Animal Noises

Despite my reputation as a bloated bellower, I tend to equate my natural animal state with that of a more mellower fellower. Oh sure I ‘caw’ loudly back at the ‘bird police’ when they beak the peak of my head while poking around nests, but how else am I and my raccoon raider DNA supposed to eat or entertain guests? Even fat raptors like owls  and me give a ‘hoot’ once in awhile after a big meal, but overall our noise impact is pellet-sized puny and slim like an eel.

In today’s times though, my Dino breed must be dying off since good, bad, happy, and sad sounds all assault the bones closest to my cochlear like a clamorous triceratops spear to the ear. What fat squirrels like me can’t see is a peaceful stroll in the park anymore without somebody’s radio pumping and thumping with a cacophonous roar. Clearly the world is gone deaf and have turned up the juice to my dismay; my Dumbo flaps have had more than their limit so I plug and cover them with hair every day.

Even the fan in the bath blows more blitzkrieg ‘buzz’ than it quietly sucks and why is the wind so pushy and sounds like Mack trucks. My only considerate neighbors are the squirrels, worms, and deer who are particularly quiet when seen flat from my car’s rear mirror. Too many sounds from cars, planes, or beasts; too much noise which needs to cease if I’m to be pleased and you wish to quiet the beast.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not demanding peace and quiet from the animals in my kingdom who are forced to swallow peas and ‘try it’. There is always an exception to any rule and a good reason for a bad dog to bark in protest and dabble in discord. So on those days that I whine and complain, show up ready to throw me a meaty bone, by keeping your music to yourself and your words in hushed tone.

Dairy AIR Apparent

Given my CRUSTY appearance and demeanor you probably think I like pizza, don’t wash behind my ears, and rarely leave the confines of my cardboard carton unless absolutely necessary. Well you would be correct in at least two of those assumptions, though in my defense if the city would throw in a few more of those park porta-potty deodorant cakes I might scrub the ‘stank’ off a little longer. Surprisingly though, I am street-wise even without a GPS or a paper cup full of change, and actually do travel quite frequently in a breathless effort to ‘wind’ friends and give ‘influenza’ to people.

Beyond the breadth of my Big Wheel, I prefer to travel by plane despite the hassles these days with security, baggage limits, and the long waits. There is just something ironically special about getting peanuts for my big mouth even though I am paying ‘through the nose’ for those tiny tickets. Now it seems I can’t even get my doctor to pony up with a ‘smiley’ sticker after I cough, so getting informally fed and watered as a bonus in a smelly flying cattle car has become truly a thrill.

The main problem for me and recent air travel is that I now have to be very aware of my public image. No I am not famous at all, but regardless of who you are, nobody wants to see your bald pink piggies pointing at them from the holes in your gray soiled socks. I think it goes without saying that the same rule is doubly important when applied due South of your shirt-line, should the belt-removal regimen go awkwardly awry.

The airlines could assist with these types of problems if they would once again just hand out those pin-on wings to hide the holes in my clothes like they did in the old days. Or at the very least return to offering those little soaps in the plane privies to help me scrub my stained skivvies BEFORE I get on the plane. Oh well even if it sometimes stinks, I guess I’m a lucky dog since air travel is not as formal as it once was. Yes, apparently EVEN a crusty old cur like me can finally make it out of the ‘Live Animal’ cargo hold and find happiness numbly, under somebody’s piquant seat. 

Airhead

I am lucky enough to be born in an era where airplane travel has replaced buses as more of the norm than the exception. Unlike most people I won’t thumb my nose at a good airport scan & squeeze now and again, as long as those TSA folks keep the rest of their rubber-covered digits to themselves. The only person I want poking around in my cavities is the dentist and even he has to pony up with a soothing gum-rub, 5 minutes of Nitrous ‘me time’, and a double-cup of spit water.

In general, I don’t mind most of the airport / airplane process except for the waiting. You see I have never been a good ‘WAITER’ and only a marginal cook. Since time ‘flies’ at the speed of light I want to fly that fast too. Oh sure it is fun to pass the time and look down at the little houses and cars but I already get that thrill from lording over a good game of Monopoly with my in-bred fam-clan. Nope, once you seal me up in a pressurized sardine can I want to set my Omega 3 Fatty Acid down and get the show on the road.

Despite my granite face and even harder head I obviously bore easily since my gray matter tends to turn a brackish green at high altitudes. This in turn is only cause for concern because my wife must find ways to keep me busy, with minimal harm to my fellow (and girl) passengers. Like a big Baby Huey, she usually brings me a bib and a ball-point pen so I can go through the Airline magazines and black-out the teeth of anyone caught smiling in an advertisement. Once complete, the same magazine gets my makeover of random stubble and wild crevice hairs, to bestow imperfect 5 o’clock shadows upon the Aero-rag's 'perfect 10' models.

As I make the third magazine pass to finish my obligatory cartoon speech bubbles with juvenile comments, my lizard brain needs additional stimulation beyond that screaming baby two rows up. I reflexively reach for my olfactory arsenal of tortilla chips and day-old tuna fish. Wisely but irritatingly my wife calmly backs me down and tells me to wait. WAIT? - Didn’t we already discuss this kitchen analogy? I am too old, hairy, and sweaty for THAT gig, especially when trapped in a flying aluminum cigar tube. From now on I think I had better stay grounded since apparently I am better suited as a ‘BUS boy’!

SCAN THIS!

Ok I am getting a little bored with the whole debate over the airport screening flap. I am all about protecting personal freedoms ESPECIALLY as an American, but give me a break with the manufactured indignation over stupid airport scanners. There are plenty of other REAL problems in the world to worry about.

My wife flies commercial usually twice a week and I hit the unfriendly skies 3 or 4 times a year. I can tell you, honestly I wish I did not have to get undressed every time I see a Transportation Security Agent (but they just look so good in those pretty blue shirts). In reality however, I get more stressed about leaving the ‘Cinnabon’ stand behind in the food court than getting unduly man-handled by security wonks in starched collared shirts.

I mean, I try to look at the positive side when I am flying. Without the TSA folks, I would never know that most of my socks have holes in them. I am kind of hoping that with these new total body scanners, the agents can help me check for excessive wear in my undies too? Who knows, maybe I can save a few bucks on dental x-rays or hopefully discover an actual pig inside of me to justify all my body bacon?

I was really good at avoiding the gym showers in high school, so of all people, I am not anxious to have pictures of my love handles scrutinized by random airport cops, but I’m sure it’s no picnic for them either. The reality is I prefer to make a little better travel time to both coasts than is currently possible by horse, buggy, or bus. These holiday travel babies need to fly private at four times the cost or wear lead-lined diapers in a twist if they're so concerned with intrusive security.

I for one hate trying to get caps off of aerosol paint cans, yet I don’t see barrio ‘taggers’ crying to the press about this unfair inconvenience. I can’t even sneak a nightcap swig of Nyquil anymore without pulling off an inner safety seal. And those poor tobacco fans – not only do they get taxed to death faster than they can smoke themselves there; now they will have to stare at a giant diseased black lung on their cigarette packs while puffing.

So I know the whiners pine away for the good ol’ days of airline travel in America. The ruthless scanner-cams have really made us miss our freedoms just like teens do when they have to grow up into REAL adults. The new reality however, is that we ALL do what we HAVE to do to show up in one piece at the end of the line, baggage safely in hand, and ALIVE. I don’t expect everyone to take this SCANdalous new TSA policy lightly, sitting down. I expect you to just STAND UP, get in line, and take your pats FIRMLY, just like the rest of us … so we can all get where we are going and turn our attention to more important things.

The pleasures of flying

I always love flying commercial airlines these days. Where else do people willingly line up and give away their money to be abused. I mean who wouldn’t want to open up your wallet so you could breathe bad air, drink watered-down soda and commune with sweaty hefty folks and babies with diapers set to ‘Stun’. If I was a little smarter, I think it’s probably better to go lay my face on a hot stove and STILL suffer less pain.

First they grab as much of your cash as possible for a ticket – and what do you get? At least in the old days, you used to get a piece of cool RED carbon paper and an index card for your 300 bucks. Now, I basically get an e-mail with a number on it and hope the airline won’t go broke before my flight date. Next when I get to the airport I get the pleasure of ‘UNDRESSING’ again since I obviously did not get it right the first time? Yeah, the belt comes off, the pockets get emptied, and the shoes are removed. More often than not, I am greeted with a part of my foot sticking out of a holey sock and my first thought after embarrassment is ‘DARN’ that sock.

Next boarding is always a blast. I think only cows and lemmings are better at lining up for the ultimate slaughter as compared to the airline flying public. Now between senior citizens, stroller babies, military, first class, executive platinum, & priority access PRE-BOARDING, there are about 7 or 8 people left like me who load the plane last. Of course since everyone has been de-incentivized to store baggage where it belongs in the baggage compartment, there is rarely space left for my one lonely bag much less my girth.

Who was the bright bulb who thought it was MORE efficient to encourage 200 people to carry all of their worldly possessions in bloated backpacks and oversized carry-ons in the passenger cabin? I admit however, it takes ‘guts’ for a struggling enterprise which is constantly behind schedule, lethargic, and having difficulty improving customer service, to continue doing their jobs as POORLY as possible. Gee I really am out of touch – I thought that was the job of the FEDERAL GOVERNMENT!

The Good Ol’ Days

I was in one of those moods recently and I was thinking about all the things I miss from when I was younger. Fortunately I never had any looks so that was not on the list, plus I have found a secret most guys don’t know - there is nothing a little foundation and mascara can’t hide. It’s a joke ok plus do you honestly think my wife would trust me with make-up? I borrowed some lipstick from her once to make a fake laceration on my head for a video, so she complained for a month that I had ‘smooshed’ the angled end and it would not retract in the tube. Needless to say, now all the make-up in the house goes in the lock-box with the alcohol cleaning pads, Nyquil and the catsup bottle.

Anyway, I had bought some ‘Ding Dongs’ for packed lunches and I noticed that they come in a sort of white cellophane sealed pouch now. I can’t explain it but both Ding Dongs and Hershey’s miniatures used to come ‘foil wrapped’ and I liked them better that way. It’s kind of the same with Coca Cola when it came in real bottles as a kid. There was no such thing as diet drinks so most of us were smart enough to know that a ‘soda pop’ was supposed to be a treat, not a replacement for your total bodily fluids. Now I drink diet soda all the time through an I.V. but it is never as good as those ice cold ‘glass bottled’ Cokes on a hot summer day.

I miss my snowy analog TV reception because even if the picture was not always perfect, I could make out the audio and storyline. Now with digital TV, every time the wind blows, or there is a little rain, my television repeatedly sputters, blanks out, and pixelates like a patient on a hospital drama. After a few minutes of looking at a frozen picture of some actor with their eyes half closed, I turn the channel and watch that show until it blanks out too and I finally close MY eyes ‘all the way’. Also it is sad that the National Anthem at the end of the broadcast day is gone. Remember when the TV stations actually understood EVERYONE was in bed (or should be) and actually STOPPED broadcasting each day. Now the TV stations simply fill up the overnight hours with an endless parade of infomercials hawking anything that insomniacs might respond to with an open mind and checkbook .

Of course I miss most when it was ok to take knives to ‘show and tell’ at school or carry a nail file on an airplane. Now for an overnight plane trip if I can’t find a tiny tube of toothpaste, I simply have to squeeze a green gob of the stuff into a hankie and put it in a plastic bag. I let the airport screeners think what they want, but they NEVER ask me what’s in the hankie. Hmmm, maybe if I was a terrorist I could try that same angle but with a loaded diaper? No, that’s probably not a good idea because even the most hardened air marshal would never take a ‘Stink Bomb’ seriously. See, even being evil was so much easier when I was over-ripened ‘diaper baby’. Who says CHANGE is necessary - I miss the good ol’ days!

The Car Vs. Plane college experiment

This last week, I got to experience first-hand the juxtaposition of cross country travel by car and the reverse of the trip by aeroplane. By the way that is the same thing as an ‘airplane’, however I just ate a crumpet and my tea-stained teeth allow me to a think and feel British. Despite being literally shoehorned into my daughter’s car in the ‘shoe’ section,(which is next to the ‘party dress’ section) it was a pleasant trip back to college. I never did find the ‘study hard and save money’ section on the seating chart so I doubt one exists, though I will remain hopeful for the time being.

My daughter drives a convertible, however this trip is never as pleasant for her since she cannot lower the top for fear of losing both the shoe and party section ‘occupants’ to the wind’s fickle whimsy. I personally appreciate the protection from the sun, dirt, and hot winds in a car with a lid on it, plus I really don’t look too attractive ‘topless’. Though a 16 hour drive seems horrible, we try to break up the monotony by counting Indian casinos and sleepy truckers along the way. Amazingly, the strategy works as the drive only feels like 15 hours – Wheeee! My daughter also has the convenience of a DVD screen which pops out of the car dash so we can watch public service messages of the danger of driving distracted along with other sitcoms.

To haul all of that junk to college costs about $120 in fuel - $85 for the gasoline and $35 for the two of us in food. To fly back to St. Louis it cost about the same, but oddly, the flight attendants still would not allow me to travel topless. I did have the pleasure to be sandwiched in between two handsome women, however I think it was against their will? Given the typical tight quarters in airline travel these days, I probably should have bought one of those ‘I-Pad’ thingys rather than a widescreen laptop. But buying ‘I-Pads’ embarrasses me too much because they sound so much like feminine products (and only cost a little bit more).

Anyway, I enlisted the help of my seat partners as the lady on the left could take care of the ‘Caps Lock’ side of the keyboard and the lady on the right handled the ‘Enter’ side keys. My role in the middle was very limited as I simply had to dictate the necessary idiocy for a few bloggy paragraphs in between in-flight peanuts and tomato juice. All told, my trip home by plane took about 5 hours including my gate waits, and a few hundred extra seconds (as well as calories) from Dunkin Donuts.

A reasonable hypothesis and expectation is that you would think hands down the airplane trip is the clear winner for cost vs. time in the Car vs. Plane experiment. The truth is, NOTHING beats the chance to spend a few extra hours with the kid before she starts back at life’s grind toward adulthood. No I’m not actually THAT sentimentally sweet with political correctness - it just has become necessary since my unfortunate ‘copy-cat incident’ exiting the plane via the emergency slide. I must be just 'plane' crazy - WHEEEEEE!

'High Five' things I miss about the oil spill

Actually there is nothing I really miss about the oil spill down in the Gulf. But in the interest of making lemon flavored water out of Lemonhead candy – uh well you get the point … I did assemble a list of the 5 things I will miss most about this front page story.After all, even in blogging, “you should never let a serious crisis go to waste” right? Although, after a scary 4 months, this news is older and riper than Homo Erectus and his petrified black banana.

COUNT 'EM DOWN FOLKS ...

FIVE ) I do love those big hotel and rental car discounts at the Gulf beaches. There is nothing like a stroll along a vacant white sand beach, alone with your thoughts, red temporary fencing, and a big ol' bag full of tar balls.

FOUR ) Oh how I will miss the last month of the President’s frequent open collar walks along the Gulf coastline, reflecting the concern of every average Joe and Joetta. Yeah closing airports, airspace, all boat traffic, and delaying thousands of workers from trying to contain the mess again and again is a double-darn dandy idea!

THREE ) Sadly I have to admit that I will miss myself, my equally naïve friends, and family all sitting around playing our favorite second-guessing game called “Just plug that hole”. Hey I use a garden hose all the time – I’m sure that oily 'ZIT' is no different a mile below sea level with 7000 pounds of pressure behind it right?

TWO ) Won’t we all miss those shots of turtles and sea birds experiencing a luxury oil dip treatment at the Gulf's BP spa? You could just see how relaxed they were after they got their final scrub down, wash and wax. I never thought about it before but for animals do they get a pedicure or a ‘critter-cure’?

And the number ONE thing I will miss from the Gulf oil spill is …

I may be an immature and juvenile ‘Slumdog’, but I’ll never get enough of listening to America’s first Indian Governor, Bobby Jindhal speak with a decidedly Louisianian accent. I mean I still have trouble with the locals here on how I say 'Missouri' (or MizzouRAH), yet this guy is apparently fueled by Gulf shrimp-water in his veins.

So there you have it. Give yourself a 'High Five' if you suffered stalwartly without skipping straight to number One. Hopefully the spigot stays shut, and the Gulf oil spill, along with this post, will soon be just a distant memory. Let's hope so,'cause the truth is folks, if it happens again, as far as funny goes - I'm tapped out.

Military Intelligence

Far from a buffoon like me to judge the military and tell them what to do when it comes to public relations, buying planes, and high technology gizmos. After all I’m the guy whose ’P.R.’ skills produce a blog with only a dozen or so loyal followers. It’s also widely known that I have a hard time deciding between both guns or butter, and I’m still a little foggy over the whole ‘Spork’ thing. Is it REALLY more fork than spoon or vice versa?

Still when I see a few curious tidbits show up on my desk . . . oh sorry the hamster must be loose again – uh, lets regroup. When I HEAR an interesting news flash about the military or see some high-tech happenings brewing, I try to compile it and pass it along. You can then judge for yourself if the stories have merit, or need (much like these hamster treats) round filing.

This first piece of video is of an Israeli military unit on patrol apparently breaking the tension with a little synchronized dance number. The brass hats were none to amused but apparently the rest of the world is, because the vid went viral. In general, I prefer military units to ALWAYS remain professional when out in public. But let’s face it, there are flesh and blood humans under all that 70 pounds of battle-ready gear. ‘Professional’ does not mean lifeless, and if it ever does, don’t expect those automated robots to provide treats to lost puppies, or a comforting embrace to an innocent child caught in the crossfire.

For this next news item, I had to really break out the Stolichnaya so I could practice my Russian slurs. Because apparently the ‘Ruski’ aerospace conglomerate ‘United Aircraft’ wants a piece of the action of the $40 billion U.S. refueling tanker contract. No doubt the combined effort of Russia’s biggest names in planes can make a fine aircraft, and you might even find a few Air Force jockeys who MIGHT fly them. But the real question in my mind is ‘ARE YOU NUTS’? The air fueling wing is a major component of the global strategic defense plan for the United States. It is hard enough to let France’s EADS and NATO play in America’s proprietary sandbox, much less those ‘Siberian Laikas’ with their Cheshire cat smiles.

Finally let’s end on a high-tech happy note. Since our soldiers never know what risks they’ll ultimately face, I am whole-hog ‘gung-ho’ on TenCate’s new fire retardant Haute Couture for the U.S. Army’s Combat Uniform (ACU). Yes, these new camo-duds may not look new and improved, but take a gander at the vid here at about 30 seconds in on the company’s website. I can honestly say, if I was at the wrong end of a S’more fork, I know which uniform I would prefer to catch on ‘FIRE’ – fashionably speaking of course!

McBlogger Pilot

Ok just so you don’t think I am a lifeless vampire who never leaves the confines of my bat cave to blog, I actually took a little road trip yesterday. Yes I drove 160 miles one way to track down my wife who is flying all over the ‘right’ half of the country in an air race.

I am not complaining as it was nice to get away from my hutch and see some of the countryside in full summer bloom. Fortunately the air conditioning in the car was working though as it was just plain sweaty hot everywhere I went. I found the wife under the plane studying bug stains or something pilots have to worry about. She was airing out the cockpit and herself as the crew flies ‘ventless’ to increase airspeed. So that’s why all those egocentric pilots think they’re so ‘ HOT’.

I took lots of photos and we got a chance to chat for an hour or so while the airport fueled the beast and the crew waited for favorable tailwinds between Chicago thunderstorms. It was actually a pleasure to pay $250 for fuel this time since the credit card company midway through the race DECLINED the card. They had suspected fraud because how could somebody be using the same credit card in 4 or 5 states in less than 24 hours? It is not so hard to do when life literally ‘flies’ by!

After the wife and her partner took off and buzzed the tower to officially start the race clock, I got back in my much slower and delightfully chilly car. Shortly thereafter, I drove to a local McDonalds to upload my pictures and post to the air race blog. I kind of liked the different atmosphere of sitting in public, looking out the McWindow while I typed. It feels strangely liberating to be free and wireless in a foreign place but doing very familiar things – sort of like a pilot only a lot COOLER!

FIRST LOOK – Air Race Postcard

To the three or four of you who actually visit my blog daily, you may remember that my wife T, was about to embark on a 2100 mile air race this week. Yeah this little buggy ride will take her and her partner on a circuitous jaunt from Central Florida to the Western Missouri border and then back to Eastern Maryland.

Well RACE DAY IS HERE and begins today at 0800H EDT from Ft. Meyers, Florida. The plane is prepped and the routes are planned. Now everything depends on weather and a healthy dose of GOOD MOJO. I know my wife is serious about this thing because I got a note today, that to reduce weight, she is shipping a bunch of clothes back and an empty computer case. I wisely did not mention that if she stopped eating and went to the gym once in awhile, she could have reduced weight too.

So what’s the deal, are the pilots and their laptop just going to fly around naked for the next 4 days? No I doubt it as I am sure my wife kept a few duds that she can wash the stink out in a hotel sink along the way. Oh sorry, you probably thought flying small planes was all about the romance of soaring in open blue skies as free as a bird. Well forget it. Not only in an air race, but for most of the time in little planes, somebody or something is always in your way these days. You always have to be mindful of the weather if not now, a half hour down the route and it can be VERY unforgiving. Particularly in a race, the pilots will probably close their cabin cooling air vents to decrease drag and will run the engine to peak performance – both are ‘hot’ propositions but not in the ‘cool’ sense.

So yes, unless Mother Nature steps up to throw a monkey wrench in our plans, this should be quite a show over the next few days. The pilots will post live during the race to their blog, and I will post photo updates regularly during each day of the race as well. By tradition whenever ‘T’ flies in one of these charity races, we produce a postcard for the team to carry, sign, and give away in the host cities and airports. As you may remember we had a late plane change this year, so I am very behind in my media production duties.

So consider this your back stage pass into air racing, because other than the pilots, you are the FIRST to see this postcard artwork as it heads to press. Enjoy, and if you have a few extra nickels left in your piglet bank for charity, please consider donating to Wings of Hope. Uh,yeah we borrowed a few hundred gallons of their fuel and it's my guess, they are hoping that we might pay them back? Cheers!

Plane talk about Air Racing

Ok folks, I usually try to post any serious hard news stuff on the overnight feed. But today I temporarily reversed the trend since I wanted to make sure that those of you who refuse to get up before Noon would take a gander at this post. This is longer than most of my stuff so don’t get whiney after an extra paragraph or two.

My wife is about to head down to Fort Meyers, Florida to participate in the annual Air Race Classic. This is the oldest aviation race exclusively for women pilots. Its origins are from the 1930’s when Amelia Earhart was buzzing the country in what was then dubbed the Powder Puff Derby. My wife’s team has a temporary FAA designator as “Classic 47” and I will maintain their blog at this link. The 2010 race will take place on June 22nd through June 25th and will move from Florida up to Georgia, over to Alabama, Arkansas, Missouri, Illinois, Indiana, West Virginia, and then finally end in Frederick, Maryland.

Now ordinarily I would have announced the race website about a month in advance as there is a lot of interesting preparation that takes place with the plane and pilots. But this year, we have been incredibly swamped trying to make a 1953 Piper Tri Pacer race ready. But no matter how hard we tried, every time we pushed the little plane to the next level, something else would throw us a curve. Due to a unique seat design in the Tri Pacer, my wife and I developed three versions of rudder pedal extensions to allow better tail-end coordination. As soon as that was perfected, our radio was picking up noise at the control tower. From there the vacuum pump needed replacement, then the plane seemed to be running a tad hot on the manifold pressure and on it went.

Sadly, the team came to the reality that while we could work to keep the plane safe on our own turf, it is a much taller order to do so flying 2000 miles from home. So literally at the last minute (yesterday), just 3 days before the pilots and plane need to report to Florida – we pulled the plane from the race. Yes it took a little work, but we quickly filed the paperwork, insurance, and immediately began preparing an alternate and ultra modern aircraft as a substitute race plane. While it is a testament to our sponsor, Wings of Hope and our pilot team’s dedication it is also a little sad. We really wanted to run this particular Tri Pacer because it was country music star, Roy Clark’s first airplane and the OLDEST plane to attempt the race.

So the race is STILL ON and my wife and her partner are ready to go. If you get a chance, check-in on the team blog to see where Classic 47 is on the map and whatever interesting pictures they have captured along the way. If you live close enough by to visit one of the airports, you may be in for a treat as the planes buzz the field with a low-level fast pass over the official timers station. Depending on weather, fuel stops, and individual plane range, you may also get to see the race planes and meet the pilots up-close along any of the race legs. Check out this link for the Air Race Classic official 2010 airport stops.

Both at the race start in Fort Meyers, Florida and the race terminus in Frederick, Maryland, the crews and planes will be on the ground for extended periods of time. Usually there are festive events happening around the airport and it is a good chance to see some living history for the whole family. If you catch a glimpse of Classic 47 on the ground, introduce yourself to my wife. And while your at it, pick up a bug sponge and clean up the leading edges on the Wings and prop – it’ll make the plane fly faster!

I need a GPS fix

I honestly am a GPS junkie but on the verge of an overdose. I love those little satellite suckers especially since they are now easier to use than the machines of the first couple of generations. It is also would be kind of nice if they could actually get me to where I want to go without confusion. That however, still is a tall order for not only the talking black boxes, but for my graying brain matter as well.

Now don’t get me wrong, moving through life would be FAR WORSE without satellite navigation. But I just wish that the map companies that build the databases were as interested in providing accurate maps as they are in getting recurring fees for map updates. Also as soon as I get my nifty new $100 software update, somebody in the highway department never gets the memo. So of course, hundreds of men in orange hats and vests flow onto the roads and start moving things around. I think it is some sort of conspiracy to sell more GPS maps and more orange cones.

I don’t know about you but I am still not happy with the computer voice in my GPS either? I think the British Company Tom Tom offers add-on celebrity voices to help guide your car around town. It’s not bad enough to be yelled at by an annoying and confusing computer voice so now we have to add the muddled ramblings of a British actor to the mix? Why not have the thing bark at me in Klingon while you’re at it or better yet just ‘Tase’ me – I’m sure the Trekkies will be BEAMING with excitement at the mere thought.

At last count, I own an amazing 8 GPS units (not including cell phones) all of which are absolutely fantastic and amazingly irritating in their own way. Some are just for cars, some are for aviation, one is for running, and another is for hiking. I use them all, but each still confuses me at times. None of their mapped locations ever matches exactly where my house REALLY is. When I’m driving, they either don’t talk enough and I will take a wrong turn or they badger me endlessly, so you guessed it – I still make a wrong turn. The bottom line is with old fashioned maps I’d get lost too but with GPS navigation at least I EVENTUALLY get to the right place. So I guess I really am a GPS addict. Fortunately as long as that constellation of satellites keeps loitering around empty space, like the brain in my skull, I will always be able to get a FIX!

Autonomous

Yeah I have a fondness for robots that may be a bit abnormal. It is ok because although my wife is not a robot herself, she enjoys robot extra-curricular interests as well. Most of the robots we are involved with are actually kind of beefy and quite large driven by wheels or tracks. The dream of robot designers is autonomous control – that is the robot is given a variety of input data and it in turn makes decisions and operates independently of a human operator. Take it from me, this robot Nirvana is a very difficult task and takes lots of time to perfect, so most of our robot adventures are remotely controlled by humans.

I always wanted to build a remote controlled airplane. With easy build fast kits, this goal has become far simpler now than when I was a kid. With new miniature gyroscopic circuitry you can now even amaze and terrorize your friends with small easy to fly indoor helicopters. To robot lovers, these little remote controlled marvels are truly amazing. Just a few years ago, to re-create the functionality of these micro copters would have cost thousands of dollars and endless hours of training to fly.

Now, not to be outdone, the Robo-folks over at the University of Pennsylvania decided to design a 4 rotor helicopter that is amazingly, small, agile … and are you ready - YES, autonomous. This is a pretty big deal actually so have a look. Beyond the obvious military and clandestine uses, such a device could be awfully fun around the school yard playing ‘Duck Duck Goose’. Maybe if I’m good this year, my wife will build me one of quad copter things for Christmas? I don’t know of course because I’ll have to ASK her. You see, despite my wife’s sophisticated programming and extensive training – as her husband, after all these years, I’m still not AUTONOMOUS!

Bet on ANY port in a storm

Now I haven’t gambled much in my life. No it is not because I am an exceptionally moral or smart ‘dunder-dude’; It actually has more to do with the fact that I LOSE MOST OF THE TIME. Wow, I haven’t even started yet and I have already depressed myself. But REALLY, my poor gambling track history does not just extend to Vegas games of chance, or cards with buddies. No, I just tend to bet on the wrong things at the wrong time so now I am gun-shy to play Russian roulette.

Take the weather for instance. My wife and I had all day to work on some projects and update the GPS on a Cessna that we use. For some odd reason, we waited until around 3PM to accomplish this rather minor task. Well the reality in the Midwest is that thunderclouds build rapidly in the afternoon so this was not our best plan nor as usual, a GOOD BET for me. Actually the GPS work went fine, but we also had some equipment checks to do on a tiny Piper Tripacer that my wife will be flying with a partner, in an air race at the end of the month.

We watch the weather fairly carefully as it can be a matter of life and death for a pilot. My wife and I weren’t worried actually; even if a storm came, it would drop a few drips, maybe a clap of thunder – how bad could it be? My wife’s under dash work tied her up in a knot inside the little plane. I was holding the door and offering sage advice, when all of a sudden the wind picked up. It proceeds to become a gale force blow and I can feel the little plane rocking on the ground wanting to fly. We had left our car at the front of the building and walked to the ‘north 40’ of the tarmac, so there was no easy retreat. The rain started pouring in buckets and the thunder crashed above us. I was mostly dry under the starboard wing but the wind continued to push more rain my way still.

My wife expressed some concern that I was standing in a water puddle with lightning cracking overhead and tried to make room for me to haul myself up into the plane where at least the rubber tires might keep me toast-free if I said something particularly offensive to anger the lightning gods. So there I was – legs half hanging out in the wind like a fat windsock and the other half crammed into this clown-sized mini plane? My wife and I are stuck in this position for fifteen minutes as wind-driven rain is dripping on my arm and all the other parts attached to my legs. What a pleasant little diversion this turned out to be? Can you now see why I am not a betting man. Too many dark clouds follow me around I guess? I think I need to move somewhere that it doesn’t rain much. Hmmm your thinking maybe Las Vegas … uh, nice try but, NO, I wouldn’t bet on it.

REMEMBER – 90 Left

When you think of ‘extinction’, you’ve typically been taught to ponder the threatened rare and exotic flora and fauna around the world. Yes, somehow humans have made their presence felt in nearly every remote nook and cranny of nature’s grand plan, and are wildly criticized for speeding up its inevitable decline. However you are rarely asked to consider that indeed, some of those same humans are VERY SPECIAL and irreplaceable as well, but who will notice when they all, are soon gone.

Yes sadly John William Finn, (July 23, 1909 – May 27, 2010), an American Hero and Lieutenant in the U.S. Navy, died yesterday. He was the last remaining Medal of Honor recipient that bravely distinguished himself at Pearl Harbor in 1941. Out of the 90 remaining distinguished Medal of Honorees, Lieutenant Finn was the oldest at 100 years of age.

The Medal of Honor is America’s highest military decoration. It is often bestowed posthumously to members of the U.S. armed forces, since by the nature of receiving it, the odds are very high that the honoree did not survive their acts of valor. In essence these folks are the best of the best, who faced the nation’s enemies and risked their lives, far above and beyond the expected call to duty.

So take a moment to remember Lieutenant Finn’s honorable service. Pause to notice the sacrifice of the 90 impossibly rare, true heroes that live-on of Finn’s breed. Revel in all of their accomplishments, heroism, and incredible love of country, that has somehow become increasingly extinct in today’s culture. Though eventually their bodies will fail, be thankful that these special American rarities can live-on forever in spirit, legend, and within the heart of every American true – all you have to do is REMEMBER.

Vicarious Macho Racer

You know I have never been a big fan of most kinds of ultra touch and macho racing. It is not just that I am perpetually slow or my machines are just as sluggish too. I have never quite figured out what the attraction is to the noise, cost, and risk. I even forced myself to watch a NASCAR race all the way through to see if I could get caught up in the moment. I did find myself oddly attracted to the driver cameras and fancy TV production graphics, so technology thumbs up but the race – not so much.

My wife is preparing to co-pilot a plane in the all women’s ‘Air Race Classic’ in June (43 days away). It was dubbed the Powder Puff Derby in 1929 when it was began by Amelia Earhart and other pioneer women aviators. She will be flying for and sponsored by the Wings of Hope charity. Air races like this fly thousands of miles over many states and are judged more on efficiency than speed. But like any race, the planes are numbered and have to follow strict rules on their equipment, procedures, and adherence to safety.

So over the last few weeks we have been getting the plane ready with upgraded avionics, back-up equipment, and the racing fan favorite – those giant RACING NUMBERS. That is more of a chore than you might imagine. I was amazed at how many type of numbers and racing graphics are out there for homegrown racers beyond the NASCAR set. There are midget car racers, stock cars, bombers, Baja Bug, and even tractor numbers. Some have outlines, shadows, ovals, flames – you name it, you can get numbers in any color and in any font.

So I suddenly see what folks REALLY like about racing. It has nothing to do with the determined drive to win. Nobody truly cares about machines driven with gloved expertise or the labored whine of highly tuned motors pushed to the limit. No it is all about the machismo of the fancy decorations, high profile sponsors, and bold numbered decals plastered all over the vehicle. Maybe I can convince my wife to vicariously live an airplane racer’s speed dream? I can’t wait to put those ‘flame’ decals pouring out of the enormous and manly 135 horsepower motor. I’ll add some crossed checkered flags, a couple of American flags, and oh yeah – those big gaudy, PINK flamingo colored, numbers on the side!

Air Show Memories

Even before our family got heavily involved in general aviation, we would pack up the clan and head out to some airfield in search of thrills and excitement that only aircraft at close quarters can provide. There are two types of air shows, the more County -Fair driven community events that would have lots of craft vendors and miscellaneous entertainment; and the ‘aviation centered’ military shows.

I prefer to head out to some military base to view one of their air show extravaganzas. These are always the ultra-patriotic events that give the public an opportunity to see what their taxes are paying for (at least in military hardware). These shows tend to be a bit louder and more bombastic as jets cut through the air at low level and show off their technology and proud pilots. If you are fortunate, the Blue Angels, Thunderbirds, or other performance aircraft ‘aerobatic’ teams might be on the program for a half hour of unbelievably precision flying tricks.

I like any chance to see airplanes. They are amazingly simple machines in a lot of ways but the elegance of watching any kind of flying object, aircraft or toy, is a pleasure beyond words. What I HATE about airplanes, and particularly high performance aircraft, is they are built for raw power, not noise abatement. So anytime we attend an air show, we carry several sets of those little cone wavy-shaped yellow ear-plugs. These things are great. They are so portable, I will stick them in my wallet until needed. They are made of some type of memory foam or ‘spongy-something’ that collapses and then form fits to any ear, effectively blocking out excessive noise.

I remember that Edwards Air Force Base in California had put on a fantastic show. My favorite part had been a B1 bomber that flew just a hundred feet above the ground in excess of 600 miles an hour. Just as it passed the audience, the huge plane instantly turned skyward 90 degrees and rocketed its magical disappearance into the atmosphere. It was incredible display of aviation perfection, and INCREDIBLY loud, so we all donned our nifty foamy ear plugs.

Before we left Edwards we bought a large bag of popcorn. It was a tad stale after sitting in the sun all day but actually very delicious as a snack for the trip home. The next morning I was in a hurry to clean the van up from the trip. When travelling with the full crew, invariably things get dropped and tossed so I quickly grabbed and gathered up the leftovers throughout the van. The dome light was on and the garage was dimly lit but I deftly spied on my kid’s seat, a couple of kernels of that tasty popcorn. It just sat there begging to be consumed. I thought – “what the heck – they had not touched the van floor, and hey - I’m not proud; why waste anything?” Nobody sane was around to logically protest, so I popped those pale yellow kernels into my mouth anxious to remember the buttery splendor from the previous day. Unhappily, I savored the rubbery bounce of my kid’s YUMMY, spongy ear plugs. Yes as you may have guessed, I prefer ‘quieter’ county fair type air shows these days and the only kernels I eat in a ‘jiffy’ are hatched from a microwave.

Volunteers are tickled by 'Frickles'

Pretty much the way my life has gone for close to the last 30 years, is my wife starts off on some new charity project which requires large quantities of volunteers, and I get ‘included’. I’m not complaining actually, because as I look back, it’s those experiences that have woven a great deal of richness and color in my life’s basic blanket. Yes the pace can also be exhausting at times too, but overall if you have the time and desire, then by all means – challenge yourself to volunteer for (and eat) new things.

So it goes this past week. I found myself on a very windy day in a small Cessna airplane piloted by my wife, heading for Greenville, IL. The goal was to do some advance work to check on supplies / support to paint a giant 70 foot diameter compass on the tarmac of the City’s airport. These ‘compass rose’ painting projects are a time-honored tradition sponsored by the 99’s, a national women’s pilot group. I had expected a bumpy flight with the wind and variable clouds, but amazingly the day was pleasant and the wife crabbed the plane perfectly into the 18 knot plus crosswind for a smooth landing.

We tied off the plane and had a short meeting with the manager, inventoried the paint, went over the plans and survey pins for the project. It was great but the meeting went TOO fast. We had hoped to allow some time for the wind to die down. It had rained heavily the night before, so though the main runway is asphalt, the best runway to nose the plane into the wind for a successful takeoff was grass – soft and wet grass. Weather is the ‘boss’ when it comes to flying so we borrowed a car from the airport and got directions to a local favorite BBQ, Old School Smokers.

Sticking with my general high-risk plan for life, there is nothing wiser than to load up on a lunch of heavy meats and fried food before a bumpy airplane flight home. But up to the challenge we bought a variety of menu items to sample. The fried pickles dubbed ‘FRICKLES’ were amazingly crisp and tasty. I volunteered first to try them and was pleasantly surprised. The turkey legs are supposedly very tasty too and firsthand, the pulled pork and ribs were great. We took back a catering menu for the airport manager since he’ll soon need lots of food for the painting volunteers next month.

When my wife and I got back to the airport, the wind had thankfully died down to under 15 knots. We returned our courtesy car and pre-flighted the plane quickly. I had my ‘frickles’ in hand and a load of odiferous leftovers to grace the plane’s small cabin and another meal. Indeed we ARE the intrepid volunteers that challenge life and its rich experiences at every turn. Today it’s the fabulous frickles as well as the fickle wind; tomorrow who knows - my wife will think of something!

Vote Veneration

With all the political flap in the news lately, sometimes you have to pause and take a step back to remember the noble tenets upon which our Republic is based. Those of course, among others, are the ideals of liberty, self determination, and who can forget – the old fashioned run-of-the-mill vote! Today all 'past-accepted' constants in America seem to be perpetually in flux and lacking permanence. The truth is however, when you clear away the chaff, liberty and choice still reign supreme.

I guess why this sunk in, is that I just realized how often we as Americans engage in expressing choice even when our President, Congress people, and local city officials are NOT on the ballot. In my case, much attention was paid this week, by our local lacrosse squads to select Captains. Even the coaches debated carefully on what way was best to present candidate criteria to our 3 teams. The goal of course was to ensure that our athletes were fully engaged and the ultimate vote was fair, respected and valid.

Further this week, I have begun to prepare the ‘Official Ballot’ for Women With Wings, an aviation group in which my wife, daughter and myself are voting members. As a non-profit , we do not employ thousands of people or operate costly facilities the world over. But when it comes to the ballot and the value of each vote in choosing a new governing board; the task is treated with same reverence as that of a multi-national corporation.

Biographical information and photos are gathered for each candidate. The ‘official’ hierarchy of that data is placed on the ballot and chosen by a blind draw. In seeking the fairest vote, each candidate’s photo and ballot bios are cropped to conform and look similar to one another. Additional experience and biographical data is offered as an addendum for the membership’s review. The goal, as with the lacrosse team, is to handle the process seriously and with respectful diligence. There should be no doubt that every vote cast will have EVERY reason to be done so with careful thought and informed consideration.

So when you get more than a little tired of all the bickering and political discontent, take a breath and flash a knowing smile. From choosing who will be the banker on family game night, to the line-up manager of your office softball team; the principles of the mighty ‘vote’ are STILL very alive and well. Ok, now please forgive me, I really need to turn off this 'Pollyanna voter' perpetual motion machine. I'm way past the SPF rating to fend off this sunny glow of optimism, and I'm afraid I'm about to get burned!