said in a tone beyond normal motherly sternness, “John, I think you should go home, and take your meds!!”
As I did my best to slide nonchalantly out of the room, John started banging on the phone’s volume button and yelling, “WHAT WAS THAT MOM?! I CAN’T HEAR YOU! THERE’S A LOT OF TURBULENCE UP HERE!!!”
It was good that I had already left the room because I could barely contain my laughter. This was the second complete lunatic I had encountered in less than twenty-four hours. I wondered if he was in town for the same conference as my new friend, Errol. Tom did a background check on him and discovered that he had quite a history. He called the sheriff but John left before the squad car arrived.
After the excitement with John, I went back over to Blackhawk aircraft maintenance to check on my plane. They told me that at least one of the spark plugs had been totally full of lead. When I went out and ran up the engine, it was much better. I went back inside and got to talking with Nick, who is the proprietor. He showed me the immaculate interior of the Beech Staggerwing and let me check out the inside of the 18.
Then, he took me to another hangar across the way wherein we found two fully restored Stearman bi-planes and another one in the works. There was also another beautiful old Beech 18. One of the Stearmans is used by owner Susan Dacy for airshow performances.
The tour didn’t end there, either. When we got back to the breakfast room, Nick pulled out photo albums of other restoration projects including several Beech 18’s and a P-40 World War II fighter. The P-40 was pulled from the bottom of a lake and fully restored. I’m pretty sure I read about that project in a magazine as a kid. They all seemed to know the story of how each 18 had crashed and ended up in their care. Those stories alone were priceless. I couldn’t believe I just happened on this place! It would be worth flying fifty hours to go get your oil changed by Nick and the guys at Blackhawk Aircraft Maintenance in Janesville, Wisconsin.
An owl hooted me to sleep last night and I woke up this morning to a blue jay’s screech. The air felt like rain, so I got up and started breaking camp. Just as I finished packing up my tent, the sky opened up and poured cold rain.
Mother Nature is my subservient concubine.
So the other day, after my precautionary landing, I walked into the maintenance hangar and was greeted by an absolutely magnificent Beech Staggerwing. An old Beech 18 and music from the big band era added to the remarkable atmosphere in the hangar. What a great surprise!
As I entered the office, the whole crew was apparently sitting down for breakfast. These guys seemed more like family than co-workers. They reminded me of my grandpa and great uncle in from the alfalfa field for lunch.
“Would you like some cinnamon toast?” the super-friendly desk gal asked.
“Uh, sure…” I was now a member of the family.
A salty 727 cargo pilot and one of the mechanics reminisced about their experiences flying the Alaskan Highway as I munched on toast and almost forgot about the reason I was there. Finally, I got a word in and explained what had transpired with my engine. When I asked if they might be able to get to my oil changed and spark plugs rotated earlier than previously planned, they barely even acknowledged the question. They weren’t being rude. It just wasn’t even a question. Of course they could do it.
I went back over to the FBO to check my email while the maintenance was being done. While I was there, a guy in his forties named John walked in to ask about learning to fly. I didn’t really notice anything in particular about him at first. Then I heard Tom, the manager of the FBO, exclaim,
“Is that guy smoking out there?!”
Apparently, he started smoking on the ramp as Dave, one of the instructors was giving him a tour. Then, cigarette dangling, he removed one of the fuel caps on the Cessna 150. Dave came in and said, “This guy’s not quite right! Its like he’s strung out on something!”
John really wanted to fly today. Tom and Dave stalled him by explaining that they needed a copy of his birth certificate or passport for new TSA requirements. So he came into the flight planning room where I was checking my email and called his parents on the speakerphone. I never could have predicted the conversation that followed.
“Hi Dad! Do you have a copy of my birth certificate?”
“What?! Where are you?”
“I’m at the airport and they need a copy of my birth certificate so I can start flying lessons!”
“So you can do what?”
“I’m going to learn how to fly…”
His mom got on the line, and said in a tone beyond normal motherly sternness, “John, I think you should go home, and take your meds!!”
As I did my best to slide nonchalantly out of the room, John started banging on the phone’s volume button and yelling, “WHAT WAS THAT MOM?! I CAN’T HEAR YOU! THERE’S A LOT OF TURBULENCE UP HERE!!!”
It was good that I had already left the room because I could barely contain my laughter. This was the second complete lunatic I had encountered in less than twenty-four hours. I wondered if he was in town for the same conference as my new friend, Errol. Tom did a background check on him and discovered that he had quite a history. He called the sheriff but John left before the squad car arrived.
After the excitement with John, I went back over to Blackhawk aircraft maintenance to check on my plane. They told me that at least one of the spark plugs had been totally full of lead. When I went out and ran up the engine, it was much better. I went back inside and got to talking with Nick, who is the proprietor. He showed me the immaculate interior of the Beech Staggerwing and let me check out the inside of the 18.
Then, he took me to another hangar across the way wherein we found two fully restored Stearman bi-planes and another one in the works. There was also another beautiful old Beech 18. One of the Stearmans is used by owner Susan Dacy for airshow performances.
The tour didn’t end there, either. When we got back to the breakfast room, Nick pulled out photo albums of other restoration projects including several Beech 18’s and a P-40 World War II fighter. The P-40 was pulled from the bottom of a lake and fully restored. I’m pretty sure I read about that project in a magazine as a kid. They all seemed to know the story of how each 18 had crashed and ended up in their care. Those stories alone were priceless. I couldn’t believe I just happened on this place! It would be worth flying fifty hours to go get your oil changed by Nick and the guys at Blackhawk Aircraft Maintenance in Janesville, Wisconsin.
Friday, May 06, 2005
Another Cliffhanger
Howdy. Happy Cinco De Mayo! This evening finds me in Rochester, Minnesota. I arrived here yesterday afternoon after a bumpy two-hour flight from Janesville, Wisconsin. Seems like a wholesome place. To my delight, I found a campground less than two miles from the airport and had my house set up before dusk. I am again the only tent dweller on site, but it’s a pleasant place all the same. In between the dogs barking and the roar of semi trucks and late night cargo flights, I can hear the gurgling of a little stream that winds around the campground.
Flew for five hours today. Got a bit of a late start due to a random rain shower and then quit a little early due to impossible turbulence. I missed the same line something like five times. At least I didn’t hit my head on the ceiling today, as happened more than once in Wisconsin.
Flying lines in smooth air is really pretty relaxing. I can just point the airplane in the right direction and zone out. I think about all sorts of things on those days. Sometimes I don’t think about anything and it’s just peaceful. Tuesday morning was like that. Great day, Tuesday. I was just completely hypnotized and then … “KLUNK! A blug a duh, blug a duh…” Better than any snapping of the fingers! I turned the anemic bird back toward the airport as I checked for possible causes for the engine trouble. Oil pressure and temperature were good. I tried the carburetor heat for a while, but it wasn’t clearing up and the warmer air in the induction decreased available power even further. I was pretty sure I was missing one cylinder altogether. It seemed like it could be a fouled spark plug. I leaned out the mixture to make it burn hotter, hoping that any lead or carbon deposits would burn off. No luck. After I advised tower of my partial loss of power, they asked if I wanted fire equipment to roll. I declined since I was still able to hold altitude and it hadn’t gotten worse since the original flub. After an uneventful landing I limped over to the maintenance shop where I was due to have an oil change and spark plug rotation later that day anyway.
To be Continued…
Flew for five hours today. Got a bit of a late start due to a random rain shower and then quit a little early due to impossible turbulence. I missed the same line something like five times. At least I didn’t hit my head on the ceiling today, as happened more than once in Wisconsin.
Flying lines in smooth air is really pretty relaxing. I can just point the airplane in the right direction and zone out. I think about all sorts of things on those days. Sometimes I don’t think about anything and it’s just peaceful. Tuesday morning was like that. Great day, Tuesday. I was just completely hypnotized and then … “KLUNK! A blug a duh, blug a duh…” Better than any snapping of the fingers! I turned the anemic bird back toward the airport as I checked for possible causes for the engine trouble. Oil pressure and temperature were good. I tried the carburetor heat for a while, but it wasn’t clearing up and the warmer air in the induction decreased available power even further. I was pretty sure I was missing one cylinder altogether. It seemed like it could be a fouled spark plug. I leaned out the mixture to make it burn hotter, hoping that any lead or carbon deposits would burn off. No luck. After I advised tower of my partial loss of power, they asked if I wanted fire equipment to roll. I declined since I was still able to hold altitude and it hadn’t gotten worse since the original flub. After an uneventful landing I limped over to the maintenance shop where I was due to have an oil change and spark plug rotation later that day anyway.
To be Continued…
Wednesday, May 04, 2005
Tuesday, May 03, 2005
Monday, May 02, 2005
Clarification
Howdy. So I guess my last post bears some explaining. It would be more accurate to say that I gave notice. Initially, I had planned on my last day being Thursday, May 12 so that I could be home for my little brother’s graduation from Kansas State University. I figured that by then I would be close to the amount of flight time I’ve been working towards and I could make up the difference by doing some instructing this summer. I’ve saved up enough to live for a while without much income. Plus I know I’ll really need to study hard to prepare for job interviews with regional airlines or charter carriers. No telling how much brain leakage has occurred in the nearly two years since my last check ride, which reminds me that I need to renew my Flight Instructor’s Certificate this month too. Yee-haw. Actually, that should be a good review in itself: 16 hours of on-line study and an hour flying with another instructor.
When I informed my boss of my plans, he offered to give me the time off for graduation if I wanted to stay on till the first of June. I agreed even though its going to make it a little harder to fit the CFI renewal in before the end of the month. He also gave me the option of staying longer if I wanted. So its not like I’ve been going around burning bridges.
My work here in Wisconsin continues to drag on due to weather and problems with the imaging system. I only have about five hours worth of work left and if everything went smoothly, I could finish that in a short day. Things haven’t been going that way though. We ran the gamut of precipitation here today, from rain to sleet to snow to hail. It sounds like if I ever get done here, I’ll probably be going back to upstate New York. That was another reason for wanting to be done sooner, since I don’t get my per diem when I’m up there. Its considered “home base.” So I’m going to start looking for places to camp within biking distance to the airport.
I’ve had a great go at this and I certainly don’t have any regrets. The places I’ve been, I probably never would have been otherwise. I’ve learned humanity from the many amazing people I’ve met whose welcoming kindness I’ll never be able to fully repay. I’ve read some great books. It’s time to get on with life, though. I’m ready to stop being the random homeless guy…for a while.
When I informed my boss of my plans, he offered to give me the time off for graduation if I wanted to stay on till the first of June. I agreed even though its going to make it a little harder to fit the CFI renewal in before the end of the month. He also gave me the option of staying longer if I wanted. So its not like I’ve been going around burning bridges.
My work here in Wisconsin continues to drag on due to weather and problems with the imaging system. I only have about five hours worth of work left and if everything went smoothly, I could finish that in a short day. Things haven’t been going that way though. We ran the gamut of precipitation here today, from rain to sleet to snow to hail. It sounds like if I ever get done here, I’ll probably be going back to upstate New York. That was another reason for wanting to be done sooner, since I don’t get my per diem when I’m up there. Its considered “home base.” So I’m going to start looking for places to camp within biking distance to the airport.
I’ve had a great go at this and I certainly don’t have any regrets. The places I’ve been, I probably never would have been otherwise. I’ve learned humanity from the many amazing people I’ve met whose welcoming kindness I’ll never be able to fully repay. I’ve read some great books. It’s time to get on with life, though. I’m ready to stop being the random homeless guy…for a while.
Thursday, April 28, 2005
Taco Bell or McDonalds?
Howdy. I’ve noticed a potentially damaging social phenomenon. You see, I’ve been here at Espresso Royale long enough to have to make two trips to the restroom facilities. The first time, I enjoyed reading all of the literary quotes painted on the men’s room door. From Lao Tzu to Thoreau, it was the most enlightening dump I’ve ever taken. Most recently, however, I stood and waited outside the men’s room for several minutes before giving up and opting for the single toilet women’s room. Walking in, I wondered if there would be a difference in the quotes, but I was shocked to discover NO quotes at all! The entire wall was just a big mirror! I would expect that sort of gender role railroad job in Kansas, but I thought Madison was supposed to be a progressive, women’s lib sort of place. I’ll bet they don’t call on the girls in the math classes here either! The guidance councilors probably just shove them all into fashion marketing and early childhood education and other “Mrs.” Degrees.
In other news, I quit my job today.
In other news, I quit my job today.
Wednesday, April 27, 2005
You'll Not See Nothing Like the Mighty Flynn!
Howdy. I’m sittin’ here at Fair Trade Coffee with my new friends, Erica and Jacqueline. They are both working towards Masters Degrees in International Public Affairs so they can save the world. When I told them I take aerial pictures for the government, they decided I must be a CIA Spy. Works for me.
Last night we were all sitting pretty much the way we are tonight, when over my shoulder I heard the loud, sing-songy voice of a lunatic.
“Hi! I’m Errol, and I’m from LaCrosse! Do You mind If I join you?!” He motioned palms up at the empty chair next to me.
“Have a seat Darryl!” I responded.
“Its ERROL, like Errol Flynn!”
“Oh, Sorry.”
He was missing his front two teeth. His eyes weren’t quite straight. He needed a shave worse than I do right now. But he made up for it all with enthusiasm!
It soon became apparent that Erica had unwittingly come to his attention by mentioning an ex-boyfriend in passing.
“Do you want to know the secret of happiness?” he asked her.
We were doomed. With an insane, monotone fervor, he began reading the self-help books that must have been photographically stored in is mind.
“Wow Errol! What was that from?”
“The Road Less Traveled, by M. Scott Peck”
Just enough time would pass for the conversation to move on and then…
“I have a theory about that! Do you want to hear it?” Always directed at Erica and followed by more memorized self-help spewings coupled with large gesticulations that seemed disconnected from what he was saying.
“You have the SUBJECT (circular hand movement ) and the PREDICATE (like an umpire calling a runner safe)!! Slappy the clown (SUBJECT) laughs (PREDICATE).” As he said “laughs” he made a downward movement of both fists in front of his chest in the fashion of a pop diva. Then he chuckled maniacally.
“So what brings you to Madison, Errol?”
“I’m here for a mental health conference!”
“I’m guessing you’re not a doctor!” I wanted to say, but didn’t.
“The government is thinking about restricting the amount of meds they’ll pay for, and we’re here to try to convince them not to.”
So we were witnessing Errol in his fully medicated state. Wow. I considered calling in sick to testify that this guy needed all the meds he could get. The word “we” in that sentence also really made me nervous. How many other crazies would be running around town for the next couple days?! Or was he just referring to his other personalities?
Finally, Erica and Jacqueline and I decided in French to relocate for non-caffeinated beverages. They left before I did, and in my brief moment alone with Errol, he asked if I thought we had bored them (again with that pronoun!). I felt bad because I could tell he wasn’t malicious. There are just limits to people’s tolerance for lunacy, and after an hour or so, we had all reached ours.
Last night we were all sitting pretty much the way we are tonight, when over my shoulder I heard the loud, sing-songy voice of a lunatic.
“Hi! I’m Errol, and I’m from LaCrosse! Do You mind If I join you?!” He motioned palms up at the empty chair next to me.
“Have a seat Darryl!” I responded.
“Its ERROL, like Errol Flynn!”
“Oh, Sorry.”
He was missing his front two teeth. His eyes weren’t quite straight. He needed a shave worse than I do right now. But he made up for it all with enthusiasm!
It soon became apparent that Erica had unwittingly come to his attention by mentioning an ex-boyfriend in passing.
“Do you want to know the secret of happiness?” he asked her.
We were doomed. With an insane, monotone fervor, he began reading the self-help books that must have been photographically stored in is mind.
“Wow Errol! What was that from?”
“The Road Less Traveled, by M. Scott Peck”
Just enough time would pass for the conversation to move on and then…
“I have a theory about that! Do you want to hear it?” Always directed at Erica and followed by more memorized self-help spewings coupled with large gesticulations that seemed disconnected from what he was saying.
“You have the SUBJECT (circular hand movement ) and the PREDICATE (like an umpire calling a runner safe)!! Slappy the clown (SUBJECT) laughs (PREDICATE).” As he said “laughs” he made a downward movement of both fists in front of his chest in the fashion of a pop diva. Then he chuckled maniacally.
“So what brings you to Madison, Errol?”
“I’m here for a mental health conference!”
“I’m guessing you’re not a doctor!” I wanted to say, but didn’t.
“The government is thinking about restricting the amount of meds they’ll pay for, and we’re here to try to convince them not to.”
So we were witnessing Errol in his fully medicated state. Wow. I considered calling in sick to testify that this guy needed all the meds he could get. The word “we” in that sentence also really made me nervous. How many other crazies would be running around town for the next couple days?! Or was he just referring to his other personalities?
Finally, Erica and Jacqueline and I decided in French to relocate for non-caffeinated beverages. They left before I did, and in my brief moment alone with Errol, he asked if I thought we had bored them (again with that pronoun!). I felt bad because I could tell he wasn’t malicious. There are just limits to people’s tolerance for lunacy, and after an hour or so, we had all reached ours.
Saturday, April 23, 2005
Except I Get No Lovin' From the Rich Married Chicks.
Howdy! I’m in a hyper and surreal state of mind. I’ve just returned from a Barnes and Noble binge. Something about that place, man, makes me feel like I can do anything! Especially when I have a sizable birthday gift card… I just realized I walked out with the equivalent of a semester’s worth of college course work. Bought a book on Macromedia Dream Weaver, so that maybe someday I can spice up the ol’ blog a little bit. Then I found “The Globalization Reader” which should bring me up to date on the state of the world. I think I’ve been needin’ that. Kansas State at Salina was a little light on the humanities. I’ve also been feeling like I got out of calculus too soon. I know, people say that all the time. I’ve just kinda been feeling like my brain is turning to putty, so I bought a full calc textbook in paperback. Its like Tae Bo for the mind, baby!
Speaking of… I’m just finishing up “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance” by Robert Pirsig. Talk about a head trip. One of the best books I’ve ever read. That may also have something to do with my rekindled interest in math. He describes the odd situation of different systems of geometry being logically sound individually, but contradictory of each other. Pirsig credits French mathematician Poincare (1854-1912) with the following line of thought…
Euclid’s postulate of parallels, which states that through a given point there’s not more than one parallel line to a given straight line, we usually learn in tenth grade geometry. It is one of the basic building blocks out of which the entire mathematics of geometry is constructed.
…in the first quarter of the nineteenth century, and almost at the same time, a Hungarian and a Russian- Bolyai and Lobachevski- established irrefutably that a proof of Euclid’s fifth postulate is impossible.
Lobachevski assumes at the start that through a given point can be drawn two parallels to a given straight. And he retains besides all Euclid’s other axioms. From these hypotheses he deduces a series of theorems among which it’s impossible to find any contradiction, and he constructs a geometry whose faultless logic is inferior in nothing to that of the Euclidian geometry.
A mathematics that admits internal logical contradictions is no mathematics at all. The ultimate effect of non-Euclidian geometries becomes nothing more than a magician’s mumbo jumbo in which belief is sustained purely by faith!
A German named Riemann appeared with another unshakable system of geometry which throws overboard not only Euclid’s postulate, but also the first axiom, which states that only one straight line can pass through two points. Again there is no internal contradiction, only an inconsistency with both Lobachevskian and Euclidian geometries.
According to the Theory of Relativity, Riemann geometry best describes the world we live in.
So is Euclidean geometry true or is Riemann geometry true? [Poincare] answered, The question has no meaning. As well ask whether the metric system is true or the avoirdupois system is false; whether Cartesian coordinates are true and polar coordinates are false. One geometry cannot be more true than another; It can only be more convenient.
So instead of math being part of the universe, it just describes it, and depending on which aspect of the universe you’re looking at, different sets of rules may apply. Rock On.
Warning: Cynicism to Follow
Got me wondering how often we confuse truth with convenience. A close friend once relayed to me a bit of advice he received from a mentor. “There will be many loves of your life, but only one will be convenient.” Thought it was a crock at the time. I mean if its really love, I thought, don’t you make it convenient? But now I can sort of see what he meant. Take two free spirited people, for example. They may fall totally in love with each other, but the very reason they love each other is the reason they don’t end up together. Someday they’ll change or just calm down or wear out of being so free and lonely, and they’ll settle down with someone. Wouldn’t be that the former free spirit loved the new person more, just that they happened to come along when (s)he was ready to jump off the marriage cliff.
Speaking of… I’m just finishing up “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance” by Robert Pirsig. Talk about a head trip. One of the best books I’ve ever read. That may also have something to do with my rekindled interest in math. He describes the odd situation of different systems of geometry being logically sound individually, but contradictory of each other. Pirsig credits French mathematician Poincare (1854-1912) with the following line of thought…
Euclid’s postulate of parallels, which states that through a given point there’s not more than one parallel line to a given straight line, we usually learn in tenth grade geometry. It is one of the basic building blocks out of which the entire mathematics of geometry is constructed.
…in the first quarter of the nineteenth century, and almost at the same time, a Hungarian and a Russian- Bolyai and Lobachevski- established irrefutably that a proof of Euclid’s fifth postulate is impossible.
Lobachevski assumes at the start that through a given point can be drawn two parallels to a given straight. And he retains besides all Euclid’s other axioms. From these hypotheses he deduces a series of theorems among which it’s impossible to find any contradiction, and he constructs a geometry whose faultless logic is inferior in nothing to that of the Euclidian geometry.
A mathematics that admits internal logical contradictions is no mathematics at all. The ultimate effect of non-Euclidian geometries becomes nothing more than a magician’s mumbo jumbo in which belief is sustained purely by faith!
A German named Riemann appeared with another unshakable system of geometry which throws overboard not only Euclid’s postulate, but also the first axiom, which states that only one straight line can pass through two points. Again there is no internal contradiction, only an inconsistency with both Lobachevskian and Euclidian geometries.
According to the Theory of Relativity, Riemann geometry best describes the world we live in.
So is Euclidean geometry true or is Riemann geometry true? [Poincare] answered, The question has no meaning. As well ask whether the metric system is true or the avoirdupois system is false; whether Cartesian coordinates are true and polar coordinates are false. One geometry cannot be more true than another; It can only be more convenient.
So instead of math being part of the universe, it just describes it, and depending on which aspect of the universe you’re looking at, different sets of rules may apply. Rock On.
Warning: Cynicism to Follow
Got me wondering how often we confuse truth with convenience. A close friend once relayed to me a bit of advice he received from a mentor. “There will be many loves of your life, but only one will be convenient.” Thought it was a crock at the time. I mean if its really love, I thought, don’t you make it convenient? But now I can sort of see what he meant. Take two free spirited people, for example. They may fall totally in love with each other, but the very reason they love each other is the reason they don’t end up together. Someday they’ll change or just calm down or wear out of being so free and lonely, and they’ll settle down with someone. Wouldn’t be that the former free spirit loved the new person more, just that they happened to come along when (s)he was ready to jump off the marriage cliff.
How about religion? In general, I don’t think people shop around for religions too critically. If you’re a Christian or a Muslim or a Hindu, its probably principally due to where you are from and who raised you. Pretty convenient, huh? But they all insist that theirs is THE truth about God and how God wants us to live. Is it so far fetched that they are (at best) different cultural manifestations of similar spiritual relationships with the all-pervasive-energy-of-the-universe or (at worst) different ways humans take advantage of other humans’ relationships with said energy?
But hey, what do I know? I’m just an aerial lawn boy.
End Cynicism.
But hey, what do I know? I’m just an aerial lawn boy.
End Cynicism.
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
Miracle on State Street
Howdy. I hope everyone is well. I’m doin’ all right. Been running like crazy lately, it feels like. I’m in Madison, Wisconsin checking out the freaks on State Street near the University of Wisconsin. Where else would I see portly old guy with a white beard dressed in a hunter orange sweat suit, carrying an overstuffed hunter orange backpack, pedaling an old bicycle down the street in flip-flops that were…. Yep, hunter orange. Looked like Santa Claus had escaped from prison.
I flew up here from Kansas City last Sunday. I had actually been working out of Lee’s Summit, Missouri for a little over a week, and the timing couldn’t have been better. I already had an airline ticket to KC to be a groomsman in Wes and Jessica’s wedding when I found out that Joe, one of our other pilots was being sent there to map Wyandotte County. I was planning on calling in sick for a couple days for the wedding, but I figured if I was working out of KC there was a decent chance I wouldn’t fly that day due to weather, or at worst I’d only have to call in sick for one day instead of two.
Joe was set to arrive in KC the same day I was, so I offered to buy him an airline ticket to DC and we’d just trade Cessnas. He and my boss agreed and the trade went off fairly well. Joe’s flights were delayed and he didn’t end up getting to the hotel until four or five in the morning. Fortunately, the weather in DC was bad and he had a chance to catch up on sleep.
I worked the Friday before the wedding, but quit a little early to go to the rehearsal and dinner. By the time I landed the winds aloft forecasts for the wedding day confirmed I’d have the day off without having to lie. I'm not a huge believer in divine intervention, but that's sure how it felt with everything working out the way it did. It was so great to be there and a part of it all without having to stress out about getting back to work half way across the continent.
The rehearsal dinner was at Zarda BBQ in Lenexa, KS. I was glad to be back in the land of good barbeque baked beans. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the past four months, it’s that nobody makes beans like they do in Kansas City.
The day of the wedding was beautiful and aside from Pastor Ben dropping the rings, or maybe because of that, the ceremony will always be a cherished memory to me.
“These rings are a symbol of unbroken love and it’s fourth and fifty so GO LONG!!”
I flew up here from Kansas City last Sunday. I had actually been working out of Lee’s Summit, Missouri for a little over a week, and the timing couldn’t have been better. I already had an airline ticket to KC to be a groomsman in Wes and Jessica’s wedding when I found out that Joe, one of our other pilots was being sent there to map Wyandotte County. I was planning on calling in sick for a couple days for the wedding, but I figured if I was working out of KC there was a decent chance I wouldn’t fly that day due to weather, or at worst I’d only have to call in sick for one day instead of two.
Joe was set to arrive in KC the same day I was, so I offered to buy him an airline ticket to DC and we’d just trade Cessnas. He and my boss agreed and the trade went off fairly well. Joe’s flights were delayed and he didn’t end up getting to the hotel until four or five in the morning. Fortunately, the weather in DC was bad and he had a chance to catch up on sleep.
I worked the Friday before the wedding, but quit a little early to go to the rehearsal and dinner. By the time I landed the winds aloft forecasts for the wedding day confirmed I’d have the day off without having to lie. I'm not a huge believer in divine intervention, but that's sure how it felt with everything working out the way it did. It was so great to be there and a part of it all without having to stress out about getting back to work half way across the continent.
The rehearsal dinner was at Zarda BBQ in Lenexa, KS. I was glad to be back in the land of good barbeque baked beans. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the past four months, it’s that nobody makes beans like they do in Kansas City.
The day of the wedding was beautiful and aside from Pastor Ben dropping the rings, or maybe because of that, the ceremony will always be a cherished memory to me.
“These rings are a symbol of unbroken love and it’s fourth and fifty so GO LONG!!”
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
Sunday, April 10, 2005
Tuesday, April 05, 2005
I am the all singing, all dancing Crap of the World!
Howdy. Its 2:00 in the morning and I can’t sleep. Been trying for a couple hours. Aargh. My insomnia is most likely the result of the four-hour nap I took this afternoon. I took a four-hour nap this afternoon because I hardly slept at all last night. I hardly slept at all last night because I had to catch a 6:18 a.m. flight from Kansas City to Buffalo, which meant leaving the house at 4:30. I’ve never felt so much like Edward Norton’s character in “Fight Club.”
I got to spend a long weekend in KC due to my plane getting a new exhaust pipe. We were having trouble with the engine exhaust distorting the photographs, so they slapped a big ugly pipe to the side of my plane to carry the hot gases aft of the cameras. The work had to be done at our home base in Batavia, NY (between Rochester and Buffalo), so I flew up here from DC Thursday morning. I had been told to expect to go back to DC on Friday. When I landed, however, I found out that it would be Monday before the work was finished. I booked an evening flight out of Buffalo and was having a beer with old friends by midnight. Felt great to be home.
As I sat in the terminal in Cincinnati, waiting to board my flight to Kansas City, I had the strange realization that I this was the first place in three months where I could have known one of the strangers in the crowd. Or that one of them could have known me. They didn't.
“Have I dated that girl?”
I hadn't.
I suddenly remembered one of the impetuses for my taking this job and wanting to get away for a while. It had to do with expectations held by people who are close to me and have known me for ages; expectations of who I am, my personality, my beliefs, my character, my capabilities. Surrounded by friends and family, its easy for one to convince himself that change is impossible, because he has so many voices correcting him if he ever tries to stray from the mold of assumed continuity of being.
I’m finally tired. To sum up, I didn’t think too much about the feeling in Cincinnati after I got home. I had a great weekend in KC. Partied like a rock star. Time to turn into Brad Pitt.
I got to spend a long weekend in KC due to my plane getting a new exhaust pipe. We were having trouble with the engine exhaust distorting the photographs, so they slapped a big ugly pipe to the side of my plane to carry the hot gases aft of the cameras. The work had to be done at our home base in Batavia, NY (between Rochester and Buffalo), so I flew up here from DC Thursday morning. I had been told to expect to go back to DC on Friday. When I landed, however, I found out that it would be Monday before the work was finished. I booked an evening flight out of Buffalo and was having a beer with old friends by midnight. Felt great to be home.
As I sat in the terminal in Cincinnati, waiting to board my flight to Kansas City, I had the strange realization that I this was the first place in three months where I could have known one of the strangers in the crowd. Or that one of them could have known me. They didn't.
“Have I dated that girl?”
I hadn't.
I suddenly remembered one of the impetuses for my taking this job and wanting to get away for a while. It had to do with expectations held by people who are close to me and have known me for ages; expectations of who I am, my personality, my beliefs, my character, my capabilities. Surrounded by friends and family, its easy for one to convince himself that change is impossible, because he has so many voices correcting him if he ever tries to stray from the mold of assumed continuity of being.
I’m finally tired. To sum up, I didn’t think too much about the feeling in Cincinnati after I got home. I had a great weekend in KC. Partied like a rock star. Time to turn into Brad Pitt.
Tuesday, March 29, 2005
Saturday, March 26, 2005
Thursday, March 24, 2005
Why Does The Sun Shine?
Howdy. I’m sittin’ in the Holiday Inn in Culpeper, Virginia. Today was one of those days where the weather wasn’t good enough to fly but the forecast wasn’t bad enough totally blow off work. The end result was a day spent updating my logbook and goofing off in the Wal-Mart toy department with my crazy roommate Sam. We may go into DC for some culture if it rains tomorrow.
Update on the laptop situation: Toshiba still hasn’t sent the part. I bought a Gateway and plan on selling the Toshiba if I ever see it again. Bastards.
Here is something I wrote back in Athens, GA when I didn’t have a computer.
As I banked into my first turn to the East this morning, a mountain sat silhouetted in front of a lake infused with the hazy glow of morning sunlight. The beauty overtook me. I smiled.
I thought about Einstein and that equation of his and how the same energy that created the heaven below me is stored in every atom of every human being. I thought about mortality and immortality. For my part, I wished I could be a nuclear bomb detonated in space, all the matter of me turned into pure and beautiful light traveling through the universe for all of eternity. Life without end, Amen. Maybe later…
I saw the cars parked outside a church below. “Oh, yeah. Its Sunday” Would God rather see me down there listening to a sermon about the light of the world than up here witnessing it first hand?
I thought about “They Might Be Giants.”
“The Sun is a mass of incandescent gas
A gigantic nuclear (not nucular) furnace
Where Hydrogen is built into Helium
At a temperature of millions of degrees”
How beautiful is that? Two Hydrogen atoms caught up in the heat and pressure of it all become so close that they are one. And their love child is Light.
Update on the laptop situation: Toshiba still hasn’t sent the part. I bought a Gateway and plan on selling the Toshiba if I ever see it again. Bastards.
Here is something I wrote back in Athens, GA when I didn’t have a computer.
As I banked into my first turn to the East this morning, a mountain sat silhouetted in front of a lake infused with the hazy glow of morning sunlight. The beauty overtook me. I smiled.
I thought about Einstein and that equation of his and how the same energy that created the heaven below me is stored in every atom of every human being. I thought about mortality and immortality. For my part, I wished I could be a nuclear bomb detonated in space, all the matter of me turned into pure and beautiful light traveling through the universe for all of eternity. Life without end, Amen. Maybe later…
I saw the cars parked outside a church below. “Oh, yeah. Its Sunday” Would God rather see me down there listening to a sermon about the light of the world than up here witnessing it first hand?
I thought about “They Might Be Giants.”
“The Sun is a mass of incandescent gas
A gigantic nuclear (not nucular) furnace
Where Hydrogen is built into Helium
At a temperature of millions of degrees”
How beautiful is that? Two Hydrogen atoms caught up in the heat and pressure of it all become so close that they are one. And their love child is Light.
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
Sunday, March 13, 2005
to-SHEE-buh, Japanese, "We don't give a crap about our customers!"
Howdy. Yes Grandma (and other concerned parties), I’m still alive. The reason I haven’t written in the last month has nothing to do with your stance on beer. (Beer is “Anti-Grandma”) My absence from online life is actually due to a bad power supply on my Toshiba M35-X laptop. This part is evidently located on the main system board, which has been on back order for the last month. I wish I could say that Toshiba’s customer relations department has done everything possible to help me out and support their three-month-old product, but even online I’m a horrendous liar. They are worthless, incompetent saps! No one expressed any desire whatsoever to help in finding a temporary solution, and no one had any access to the parts people who could tell me when I might expect to have my computer back. After two weeks of daily calls to Toshiba and their authorized service center, I finally got through to someone who was able to tell me that the part was to be shipped on March 14, which happens to be tomorrow (and my birthday). We’ll see.
So, tonight finds me in the bayou. That’s right, Cajun country. The first night I was here, I ate two pounds of crawfish and a half-pound of shrimp. Beautiful. I’m staying in Galliano, Louisiana, a town situated on either side of a canal that runs 25 miles south to the Gulf of Mexico. There are three North-South roads, one on the east of the canal, and two on the west. Every couple miles there is a drawbridge crossing the canal and linking one side of town to the other. People around here wait for barges and shrimp boats like people in Kansas wait for trains.
Flying around here is fascinating! On the way down from Athens, I filed my flight plan so as not to fly over the large lake north of New Orleans because I’d rather not over-fly large bodies of water if avoidable. The controllers asked why I was taking the route I had chosen, and when I told them, they all but laughed at me on the radio. After I passed New Orleans to the south, I saw all the swampland and realized that the whole place was water. Then I understood why the controllers had thought I was ridiculous. Even what looked like solid ground from the air was mostly just junk growing on top of the water.
The network of canals is laid out like a diabolical aquatic maze and somehow I doubt there are “road” signs out there. I found out from Jeff, the airport manager, that the reason there are so many dead ends has to do with the oil drilling that is so prevalent down here. I guess that when they cut through the swamp to drill a well, they leave a canal behind.
Occasionally, I see an isolated shack hidden deep in the bayou. My curiosity and imagination go wild! Who in the world lives there? Why? Is that the Toshiba Parts Department?
I’ve got to get the computer back to my boss now. I can’t wait to call Toshiba tomorrow and find out if the part actually shipped or if I’m going to have to buy a Dell and sell the lemon on E-Bay.
So, tonight finds me in the bayou. That’s right, Cajun country. The first night I was here, I ate two pounds of crawfish and a half-pound of shrimp. Beautiful. I’m staying in Galliano, Louisiana, a town situated on either side of a canal that runs 25 miles south to the Gulf of Mexico. There are three North-South roads, one on the east of the canal, and two on the west. Every couple miles there is a drawbridge crossing the canal and linking one side of town to the other. People around here wait for barges and shrimp boats like people in Kansas wait for trains.
Flying around here is fascinating! On the way down from Athens, I filed my flight plan so as not to fly over the large lake north of New Orleans because I’d rather not over-fly large bodies of water if avoidable. The controllers asked why I was taking the route I had chosen, and when I told them, they all but laughed at me on the radio. After I passed New Orleans to the south, I saw all the swampland and realized that the whole place was water. Then I understood why the controllers had thought I was ridiculous. Even what looked like solid ground from the air was mostly just junk growing on top of the water.
The network of canals is laid out like a diabolical aquatic maze and somehow I doubt there are “road” signs out there. I found out from Jeff, the airport manager, that the reason there are so many dead ends has to do with the oil drilling that is so prevalent down here. I guess that when they cut through the swamp to drill a well, they leave a canal behind.
Occasionally, I see an isolated shack hidden deep in the bayou. My curiosity and imagination go wild! Who in the world lives there? Why? Is that the Toshiba Parts Department?
I’ve got to get the computer back to my boss now. I can’t wait to call Toshiba tomorrow and find out if the part actually shipped or if I’m going to have to buy a Dell and sell the lemon on E-Bay.
Sunday, February 20, 2005
Saturday, February 19, 2005
Beer Saves The Day Again!
Howdy. You find me at the end of a long day. I flew just under 7 hours today for my first full day since arriving in Athens. The scenery down here is really pretty cool. The Appalachian Mountains distort the horizon to the North, and a large teal lake surrounded by forests and golf courses dominates the landscape below. If I had to pick an area to orbit for seven solid hours a day based on scenery, this would at least be a finalist. Other perks to this location include the fact that I’m not in any complex airspace, so I don’t have to be talking to any controllers. The ability to listen to my music as loud as I want without the fear of missing a traffic call improves the day markedly. It’s also a more serene setting than downtown Fort Worth to drop the drawers and urinate in a Gatorade bottle, for whatever that’s worth. Have I mentioned that I’m the Half-Naked King of The World?
I was sort of a zombie today due to my going out and listening to music last night at “Tasty World.” At 9:40, I was already worn out. I rationalized that I wouldn’t stay out too late and that the mile walk would do me good. I should have been in bed.
The first band billed themselves as “New wave power-pop silk-pajama-wearing magnificent smirking bastards.” “The Shut Ups” played synth-heavy, funk-disco-rock and the keyboard player/lead singer couldn’t have been more over the top. He reminded me of Jon Lovitz’s character in “The Wedding Singer.”
“Good luck finding a DJ who can move and shake like this!”
He had the same unjustified cockiness. He ate a sandwich on stage. He made like a choir director cutting off the applause after a song. He even looked a little like Mr. Lovitz. Maybe it was the silk pajamas.
By the time the second band, “Funkle Ester,” got on stage, I had already destroyed my self promise to get back early and get to bed. I only listened/danced to a couple of their 70’s disco covers before heading out. Bed time? Oh no. Time to satisfy the impulsive, late night, alcohol induced craving for a western omelet. I’ve always loved the atmosphere of a late night, college town diner on a weekend night and “The Grill” didn’t disappoint. My waitress was an art school grad with shiny blue hair and an equally shiny personality.
As I finally made my way back to the hotel, I noticed a lot of cars in a parking lot with no apparent venue. The store fronts were dark. No bar noise emanated from the building. I looked behind the strip-mall-esque building as I came to the cross street, and the back parking lot was packed as well. I decided to take the side street just to see what was back there. I was mildly creeped out by the verbal altercation taking place at the door to the hidden bar and by the police cars hovering about, so I looked and walked straight ahead. Maybe this whole “side street in the middle of the night in an unfamiliar town” wasn’t such a hot idea.
As I turned down the next block toward the hotel, I saw a body sprawled out on a storm drain at the side of the road. The old black man was clearly unconscious. I didn’t look too closely, though, as I passed. I considered trying to rouse him, but decided against it out of concern for my personal safety. That was my excuse anyway.
It was cold last night. I thought about my Great Aunt Ruth, such a beautiful soul, who last winter, in a state of confusion, left her nursing home in the middle of the night and succumbed to exposure at the side of a road. No one deserves to die like that.
I had the hotel desk clerk call the police and went out to make sure they found the man. I know. I'm such a great citizen. Hey, being the Half-Naked King of the World has its responsibilities. I'm still wondering about all of the “bad” decisions I’d made that led me to that side street at two in the morning. I should have been in bed.
I was sort of a zombie today due to my going out and listening to music last night at “Tasty World.” At 9:40, I was already worn out. I rationalized that I wouldn’t stay out too late and that the mile walk would do me good. I should have been in bed.
The first band billed themselves as “New wave power-pop silk-pajama-wearing magnificent smirking bastards.” “The Shut Ups” played synth-heavy, funk-disco-rock and the keyboard player/lead singer couldn’t have been more over the top. He reminded me of Jon Lovitz’s character in “The Wedding Singer.”
“Good luck finding a DJ who can move and shake like this!”
He had the same unjustified cockiness. He ate a sandwich on stage. He made like a choir director cutting off the applause after a song. He even looked a little like Mr. Lovitz. Maybe it was the silk pajamas.
By the time the second band, “Funkle Ester,” got on stage, I had already destroyed my self promise to get back early and get to bed. I only listened/danced to a couple of their 70’s disco covers before heading out. Bed time? Oh no. Time to satisfy the impulsive, late night, alcohol induced craving for a western omelet. I’ve always loved the atmosphere of a late night, college town diner on a weekend night and “The Grill” didn’t disappoint. My waitress was an art school grad with shiny blue hair and an equally shiny personality.
As I finally made my way back to the hotel, I noticed a lot of cars in a parking lot with no apparent venue. The store fronts were dark. No bar noise emanated from the building. I looked behind the strip-mall-esque building as I came to the cross street, and the back parking lot was packed as well. I decided to take the side street just to see what was back there. I was mildly creeped out by the verbal altercation taking place at the door to the hidden bar and by the police cars hovering about, so I looked and walked straight ahead. Maybe this whole “side street in the middle of the night in an unfamiliar town” wasn’t such a hot idea.
As I turned down the next block toward the hotel, I saw a body sprawled out on a storm drain at the side of the road. The old black man was clearly unconscious. I didn’t look too closely, though, as I passed. I considered trying to rouse him, but decided against it out of concern for my personal safety. That was my excuse anyway.
It was cold last night. I thought about my Great Aunt Ruth, such a beautiful soul, who last winter, in a state of confusion, left her nursing home in the middle of the night and succumbed to exposure at the side of a road. No one deserves to die like that.
I had the hotel desk clerk call the police and went out to make sure they found the man. I know. I'm such a great citizen. Hey, being the Half-Naked King of the World has its responsibilities. I'm still wondering about all of the “bad” decisions I’d made that led me to that side street at two in the morning. I should have been in bed.
Thursday, February 17, 2005
Just like "Wilson" the Volleyball...
Howdy. How’s everybody doin’ this evening? Good. Greetings from Athens, Georgia. I left Fort Worth Tuesday morning and shot an ILS into Athens about seven flight hours later. Memorable moments on the flight included a bright orange conflagration of the Appalachian Mountains caused by the setting sun behind me. A radio call from Steve, the pilot who I replaced, was also a pleasant surprise. He was flying cargo in a Baron when he heard his old tail number. Shooting the ILS in Athens down to 500 feet at night was good fun too.
It sort of sucked to leave. I really felt like I had a family in Fort Worth. I can’t express how grateful I am to Erin and Ryan (for putting up with my appropriation of the angel room), to Patrick and Tina (for introducing me to Babe’s Chicken and Rob Lumbard), to Tiffany (for introducing me to “Amelie”-one of my new favorite movies), to Shaina (for reminding me how much fun it is to roll one’s self down a grassy hill), to Rhonda (for the couch and the writing advice), to Chris and Jaimee Harris aka “Better Off Dad” (for being supportive of my playing and letting me crash their shows), to Josh and Maria (for the de facto intro to philosophy… check out www.contenttrucker.blogspot.com), and to Badger, Carma, Jason, Chris, and Snowflake (for making Panther City such a great temporary home- I hereby vow to use my “Close Friend of the Owner 10% discount card” again someday…).
I hope I didn’t miss anyone. Everyone down there was great. I don’t think I’ll be able to stand this job if I make such strong connections in every new town as I did in Fort Worth. I don’t think that’s probable though.
That said, I think I could really enjoy Athens. The University of Georgia is here, and the requisite “bar/coffee/music/book” district here has a great atmosphere. The first night I was here, I happened upon an open mic night at “Whisky Dick’s.” After listening to some talented local musicians, I borrowed a guitar and played a couple songs. Good times. One guy gave me a list of places that had open mic nights. I could play different places Monday through Thursday. Been feelin’ kinda crummy today, though. Maybe I’ll do that next week if I’m still here.
There is free wi-fi throughout the downtown area. It seems like the local business organization supports it as a draw for business and also as a way to get people to check out local events and activities on their bulletin board. I think it’s a great idea. More places should consider doing something like it. Check it out.
http://athenscloud.nmi.uga.edu/athens/inside.php
I did a little exploring this afternoon; resisted the temptation to buy a Pee –Wee Herman ventriloquist doll at a comic book/record store. Just think of the fun a person could have! I could use the box he came in as a tip receptacle for when “he” makes fun of passers by on the street. He’d be a great co-pilot/scapegoat. “Roger, I’ll have Pee-Wee recycle that transponder and squawk 4635…” There’s still time.
It sort of sucked to leave. I really felt like I had a family in Fort Worth. I can’t express how grateful I am to Erin and Ryan (for putting up with my appropriation of the angel room), to Patrick and Tina (for introducing me to Babe’s Chicken and Rob Lumbard), to Tiffany (for introducing me to “Amelie”-one of my new favorite movies), to Shaina (for reminding me how much fun it is to roll one’s self down a grassy hill), to Rhonda (for the couch and the writing advice), to Chris and Jaimee Harris aka “Better Off Dad” (for being supportive of my playing and letting me crash their shows), to Josh and Maria (for the de facto intro to philosophy… check out www.contenttrucker.blogspot.com), and to Badger, Carma, Jason, Chris, and Snowflake (for making Panther City such a great temporary home- I hereby vow to use my “Close Friend of the Owner 10% discount card” again someday…).
I hope I didn’t miss anyone. Everyone down there was great. I don’t think I’ll be able to stand this job if I make such strong connections in every new town as I did in Fort Worth. I don’t think that’s probable though.
That said, I think I could really enjoy Athens. The University of Georgia is here, and the requisite “bar/coffee/music/book” district here has a great atmosphere. The first night I was here, I happened upon an open mic night at “Whisky Dick’s.” After listening to some talented local musicians, I borrowed a guitar and played a couple songs. Good times. One guy gave me a list of places that had open mic nights. I could play different places Monday through Thursday. Been feelin’ kinda crummy today, though. Maybe I’ll do that next week if I’m still here.
There is free wi-fi throughout the downtown area. It seems like the local business organization supports it as a draw for business and also as a way to get people to check out local events and activities on their bulletin board. I think it’s a great idea. More places should consider doing something like it. Check it out.
http://athenscloud.nmi.uga.edu/athens/inside.php
I did a little exploring this afternoon; resisted the temptation to buy a Pee –Wee Herman ventriloquist doll at a comic book/record store. Just think of the fun a person could have! I could use the box he came in as a tip receptacle for when “he” makes fun of passers by on the street. He’d be a great co-pilot/scapegoat. “Roger, I’ll have Pee-Wee recycle that transponder and squawk 4635…” There’s still time.
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
Saturday, January 29, 2005
Beamed Up?
Howdy. As I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes this morning, I noticed that all the angels’ eyes had grown larger and blacker and more slanted. Their faces had turned green. “I must be dreaming!” The thought echoed in my head through the “morning after” fog. How had all of Erin’s angels turned into aliens as I slept? I didn’t remember there being swords on the mantle. In fact, I was pretty sure there wasn’t a fireplace in my room. What was that sound? A hair dryer? “Where the hell am I?”
I had a great time last night. Started by checking out “The Iron Chinchilla” art studio. Steve’s (soon to be “First Officer Steve’s”) Brother-In-Law, Patrick, makes functional art out of metal. The Gallery is full of swirly bedroom and kitchen sets and artsy metal crosses (Patrick says these are their best sellers). I was also impressed by other local artists’ paintings and sculptures displayed throughout the studio.
Seems like people are always told not to pursue careers in art. “Oh, you’re an art major…what do you want to do for a living?” I have tremendous respect for Patrick and his crew for making useful and marketable art. Classy place. www.ironchinchilla.com
Then, we went to Babe’s Chicken. Last time I went to Babe’s, nobody warned me. You see, a trip to Babe’s requires careful preparation. Along with reviewing the moves to “The Hokey Pokey” so you can dance with the hottie waitresses, you don’t want to eat much of anything for lunch. If you do, there’s no way you’ll reap the full benefits of the gigantoid country fried steak. You may be limited to one serving of homemade mashed potatoes and creamed corn. You’ll never even make it to the steamy biscuit topped with fresh Texas honey. Last time, all of this goodness went underappreciated by yours truly. Y’all know I didn’t make that mistake twice.
After dinner, Patrick and Tina introduced me to the music of Rob Lumbard of Des Moines, IA. “You should learn this stuff,” they told me. I’m flattered that they think I’d have a prayer. His guitar playing is very busy and way above my head. He wrote a song about his vasectomy. I’ll get right on it.
So…Turns out, the aliens inhabited Rhonda’s living room. Last night, they were kind enough to let me have the couch. Rhonda hangs out at the coffee shop almost as much as I do. She is a staff writer for the new Fort Worth Tribune, but I think her passion is for science fiction writing. Hence the aliens and swords. As I turned the corner toward consciousness, I remembered that I had gone from Patrick and Tina’s place to the coffee shop. At closing, the coffee shop crowd decided on a move to Rusty’s Pool Hall. Playing billiards (poorly) and drinking (well), left me less than qualified to make the drive back to Arlington at two this morning. That is how this morning found me on Rhonda’s couch. On my much delayed drive to Arlington, the rear view mirror displayed the pattern of the upholstery imprinted on my face.
I had a great time last night. Started by checking out “The Iron Chinchilla” art studio. Steve’s (soon to be “First Officer Steve’s”) Brother-In-Law, Patrick, makes functional art out of metal. The Gallery is full of swirly bedroom and kitchen sets and artsy metal crosses (Patrick says these are their best sellers). I was also impressed by other local artists’ paintings and sculptures displayed throughout the studio.
Seems like people are always told not to pursue careers in art. “Oh, you’re an art major…what do you want to do for a living?” I have tremendous respect for Patrick and his crew for making useful and marketable art. Classy place. www.ironchinchilla.com
Then, we went to Babe’s Chicken. Last time I went to Babe’s, nobody warned me. You see, a trip to Babe’s requires careful preparation. Along with reviewing the moves to “The Hokey Pokey” so you can dance with the hottie waitresses, you don’t want to eat much of anything for lunch. If you do, there’s no way you’ll reap the full benefits of the gigantoid country fried steak. You may be limited to one serving of homemade mashed potatoes and creamed corn. You’ll never even make it to the steamy biscuit topped with fresh Texas honey. Last time, all of this goodness went underappreciated by yours truly. Y’all know I didn’t make that mistake twice.
After dinner, Patrick and Tina introduced me to the music of Rob Lumbard of Des Moines, IA. “You should learn this stuff,” they told me. I’m flattered that they think I’d have a prayer. His guitar playing is very busy and way above my head. He wrote a song about his vasectomy. I’ll get right on it.
So…Turns out, the aliens inhabited Rhonda’s living room. Last night, they were kind enough to let me have the couch. Rhonda hangs out at the coffee shop almost as much as I do. She is a staff writer for the new Fort Worth Tribune, but I think her passion is for science fiction writing. Hence the aliens and swords. As I turned the corner toward consciousness, I remembered that I had gone from Patrick and Tina’s place to the coffee shop. At closing, the coffee shop crowd decided on a move to Rusty’s Pool Hall. Playing billiards (poorly) and drinking (well), left me less than qualified to make the drive back to Arlington at two this morning. That is how this morning found me on Rhonda’s couch. On my much delayed drive to Arlington, the rear view mirror displayed the pattern of the upholstery imprinted on my face.
Monday, January 24, 2005
So... Now What?
Howdy. Guess where I’m at. Yeah, I’m at Panther City Coffee. Good guess. I started coming here because the campground didn’t have internet. Shocking, I know. I haven’t been camping since we changed airports. The campground at Benbrook Lake, near the new airport, charges ten bucks a night and closes the gate at 9 pm. Unacceptable. So, even though the new airport has wireless internet, I find myself here for the quirky atmosphere and fresh roasted coffee.
I made a really pathetic plea during my set on Saturday night, something about being homeless and maybe sleeping in the rental van in the airport parking lot that night. This led to an offer from my sister’s college roommate and her husband to stay with them. I stayed in the “Angel Room.” An angel sits on the bed. Every wall hanging and desk trinket is an angel. One is made of wheat. Last night, they said I could stay as long as I needed. I don’t think they knew what they were saying, so we’ll play it by ear.
I had such a busy week. I spent all of last week flying and preparing for the debut weekend of my nation-wide tour. I hereby announce a contest to name said tour. The winner gets… uh… I hereby announce a sub-contest to name the prize of the first contest; same prize for both. I digress…
I almost don’t know what to do with myself now that I’m not spending every free moment writing lyrics in my notebook. It was worth it though. Playing for the crowd here was the most fun I’ve had since I left Kansas City. I still love to watch peoples’ reactions to my acoustic version of “Baby Got Back.” The coffee shop guys were kind enough to back me up on that one. They didn't even seem to mind that I referred to them as my "Fly Girls."
“Metrosexual Man” also went over really well.
One of the more memorable moments came when, just before the most graphic verse of an off color Irish drinking song, a lady walked in with her two young children. I had no choice but to finish the song, but the whole place fell apart at the timing. I jokingly told the lady that she really should have thought twice about bringing her kids to a coffee shop.
“Better Off Dad,” featuring 14 year old Jaime Harris, kicked ass both nights and I am very grateful that they let me crash their party. You can download their music at www.betteroffdad.com. I’m sure I won’t be as lucky landing gigs in other places I end up as I have been in Fort Worth. I hear some of you asking “And just how did that happen?”
So there I was, playing the house guitar at Panther City Coffee. After “Baby Got Back,” and a couple other tunes, Jason, Badger’s nephew/night manager/music coordinator, told me I should open for Better Off Dad. I had already seen their set, so I was honored to accept (on the condition that I was still in Fort Worth). There you have it.
I made a really pathetic plea during my set on Saturday night, something about being homeless and maybe sleeping in the rental van in the airport parking lot that night. This led to an offer from my sister’s college roommate and her husband to stay with them. I stayed in the “Angel Room.” An angel sits on the bed. Every wall hanging and desk trinket is an angel. One is made of wheat. Last night, they said I could stay as long as I needed. I don’t think they knew what they were saying, so we’ll play it by ear.
I had such a busy week. I spent all of last week flying and preparing for the debut weekend of my nation-wide tour. I hereby announce a contest to name said tour. The winner gets… uh… I hereby announce a sub-contest to name the prize of the first contest; same prize for both. I digress…
I almost don’t know what to do with myself now that I’m not spending every free moment writing lyrics in my notebook. It was worth it though. Playing for the crowd here was the most fun I’ve had since I left Kansas City. I still love to watch peoples’ reactions to my acoustic version of “Baby Got Back.” The coffee shop guys were kind enough to back me up on that one. They didn't even seem to mind that I referred to them as my "Fly Girls."
“Metrosexual Man” also went over really well.
One of the more memorable moments came when, just before the most graphic verse of an off color Irish drinking song, a lady walked in with her two young children. I had no choice but to finish the song, but the whole place fell apart at the timing. I jokingly told the lady that she really should have thought twice about bringing her kids to a coffee shop.
“Better Off Dad,” featuring 14 year old Jaime Harris, kicked ass both nights and I am very grateful that they let me crash their party. You can download their music at www.betteroffdad.com. I’m sure I won’t be as lucky landing gigs in other places I end up as I have been in Fort Worth. I hear some of you asking “And just how did that happen?”
So there I was, playing the house guitar at Panther City Coffee. After “Baby Got Back,” and a couple other tunes, Jason, Badger’s nephew/night manager/music coordinator, told me I should open for Better Off Dad. I had already seen their set, so I was honored to accept (on the condition that I was still in Fort Worth). There you have it.
Saturday, January 22, 2005
Maybe he was wet...
Howdy. I don’t know where I’m staying tonight. I had planned on going out and finding a new campsite today, but sloth and laundry conspired against me.
We didn’t fly today due to high winds on the surface and aloft. We can only fly so fast over the ground and still get good pictures, and we can only fly so slow through the air. If the winds are out of the North at 40 knots (like they were today), we would have to fly below 47 knots to stay below the 87 knot maximum.
Had a blast last night playing my first solo coffee shop gig. I opened for “Better Off Dad,” the father/daughter duo I mentioned a while back. A respectable, though not burgeoning, crowd, partook in the merriment. My fellow pilots were kind enough show up, along with some new Fort Worth friends. Most would probably have been at the coffee shop anyway, because that’s the sort of people we are. I’m playing again tonight. Think I’ll go warm up.
A quote for the road…
From the Laundromat
“Miss, is that your baby running around here?”
“Yes”
“You might want to make sure he’s not in the dryer…”
We didn’t fly today due to high winds on the surface and aloft. We can only fly so fast over the ground and still get good pictures, and we can only fly so slow through the air. If the winds are out of the North at 40 knots (like they were today), we would have to fly below 47 knots to stay below the 87 knot maximum.
Had a blast last night playing my first solo coffee shop gig. I opened for “Better Off Dad,” the father/daughter duo I mentioned a while back. A respectable, though not burgeoning, crowd, partook in the merriment. My fellow pilots were kind enough show up, along with some new Fort Worth friends. Most would probably have been at the coffee shop anyway, because that’s the sort of people we are. I’m playing again tonight. Think I’ll go warm up.
A quote for the road…
From the Laundromat
“Miss, is that your baby running around here?”
“Yes”
“You might want to make sure he’s not in the dryer…”
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
Hot, Clean, Showers: Way Under-Rated!
Howdy. Today was a very long day. We found out that, due to problems with condensation on the lenses, our customer wants us to hangar the planes instead of leaving them tied down outside. Since there aren’t any public hangars at Hicks, we had to relocate to another airport 20 miles southwest of Ft Worth. It took us 3 hours to ferry the planes down to Bourland Field, and to ferry ourselves back to our cars at Hicks. To top it off, the airport attendant wasn’t there when Joe landed at 7:03. They close at 7:00. I guess he didn’t understand what we were going through to get these planes indoors tonight. It would have saved us about two hours if we could have waited to put the second plane down there tomorrow. Frustration. The new home base seems all right, but no more free hamburgers. Its actually a fly-in community, where really rich people live with their airplanes. Driving back from Bourland , Joe and I agreed that we had been spoiled with our first assignment, what with the on-field diner and everything.
After seven nights at the lake and a really long day, I decided it was time to splurge on a real bed and (more importantly) a real shower. I’m staying at the Days Inn across from the Stockyards. The shower I took tonight reminded me of the virtue of self-denial. It makes the simplest things seem indulgent. I’ll probably stay up here for a couple days while I investigate other camping options closer to Bourland.
After seven nights at the lake and a really long day, I decided it was time to splurge on a real bed and (more importantly) a real shower. I’m staying at the Days Inn across from the Stockyards. The shower I took tonight reminded me of the virtue of self-denial. It makes the simplest things seem indulgent. I’ll probably stay up here for a couple days while I investigate other camping options closer to Bourland.
Saturday, January 15, 2005
Marlboro Man Jesus
....Scraggly old guy, cigarette dangling from his lips, struggles to ride his small pink bicycle (with pom poms on the handle bars) one handed. His other hand is attached to a rope which is attached to a red wagon which is full of garbage.
Thursday, January 13, 2005
Emissary? Me?
Howdy. So, despite the storms, everything was dry when I got to the campsite last night. I can tell that you are all as relieved as I was. I was also relieved to discover the showers did in fact shoot hot water. They are the sort you would expect find next to a beach, complete with swollen bars of soap, and dirty Q-Tips on the floor. I imagine the place teems with sandy families during the summer months. Last night, though, I had it all to myself. Felt a little like being in the abandoned summer restaurant in “Goonies.” I was sort of surprised the lights worked, and let’s just say I’d rather defecate in a Fedex box…
My imagination was running wild due to my reading “Cloud Atlas” by David Mitchell. This novel (or at least what I’ve read of it so far) reminds me of “The Red Violin” in that the story, centered on music and literature, spans several centuries and the characters all seem doomed by some cosmic force; not the sort of primer a person might want for a solitary outdoor living experience.
How the wind howled last night! I could hear the waves approaching before they slammed into the hull of my little tent. Wind chimes hanging from the neighbors’ RV would crescendo into cacophony with each swell. I finally hunkered down in my sleeping bag, letting the chimes lull me into a substantially deeper sleep than the night before.
Woke up this morning to discover that, as expected, the winds exceeded our operational limits, so I took one for the team and went back to sleep. I met the guys, including our cool new pilot Joe, out at the airport around noon to discuss which flight plans remain unfinished (most of them). I cashed in a fuel receipt for a free burger. It’s a tough job…
I figured that since I’ve been in town for all of nine days now, it was time to start meeting the local dignitaries. So for dinner, I, un-showered and unshaved, wearing my dirty old K-State ball cap, had a great Philly cheese steak at Texadelphia with Fort Worth’s Mayor, Ken Barr. Actually, he was there addressing a young alumni club from TCU. He talked a lot about Alliance airport and what a progressive and beneficial move it had been to build an airport specifically for cargo, not expecting to serve any passengers. After listening to his speech and the ensuing Q&A, I introduced myself as a pilot helping to make an aerial map of his county. I thought maybe he would know the name of the company I work for even though our relationship is with the county. He didn’t, but he at least acted interested in what we do. Maybe I’ll make it a goal to meet the mayors of all the towns I stay in. I think that would be very educational.
Well, I’m going to fend off the Fratelli’s so I can take a shower and catch some Z’s. We might actually fly tomorrow.
My imagination was running wild due to my reading “Cloud Atlas” by David Mitchell. This novel (or at least what I’ve read of it so far) reminds me of “The Red Violin” in that the story, centered on music and literature, spans several centuries and the characters all seem doomed by some cosmic force; not the sort of primer a person might want for a solitary outdoor living experience.
How the wind howled last night! I could hear the waves approaching before they slammed into the hull of my little tent. Wind chimes hanging from the neighbors’ RV would crescendo into cacophony with each swell. I finally hunkered down in my sleeping bag, letting the chimes lull me into a substantially deeper sleep than the night before.
Woke up this morning to discover that, as expected, the winds exceeded our operational limits, so I took one for the team and went back to sleep. I met the guys, including our cool new pilot Joe, out at the airport around noon to discuss which flight plans remain unfinished (most of them). I cashed in a fuel receipt for a free burger. It’s a tough job…
I figured that since I’ve been in town for all of nine days now, it was time to start meeting the local dignitaries. So for dinner, I, un-showered and unshaved, wearing my dirty old K-State ball cap, had a great Philly cheese steak at Texadelphia with Fort Worth’s Mayor, Ken Barr. Actually, he was there addressing a young alumni club from TCU. He talked a lot about Alliance airport and what a progressive and beneficial move it had been to build an airport specifically for cargo, not expecting to serve any passengers. After listening to his speech and the ensuing Q&A, I introduced myself as a pilot helping to make an aerial map of his county. I thought maybe he would know the name of the company I work for even though our relationship is with the county. He didn’t, but he at least acted interested in what we do. Maybe I’ll make it a goal to meet the mayors of all the towns I stay in. I think that would be very educational.
Well, I’m going to fend off the Fratelli’s so I can take a shower and catch some Z’s. We might actually fly tomorrow.
Wednesday, January 12, 2005
Dry Night?
Howdy. Seagulls squawking… The wind temporarily distorting the shape of my tent… RV dwellers calling their dogs in the middle of the night… Just though I’d make a short post to say that my first night outdoors was everything I thought it could be. Its raining now. No flying today. I can’t wait to get back to the lake so I can see how well the tent kept the water out.
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
Livin' The Dream!
Howdy. I’ve been in Fort Worth for a week now, and we’ve only flown two days due mostly to low clouds and visibility. I’m sitting at Panther City Coffee, my new favorite Fort Worth Coffee Shop. I wound up here on Saturday as I was exploring the TCU campus. Steve, a.k.a. “Badger,” runs the place and informed me that they just opened after the first of the year. He’s a super friendly guy who used to work in the IT department of a major aerospace firm. Check them out at www.panthercitycoffee.com . I ended up goin’ back later that night to hear a father/daughter singin’ and strummin’ duo. They called themselves “Better Off Dad.” Cute. They were really pretty good. The girl was only 14, but she could wail. Her lawyer dad rightly referred to her as his “greatest musical achievement.” I was surprised to hear that their repertoire consisted mostly of melancholy songs about suicide and drug addiction. They really seemed to enjoy playing together though, which I found refreshing.
I checked out of my hotel today. Took my newly acquired tent and sleeping bag to Eagle Mountain Lake and set up camp. The people at the hotel desk looked at me like I had completely lost my wits; or I had just dealt them a very deep insult. “I would rather sleep on the cold, hard, ground than in your hotel!” I don’t really expect everybody to get it, but I have a much better view now, and it’s a whole lot cheaper. I always have the option of checking into a hotel if it gets too wet or cold, but I’d rather not. The campground is right on the shore of the lake, and its super quiet. I’m the only tent there; seems like everybody else is a permanent RV resident. I met one of my neighbors. His name is Ray. He’s got longish hair and his paunch filled a T-shirt that said “Belize.” He works nights, but dodged the question of where. Over all the campground is sort of junky and run-down, but my spot is perfect; exactly what I was looking for.
It looks like strong surface winds and stronger winds aloft may keep us from flying again tomorrow. I should probably head out to the camp site and add myself to the ballast keeping my tent from blowing into the lake.
I checked out of my hotel today. Took my newly acquired tent and sleeping bag to Eagle Mountain Lake and set up camp. The people at the hotel desk looked at me like I had completely lost my wits; or I had just dealt them a very deep insult. “I would rather sleep on the cold, hard, ground than in your hotel!” I don’t really expect everybody to get it, but I have a much better view now, and it’s a whole lot cheaper. I always have the option of checking into a hotel if it gets too wet or cold, but I’d rather not. The campground is right on the shore of the lake, and its super quiet. I’m the only tent there; seems like everybody else is a permanent RV resident. I met one of my neighbors. His name is Ray. He’s got longish hair and his paunch filled a T-shirt that said “Belize.” He works nights, but dodged the question of where. Over all the campground is sort of junky and run-down, but my spot is perfect; exactly what I was looking for.
It looks like strong surface winds and stronger winds aloft may keep us from flying again tomorrow. I should probably head out to the camp site and add myself to the ballast keeping my tent from blowing into the lake.
Friday, January 07, 2005
Just Ship It Fedex!
Howdy. So here I am, safe and sound in Fort Worth. I just got back from my first experience with Sushi. That’s right. The other pilots and I had dinner at “Cowtown Sushi.” I’m not kidding. That was the name of the place. I’ve got pictures. I’m not even sick. Yet.
I’m sittin’ in the laundry room of the Studio Plus extended stay place (contact my agent if you would like to see your business’s name in my blog…) Over the course of my four day, 16.9 hour, ferry flight from Rochester, NY, it occurred to me that when your primary mode of transport is an airplane, the whole world feels like an immense ocean. This perception is particularly noticeable when you’re flying through and on top of clouds. Since you can’t see the land between towns, everyplace you land becomes an island, isolated and discrete.
So there I was, in the soup. I’d just set sail off the Island of Harrison, Arkansas, cleared to join the Victor Airway headed south toward Fort Smith when I noticed my course needle acting funny. It shouldn’t have taken me long to join the airway since the VOR beacon was pretty close to the airport, but after about five minutes, it was still pegged off to one side. That is to say that I was not remotely on course. Upon closer inspection, I made the rather vexing discovery that my gyroscopic compass showed a southwest heading, and my magnetic compass showed me heading northeast. Hmm. Not having the slightest clue as to which indication might be correct, I called air traffic control and asked which direction they saw me going.
“Well, I show you headed north!” the controller replied. “I thought you were going to Fort Smith…” He sounded confused, but if he had challenged me to a "who's more confused" duel at that point, I would have smoked his ass.
“Yeah, that was the plan,” I told him. Then, resisting the temptation to use the phrase “Tango Uniform,” I mentioned to him that my gyro compass was “not functioning.” He gave me a heading to rejoin the airway, and suggested Memphis as the closest VFR weather. By that time, I’d figured out what was the matter. I had plenty of suction and the attitude indicator was working, so I knew it was just the heading indicator. When I tried to reset it, I noticed that the setting pin was already pushed in. The spring that normally pushes it back out and re-engages the display linkage had lost its oomph. I reset the compass, pulled out the pin, and it guided me perfectly to the shores of Fort Worth. I tried not to think about the disastrous consequences the aviation Gods might have dealt me if I’d let that happen in a mountainous region or someplace with other sorts of large airplane catchers. Lesson Learned.
It wasn’t too terribly long after I was back on track that day when I felt the first pangs of another type of emergency. The orange juice from the Super 8’s continental breakfast wanted out. I can hold it, I told myself. Its only another four hours. I searched the cockpit for any sort of bottle, cup, or zip lock bag. Nothing. This was karma paying me back for not being more understanding of the old guy on the ferry trip to Michigan who whipped it out in the seat next to me. I would have given anything for one of those red bottles you see in the Sporty’s catalogs (which is what that guy had). The weather over Oklahoma was horrid; 200-300 foot ceilings over a good portion of my route. I didn’t think it would be exceedingly safe to shoot an ILS to minimums when the overriding thought on my mind was getting to a bathroom.
Finally, I eyed the Fedex box used to store hard drives for the imaging system. “Surely the bottom of that box is well sealed,” I thought to myself. That could work… Especially if I put a couple of rags in the bottom…
I felt something close to inner peace as the cardboard porto-potty floated like a castaway out of sight behind me.
I’m sittin’ in the laundry room of the Studio Plus extended stay place (contact my agent if you would like to see your business’s name in my blog…) Over the course of my four day, 16.9 hour, ferry flight from Rochester, NY, it occurred to me that when your primary mode of transport is an airplane, the whole world feels like an immense ocean. This perception is particularly noticeable when you’re flying through and on top of clouds. Since you can’t see the land between towns, everyplace you land becomes an island, isolated and discrete.
So there I was, in the soup. I’d just set sail off the Island of Harrison, Arkansas, cleared to join the Victor Airway headed south toward Fort Smith when I noticed my course needle acting funny. It shouldn’t have taken me long to join the airway since the VOR beacon was pretty close to the airport, but after about five minutes, it was still pegged off to one side. That is to say that I was not remotely on course. Upon closer inspection, I made the rather vexing discovery that my gyroscopic compass showed a southwest heading, and my magnetic compass showed me heading northeast. Hmm. Not having the slightest clue as to which indication might be correct, I called air traffic control and asked which direction they saw me going.
“Well, I show you headed north!” the controller replied. “I thought you were going to Fort Smith…” He sounded confused, but if he had challenged me to a "who's more confused" duel at that point, I would have smoked his ass.
“Yeah, that was the plan,” I told him. Then, resisting the temptation to use the phrase “Tango Uniform,” I mentioned to him that my gyro compass was “not functioning.” He gave me a heading to rejoin the airway, and suggested Memphis as the closest VFR weather. By that time, I’d figured out what was the matter. I had plenty of suction and the attitude indicator was working, so I knew it was just the heading indicator. When I tried to reset it, I noticed that the setting pin was already pushed in. The spring that normally pushes it back out and re-engages the display linkage had lost its oomph. I reset the compass, pulled out the pin, and it guided me perfectly to the shores of Fort Worth. I tried not to think about the disastrous consequences the aviation Gods might have dealt me if I’d let that happen in a mountainous region or someplace with other sorts of large airplane catchers. Lesson Learned.
It wasn’t too terribly long after I was back on track that day when I felt the first pangs of another type of emergency. The orange juice from the Super 8’s continental breakfast wanted out. I can hold it, I told myself. Its only another four hours. I searched the cockpit for any sort of bottle, cup, or zip lock bag. Nothing. This was karma paying me back for not being more understanding of the old guy on the ferry trip to Michigan who whipped it out in the seat next to me. I would have given anything for one of those red bottles you see in the Sporty’s catalogs (which is what that guy had). The weather over Oklahoma was horrid; 200-300 foot ceilings over a good portion of my route. I didn’t think it would be exceedingly safe to shoot an ILS to minimums when the overriding thought on my mind was getting to a bathroom.
Finally, I eyed the Fedex box used to store hard drives for the imaging system. “Surely the bottom of that box is well sealed,” I thought to myself. That could work… Especially if I put a couple of rags in the bottom…
I felt something close to inner peace as the cardboard porto-potty floated like a castaway out of sight behind me.
Monday, January 03, 2005
Life Begins - On The Road
Howdy. So just before Christmas, I got a call from my new boss, Nick.
“I just had another pilot give notice… Can you be in Rochester on Monday or Tuesday?”
This was on Thursday. Christmas was on Saturday. When I had talked to him the day before, he’d told me to expect a mid-January departure. So much for having a couple weeks to pack and get everything in order! Oh well. I got my last desk shift covered and reserved a ticket on Continental to leave early Tuesday. I feel like this is the first breath I’ve taken since that phone call.
I was training in Rochester, NY from Tuesday till Saturday of last week. I had to learn all about the photo system, not to mention the seemingly endless policies and procedures. I finally left Rochester on New Year’s Day headed for Fort Worth, TX in my modified 1976 Cessna 172. I took off and flew down the coast of Lake Erie to my first stop at Sandusky, Ohio. Along the way, I found that my Nav 2 radio was useless due to some sort of crazy electrical interference. Nav 1 was a bit shaky too, come to think of it. I sort of had to take an average of its indications. Since this flying carpet didn’t come with GPS, the nav radios are all that tell me where I am.
After a bacon cheeseburger and confirmation from the previous pilot of my plane that the nav 1 held true to a localizer course (used to find airports through clouds and low visibility), I blasted off again. The nav 2 radio miraculously revived itself for the second leg of my journey and has been fine ever since. Strange.
Since then, I’ve flown about seven hours in the clouds. I’ve shot 2 approaches to minimums (see the runway 200 feet above and ½ mile away from the threshold). I had to execute a missed approach procedure yesterday at Cape Girardo, Missouri because a rooky ATC controller vectored me inside the final approach fix. I could tell she was training. I could hear the trainer prompting her on what to say. Aargh.
I’m in Harrison, Arkansas right now. I got here last night. There were embedded thunderstorms around Dallas/Ft. Worth today, so here I sit. The down time is much appreciated, but so are the experiences.
“I just had another pilot give notice… Can you be in Rochester on Monday or Tuesday?”
This was on Thursday. Christmas was on Saturday. When I had talked to him the day before, he’d told me to expect a mid-January departure. So much for having a couple weeks to pack and get everything in order! Oh well. I got my last desk shift covered and reserved a ticket on Continental to leave early Tuesday. I feel like this is the first breath I’ve taken since that phone call.
I was training in Rochester, NY from Tuesday till Saturday of last week. I had to learn all about the photo system, not to mention the seemingly endless policies and procedures. I finally left Rochester on New Year’s Day headed for Fort Worth, TX in my modified 1976 Cessna 172. I took off and flew down the coast of Lake Erie to my first stop at Sandusky, Ohio. Along the way, I found that my Nav 2 radio was useless due to some sort of crazy electrical interference. Nav 1 was a bit shaky too, come to think of it. I sort of had to take an average of its indications. Since this flying carpet didn’t come with GPS, the nav radios are all that tell me where I am.
After a bacon cheeseburger and confirmation from the previous pilot of my plane that the nav 1 held true to a localizer course (used to find airports through clouds and low visibility), I blasted off again. The nav 2 radio miraculously revived itself for the second leg of my journey and has been fine ever since. Strange.
Since then, I’ve flown about seven hours in the clouds. I’ve shot 2 approaches to minimums (see the runway 200 feet above and ½ mile away from the threshold). I had to execute a missed approach procedure yesterday at Cape Girardo, Missouri because a rooky ATC controller vectored me inside the final approach fix. I could tell she was training. I could hear the trainer prompting her on what to say. Aargh.
I’m in Harrison, Arkansas right now. I got here last night. There were embedded thunderstorms around Dallas/Ft. Worth today, so here I sit. The down time is much appreciated, but so are the experiences.
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