Chicago Comes to Champaign

Laurie and I gave the new Rosati's on campus a whirl. Not bad. Not bad at all. I'd put it above most anything in the area except Filipo's. We got one mushroom/pepperoni and one S.O.B.--a sausage-onion-bacon house specialty slathered in BBQ sauce and loaded with cheese. We opted for thin crust for both. Very tasty.

Not since we had a Giordano's down here has there been something this good in Chambana. If you crave Chicago-style, check it out. Oh, and Thai lovers--there's a Basil Thai next door. I think I'll have to try that out for lunch some time this week. Anyone interested? All you single guys should be. The quad flowers are blooming.

Good men.

I saw The Lives of Others (Leber der Anderen, Das) at The Art last night. Next to The Last King of Scotland, this is the best film I've seen in the last 12 months. The story is almost an opera of sorts that takes place against the backdrop of communist East Germany in the late 70's. And by opera I don't mean melodramatic, but that it speaks to and about the deepest human longings.

It's about an East German Stasi officer who is thoroughly committed to protecting the Party ideals. His commitment has left him almost entirely devoid of any humanity and, more significantly, very much alone. He is assigned the job of spying on a famous playwright by a Party bigwig who has designs on the playwright's girlfriend. His mission? "Find something." Anything that the Party official can use to denounce the author and get him out of the way. The author is respected throughout the DDR by the highest Party officials, and is recognized by everyone as a good man. A simple denunciation will not do. The bigwig would need something concrete to take this guy down, hence the 24 hour surveillance.

That's all I'll tell you about the movie, which is not much more than you'll find in an IMDB synopsis. My wish is that you all get to see the story unfold as I did, with few preconceptions. And if you can, see it at The Art or any local theater in your town that supports great cinema, but see it.

Claim to Fame

Driven by boredom and/or a pathetic need for validation I decided to see which celebrities in IMDB shared my birthday. Oldest to youngest, here are the ones I thought were interesting:

Charles Baudelaire--French poet and consummate sour puss.

Efrem Zimbalist Sr.--Daddy to Efrem Zimbalist Jr. (Airport 75, Wait Until Dark, Hotel, The FBI) and grandad to Stephanie Zimbalist (Remington Steele).

Ward Bond--One of my favorite character actors and authentic badass (Rio Bravo, The Searchers, The Quiet Man, Hondo). A contemporary of The Duke.

King Faisal I of Saudi Arabia

Hugh Hefner

Cheeta--Chimp from 1930's Tarzan movies starring Johnny Weissmuller.

Marty Krofft--Produced Land of the Lost, HR Pufnstuff, Bugaloos, Donnie and Marie and more.

Hal Ketchum--Country music artist/troubadour.

Dennis Quaid--Not as cool as his brother Randy, but cool.

Joe Scarborough--Former Florida congressman, now news show host.

Lisa Guerrero--Tuff sidelines correspondent of Monday Night Football fame.

Mark "Where's the Money" Pellegrino--Prolific character actor who's appeared in numerous movies (Spartan, Capote, Big Lebowski) and TV shows (The Unit, NYPD Blue, CSI, Dexter). You'll recognize him when you see him.

Paulina Porizkova--Aside from being the 80's hottest supermodel, she's the reason Rick Ocaseck knows there is a God.

Cynthia Nixon--Miranda from Sex and the City.

Jay Chandrasekhar--Member of the Broken Lizard comedy team (Super Troopers, Beerfest).

Jenna Jameson--I have no idea who this is. Honest honey.

Keshia Knigt Pulliam--Of course, Rudy Huxtable's all growns up now.

What Would a Free Man Do?

I finally caught up with the rest of the world and saw 300 last night. It was far better and more poignant than I expected. More on that later. I prepped myself by reading a review or two and watching the 1962 adaptation of the story, The 300 Spartans. The 1962 version was probably closer to historical accounts, from what little knowledge I have of the Battle of Thermopalye, but it was far less engaging than 300. Oddly enough, I think 300 actually did a better job of communicating the historical significance of that battle.

If Xerxes had not been slowed by the Spartans at Thermopalye we would be living in a very different world today. It is quite conceivable that democracy would have died right there on the island of Greece. Needless to say, I'm anxious to learn more about it, which means buying more books I will probably never read. At least not for another year or two.

On a more personal level, I found 300 to be a wake up call of sorts. I know what some of you are thinking, "Great. Here comes the political crap." No, I will spare you my views on this part. Frankly, I think 300 is more of a Rorschach test than any specific political statement. You'll see what you want to see in regards to that. What I'm referring to is my personal life.

For one, the Spartan ethic, as portrayed in the movie, of being willing to endure pain to gain something far greater was particularly challenging to me and my waistline. Hence, this morning I've reinstituted the 15 min workout. If I could just have Leonidas as my trainer, I'd be ripped before long. Or, killed. In either case, I wouldn't be whining about being out of shape any more.

The other thing that really stuck with me was the scene in which the horribly deformed Ephialtes comes before Xerxes seeking significance by giving up his countrymen. It's what Xerxes says to him that really got to me, "Cruel Leonidas demanded that you stand. I require only that you kneel." This was particualary challenging to me in my spiritual life. So many times I've knelt to temptations and self-destructive behavior that would have been easily defeated if I had only stood up to them a little bit longer. It might have hurt for a while, denying the self is always painful, but it wouldn't have killed me. The thing I so often forget is that as a Christian, the battle has already been won for me. I just need to claim the victory and stand.

Enough church. I'll be honest, I don't know how many of you read regularly, but I try to treat this blog as a conversation in public. I try not to talk about or say anything that I wouldn't say to people I think are reading unless I thought they really wanted to hear it. For the most part it remains a way for me to just keep in touch with friends and let you all know what's going on with me. Not that I won't ever touch on religion or politics, but I'll try to keep both to a modest amount. Maybe I'll start another blog devoted solely to those topics.

Time for work.

Domo Arigato If I Got To

I harbored ambitions of flying somewhere today, but laziness and sketchy weather forecasts have kept me grounded. Still, it's kind of nice to veg. I'm currently listening to the late Brad Delp singing about peace of mind, while drinking Coors Light and wearing house slippers. It's all very comforting. Speaking of rock nirvana, I experienced a little last Wednesday night with my brother and Tolemite. We went and saw Clutch at the Metro in Chicago. This was Luke's first live Clutch experience and I was as excited about that as I was about seeing the band itself. The openers were Five Horse Johnson and Dub Trio.

Five Horse is a straight ahead blues-rock quintet that has clearly been influenced by R.L. Burnside. Their riffs carry more than a little of the heavy electric delta blues sound of which Burnside was the master. The lead singer played a harmonica and reminded me alot of Donal Logue (Tao of Steve) if he was a homeless guy. Alot of head bobbing went on during their numbers.

Dub Trio is, surprise, a trio from Brooklyn that blends punk/metal fury, reggae rhythyms and lots of echo effects in an instrumental mish mash that is fairly mesmerizing. I don't smoke pot, but if I did, I'd listen to Dub Trio every time I sparked up. Toler said the drummer looked like Sid Haig (Devil's Rejects). He had the bald head and full beard thing going on, but not the acne scarred face. Up close the resemblance was even more uncanny. When I looked Dub Trio up on iTunes I found just two albums. New Heavy was the most recent and from the samples I listed to, that's what they were pulling from for their show. I may pick up a copy for when I need to zone-out distractions at work.

About 11:30 or so Clutch hit the stage and delivered the knock out blow. Five Horse Johnson and Dub Trio had softened us up pretty good, so when they launched into Big News I the audience was ripe. As I'd hoped, Luke was as awestruck as I had been my first Clutch show. We were on the main floor in front of the stage just on the edge of the mosh pit. Close enough we could dive in when we wanted to, but far enough out we could escape easily when our mid-30's bodies needed a reprieve. One of the things that's great about a Clutch crowd is they love to rock but they're not violent. So even in the mosh pit you're among friends. I did have a couple of interesting encounters though.

During the Five Horse Johnson set this guy that reminded me an awful lot of Doug Jarvis with a soul patch grabbed my arm and said, "Hey, isn't it sad about Kurt?" I gave a confused look and said, "I'm sorry, I think you've mistaken me for someone else. I don't know a Kurt." He responded by jabbing his finger into the logo on the Split Lip Rayfield shirt I was wearing. "Oh, Kurt! The guitarist. What happened?" Turns out he succumbed to cancer about two weeks ago. The guy said he saw my shirt and thought I knew. Guess I don't pass as a die-hard Split Lip fan, still I really am bummed about Kurt. He was an immensely talented musician.

The other incident took place during the lull between Dub Trio and Clutch. A kid that looked like what I imagine a freshman Chicken looked like stumbled up to me, put his hand on my shoulder and slurred, "Heeey maaan. Are you the guy from the Days Inn?" When I said no he got this very confused look on his face. "Are yoou sure? You look just like this guy me and my friends saw at the Days Inn. He's following Clutch around on spring break." He pointed to his drunken crew across the room who were all looking at me and making "you rock" gestures. When I quit laughing, I told him if I was still in school I might have done something that cool, but I was from Champaign and had to go to work the next day. With a look of lingering doubt on his face, he said, "Sorry man. You look just like the guy." He then attempted to give me high five, failed miserably and stumbled to the bar. Up to that moment I was feeling slightly out of place among the predominantly college aged crowd. Knowing that I apparently could still pass for a slacker on spring break was strangely encouraging.

And finally, I am happy to report things seem to be progressing rapidly on the house. Not two weeks ago it seems they had just dug the hole. Now the foundation is poured and 2/3 of the structure is framed. I guess that shouldn't be terribly surprising since the framers are Amish and, if Witness is accurate, can build a barn in a day. For all the details see Laurie's blog, here.

Home Sweet Hole

As Laurie has reported on her blog, construction of our future abode has begun with the digging of a hole. With ground broken, a chain of events has now been set in motion that, if all goes as planned, will end with us moving into a house on the corner of Dropseed and Tickseed sometime in June or July. That's not that far away.

The whole thing is exciting and sobering all at once. Exciting in that we'll finally be in a home that is truly ours. One that won't have any history that does not include us both. The prospect of more living space along with a private patch of earth is fun to think about, too. The sobering aspects almost exclusively revolve around finances. Not that we'll be house rich and cash poor, but we'll be shelling out a lot more than we've been accustomed to. And we'll be 100% responsible for anything that breaks. Owning a condo first was a nice way to transition from renting to full-blown homeownership. I gained valuable experience searching for and buying real estate, along with some tax benefits, but have been spared the rigors of lawn care and exterior maintenance.

Needless to say, this isn't the last you're going to hear about this. I expect we'll have pictures of the pouring of the foundation before long. And then the framing and so on. Speaking of the framing, our builder uses Amish carpenters for all his framing work. He cautioned us about taking pictures when they're at work. We need to make sure they're not in frame when we do, otherwise they'll ask us to erase the image. I think this has something to do with their interpretation of the 2nd commandment (You shall not make for yourself any graven image . . .) and nothing to do with a fear of having their souls stolen. When he told us, I kind of laughed because I immediately thought of Amish Harrison Ford in Witness, threatening to strangle some tourist with her bra if she snapped his picture. Alas, YouTube didn't have that clip but they had this one, which I'll leave you with. It's Amish Harry putting the smackdown on some white trash:

One Year Baby

Tomorrow will be the first anniversary of my marriage to Laurie. We often comment to one another that it feels like we've been married longer. Not that it's been a long year. I just find it difficult to remember what life was like without her. In all honesty I haven't really spent any time dwelling on it at all. Sure, I had some good times as a single guy, but I don't miss any of them.

If I feel anything, I feel richer. More balanced. Instead of being a solitary object hurtling through space, I now enjoy the gravity of another body. We are our own small solar system traveling through space and time in orbit around one another. Maybe its a silly analogy, but its the only suitable description I can come up with without becoming horribly maudlin.

We marked the advent of our anniversary with a wonderful extended weekend in Chicago. It truly was one to remember. From the incredible 57th floor condo we had overlooking the city to the amazing dinner at La Scarola, we had a blast. Laurie has already detailed it all in her blog, so head over there if you want to learn more.

While we were up there I spent just about every free moment I had trying to finish Crime and Punishment. I succeeded on our last day there. It truly is a classic. The setting may have been 19th century St. Petersburg, but Dostoyevsky's description of the human condition is still relevant today. While many may dismiss his overtly Christian point of view, I think you'd be hard pressed to say he didn't know what makes man tick.

I've Netflixed a 1969 Russian adaptation of the story that, by many accounts, is considered to be the most faithful despite the Soviet atheism that taints some of the screenplay. Like the novel, it's supposed to be pretty slow in spots. Still I look forward to hearing the characters speak in Russian. One of the frustrating things about being an English-speaking fan of Russian literature is that everything available to you is a translation. It always leaves you wondering how far from the real sentiments of the author your translator has taken you. Maybe I just need to quit complaining and take Russian. Or run knitting needles through my nipples. I hear both are equally painful.

The Bitter End

Do you think Rex has been taken to a secret location to protect his throat from Urlacher's ringless fingers? Then again, Tank Johnson might be the bigger threat. He's on his way to prison anyway. Might as well go a hero.

Though they'll never read this, I raise a glass to the Bears defense. They are warriors. They played more minutes than any other Super Bowl defensive squad since the '85 New England Patriots and kept the Bears within striking distance all the way into the 4th quarter. They have nothing to be ashamed of. Did you hear that Boomer!?! Nothing. Let's see you play almost four entire quarters of football and stay at the top your game, you frickin' has been.

Finally, thanks to Deadspin for cheering me up a little with this.

Ethanol: The SDI of Energy Policy?

Cruising Free Republic today I came across a link to this NYT article detailing Saudi plans to "temper" the price of oil. This is hot on the heels of the President's State of the Union address which highlighted a renewed US resolve to find alternative fuel solutions, the most promising of which is ethanol. I've also noticed a lot more stories about the increased production of ethanol in the last two years. The problem is, ethanol, for all its promise, is still a long away from being a viable alternative. Some of the very real and potential problems are reviewed in this editorial that appeared in the WSJ this weekend.

The story about the Saudis interest in moderating prices combined with all the hoopla over ethanol got me thinking--could ethanol be the Star Wars Defense Initiative of energy policy? For decades the Soviets relied on their ballistic missiles to keep the US in check. Reagan said the US was going to make them obsolete with SDI. The fact that SDI had yet to be proven a viable defense system, was irrelevant. The Soviets knew if anyone could pull it off, the US could. They also knew if Reagan said he was going to do something, they had to take it seriously. I also bet we let enough intel "slip" into their hands that they had to believe we were working in earnest. We all know how the story ends. The Soviets bankrupted themselves in an effort to keep up.

For decades the Saudi's and other totalitarian regimes have relied on their oil reserves to influence US and European policy in their favor. And up until the last decade or so, the US hasn't shown a ton of resolve to find alternatives to oil. But with so much government money being thrown at ethanol, I can't help but see a parallel to SDI. We may not have perfercted the use of ethanol just yet, but we can grow enough corn to keep trying until we do. I think the Saudi's see this and might be hedging their bets a little.

I'm not saying we should abandon alternative fuel research even if they drop the price per barrel to $1.05. Just as we shouldn't abandon development of technology that will make ballistic missiles obsolete. Any technological advance (or bluff) is worth the price if in addition to making life better, it puts despotic regimes out of business.

Punishment

Currently I'm plowing my way through Crime and Punishment. And I think 'plowing' is an appropriate description here. Dostoyevsky certainly took his sweet time setting up the plot. I'm not saying I'm growing bored with the book, but I did catch myself thinking as I read one passage today, "Get to the point!"

I am not proud of this. It's more of a confession. As someone who writes for a living, I probably tend to venerate literary giants more than most. When I think things like that, I get much the same sense of dread I used to get as a kid when I'd mutter something rebelious under my breath and thought mom and dad might have heard me. It was like Dostoyevsky was standing over my shoulder, asking, "What was that young man?"

Ironically, one of the reasons I've wanted to read the book is precisely because of the painstaking detail in which Dostoyevsky told his stories. Another is that Crime and Punishment is considered by some to be a brilliant indictment of elitism. And I'm more than a little interested in how Dostoyevsky's faith shaped his writing. I guess today just reminded me that, as with any worthwhile endeavor, a certain amount dicipline is going to be required on my part to see this through.

In other news, Laurie learned Wednesday that she got the social studies curriculum coordinator job she'd been interviewing for. It's a big step up for her and one that could help her reach some of her long term career goals. She's already blogged about it, so I won't steal any more of her thunder. You can read about it here.

One Born Every Minute--Result

Just a quick followup to a post from about five months ago--

Back in June I related a story about an encounter I had with one of those door-to-door magazine salesman. Actually he was more of a saleskid, much like the Orlando Jones character in Office Space. You can read about it here. For those of you who recall, or prefer the Cliff notes version to reading the whole story, I was fairly certain I'd been scammed. I wasn't.

I've been receiving issues of Flying since October. I have no clue why it took so long but I hope the kid earned the trip to the Bahamas that he was gunning for.

Longitude

"With God's help it might be possible. --I mean, why did He encourage me to build a perfect timepiece in the first place? So the blacksmith might start work 5 seconds earlier or later? Or was it to give us the ability to explore His creation in safety, to move without fear in the space He's given us to inhabit?"

So says John Harrison, as portrayed by Michael Gambon, in A&E's brilliant adaptation of the book Longitude by Dava Sobel.

A few summers ago while attending a wedding in Aspen I stumbled across a paperback copy of Longitude while killing time in a small bookstore. I think I'd seen a preview for the A&E movie and that's why I bought it. In any case, I remember walking out of the bookstore, sitting down on a park bench and being totally absorbed for about 2 hours straight.

The book is about one of the most significant scientific advances in human history--the ability to determine longitude at sea using specially designed clocks invented by John Harrison. Up until the 18th century, sailors of all nations were able to accurately determine latitude using celestial navigation. There was, however, no reliable way to determine longitude. This made sailing on the open seas, out of sight of land, an extremely risky venture. We're all familiar with stories of sailors perishing in storms or sea battles. According to Longitude the losses from such perils were rivaled by the numbers of mariners who, attempting to cross the open sea, simply got lost and never saw land again. Or if they did find land, it wasn't usually where they were headed, as in the case of Columbus.

Every monarch and parliament of the time that engaged in trade and exploration knew that the first nation to devise a way to accurately determine longitude would rule the seas. Their naval and merchant fleets would be able to move about the globe at will exploring, plundering and/or conquering it. This is why in 1714 British Parliament passed the Longitude Act that promised 20,000 Pounds to the first of Her Majesty's subjects who could solve the problem. That John Harrison, a common carpenter and not a noted scientist of the day, solved the problem makes this story even more engrossing for me.

Without going into a ton of detail, Harrison (and many others) knew that if sailors could accurately compare London time with a noon sighting of the sun at sea, they could figure out longitude. The problem was clocks of the time were not suited for life at sea and would not keep consistent time. Temperatures and moisture effected the metals and the ships motion effected the pendulums. When you consider a difference of 30 seconds could translate into hundreds of miles difference in location it's easy to see why this was a problem. Harrison's ingenius clocks were able to keep consistent time in all conditions.

If you get a chance, Netflix this one. I still haven't finished the book, but this movie has all but assured I will now.

Long Winter's Night

About the only daylight I see these days is on the drive to work in the morning and at lunch. By 5 it looks and feels like 9 or 10. Makes for a slight malaise. Thankfully there's Netflix, Esquire and Sam Smith's Winter Welcome.

I'm watching Pump Up the Volume right now. It's about blogging basically, only with short wave radios. And there are a lot more people listening than there are talking. Can you tell I'm reaching for crap to write about?

On a final note, I saw Night at the Museum with my nieces last night. Not bad. Not bad at all. It was a great fairy tale that actually might get a kid or two a little more interested in history. See it on the big screen if you can. And for those who love her, NY City plays a great supporting role.

What the . . . Cheeseburger's Movie Kung Fu is Better Than Mine?!?

While 74% sounds about right for me, I think this quiz is a little off because it gave Cheeseburger a higher movie buff score than McKee or I. She couldn't even sit through 20 minutes of Airport. If memory serves it was "too slow". Anyway, next time I'm up her way I'm challenging her to a movie trivia contest. We'll see who the real movie buff is. If you take the quiz let me know what your score is. It really is kind of fun, if not a little specious.

My Movie Buff Quotient: 74%

According to this, I am a total movie buff. Classics, blockbusters, indie favorites... I've seen most of them. My friends know to come to me whenever they need a few good DVD rental suggestions.

Are You a Movie Buff?

Open to Interpretation

I had a weird dream last night. I was watching a commercial with all these comedians pitching some product which I can't remember. Eugene Levy, Steve Martin and Richard Lewis were the only ones I distinctly remember. The commercial was like a Docker's commercial where everything is supposedly ad lib and the guys are all kind of riffing of each other and laughing like they're just hanging out.

Now for the weird stuff. They were all wearing Docker's-like apparel and Steve Martin had a 2 foot long mullet. Levy's hair seemed a little grayer than normal. Sometimes I was in the studio with them and sometimes I was on the other side of the TV screen watching them. Can anyone tell me what this means?

If it aids your analysis, I had just had a big meal of chicken cacciatore and 1/2 a caraffe of chianti at Dom's. I was still feeling a little bloated when I went to bed.

Happy Now?

I’ll admit it. I’m disappointed, but I’m hardly despondent. Sure, as anyone who knows me will attest, I have fairly distinct political convictions, which I’ve been known to spout on occasion. But I’ve never really pinned my prospects for the future on who was in office. The way I see it, the federal government can certainly affect your life, but until things drastically change, America is still a place where life is yours to ruin.

Besides, not much is probably going to change in the next two years other than committee chairs. Democrats have a one or two seat margin in the Senate and a 20 something seat advantage in the House. Many, if not most, of the Republicans that lost their seats were moderates. It’s unlikely that a more conservative Republican minority, a sizable number of which think even Bush is too liberal, will be in a very bipartisan mood. I also doubt the incoming majority leadership possesses the requisite influence to ensure all Democrats vote the party line, let alone convince Republicans to join them.

About the only real prospect we have for change is impeachment. And as I've said here before, I sincerely hope the Democrats go for it, but they won't. And not because they don’t have the votes for it, although that will probably be the excuse given to the rabid left that seems to comprise their base now. I’m guessing Harry and Nancy will be too busy shoring up power for the ’08 election to do anything principled (i.e. politically risky). Much safer to snipe at a lame duck president from the safety of sound bites and "summits" than to have to testify under oath or meet any sort of real burden of proof.

No, it’s hardly 1994 all over again.

NOW FOR SOME GOOD NEWS FOR ALL OF US . . . .

The Daily Mail had a fairly exciting story (here) about a promising new treatment that uses a heart attack survivor's own stem cells to repair heart tissue. I know I’m dangerously close to another political hot button here, but I thought regardless of where you stood on the topic of stem cell research, this was good news for everybody.

Support the Art--See Last King

The Art Theater has once again proven its worth by bringing the The Last King of Scotland to town. Laurie and I, along with the Burai (plural for Buras), took it in last Friday. I'm not entirely sure how much of the movie is factual. It is based on a novel about a young Scottish doctor who was working in Uganda at a mission hospital where he by chance encounters Idi Amin and becomes his personal physician.

While the vast majority of critics are raving about Forest Whitaker's portrayal of Amin, and rightly so, it is the relatively unknown (to me anyway) James McAvoy that deserves no less credit for his turn as the young, narcissistic Dr. Nicholas Garrigan. Whether Garrigan actually existed or not, I'm not sure. There's no mention of him in the epilogue at the end of the film. But it is through his character that you are transported into Amin's inner circle and experience the seduction of absolute power firsthand.

I won't go much more into the film, but I will say this. For me it was as much about the naive arrogance of bumper sticker activism as it was about Amin's cruelty. This theme is particularly underscored in one of the film's harrowing final moments. But I won't drop any more hints. Go see it and see it at the Art so they can keep bringing great movies to this town.

Simmer Down Dick

In my last post I made mention of know-nothing politicians over reacting--wait, over acting about the Lidle accident in New York. This week's best actor award goes to Dick Daley--or Emporer Daley as those familiar with his Meigs Field land grab like to refer to him. In a fit of hyperbole he loosed this gem, "They should not jeopardize, through intentionally or by accident, a single- or two-engine plane flying over our city [sic]." "Remember: a single- or two-engine plane can kill as many people as possible if they want to."

AOPA President, Phil Boyer, responded to Daley's ridiculous assertion in an article which you can read in its entirety here. Below, however, are the portions of the response that really get to the heart of how irrational so much of the demagoguery we've been subjected to in the last several days really is.

OK, for all of those ranting about "threats" from GA aircraft, we'll believe that you're really serious about controlling "threats" when you call for:

• Banning all vans within cities. A small panel van was used in the first World Trade Center attack. The bomb, which weighed 1,500 pounds, killed six and injured 1,042.
• Banning all box trucks from cities. Timothy McVeigh's rented Ryder truck carried a 5,000-pound bomb that killed 168 in Oklahoma City.
• Banning all semi-trailer trucks. They can carry bombs weighing more than 50,000 pounds.
• Banning newspapers on subways. That's how the terrorists hid packages of sarin nerve gas in the Tokyo subway system. They killed 12.
• Banning backpacks on all buses and subways. That's how the terrorists got the bombs into the London subway system. They killed 52.
• Banning all cell phones on trains. That's how they detonated the bombs in backpacks placed on commuter trains in Madrid. They killed 191.
• Banning all small pleasure boats on public waterways. That's how terrorists attacked the USS Cole, killing 17.
• Banning all heavy or bulky clothing in all public places. That's how suicide bombers hide their murderous charges. Thousands killed.

Number of people killed by a terrorist attack using a GA aircraft? Zero.

Number of people injured by a terrorist attack using a GA aircraft? Zero.

Property damage from a terrorist attack using a GA aircraft? None.

So be consistent in your logic. If you are dead set on restricting a personal transportation system that carries more passengers than any single airline, reaches more American cities than all the airlines combined, provides employment for 1.3 million American citizens and $160 billion in business "to protect the public," then restrict or control every other transportation system that the terrorists have demonstrated they can use to kill.

Don't worry, Phil. They probably will.

(Yeah, I did that on purpose)

Much Ado About Lidle

Ever since Eric Lidle earned his place in aviation history yesterday, I've had more than one person ask me what I thought happened. At first it sounded like a typical VFR into IFR scenario-- inexperienced pilot without an instrument rating suddenly finds himself in the clouds and gets disoriented. Also referred to as the JFK Jr. scenario. Tonight, however, I came across this story which sheds a little more light on what happened. It also happens to be the most balanced, unsensationalistic analysis of a high profile aviation accident I've ever seen in the mainstream media.

The aircraft that Mr. Lidle was piloting was a 2002 Cirrus SR-20. Except for some instrumentation differences, this is the exact same airplane I fly. The only really troubling aspect of this whole incident for me, besides the inevitable over reaction by know-nothing politicians, was the fact an instructor was in the cockpit with Lidle. It just makes the whole tragedy seem that much more needless than it already was.

I was going to write about the many inaccuracies being reported by the media regarding this incident, but they are so many it's pointless to even try. There is one widely reported, oft repeated fallacy, however, that I will address. Contrary to what many news stories are saying, light aircraft flying up and down the Hudson or East Rivers do talk to ATC if they are below 1,100 feet. The charts I have for the New York metro area clearly state "although arriving aircraft may be operating beneath the floor of class B airspace on initial contact, communications should be established with approach control" whether they've filed a flight plan or not. They also indicate VFR aircraft operating below 2000 feet in the vicinity of where Lidle crashed need to contact La Guardia or JFK control towers.

Still, I can understand how many non-pilots might wonder why the FAA has allowed small aircraft to continue to fly so close to Manhattan with relatively light supervision. The answer is simple. A light private aircraft does not pose a serious threat as a weapon of mass destruction. The payloads are too small to carry any amount of explosives that could do serious damage and their slight mass and relatively slow airspeeds make them poor projectiles. Also, private airplane operaters know their passengers and cargo making the probability of a hijacking slim to none. Plus, it's very difficult to "blend in" at a small airport. AOPA's Airport Watch program has gone a long way into helping the smaller out-of-the-way airports tighten security.

All that said, it still doesn't change the fact that the biggest challenge to the public's perception of private aviation is not an ignorant press corp, but the errant pilots who give them something to talk about now and then.

I'm Sorry Bernie

Back in ’93 when I was working toward my private pilot license, I had a particularly difficult stage check instructor named Bernie. The school where I was receiving instruction was what was called a Part 141 school. Basically this meant the school was operated under Part 141 of the Federal Aviation Regulations.

Under Part 141 a school is to maintain a 3-stage, FAA approved syllabus. At the end of each stage the student is given, what is in essence, a mini check ride by a stage check instructor other than his regular instructor. If you don’t pass a stage exam, it is back to the previous stage for remedial instruction. Stage II was the flying school equivalent of a midterm.

My first stage exam had been a breeze and I was completely confident in my abilities to ace stage II. When it came time to set up the stage II my assigned instructor at the time (I ended up going through about 3 of them—that’s another story) told me in a somewhat somber tone I’d be flying with Bernie. He said, “Bernie has a reputation for being pretty tough, but I think he’s fair.” I think he’s fair? Some instructors didn’t? Still I wasn’t too worried. I knew my stuff and could demonstrate it at the controls. I was sure I’d be fine.

I’d never met Bernie before. I’d seen him around the airport, but I had no idea he was one of the instructors, let alone one of the all-powerful stage check instructors. He was in his late 60’s early 70’s and was often seen buzzing around the airport in an old Stearman. I’d never met an old pilot I didn’t like. Old pilots were generally pretty mellow and full of aeronautical wisdom from thousands of hours of flying through every kind of sky imaginable. I would liken them to Tolkien’s ents. I expected Bernie would be the same way.

The day of the stage II exam arrived and the two hour ordeal started in the basement classroom of the school with an oral exam. Bernie sat silently across from me hunched over my folder looking for weaknesses. The first question out of his mouth was less spoken than barked. I can’t remember what it was, but I remember being so surprised by the delivery I totally blanked. Bernie glowered at me from behind his glasses, “Well?!? Don’t you know this stuff?” Eventually I coaxed a reply from my frozen larynx.

The rest of the oral went OK as far as I can recall but any confidence I’d had going in was gone, or at least critically wounded. Every answer I gave, whether right or wrong, was greeted with the same disdainful glare. The idea I was going to have to spend an hour in a cramped 152 cockpit with this guy filled me with dread. For the first time in my instruction, I was afraid I wasn’t going to pass.

The flight portion was a near disaster. The same hostility I’d faced during the oral just seemed to be magnified by the tight space of the cockpit. A couple of times when he asked me to demonstrate a maneuver he would yank the controls away from me, practically screaming at me that I didn’t know what I was doing. My anxiety slowly morphed into anger. I’d always been raised to respect my elders, but this guy was being a grade A ass and I didn’t care how old he was or how much experience he had. He was making me uncomfortable and I was certain he was getting a charge out of doing so. By the end of the flight I hated him.

Despite that flight with Bernie I went on to finish my training and obtain my private pilot license. And with the passing of the final check ride, so passed most of my animus toward Bernie. Once I had the ticket there was nothing he could do about it. I’d see him now and then around the airport, but I still resented him enough that I wouldn’t ever talk to him unless I had to.

That was 13 years ago. A couple of days ago, I saw Bernie again while eating lunch. His wife, every bit the saint I imagined she had to be, gently led his emaciated frame to the table right next to ours and helped him into his chair. She spoke softly to him, “We’re going to have some soup and some nice hot tea, OK?” Bernie simply stared straight ahead, his mouth agape, in the frozen grimace of dementia. His wife caught me staring and smiled sweetly. I weakly returned her smile and looked away. But when I went to pay my bill, I looked at Bernie again and the improbable happened. I started to get choked up.

I felt ashamed for the terrible thoughts I’d had and things I’d said right after that exam over a decade ago. I remember bitterly complaining to my instructor about the “demented old man”. I remember wanting to strike him when he suddenly yanked the controls away from me during an approach, yelling at me as if I was some kind of idiot. Most of all, I was heartbroken at the prospect that a lifetime of flying memories were lost forever. I sincerely pray that wherever Bernie is behind that vacant stare, it’s in the cockpit of his Stearman flying over Central Illinois through a crystal blue autumn sky.