Iraq Confidential-Not Exciting Enough for Prime Time

I have a real problem with 24-hour news networks for many reasons, the vast majority of which have nothing to do with their alleged politics and everything to do with the quality of the information you receive. Now you’d think that one of the benefits these networks offer is that because they are solely dedicated to news gathering, they’d be able to spend more time on stories and provide more in-depth analysis. Instead what we get is the exact opposite: a repetitious barrage of soundbites and glossed-over analysis so they can move on to the most recent piece of dramatic video footage.

A case in point would be the extremely simplistic view of the Shiite majority in Iraq given by the CNNFOXMSNBCABCCBS monolith. According to all the network analysis I’ve seen thus far, the Shiite clerics in Iraq are often portrayed as being no different in philosophy from the Shiites in Iran. A lot of this has to do with the media’s fascination with firebrand/publicity hound Muqtada Al Sadr who is an Iranian-style Shiite and the face the media often shows as representative of most Shiites. Al Sadr, however, does not speak for all Shiites. And if this 2003 Wall Street Journal article entitled Shiite Schism by Amir Taheri is correct, he never has. I’ve cited this article here before, but I’m citing it again because it needs to be considered when viewing the events surrounding the recent elections. It’s a great overview of the recent history of Shiites in Iraq and provides more than a little insight as to why a genuinely democratic Iraq is indeed possible. It also sheds light on the deeper reasons Iran has for subverting it.

One of the events which the Katrina/Wiretap/DeathToll obsessed media didn’t have the time to tell you today involves a twist in the ongoing investigation into the assassination of Shiite cleric Abdul Majid al-Kohei. If you’re wondering why you’ve never heard of Al Kohei before, the article I cited earlier will only make you wonder even more. In the eyes of Iraqi Shiites he, and primarily his father, were of greater significance than Al Sadr has ever been. But because Al Kohei was by and large a peaceful man who was supportive of American intervention he was probably not controversial or violent enough a subject in the mainstream media’s eyes to hold your attention.

Without digressing further, a story appeared on the Asharq Alawsat web site today (here) giving insight into the disappearance of a file crucial to the Al Kohei murder investigation. This file contained a sizeable amount of evidence that Al Sadr was responsible for the killing of Al Kohei. Also missing with the file were the arrest warrants for Al Sadr and those implicated in helping him. Further thickening the plot is who might have been responsible for the file’s disappearance—none other than current prime minister, Ibrahim al-Jaafa. National Accord Chairman Ahmad Chilabi is also implicated in the piece. It is alleged this was done in exchange for Al Sadr’s promise that he would not cause anymore trouble. Apparently Al Sadr got a bulletproof Mercedes out of the deal, too. Which begs the question, why would he need one if he didn’t plan on causing more trouble? But I’m digressing again.

The point I’m trying to make is when the news tells you there are only three socio-religious-political factions in Iraq and all their constituents march in lockstep, you’re only getting a tenth of the story as usual. Many more Shiites than has been reported want a democratic Iraq that DOES NOT mirror the Iranian style of government. Because, as Shiite Schism and the philosophy of the murdered Al Kohei will attest, for many Shiites Islam’s job is to change hearts first then society. Not the other way around as it is in Iran.

Where'd it go?

If you've ever wondered where that sizeable portion missing from your paycheck went, the Census Bureau offers a handy site that lets you see. It breaks federal spending down by fiscal year, gov't programs and even by how much goes to each state. I'm including the link here, but will also make it a permanent link in the side bar. The site takes a little patience to figure out, but once you do it makes from some pretty interesting surfing. Thanks to Freeper xzins for digging it up.

Go Gert

I just returned from celebrating Christmas with Laurie’s family. If I’m not mistaken, this was my first official large family function with her side and it went well. What I’m coming to love most about her family is just how comfortable everyone is with who they are. They live their lives out loud. And while they are acutely aware of one another’s warts, they are determined to stick together for the long haul—warts and all. Not that this kind of commitment-in-the-face-of-imperfection doesn’t exist in my family, it’s just nice to know that Laurie and I will be building on two very strong, very similar foundations.

While I was there I got to play cards with Gertrude—Laurie’s 91 year old grandmother. She is a live wire. She still drives herself around safely, loves to travel, frequently stays up past midnight and is a total card shark. We were playing Garbage; a game that requires you to come up with increasingly improbable combinations of cards in order to win. I think I managed to take one hand, but Gert invariably left the rest of us holding the bag. And she would always wink or act surprised whenever the cards went her way. As Laurie would say, “Go Gert.”

I think I remember one of the poker players at Horizon saying you should never play against old people because they’ll clean your clock. After this weekend I think I can safely say that little bit of advice applies to any card game or game of chance. Anyone who’s managed to live into their 90’s is obviously on better terms with chance than you are.

Merry Christmas to All

I really didn't want my last post before Christmas to be a political diatribe so here's a quick one. Nothing really special to say other than I wish everyone who reads this a wonderful Christmas. For me it will be a time of fellowship with family and friends. It will also be a time of reflection on all that has transpired in the past year. It has been a very good year and I thank God for it--something I don't do nearly enough.

One more thing. I got an e-mail the other day that was basically a rant about how Christians know not what they celebrate at Christmas. I'm not going to say anything to that except this--while many pagan traditions may well have been tacked on to the pagentry of the holiday, it doesn't change one scintilla what the holiday is about for believers: God's desire to reunite Himself with his creation. It is about the hope we have in Jesus Christ. I know I don't speak out very often about my faith and I hope my non-Christian friends who read this don't take it for preaching. I don't think they will because the vast majority know I'm hardly qualified to. But every now and then I get convicted about my silence and feel prompted to speak up.

Anyway, all I want to say is may God grant us all peace this Christmas--inside and out.

Merry Christmas

Impeach or Shut Up

The Democratic leadership in this country has accused this president of everything from knowingly lying about going to war to murdering people in natural disasters. Now they say he's spying on us illegally. I am not not going to argue the minutiae of war powers or federal response obligations here. What I will say though is that if this president truly is this heinous, why in the name of all that's holy isn't the vast majority of Democratic leadership calling for his impeachment? I know many on the extreme left already have, but I'm not talking about them. I'm talking about the Pelosis and the Reids. The politicians that really have something to lose.

Say what you want about Clinton's impeachment, but you have to hand it to the Republicans for at least having had the balls to put their money where their mouth was. And they were impeaching a popular president for something as relatively innocuous as lying under oath about an affair. No wonder the Democratic base is so full of loathing. Not only are their elected leaders spineless when it comes to doing something about terrorism . . . or social security . . . or prescription drugs. They can't even pull the trigger on impeaching someone, who by their accounts, is the worst president this country has ever seen.

Now granted, if you go strictly on a partisan basis they wouldn't have the votes to pull something like this off right now. But the midterms are a'comin' and if, as the media so clearly is hoping, Dems take back congress I better see impeachment among the first items of business. I'm serious. If these people want to lead the country and they know for a fact that George Bush is a ruthless individual hell bent on stripping us all of freedom of speech and plunging us into war for personal gain, they had better ante up when the time comes.

Of course they won't. Because they know everything they're saying is total horseshit designed to obfuscate the reality that they have no plan for America except to have it back under their power. They crave power above all else and for six years we've had to listen to their anguished screams as they lost election after election because Americans were more comfortable with a president that did something, even if it wasn’t perfect, than one that would rather form committees and explore "nuance" to keep from having to do anything politically risky.

In fact I want Bush's next speech to simply be, "Impeach me. Bring it on. If I am truly a criminal it should be easy. Hell, my poll numbers are low enough. Why not give it a shot?" Unfortunately he won't do that either. Instead, I'll probably have to endure another two years of incessant weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth from the left. I’m telling ya’, impeachment would almost be a relief at this point.

Here's to Christmas

Anxiety ran high as I drove to the mall tonight. I loathe Christmas shopping. I love giving, that's not the problem. I just hate the whole sickening circus atmosphere that retailers create to put you in the mood. It does anything but for me. Despite these misgivings, tonight's outing proved to be above bearable. I actually was kinda relaxed.

A big reason for this was the curious lack of crowds. Not sure if it was the weather, a surge in online shopping or simply my lucky night, but the mall seemed no more busy than a typical weeknight. It is to this relative lack of clamor that I attribute my success at finding, what I think, are some pretty swell gifts. Being in a relaxed state and not having to fight the urge to flee a giant crowd gave me time to really browse.

It also gave me time to think as I people watched. I know this probably falls under the heading of "Personal Problem", but I don't like crowds because I assume no one cares about anyone but themselves. Projection? Maybe, but I can't help but assume a little of the worst whenever I encounter a stranger. Surely there was a time in our nation's history when fellow citizens we didn't know enjoyed more benefit of the doubt. Maybe not. But I found that weighing on my mind as I waited for the clerk at Piercing Pagoda to explain to a confused customer that she really did get the 50% off the extra pendant she bought.

I felt sorry for both the customer and the girl attempting to explain. The customer spoke very broken English and the girl was doing her best to remain courteous. For a second I actually entertained the notion of helping, as if I was some kind of Kissinger of Consumer Affairs and would be able to broker a deal. Plus I just wanted to get some ladybug earings for one of my nieces and move on. See, just looking out for me. I was projecting earlier. Huh. Projecting. Brt.

I finished off the shopping expedition with a stop at Borders. While there I bought a few things for myself: the 50th anniversary edition of National Review, a paperback edition of The Martian Chronicles and a nifty LED mini-reading lamp. I've always wanted to read The Martian Chronicles 1.) because I loved Fahrenheit 451 2.) have been lucky enough to see Ray Bradbury in person and 3.) my only recollection or experience with the story was the TV mini-series from my childhood. I'm sure Martin (McKee, not the Martian) would be able to give me the particulars on that third point.

Right now, I'm enjoying that Dutch delight Ketel and it's two best accoutrements, tonic and a twist of lime. All this while lounging in my jammies and listening to the A Charlie Brown Christmas soundtrack. That's a great CD if you don't have it. For me it brings back so many memories of childhood anticipation at this time of year. Of soft glowing lights on the tree that I could see from bedroom door. Of clear, full moon nights with luminescent snow. Of everything that this time of year is supposed to be about.

Anyway, here's to Christmas. I know, a lazy tie-in to the title, but the Ketel's kickin in and its about time for a long winter's nap. Peace on Earth my friends and God bless us every one.

My Kind of Town

Coming to you from the field office in Dyer, IN today. I'm up Laurie's way for a couple of family functions. Yesterday's was a bowling party for my soon-to-be nephew Clayton. Laurie and I bowled and, if I recall (and I'd better not very often), I beat her. Of course her attention was divided between bowling and herding a bunch of squealing 7 year olds. I just kind of stood back and watched it all happen in between rolls. Natrually, I can't ever bowl anymore without a million Big Lebowski quotes coming to mind. One of the youngsters set the scratch line sensor off and I had to fight the urge to yell "Over the line!". And I doubt any of the kids would've understood what "This is not Nam . . . " meant.

After the bowl-o-rama Laurie and I hopped a train to Chi-town to check out the Mag Mile and get some dinner. When we got to the platform at Homewood she saw a few people from the school she teaches at. I was introduced and we went further down the platform to wait. While standing there you could see the knot of Illiana people chatting and then stopping and looking over their shoulders at us. I thought I looked presentable enough, but it did make you wonder what the chatter was about. It's always at times like this I have to stifle the urge to give people something to talk about. Since Laurie still has about a month to go at Illiana I behaved.

We got off the train at Randolph St. and headed to Grand Lux for dinner. When we got there ans saw the jam packed lobby we figured we might have to make other plans. The frazzled hostess confirmed this for us with a tense "It'll be about a 60 to 95 minute wait." I could tell she was hanging on for dear life to the frozen smile on her face. Rather than be the guy that caused the dam to break I got us outta' there before she cracked.

While trying to think of someplace else, Laurie said she recalled Chicken saying one of his relatives or friends was a big shot at the Saloon Steakhouse in the Seneca hotel and that it was pretty good place to eat. So off we went. When we arrived the host told us they were sold out for the night in the dining room but that we could eat at the bar if we'd like. No problem. The bar was really nice with oak paneling and had a very old English pub thing going for it. Curious as to what role Chicken's alleged associate had in the place I called Chicken. That's the magic of cellular. Now you can indulge any question you may have at anytime anywhere. I left a message and told him we were at the Saloon Steakhouse and who his contact was so we could negotiate a deal. A very confused Chicken called me back about 5 minutes later explaining he knew no one there and that he'd never been. This was a really a blessing, in that it proved just how compatible Laurie and I are. I'm not the only one that imagines conversations or forgets details.

I ordered a 10 oz cut of prime rib with hash browns and Laurie had the filet. The french onion soup I had as an appetizer was outta' sight as were the steaks. The place is kind of pricey, but if you get a chance and have a decent appetite the Saloon Steakhouse is a great place to go. Just don't tell them Chicken sent you.

Afterwards we slogged down a very slushy Michigan Ave. to Starbucks for eggnog lattes. Very tasty stuff if you've never had one. Nothing really crazy about them, except they use eggnog instead of milk. It made a great dessert type coffee without being too sweet. The Phish-groupie looking barista screwed our order up though and forgot to make Laurie's. After we got that sorted out we mushed the rest of the way to the Randolph St. Metra station only to find out we had about an hour until the train left. Laurie suggested we go check out the window displays at Marshall Fields to kill time. This turned out to be a great idea, but not because of the window displays. I'll explain that later.

As we headed west on Randolph we passed several street musicians playing Christmas music. That mixed with the snow, the city's christmas lights and people you passed really put me in the mood. As we rounded the corner on State(?) we could hear "Let it Snow" being sung over a loud speaker. The voice was coming from a Chicago Fire Dept. tanker with it's lights on. A fire fighter in the right seat was just singing over the PA. And he was good too. Everyone on the sidewalks was cheering him on and waving. One lady was running alongside the tanker trying to get the guy's picture. All I could say was, "What a cool town."

Looking at the time I'll have to save my critique of the Marshall Field's windows for another post. Just do yourself a favor and get your butts up to Chicago before Christmas. It's hard to get burnt out on the holidays when you've seen a caroling fire truck.

You Can Still Rock In America

Thanks to the Deacons, Tullamore Dew, Mary Anne's and Night Ranger for reminding me . . . you can still rock in America. It's a little past 3 am and I'm just getting home. Is this a great country or what?

Florida On My Mind

"I was in the Virgin Islands once. I met a girl. We ate lobster and drank pina coladas. At sunset we made love like sea otters. *That* was a pretty good day. Why couldn't I get that day over and over and over..."

I can hear Bill Murray's character Phil from Groundhog Day as I'm flickr'ing Florida pics and feeling the chill from my closet creep across the office floor as we dive into the 3rd straight night of single digit temps. Knowing there are warmer places on earth one could live sure makes you feel like a chump on nights like this. Someday . . .

You can see the pics here.

Another quick one

No pics from Florida just yet. I will post some links to those tonight. This weekend however was a barnburner. If I can get pics from that, they'll go up tonight too. The Horizon 20th Anniversary Christmas Party was Saturday night and it was easily the best Christmas party I've ever been to--and I mean any Christmas party, not just the "company" variety. At the heart of the festivities was the Blooze Brothers Band from Chicago. They had a thumping rhythm section, powerful horn section and a pair of go go dancers, all of which added up to a room full of happy feet.

Now I don't like dancing much, but when I hear good old soul or R&B, I simply can't sit still. I think Laurie and I were on the dance floor for about 80% of the songs. They did just about everything from the Blues Brothers soundtrack, with the mildly disappointing exception of She Caught the Katie and the "c'mon and shake your tail feathers" song by Ray Charles. They did do Georgia on My Mind though. The highlight of the evening was a dance off between R3 and my father. Dad threw down the gauntlet at the beginning of the evening when he made the opening remarks. Naturally, Ralph was only too happy to oblige. There should be some good pics that Stevie Wonder took which I can post later.

Earlier--much, much earlier--that morning I joined Cousin Kellner, the amazing Pat Brown and John Gilman for a fruitless hunting expedition. Oh I saw about 20 something birds but didn't kill a one of them. Its a painful story that is still too burdensome to tell right now. Maybe later. But between walking my tuckus off in frozen fields all morning and then dancing it off that night, I was gassed by the time I got home. Sunday was indeed a day of rest. Laurie and I lounged around a bit and then joined the folks for a little brunch later.

In other news I've been ignoring the news and I'm feeling much better for it. Oh, sure I'll check out the internet now and again to keep abreast of the major headlines, but I'm finding a lack of talk radio and talking heads most beneficial to my overall outlook on life right now. Besides, I've got bigger fish to fry with the impending nuptials. Jill, Carrie, and Marnie are all married off. Laurie and I are on deck. Can't wait.

Just Dreadful

Just got back from a dreadful Thanksgiving holiday on the gulf coast of Florida. One man can only handle so much 80-degree heat, splendid sunsets and easy acess to cocktails. I'm spent. It's little wonder Floridians can't work a simple ballot--they're so soft. Just couldn't wait to get back to damp, cold, grayness. It builds character. The only highpoint was my cousin's wedding. The rest of the time I had to pretend like I was having fun cavorting with Laurie on the beach, riding bikes with her around Sanibel Island and drinking mojitos like I was going to the chair. Seriously, it was just awful and I've got the pictures to prove it. If I'd really had as much fun as I apparently convinced everyone I was having, I'd be so sad I have to go back to work that I'd need to cut this blog short because I couldn't type through the tears anymore. More later.

Death Wish VI: The Miner

I think this guy took Bronson’s quickening.

Sick Day Cinema

I'm holing up with my meds this weekend and trying to get better before my cousin's wedding/Thanksgiving get together down in Florida. Sick days are always good movie days. In the queue is Dead Man, Big Lebowski, Heat and, if I'm still awake, Taxi Driver.

I just finished watching Dead Man. This is a 1995 off-beat western starring Johnny Depp as William Blake--Cleveland accountant turned gun slinger through an unfortunate chain of events. It's kind of a western on quaaludes, which makes it such a good sick day movie. I've only seen it once and that was about 7 or 8 years ago. I'd forgotten how many great performances it has. The most memorable is that of an actor named Gary Farmer who plays an english speaking, indian warrior outcast who goes by the name Nobody. Nobody thinks Depp's William Blake is actually the English poet William Blake who he read about as a boy while in school in England. As a result he reveres Depp's character and treats him as a holy man. But before he figures out who Depp is, or who he thinks he is, he addresses him as "stupid f*cking white man".

Blake is pursued by a trio of odd-ball hired killers played by Lance Heinricksen, Michael Wincott and another guy who's name I don't know and am too lazy to go search for right now. It doesn't matter really since Heinricksen and Wincott pretty much own the screen any time they're on. Heinricksen's a cold-blooded killer with a taste for human flesh. Wincott provides some comic relief as an assassin that sleeps with a teddy bear and blathers incessantly much to the annoyance of his travelling companions. There are also great cameos by Crispin Glover, Billy Bob Thornton, Robert Mitchum, John Hurt and Iggy Pop as a cross-dressing psychopath. At least I'm pretty sure Iggy knew it was just a movie.

As weird as it all sounds, the slow pace, gorgeous black and white cinematography and haunting soundtrack by Neil Young keeps it all from getting too Mel Brooks. I believe it and Ong Bak will be my next DVD purchases.

Oh, and may I suggest BLT sandwiches as an awesome alternative to chicken soup. I strongly recommend you splurge and get the good, thick cut bacon from the butcher's case instead of the chemically smoked, vacuum packed kind. That, accompanied by a good strong cup of coffee, made for some killer comfort food.

Next up, the Dude, more meds and a little bourbon.

Stop the War

A hundred bucks in medicine and two weeks later I am no farther along in my fight against the insurgency in my lungs than when I started. If anything it's gotten worse. Perhaps if I'd only tried to understand why this virus hates me so much I could have averted this costly battle. It's also become increasingly obvious that the doctors who told me fighting disease is the right course of action lied to me. They are obviously in cahoots with big medicine and did not give me the full story. Had I known what I know now, I would've told my physician to take a hike. That I will not be party to his cynical plot to line the pockets of large pharmaceutical firms.

So, today I'm calling for an investigation into my doctor's practices and, if evidence warrants, a revocation of his license. I'm also calling for a complete cessation of all medical practice. It is clear that fighting these viruses and bacteria only makes things worse. We come up with a cure, diseases adapt and come back stronger. Humanity needs to simply stop fighting and let nature takes its course. Instead we need to come to grips with our role in creating the hell we currently live in.

Sure we gave the world art, civilization, horticulture, language, music, philosophy and democracy. But it was all for selfish gain. This world belonged to one-celled organisms, entropy and chaos before we got here and it's our conflict with these forces that is responsible for the mess we're in. Hey, look where it got the dinosaurs. Well, brothers and sisters I have seen the light.

It's pointless to fight. Nothing is worth fighting for. Not if it means war, stronger viral strains and environmental impact. Man is the virus. Man needs to be cured. So I'm calling on everyone right now to speed the healing and shuffle on to the next dimension. I, however, must not because this fight needs a voice. It needs to be shouted from the rooftops, so I must soldier on. Know that I will hold dear in my heart all those who heed the call of self sacrifice, but I cannot yet join you. Bill Maher just called and I must spread the word.

And the word is--POOP.
This message brought to you by 5 hours of sleep and an extra dose of myatussin with codiene.

Watch Your Back If You Fly American

A few nights ago I purchased some tickets for a trip in December on AA.com. After completing the booking, I printed the itinerary page which stated: "Status: Purchased" and went on to say "Note: This is not your receipt, which is needed for identification purposes at airport check-in. You will receive an itinerary confirmation with your receipt soon." Now in e-commerce speak, "you will receive confirmation soon" usually means "Check your in-box in a sec or two." I got zilch.

About the second day of my vigil I decided to call AA and see if I could figure out what went wrong. After a 30-minute duel with the automated call-routing system I gave up and decided to try the web site again later. So tonight--day 5 of the vigil--I went online and checked out my reservation. To my relief it was still in the system and looked just fine. Buoyed by that good fortune I thought I'd try my luck again at reaching a flesh and blood agent of AA. So I snooped around the site and found the AA.com Web Services number. I was greeted with the same disturbingly happy phone system voice that had cheerfully spurned my advances several nights earlier. Only this time the menu of options she presented actually held out hope of talking to someone. However, my enthusiasm was tempered by the admonition by Trixie (as in "tricksee happy phone voice that keeps our preciousss from usss") to have my AA Advantage number ready to expedite things. I have no such number and will not join their stupid little club to get one. I pushed 2.

Trixie gleefully requested that I enter my AA Advantage number without offering any other option such as "If you're not an AA Advantage member press "x", plebian." Instead she'd wait patiently and ask again, "AA Advantage number please." Apparently, only Advantage members merit answers to questions about their reservations. Finally Trixie suggested that if I forgot my Advantage number to say, "I don't know." Thinking Trixie might be smarter than I knew I said, "I don't have one." "AA Advantage number please," was the reply. Once again Trixie had the upper hand. I hung up in frustration. After a minute or two I decided to call back and play along, so I called Trix back, pushed 2, and answered, "I don't know." Voila! Seconds later a voice, not unlike Trixie's, but bearing the distinctive chill of a human being that hates her job only slightly less than you came on the line. The conversation went something like this:

Rita: (in the voice of someone straining under the burden of a fake smile) "Rita Something-or-Other, American Web Services. May I help you."

Me: (in a slightly relieved, yet tentative is-this-really-a-person voice) "Uh yes. Rita, I booked a flight several---"

Rita: (in a don't-dink-around-you-no-Advantage-number-loser voice) "Give me your record locator please."

Me: "Oh . . . sure it's, er, it's Y-O-M-A-M-A." (I didn't really, but I'm not putting my real record locater code in this blog)

Rita: "OK . . . Mr. Stephens?"

Me: (very relieved kind of happy-you-found-it voice) "Yes! See the itinerary results I printed out said I'd be receiving a confirmation soon. I assumed this would be via e-mail but it's been several days."

Rita: (in a thinly veiled you-lowlife voice) "That's because the card was declined."

Me: "Well that card has a low limit and I'd just sent the payment before I booked the flight, so maybe it simply hadn't had time to post yet. I just don't understand why the system didn't just tell me. It gave me a printout that says 'Status: Purchased'."

Rita: (in a try-to-stay-with-me-while-I-explain-retard voice) "Yes, well if the reservation is far enough out it will put it on hold and keep trying the card until it goes through."

Me: "It couldn't just tell me right away declined? I could have used another card. Can I just give you another card number?"

Rita: "If you want to use another card, you can give the number to me and we'll add a $10 reservation service surcharge to the ticket. Or you can go back to the Web site and enter it yourself."

Me: "So, my reservation is still in the system even though my card was declined?"

Rita: (barely concealed contempt) "Yes."

Afraid to carry the conversation further for fear of being too bold and asking some sort of question that would trigger a surcharge, I got off the phone with lovely Rita Meter Maid and went back to the cool apathy of AA.com. I pulled up my reservation and noticed this time the status had changed to "On Hold" with the following note. "If no action is taken by November 15, 2005 (that's tomorrow folks) the reservation will be cancelled." Presumably without a sound too, since they didn't deign to tell me it was on hold in the first place. If I hadn't have called I would have known none of this until too late. Luckily I was able to put the new card number in without losing the reservation. The only upside to all this is, when I put the new number in, the site informed me that the fare price had changed while my reservation was on hold. Expecting the worst I was pleasantly surprised to learn the new price was actually $10 less a ticket.

I know, I know. I should've cancelled the reservation, but every other fare I've seen for that time period (12/30 to 1/3) was at least $100 higher. They've got me by the short and curlies and they know it. That's fine, I'll endure their abuse at the counter when I check in and the baleful looks of the stewards when I ask for that extra bag of pretzel sticks. It'll all be easier because I'll have my girl by my side and she don't take shizzle from NO-BODY baby. She'll give them the stink eye back and it will be a tense few hours in the air. But let me leave you with this . . .

The next time you see American's CEO on CNN whimpering about rising fuel costs or costs related to 9/11 forcing his company into bankruptcy, know he did all he could to save it, including lowering the cost of customer service by simply eliminating it.

STUKAZ!

Constantine and the Cough

Still coughing and weezing. I can breathe better, but whatever crud I've been fighting the last week has staying power. Laurie bought me a vaporizer which is helping me sleep. I added Sudafed to the meds arsenal today. My bathroom counter is starting to look like the back wall at Walgreens. Still, despite all the medication I'm staying remarkably cogent. At least I think I am.

Watched Constantine tonight. As a Christian I'm always curious anytime Hollywood takes on the subject of God and Satan. Plus, another Christian friend, but not one I'd peg as into comic book-based films, said he kind of liked it. And, I'll admit, I'm more than a little intrigued by Keanu Reeve's apparent fascination with messianic roles.
On an artistic level, I think the movie is very well done. The visuals are compelling, the story is actually decent and there are some nuggets of truth, theologically speaking. Yes, there are extensive liberties taken with the Bible and theology, but I expected that. Hollywood can't even do a movie based on events it knows the vast majority of its audience witnessed with their own eyes without "adaptation". I entertained zero delusions that a film based on a comic book's adaptation of the "struggle" between God and the Devil would bear any resemblence to what scripture has to say about it. This is probably why I was surprised to find what little congruity that I did.
If I had to take issue with anything in the film it would be the implication that good and evil are equal, or somehow in balance. I think good is entirely capable of existing without evil. Good is. Evil is a parasite. It cannot create. It can only destroy or twist. When evil sets out to deceive, it has to use elements of truth to do so. The movie itself, though the plot says otherwise, actually kind of affirms this in parts. Without giving anything away, the biggest affirmation is actually the main plot point, but I'll spare you any more of my theological musings. It's a decent flick.

Had a great time Saturday. Laurie was down and we went to Skateland for MacKenna's 8th. Little did I know, but Laurie is actually a pretty accomplished roller skater. It was kind of cool watching her zip around the rink when she wasn't helping one of the little girls stay on their feet. I sat rinkside, chillin' with my nephew Levi who, when he wasn't pooping, sleeping or feeding, seemed fairly mesmerized by the lights and all the people going round and round. I haven't wore skates since 1985. And when I did, I had no business being in them. I always thought it would be cool to learn to roller boogie, but got tired of it. Actually my butt did. Laurie says I need to get back in that particular saddle. Guess I will, but it won't be pretty. Not at first, anyway.
That evening we did the dinner-and-a-movie thing at Mike and Traci's. Traci made a killer pot of Italian beef and some tasty cheesy potatoes. After getting bloated on LaBatt's Blue and beef, we adjourned to the sitting room for a screening of Tommy Boy. I had acquired the "Holy Schnike" special 2-disc version earlier that day. Laurie had never seen it. I told her it was a romantic comedy. Not only did she get a kick out of it, but she managed to stay awake through the whole thing, too. Since I'm already in trouble, let me go ahead and explain why that last part is significant. It's the only DVD we've watched together. Oh, we've watched the first 30 minutes of several together, but my self-described ADD girl is usually dozing off about the time the opening credits are through. That she found Tommy Boy funny enough to stay awake for is just another testament to the power of this classic. And I'm dead.
Time for bed.

Read the Book, Saw the Movie

"What's wrong with you?" "Nothing you couldn't fix." Thus ends the movie, "The Big Sleep". Not terribly memorable lines in and of themselves, but made so by the fact they're uttered by Bogie and Bacall at the height of their glory. I just finished watching the DVD--an unexpected gift from my fiance. She saw I was interested in it and rather than just show me where I could find it, she went ahead and ordered it for me. As Bogie would say, "Thanks Angel."

Now most of the reviews of the movie I've read say it was better than the book. I say baloney. The movie doesn't have any of the internal monologues that make Phillip Marlowe so interesting to me. That said, it's still a good movie. Although I'll admit, if I hadn't read the book the plot would've been a little harder to follow. Still it makes sense in the end, even if you haven't. One of the "behind the scenes" stills on the DVD said Hawks (the director) wanted the movie to unfold like that, through Marlowe's eyes. The entire film you know no more than he does. Great for someone into whodunits and crime noir, lousy for someone who has to be spoon fed a plot. If you're looking for tidy, look somewhere else.

Next for the collection: The Maltese Falcon. I was lucky enough to have seen that one at the Virginia, sometime last year I believe. Then L.A. Confidential and China Town and my noir collection should be looking pretty good.

Feel Like Crap

Home sick today. While it's nice to be able to rest and recoup, spending an entire day at home is weird. You feel like you're in a space capsule. You can look out the window at the world going by, listen to radio transmissions, check out the internet but have no direct interaction with what's going on at all. Add the effects of Nyquil and you are the Rocket Man. Truth is, I'll probably still be sick when I go back to work, I just hope not as sick. Nice of me, huh? Get the worst of the germs out and save the leftovers for my coworkers. Maybe I'll add more to the log later after a strong dose of Nyquil. I could be the next Coleridge. Not.

Mission Pics

Finally . . . I got around to uploading some of the pics from the flight I took last week. They really can't do justice to what I saw, but they come close.

Smallville Nice Spread Mountain View Valley View Hill Top Hwy Rift Level at 10,000 On top at 10K

Bloody Ironic

Saw this headline on spiked-online.com and had to laugh. I can't figure out if this was a case of sandpaper-dry British wit or they simply missed the irony.

How Divided Is America?
Two US commentators give opposing views.

Spiked is a British news/opinion site that I've taken a fancy to lately (just click the link in the sidebar and Bob's your uncle).

The Big Sleep

I'm having trouble with my broadband connection at home, hence the dearth of updates. I'll try to give a brief synopsis here before I head into a meeting.

Thursday I flew a Life Line Mission down to Knoxville, TN. I was to pick up a pancreatitis patient and her fiance and take them as far as Champaign, where another Life Line pilot would pick them up and take them on to Rochester, MN--home of the Mayo clinic. It was an interesting trip on several levels. For starters I got some fantastic shots of autumn from the air on the way down. They'll be posted soon. On the way back I flew into the teeth of a stiff headwind, had an uncomfortable encounter with icing and some minor passenger discomfort as a result of some turbulence in the clouds. It sounds worse than it was. The icing business did make for a little pucker factor though. Especially when my requests for an altitude out of it were met with indifference by ATC--specifically Louisville Approach. They knew what kind of plane I was flying and they should have known it didn't have deicing equipment, yet they dragged their feet in the cozy comfort of their TRACON room while the leading edges of my wings turned into Otter Pops--mmm, Otter Pops. It took a little extra insistence on my part to finally get them to appreciate the gravity of the situation. More than it should have. By the end of the day I was pooped. Six hours behind the yoke is fairly taxing.

Friday was much more pleasant. After work I zipped up to Lansing, picked up Laurie and zipped back with a nice tail wind, no clouds and silky smooth air. On the ground in Champaign we headed over to Train Guy's for nice evening by the brazier on his back patio. We made ourselves sick on smores. It was a great time though. Train Guy and Mrs. Train Guy are stellar hosts. Saturday we lazed around the folks' place reading and stuff. That evening we went to a shower in our honor at Uncle Rick's and Aunt Jeanene's. It was a great time with close friends and family and a fitting first official wedding event.

About The Big Sleep title. I just finished the book of the same name by Raymond Chandler. Its a great crime noir story by the guy who many credit with creating the genre. It's full of snappy dialogue, square gees, crooked cops, dangerous dames and lots of shooting. If you've seen LA Confidential or Millers Crossing, you get the idea. The book was made into a movie starring Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall in 1946. I'm desperately searching for a VHS or DVD. If any of you know where I can find one, drop a dime and clue me in.

I love this guy.

Marine Gunnery Sgt. Michael Burghardt signals defiance at his Iraqi attackers after being injured by an improvised explosive device near Ramadi. Attending to the Marine were Nebraska 167th Cavalry members Spc. John Adams (far left, in front) of Hastings, Neb., and Pfc. Darin Nelson of Fremont, Neb.

Soldiers all the way up to the brigade's commander, Col. John Gronski, viewed a photo of Burghardt - on his feet, arm extended and middle finger raised - as the embodiment of the American warrior.

As for Burghardt, he said he wanted to send a message to the insurgents who failed to kill him.

"I knew there was somebody disappointed out there."

*Text taken from article by C. David Kotok-Omaha World-Herald (original story here)

Going Columbo

Before I start, I find it a little ironic that the Dictionary.com word for the day is 'lexicon'. Dontcha' think?

As shocking as I'm sure it is to you all, I am occasionally subject to brief fits of paranoia. When I was living in Fresno I had a few close calls with car thieves, armed robbers and car jackers. Maybe sometime I'll relate a few of these stories, but as a result of these brushes with criminality I have a tendency to take things, that on the surface seem just slightly amiss, and view them with a greater degree of suspicion than I probably should.

Right now the folks are in California and have been for about a week. When they're gone various family members take turns checking up on Casa de El Jefe (The Big Guy's House), get the mail, etc. Friday night, Laurie and I dropped by their house to pick up a few birthday gifts mom had left for Laurie. When we came in all the cleaning supplies were out on the counter, the vacuum was out and several of the lights were left on.

Now this in and of itself did not breed suspicion. Mom has a cleaning service that drops by every Friday. What was strange was that the cleaning service didn't clean up after themselves. Further inspection revealed they didn't even really clean. Laurie, who had stayed at my folks' while she was down this summer said that unless my mom was around they usually didn't do a very good job. It looked like this was the case here. We collected the gifts and left.

I didn't think anything about it again until Sunday when we were having dinner with my grandparents. Grandpa mentioned that he'd been over there Friday about noon mowing the lawn and had seen the cleaning people arrive. He'd never seen them before and thought they didn't look very professional, but they had the code to the garage and cleaning buckets so he didn't make a big deal out of it. He said the cleaning lady had two boys with her. One went inside with her while the other stayed outside and talked to him. He thought that was kind of strange because the two boys didn't really look like they were there to clean, just hang out. He also said the cleaning lady was only in the house for about 15 minutes and then she came back out and they left. This made me a little suspicious.

I called dad and related what Laurie and I had encountered as well as Grandpa's experience. He told mom, who wasn't real happy, and she called the cleaning service to release them from their obligations. Dad asked me to go back and change the garage code. I had to fly Laurie back that night so we didn't go back to ma and pa's but the aiport instead. It was about this time that my Columbo Syndrome started to act up. I began to think, What if the cleaning lady was up to no good? What if she had her eye on something? What if she got spooked by grandpa being there and that's why she left early? What if the owner of the cleaning company called her that night to tell her mom had "fired" them? What if she knew we were probably going to change the code and decided to return before I could and take what she was after?

By the time I flew back from up north and put the plane away it was 10 pm. I didn't feel like driving to Monticello to change the code and having to drive back. Besides, my CS had worn off and I was sure my previous suspicions were unfounded. Until today.

While at lunch with Grandpa and Grandma, he asked me whatever came of the cleaning people. I told him mom had let them go and I'd changed the code. He said, "That's good. They just didn't seem like the kind of people Karen would hire." This made the CS act up a little. I said, "Yeah, it is kind of wierd that the lady would've brought her kids along on the job. I mean what help would they be?" Grandpa said, "Oh those boys weren't kids." The CS was inflammed at this point. "How old do you think they were?", I asked. "Oh, about mid-twenties," was the reply. It had never occured to me that to my 80-something year old grandfather, 20-something year old males probably were "boys". Now I was REALLY in Columbo mode.

I asked what they were driving. A truck. I asked what she took in with her. Just a bucket and one of the "boys". I asked if grandpa thought the guys were there to help. He kind of laughed and said, no. He said one of them stayed outside with him and just talked. Said he was from Kentucky too. This sounded like a lookout to me. It was all I could do to sit still. My mind was going ape with all kinds of wild scenarios.

What if they'd gone in to take stuff, saw grandpa and decided to unlock a window and come back later? What if they really weren't the cleaning people? What if they were accomplices of someone inside the cleaning service who gave them the code? What if the bucket was just a cover to avoid suspicion if anyone, like my grandfather, saw them entering the house? What if they had come back through a basement window they'd unlocked and cleaned the folks out?

I said goodbye to the grandparents and drove over to mom and dad's to investigate. What if they were in there right now? What if while I was checking windows and doors they paid a visit? Where was the Big Guy's .357 again? Yeah. It was pretty bad. Of course I went over there and everything was fine. I did find a few ground floor windows that were unlocked, but this was because they couldn't close enough for the locks to engage. Probably due to the house settling or something. Who knows? It certainly wasn't because of the Cleaning Cartel.

I should probably relate some of the stories of actual criminals I encountered in Fresno to put this all in perspective. It really isn't without reason that I happen to suffer from CS.

This weekend I'm going up north to visit Laurie and get wood. I mean firewood--dirty birdies. While I'm up there, Brother Joe and I might do a little trap shooting. Also referred to as "shooting frisbees" by his little boys. Should be fun. Donna, my future mom-in-law, will probably load me up with goodies for the trip back. This is a blessing and a curse. I love whatever she gives me but she usually gives me a lot and it's gone in one or two sittings. I'd weigh 5,000 lbs if I lived in the same house with Donna. Maybe I'll save the largesse for a crappy movie night.

Oh, yeah. I took the rest of the day off. A big, "Haa, haaaaa!" to all you suckas still at work.

Turkey Run Respite

Here are some pics from the trip Laurie and I took last Saturday to Turkey Run State Park. Just a few of the trees had started to turn. I think another trip is in order in the next week or so to see autumn more fully revealed. Maybe by canoe this time.

Pop! Tuff Sunset Presence Precioussss Paparazzi Everywhere Bridge to #3 Reflections

Hey Look! Sugar Creek Change Skip Ripple Sugar Creek Silence Trail 6

Comin' Up Creepy Hollow Saint Laurie Convergence Trail 6 Start Rivendell

Kids These Days

As I guessed, they quickly apprehended the dopes who stole the business jet. Turns out it was a 22-year old with a Citation-I type rating and little if any sense. He apparently thought it would be fun to take a few of his friends for a ride. Which only goes to show, education is no substitute for wisdom. The fact he has a Cessna-I type rating at 22 indicates he must have had a good education. Learning to fly jets takes more than a few book smarts. It also takes a lot of money that, unless he was a drug dealer or a professional athlete, probably came from some very wealthy and clearly over-indulgent parents. Only someone who hasn't had to work for something as precious as a type rating would piss it away to impress his friends.

P of P: Episode 2

In a recent post (CNNFOXNBCABCCBS: Purveyors of Panic) I talked a little about the mountain of an ant hill that the media made out of the Jet Blue emergency landing at LAX. Once again they are preying on the general public's lack of familiarity with aviation, and short attention span, by making much ado out of the recent theft of a business jet. Where to start?

First of all let's consider this, and I won't even have to look up statistics to back it up. Anybody with a moment's reflection could surmise this on their own. More moving vans are stolen in this country everyday than business jets. The only reason this story got any traction at all is because the vehicle in question has wings. "But Larry, but Larry that means you cound fly it into any building anywhere and do horrendous damage!". True, but I could more easily steal a moving van, pack it full of diesel fuel and fertilizer, park it in front of an elementary school and walk away. All without popping up on radar, being chased by fighter jets and dying in the fiery crash. Read the news story yourself (here) and substitute "moving van" for "corporate jet" and "driven" for "flown". It won't take long to figure out why the media isn't going to a lot of trouble to report missing U-Hauls.

"But Larry, but Larry, didn't you hear what the FBI guy said? Jets are easy to steal if you know how to fly them! You don't even need keys!" Yes they are easy to steal, IF you know how to fly them. The jet in question here, a Citation VII, has very complicated start up and operating procedures that require extensive training. Training that costs thousands of dollars, requires extensive documentation including a type rating. A type rating means you are qualified to fly only that type of aircraft. And while you may certainly do it in an illegal manner, the FAA is going to have your name on file as one of the less than 1% of individuals in the country that is qualified to fly that plane. The group of suspects for this particular crime is extremely small. Keep in mind that many if not all the 9/11 hijackers were being tracked by the FBI prior to the attack because of all the documentation that is required to get something as simple as a Private Pilot's license. They will find this guy, too.

"But Larry, but Larry! Didn't the terrorists fly those complex airliners?" Yes, after they were already in the air. Once an airplane is flying, anyone with a basic knowledge of aircraft control can fly it, especially if you don't plan on landing in one piece. This is why Atta and co. were only concerned about learning the basics. The pilots who they murdered before taking the controls did all the complex stuff for them.

Now, I didn't see it in this news story, but several of the radio reports I heard (on one network) made a huge deal out of the fact the control tower was closed when he landed and the pilot could remotely control the runway lighting. First of all, many control towers, including Champaign's, have limited hours of operation. This is because they don't have enough traffic late at night to merit the expense of staffing them. They also are not equipped with missles, lasers, AA or anything else that could stop a stolen aircraft from landing even if they were open. As for PCC (pilot controlled lighting), that has been around for decades and is not anything new. It is controlled using the same radio frequency as the common traffic advisory frequency for that aiport. Just click the mic 7 times and "Voila!", you have lights. Everything from a Piper J-3 to a 777 can do it. The pilot did not, as seemed to be implicated by the ominous tone the newscaster used when describing how he "remotely controlled the runway lights", have some kind of Bond-ian gadget that is allowing him to manipulate airport facilities.

But the part that just really got to me, and it's not mentioned in the link I gave you, was when the reporter I heard on the radio, in even more ominous tones, went to great lengths to point out the airport the jet was found at was where two 9/11 hijackers had trained. Again, a moment's reflection and you say, so what? But since most of the folks listening this morning were probably already in a lather over the "remote controlled lights" that little dollop of hysteria inducing whip cream was the perfect topper for a media that's much more concerned about tittilating than telling.

Hellos and Goodbyes

What a weekend. Instead of reading on Saturday, Laurie and I made a quick trip back down here for a funeral. A friend of the family passed away Wednesday and we didn't find out about the Saturday afternoon graveside service till Saturday morning. The friend was only 29. He had struggled for some time with some personal demons and appeared to be turning a corner the last several months. The last time I'd seen him was about six months ago. The family has not told us why he died and I'm not going to speculate.

During the eulogy I learned many things about him that I'd never known. For one, I had no idea he'd been an artist, and a rather accomplished one at that. I also learned that while he had many struggles of his own to overcome, he still found many ways to help others and took some fairly significant risks to do so. In one instance he bought pizzas for some homeless people he knew on Thanksgiving. In another, he actually allowed a homeless stranger to live with him for a few months until the guy could either get back on his feet or move on. Having seen so much of the darker side of life at such an early age, I don't think there was much that really scared him. He was by no means a cruel or violent person. Just a little lost I think. Still, despite the cards life had dealt him, and maybe a few he'd picked, he did what he could to help those around him and managed to leave an indelible mark in the lives of many people.

After the service, Laurie and I flew back up to Lansing for dinner with her folks. It was clear when we left Champaign, but as we approached Kankakee there was a line of thin overcast at about 4000 feet. It had been a little while since I'd been in any actual instrument conditions so it was kind of fun. We started out above it and then right before we reached the line, ATC had me descend to 4,000 putting us right in the middle of it. It was pretty cool and I got to show Laurie what an excellent pilot I was on instruments. Of course the bottom was only a few hundred feet below that so we popped out in clear air again well before we got to Lansing.

While we were waiting for her folks to get us we waited in Shannon's Landing, the little Irish pub on the airport. It's got a real southside, blue collar Irish feel to it. They serve really good beer (Guiness, PBR, Coors Light, Leinie's and others), awesome bar food, it's really smoky and there's Sox stuff all over the walls. Grady would be in heaven. Actually, it's heaven for me too, because it's on the 2nd floor of one of the airport buildings and faces the runway. So while I sipped a Smithwicks (good stuff by the way) I was able to watch planes take off and land.

When her folks arrived, I slammed the remainder of my Smithwick's, we hopped in the car and off we went to White Fence Farm--home of what can only be described as the most amazing fried chicken dinner in the world. Turns out the place is owned by Dennis Hastert's family. I think this explains some of Denny's girth. Not only do they give you a giant plate of incredible fried chicken, but a choice of potato and all the corn fritters you can eat. I went mental on account of the fritters and bloated myself. It was a sleepy car ride back to Ma and Pa V's. Before I left though, I said goodbye to Speaker Hastert's 90 something year old mother, Doris, who still greets you when you come in the front door. She really is a sweet old lady . . . yes, Marty, despite being a Republican. Of course I didn't ask her, so I don't know that for sure. For all I know she might be a die-hard Dem that raps Denny on the knuckles to this day for giving that "nice young man from Little Rock" such a hard time. Who knows? All I know is she is the patron saint of delectable fried chicken from now on.

Today we went to my future brother-in-law's church for the baptism of his infant daughter--a stark contrast to yesterday's ceremony. She's a little cutie that was born about a month ago. Afterward there was a nice dinner for all the family members out in the lobby. I got to meet a bunch of my future in-laws and I can say, I'm in for a good time. They are a lively, big-hearted bunch. I'm not saying they're all perfect, but I don't forsee any problems sitting across the Thanksgiving table from any of them. It's also clear they love Laurie a lot, so getting the warm welcome that I did today can only be a good thing. If they didn't like me, I have a feeling it wouldn't have taken long to find out.

After the baptism festivities it was back to casa Vanderwall for a little nappy time. After that it was a cup of coffee with the folks and off to the airport. I said goodbye to Laurie and flew off into the sunset . . . literally. It was a gorgeous flight back. I decided to stay down around 2,500 and just enjoy the scenery. You can see so much detail at that altitude. It reminds me a lot of Sim City. Right before I got back to Champaign, the setting sun ducked behind some high cirrus leaving everything bathed in this kind of clear, blue twighlight. Most surreal, but very, very cool. Flying definitely doesn't suck.

Turn the Page

It's been bugging me for some time now. This gnawing hunger for intellectual meat. I fear I've not only allowed myself to grow soft around the middle lately, but soft around the ears as well. Listening to mo+o reminiscing about his days in Japan when he was able to devour books as he commuted back and forth to work has only made the feeling of lack more accute. It brought to mind those days before I had broadband, XBox and a DVD player. Back when I'd spend hours in front of the fireplace or on the porch or in a cafe reading Milton, CS Lewis, Tolkien, Chesterton, Saint Exupery, to drop a name or two. There's nothing stopping me for doing that now, other than a distinct lack of discipline. I think its time to pick up the weights again.

I can think of no better time to start than this weekend either. Autumn is always a contemplative time for me. Just something about the crisp air, ice blue skies and longer shadows that seems to make you stop and go, "Hmm." I'm going up to see Laurie this weekend. Thankfully I've got a lady that likes to read as much I do (or did). Maybe I can con her into holing up at the Muse or Starbucks so I can dive back into some partially read books on my shelves. But where to start? Maybe while I'm sorting it out, I can finally get past that giant zombie in Far Cry.

Flick-o-Meter

At Moto's urging I've added a Flick-o-Meter to the sidebar that gives my rating for films I've recently seen. I'm using the proven somethingburning.us x/5 rating system, which I assume is "open source" and free to use. I hope Tolemite doesn't mind. As you'll see, each film title is linked to it's corresponding IMDB page should you care to see what all the hub bub's about. I wanted to use rottentomatoes, but I don't think their database is as extensive. Plus, IMDB's about as objective as you can get.

For what it's worth . . .

Mamet Gets It

It's rare that I post twice in the same day, but I just finished watching David Mamet's Spartan again for the third or fourth time. It has always been one of my favorite films but it just got shot up the list even further. Actually it's my esteem for Mamet that is even greater. Why?

I've always liked the film because the writing and action scenes, like real life, don't wait around for you to catch up. It assumes you're as smart or smarter than it is and can keep up without back story or stupid dialogue where characters, that maybe are supposed to be elite soldiers, suddenly feel the need to ask if a regularly used acronym in their lexicon really means what it does so the "stupid" audience understands. It makes my teeth hurt.

So, as I'm watching one of the final scenes, that is supposed to be taking place in an aircraft hangar in Dubai, I noticed something--or the lack of something I should say. In every instance that an airplane appeared in the background, the tail registration is either blurred out of focus or hidden from view by the frame or a prop. That's because the hangar was really in L.A. and all the airplanes had American registration numbers. Mamet obviously holds his audience in high enough regard to assume they might be savvy enough to notice an American "N" number in a hangar that's supposed to be in Dubai.

Very cool.

Crichton, Climate Change and Congress

I just came across this rather interesting address delivered last week by Michael Crichton to the Senate Committee on Environment and Public Works. In it he makes a rather compelling case that much of the climate research today is dangerously biased in a purely scientific sense. In other words, much of the research that has formed the basis of public policy has not been conducted using the usual protections against contaminated data that is foundational to other research, like drug effectiveness studies. I've heard Crichton speak about this before when he was promoting his novel State of Fear. If memory serves, the book was about the use of "junk science" in climate change research to manipulate public policy--admittedly a more distinct point of view than Crichton communicates in this address. While we may have differing opinions about global warming, it's extent and it's causes, I don't think anyone could argue against some of the research improvements Crichton advocates here.

Here's the link.

First Solo Flight in the X485

I can drive his Escalade. I can drive his SSR. When he had Harleys I could ride those. I was even allowed to drive his 390hp '55 Chevy when he had it. But I have never, ever, even when I asked nicely, been allowed to drive one of the John Deere lawn mowers my father has owned--until this weekend.

The rig he has now is a John Deere X485--a designation that I'm sure has significance to anyone who's a John Deere mower fan, but is lost on me entirely. Much as, I'm sure, JRX-S is lost on everyone but the 5 guys who actually bought one. But I digress. This little hot rod has 4-wheel steering, a 50 - 60 inch mowing deck and cruise control. Yes, I said cruise control. Apparently it's so you can set it at the precise speed for the best cut. Of course it's got all the other bells and whistles like pedal-controlled hydrostatic drive, a hydraulic control for raising and lowering the mowing deck and hydraulic valves for any accessories he might want to add like a snow plow.

I really have no idea why he's waited this long to let me drive one of his Deeres. All I know is I felt a little like I did on my first solo flight. Chills ran up and down my spine as I merrily mowed row after row of the Big Guy's huge 2 acre lot with hydrostatic, cruise controlled, four-wheel steering precision. Now that I think about it. This whole thing was probably some bizarre 5-year setup to get me to actually want to mow his lawn for him. I wouldn't put it past my father. He's as patient as he is cunning. He may have actually hit upon a way to condition me into believing that mowing his lawn is a rare privalege. That mower really is cool, though (did I mention it has a cup holder?). I'll probably jump at the chance to mow again. What a sucker.

Oh, of course he couldn't let me drive it without letting Laurie drive it first. I'm not entirely sure she really wanted to. I think it was just more conditioning. I'm never allowed to drive the SSR unless she's with me. Just his way of making sure I bring her around more often, I guess. I have no idea. The man is capable of anything, I tell ya', but I love him (everyone together now, "Awwwww.").

Last night we met Train Guy and Mrs. Train Guy for a screening of History of Violence. Now before I say what I thought of the movie I'll give my Tolemite-inspired artistic freedom disclaimer. I Uncle Lar, realize all artists are allowed artistic freedom and that their exercise of this freedom in no way, shape or form is required to appeal to me. However, I do see this as a two-way street, especially when I'm a paying customer of said artist's work, and feel that I, despite my lack of artistic credentials, am as free to criticize as he/she/heshe is to create. Now, about the movie.

I liked it. It was tight, well written and really conveyed the sense of dread and anger it's main character struggled with. Maria Bello and Viggo worked well together. The son character was written a little too whiny I think, but portrayed well by the actor playing him. The knockout supporting cast, which included Ed Harris and William Hurt, was fantastic. It was just cool to see William Hurt in a movie again and he owns every second of his cameo in this one. The only other problem I had with the movie was, what I can only assume is, the director's apparent belief that I have no imagination of my own.

Example. In one scene the hero puts a bullet into the head of an attacker. You see the bullet blast through the top of the guy's head and then the camera cuts away. Good enough for me. I just saw a .45 discharged at the top of his cranium and the resultant bullet hole. I get it. He's dead. But Cronenberg apparently felt it necessary to return to the dead guy and linger on the grisly damage done to the rest of his visage as a result of his .45 caliber lobotomy. There were several other scenes like this where I kinda' felt like the violence and/or sex was just a bit more than the story really needed.

In fact, at a couple of points in the movie people left. It was kind of comical when the second couple left. I don't think the guy knew his wife was leaving. I just saw her get up and bolt for the exit. He sat there for a second or two watching the screen then turned to his wife who wasn't there. He was kind of bewildered until he spotted her halfway to the door, then he jumped up and tried to catch up with her. I'll admit I sympathized with them some. Despite the title of the film, I don't think the marketing for it really indicates the violence (or sex) would be as graphic as it is. I suspected it might be though, as I have seen bits of Cronenberg's Dead Ringers. A very disturbing film about twin gynecologists played by Jeremy Irons. It was a bit much for me.

Still, I don't want to give the impression this film is all sex and violence. What violence there is, while graphic, is clearly shown to have consequences beyond just the immediate carnage. Unlike some films where the hero can gun down twenty guys in one scene and there's no reflection on, or even mention of, what happened the rest of the movie. This is why I had an easier time with it, I think, even though I felt it was excessive. The sex, however, as in most movies, was still pretty pointless. I guess the argument could be made that one of the scenes underscored the rather similar natures of Viggo and his wife. But I'll leave it at that.

Time to hit "publish" and unpack.

Shhhhhh. . .

"You're spending alot on tobacco these days. Are you feeling a little stressed out?" Most people have a bartender, shrink or psychic. I have a tobaccanist named Randy. Such was the question posed by Randy as I purchased a Padron 5000 today for lunch. My third Padron in about 2 weeks. Apparently my "All-is-Well" facade wasn't as convincing as I thought. Funny thing about facades, they only seem to fool the ones hiding behind them.

"Are you stressed out about the engagement?", he asked.If there is anything in this world I'm more at peace with, it's my engagement. I don't say this merely because I know Laurie is reading. I say it because it needs to be said. When you find someone that's as crazy about you as you are her AND that you know you can trust, excuse my french, but don't dick around gents--make it official. "No, it's more the cumulative effect of a lot of other stuff.", I replied.

The other stuff would partially consist of an unusually hectic work load but mostly of a sense of despair that this country will ever be able to develop a consensus about anything. For one thing consensus among ourselves would make pundits, politicians and the press less relevant. So they're never going to let that happen. They will make sure they do all they can to keep us at one another's throats. They'll keep us arguing.

Now don't get me wrong. I like a good argument. Ah, who am I kidding--I love a good argument. But argument is the last place anyone's mind will be changed about anything, very simply, because pride will not allow it to happen. It doesn't matter what facts you have to back your argument, intellectual pride makes it virtually impossible for anyone to admit they are wrong. The only times in my life that I have truly had a change in my point of view, or at the very least came to better understand another point of view, were in moments of quiet reflection.

But in a sound-bite nation of 24 hour news networks, Bill Maher, Rush Limbaugh, Al Franken and Bill O'Reilly quietly reflecting on anything is really hard to do. Or not. Quiet reflection is just a push of the "off" button away, I guess. I just need to do more of it. What little I've started doing seems to be helping.

Don't get me wrong. We should stay informed, but just as continuously eating without waiting for digestion would be bad for your body (not too mention messy), so I think continually taking in information without reflection is bad for the mind. At least I'm learning it's bad for mine.

CNNFOXNBCABCCBS: Purveyors of Panic

I know this is going to come as a huge shock, but the media blew yesterday's airline "disaster" out of all semblance of proportion. Lets start with the nature of the emergency. A landing gear malfunction. This malfunction effects only one phase of flight. It in no way prevents the plane from flying or even makes it unsafe to land. Does it result in damage to the aircraft? Of course, but the only way yesterday's network soap opera masquerading as news could've ended was exactly the way it did. As a non-event with a scraped up plane. Real pilots who fly big jets train for such eventualities to the point that when such eventualities occur they are routine. The only way it could've possibly placed the passengers in any danger was if, oh, I don't know, the dimwitted cabin crew left the in-flight TVs on so the passengers could watch the media speculate wildly about their impending doom and cause some of them to panic and/or have a heart attack.

As a pilot I nash my teeth everytime the media discusses anything aviation related. I can only imagine the same nails-on-a-chalkboard reaction is experienced by any other professional when the media attempts to "inform" the public on their area of expertise. Another brilliant case would be the recent expose by a prominent network, prime-time news show on the "risk" posed by general aviation. I can't recall what network or when because I'm too lazy to Google it right now. Sufficeth to say it found the bogeyman at just about every little airport it visited.

Never mind that none of the airplanes used in 9/11 was a GA plane from an "unsecured" airport. Never mind that most GA airplanes do not have the payload or capacity to carry enough explosives to blow your nose. And never mind that there are thousands of easier less costly methods to reek death and destruction than little airplanes. By the end of this show, you were convinced (if you were entirely devoid of the most basic logic skills and scared of shadows in your closet) that we were vulnerable to attack from thousands of jihadists in tiny single engine airplanes.

Of course the media is not entirely to blame. There have been some very high-profile screw ups from my winged brethren that have only added fuel to the fire. The most recent and famous case being the instructor and student that violated the DC no-fly zone on their way to an airshow. What the media failed to report was, that while one GA pilot screwed up, the other half a million that flew that day did not. Yes they caused a lot of havoc on the ground, but that was due more to government over reaction than any actual danger that a two seat, 100hp VW with wings posed to the nation's capitol. But since less than 1% of us fly, it's easy to spice up the 6 o'clock news with that hyperbole that seems so essential to any kind of public discourse these days.

I think I may take the occasional blog to explain facets of the ATC system or aircraft operation so the handful of you that read this can perhaps help dispel some of the fanciful notions that have been planted in your friends' heads. This subject also dovetails nicely with, what I believe is the greatest threat to our nation and civil society as a whole--lack of perspective. I believe many of the so-called controversies, political arguments and bad--no, make that terrible--policy making decisions are solely because no one has any point of view but their own anymore. Our children are not taught history (except at Illiana Christian School where they not only excel due to the professionalism of the instruction, but the tuffness of the instructor as well) and we, in the west anyway, have no objective morality.

But that's for later. Right now I have to go watch crap. I can think of no better way to ruminate on the decline of Western civilization.

30 Years of Shark Hunter

Today I'm coming to you from the field office in Dyer, IN. Last night Laurie and I celebrated Mike's (of Mike and Katie) 30th with some of his friends and a lot of his family. Yes, I have met Shark Hunter Sr. Katie, in typical fashion, organized a fantastic party with great food. She also set up some tables in the back yard/garden area complete with tiki torches. I'm sure she'd want me to make sure you all knew that she set up the tables by herself without any help from Mike. These and all her other efforts made for a great evening and Mike was ushered into his 30's in style.

The only real disappointment was the low turnout from the Champaign contingent. I understand everybody had stuff going on, but it was kind of a bummer that only Laurie and I were on hand to represent--south siiiieeeeed! If you haven't done so yet, get up there and see them (looking at you Mckee). I took numerous Cheeseburger blows to the arms and shoulders on your behalf. You owe me.

At any rate, be sure to watch Cheeseburger's condiments for any photos, many of which were taken by moi. I got roped into picture taking. You don't know how uncomfortable it is to walk into a room full of Shark Hunter's relatives and ask everyone to smile. They would, but initially they all had this, "And you would be . . . ?" expression on their faces.

Looks like it's time for soup, so that's it for now. Happy Birthday Mike. 30's just a number. From here on in you're only as young as you feel.

The Weekend that Almost Wasn't-Part Deux

First off, I just want to say Kool Mo P is a jag. Thank you.

I've decided that Part II of last weekend's travelog will be a pictorial. Besides, once the whole magilla that was described in part I was over, the weekend went pretty smoothly with a minimal amount of drama. And as anyone who's ever sat in a puddle of piss on the CTA will tell you, drama is essential to an interesting story.

Instead I bring you pretty pictures. Enjoy.



Getting ready to go. Mom called.



This cloud's sportin' a 'tude.


Level at 7,000, somewhere over Indiana.


Buzzing the Big Guy's Condo (on the right)



Over Lily Creek



Sunset cruise on Lake Cumberland


View of Lake Cumberland from the Lure Lodge patio.


LD and LV. Brt.


On short final to 14 left back in Champaign. Bummer.

The Weekend that Almost Wasn't--Part I

This is going to be a two part post, because I just got back and don't really feel like writing about the whole thing right now. I will explain the title, however.

I took 9'er-7 Charlie to Flightstar to have the little engine malady that sprung up on my trip down to Atlanta checked out. Turns out it was just a bum spark plug. The mechanic I talked to said they ran it up and everything worked fine after they put the new plug in. This was great news. I was going to get off with a very small repair bill and the plane would be good to go Friday night. I was starting to get excited about the weekend's prospects. Laurie and I decided to celebrate 97 Charlie's return to flight status with a trip down to Kentucky.

Everything seemed to be in our favor. The weather was shaping up to be fantastic and Laurie said she would hit town by 5, meaning we could conceivably be in Kentucky by 7:30 Friday night. After work Friday, I filed the flight plan, ran home and packed, Laurie showed up at 5 and we we're off to the airport. I was looking forward to a gorgeous twilight flight full of golden hues and smooth air.

I'd been out to the airport the night before to square up with Flightstar on the repair bill and fuel the plane up so all we'd have to do is load 'er up and fly. A little story detour here to give props to Matt the line guy at Flightstar. When I got into the hangar Thursday night I noticed the main latch chain was broke. This latch is located near the top of the hangar door and you need the chain to release it. With the chain broke and me unable to reach what little of it was left without a ladder (which I don't have), I had no way of opening the hangar. Matt, seeing my predicament, took it on himself to run back to the line shack, get a ladder and tie some new rope on for me. I tried to tip him, but he'd have nothing of it. Just happy to help I guess. Anyway, you'll never meet him, but next time you're out, raise a glass to Matt the line guy.

Back to our story--so, it's Friday, Laurie and I get to the hangar a little before 6. We load up the bags and beer, and I preflighted the plane. The beer, incidentally, was for the Big Guy who was stranded in a dry county down in Kentucky and called me Thursday night desperate for Rolling Rock Green Light. You could say we were on a humanitarian mission of sorts. After all, frosty mugs in the freezer and no beer in the fridge is one of life's crueler ironies.

To this point, we were running like a well oiled machine. Laurie has become very good at assisting me in loading the plane and helping me preflight, so we were belted in and ready to fly in about 15 minutes. My tail was waggin'. I got situated, arranged the charts, put on the headphones, primed the engine and reached for the master power switch, which to my horror was already on. The party bus came to a screeching halt. No, it went careening off the cliff. I could not believe it. The guys from Flightstar had forgot to turn off the master switch when they were done testing the plane Thursday. For you non-pilots out there, this is about as rookie a maneuver as they come. My battery was as dead as a door nail.

After a profanity-laced exclamation, Laurie and I got out of the plane and I called Flightstar. Saint Matt answered the call. We tried jumping it, and were able to get the engine started, but I had no electrical whatsoever. The alternator, which requires some battery power to start generating current, was doing nothing. I shut down the engine again, swore some more, then called Matt again. I explained the situation and he said he'd contact the on-call mechanic and see what they could do.

At this point I decided to scratch the flight. It was getting dark and the forecast down by mom and dad called for significantly reduced visibilities after dark. Even if it'd been forecast to be perfect, by now I was in no condition emotionally or psychologically to be operating an airplane. I don't think livid quite covers it. While I fumed and phoned mom and dad to break the bad news, Laurie, all too aware of how pissed I was, did what she could to ease my troubles by quietly unpacking the plane and putting everything back in the car. Man, I love her.

We drove back to the Flightstar offices where Matt was waiting for us. He had called the on-call mechanic who wanted to talk to me about the situation. I told him the situation was they had left my master switch on and that my battery was dead. I further "explained" that the alternator was dead and that I had no electrical even with the engine running. The mechanic said it was likely the battery had been completely depleted and that it didn't even have enough of a residual charge to power the alternator field. To his credit he offered to come in and check it out so we could still make it down to Kentucky that night. I told him I'd already decided to scratch the flight and that it'd by fine if he could look at it Saturday morning.

Laurie and I decided to head into town, get some dinner and then turn in. If they could sort out the battery problem Saturday morning before noon, we'd try to make it down to Kentucky again. About 9 or so Saturday morning I got a call from the mechanic saying he had "good news and bad news". "Give me the bad news," I sighed. He went on to say that my original battery was completely kaput. It wouldn't even take a charge. The good news was they had a spare that they could replace it with. What was conspicuously missing from the "good news" was that they would be picking up the tab for this little fiasco. There wasn't any admission of fault.

After waiting a few moments and realizing no mea culpa was forthcoming, I decided to get direct. "So, I'm not getting charged for this right?". Brief, but pregnant, silence then, "We'll make it right." Not really wishing to waste any more time to try and divine what "We'll make it right." meant I decided to get flying instead. Once again we loaded up and this time we really did fly.

I have a sick feeling that the mechanics are going to deny they left the master on. In which case they're going to not only get me for the spark plug repair, but a battery installation, too. I've been going round and round about how I'm going to fight this if they do. Or, if I'll even fight it. It won't be the first time a pilot was financially raped by an FBO. Maybe I'll just grab my ankles and join the ranks of silent victims.

Still, if they deny negligence on their part, I might just tell them, "Well, since I didn't leave the master on and you didn't leave the master on, I suggest you find out who did and send them the bill." Like Castanza rehearsing his comebacks, I've played this conversation out in my head more than once this weekend. We'll see.

The next post will be more sweetness and light--and maybe a picture or two. We did have a good time, once we got through the airplane travails. Later . . .

She's Bloggin'

My lady now has a blog. Guess which link is hers.

Up, Down, Turn Around

It's been a while since my last post. Actually, it's been a while since my last successful post. A few days ago I tried to post a letter from my friend, Christy, who just finished 2 years in the Peace Corps. For some reason when I cut and paste her e-mail contents into the template it was causing wierd things to happen to the right hand navigation. I'll try again soon, when I come up with an alternative method that won't mess up the template and doesn't require any HTML on my part. I feel like the sorcerer's apprentice when I attempt to use HTML. I know just enough of the "spells" to be dangerous.

Some of you may be wondering why I'm still here. For those who aren't, I was called by Life Line Pilots to see if I would go down to Atlanta and fly food and med supplies into Mississippi. And I would have, but circumstances dictated otherwise.

The whole thing started when I received a call Saturday night from Karen, Life Line's Coordinator. At that time they thought they might need me to go down to Atlanta to fly doctors to Lousiana. She didn't have all the details yet, but said she'd call me Sunday with more info if I was interested. As Laurie will attest this disaster has really gotten under my skin for several reasons, all of which I might relate in another post. Let me just say, for now, I think everyone's energies would be best directed at seeing the rescue phase through instead of trying to score political points. When it's all over let the finger pointing ensue. Fry whoever you want. Impeach Bush for all I care. Just wait till it's over for crap's sake.

The other thing that's been weighing heavily on my mind was the fact I am one of a handful (less than 1% last I heard) of Americans that owns a plane. It's hard not to feel more than a little obligated to step forward and help out even if you're not asked. But not having ever participated in something of this magnitude before, I was a little anxious. As Laurie will tell you, I'm a pretty cautious pilot. I like to have everything planned out in advance. I like to have as many variables defined as possible. I like to be able to make a plan and stick to it. This is how most regular Life Line flights are. About all are scheduled weeks in advance and you get complete information on your destination, passengers, cargo, etc. so you can plan ahead. Rescue and relief operations are nothing like this. You have to be open to changing your plan at the drop of a hat and coming up with a new one on the spot. Even if the "spot" is at 5,000 feet halfway to the place you thought you were going and you've already burned half your fuel.

On the mission I accepted, I didn't get the call until yesterday at 4 p.m. All I was told was that I needed to be in Atlanta at 11 this morning to assist Angel Flight of Georgia in the delivery of food and supplies to Mississippi. She couldn't tell me where exactly in Mississippi I'd be going but that Angel Flight coordinators would brief me when I arrived in Atlanta. She couldn't tell me how long they would need me, either. I was told I could return home when I had to, but what if that was after only one flight? Would one tiny Archer load of supplies even make a difference? Should I leave this kind of work to more experienced pilots? Can I afford to miss work right now? All these things were swirling in my head (and stomach). The only thing I knew for sure was, that if I didn't go, it would eat me up inside. I won't lie, there was a baser part of me that saw this as an adventure. But what would've bugged me most if I hadn't gone would've been knowing I had been blessed with a unique ability to do something about this and did nothing. So, Laurie packed my duffle, I filed a flight plan, we prayed together and then I headed to the airport.

Since I didn't get the call until 4 I wasn't airborne until about 7, meaning I had to spend some time over hilly terrain . . . at night . . . . with one engine. Don't get me wrong, I love night flying, but doing so over unfamiliar, inhospitable terrain does tend to attenuate the hearing to every single piston stroke of the engine. The slightest vibration or change in tenor, real or imagined, is enough to get the adrenal gland going. I forced myself to relax a little by engaging the autopilot and reclining the seat a little. The stars were amazing, but looking down at the glittering cities I felt like I was on the moon. Without company, long night flights can can make you feel rather lonesome.

I decided to stop in Chatanooga, TN because I'd flown in there before and it was only about 3 hours from Champaign--my comfort limit for long flights. After refueling I toyed around with the idea of continuing on to Atlanta, just about 45 minutes further south. But considering how hilly the surrounding terrain was, how dark it was and how tired I suddenly felt I decided to check into a motel for the night. I figured it'd be better to leave early this morning and fly into Atlanta with the benefit of illuminated terrain and a little rest.

The folk's at TAC Air (where I parked) were kind enough to shuttle me to the hotel and then back again early this morning. The driver that picked me up this morning told me they had two jet loads of hurricane refugees arrive yesterday. It took a second to process. Hearing fellow Americans referred to as refugees takes some getting used to.

After a quick pre-flight I fired up the plane and called for clearance. I rolled to the hold short line of the active runway and commenced the engine run-up. The "run-up" is when I check the magnetos that fire the spark plugs. Each cylinder of the engine has two spark plugs--each fired by a different magneto. This is to provide redundancy, but also to improve combustion and power production. You check these before take off to make sure each is working properly by isolating them while you run the engine up.

When I checked the right magneto the engine started sputtering. I swithced back to both mags and it ran smooth. Checked the left maganeto again--smooth. Tried the right magneto again--rough. Now what? I called ground and told them I had to go back and park while I sorted it out. Alot of times this kind of problem clears itself up. A "rough" mag is often just the result of some carbon build up on the spark plugs and you can usually burn it off in flight. And since the engine was running smoothly on both maybe that's all it was.

But if it wasn't I'd have to get it checked out in Atlanta and I'd be as useless there as I would be back home. The mission was supposed to launch at 11 and it was already 9. By the time I landed in Atlanta, found a mechanic on Labor Day, and got the plane in the shop, they'd be long gone before I could get it checked out. I decided to come home, get it checked out here this week and see if I could volunteer for a future mission. From what I've seen on TV there's going to be no shortage of opporunities.

For those of you who were thinking of me and/or praying for me while all this was going on , thank you. When I give it another go, I'll let you know.