I can't remember who it was, but someone asked me today if I was working over New Years. I just gave the unsuspecting person that look. You know the look. It's the, "why are you asking me this ridiculous question," look. Of course I'm working New Years. I've worked on at least part of every major holiday since I got this job. (Thanksgiving 2005 doesn't count due to a bidding error.) Yes, when the clock strikes midnight and ushers in 2006 I will be comfortably asleep at the Hilton University Place in Charlotte, NC. For some absurd reason, there is actually a flight at 6:30am that departs Charlotte for Chicago on New Year's Day. The first officer on that flight will be yours truly. Yours truly will be beyond pissed if that flight leaves with 5 or less passengers aboard.
My displeasure with my New Years schedule aside, let me say this to all of you: I hope you enjoy a happy and safe New Years, drink one for me, and may 2006 bring you and those you love the very best of life.
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
In the Cards for 2006
There is some unrest in Cardinal Nation this offseason as many fans believe the front office hasn't made enough impact moves to keep the Redbirds at the head of the MLB class. I tend to disagree, and as evidence, I present the projected 2006 Cardinal lineup:
Starters: RHP Christ Carpenter, LHP Mark Mulder, RHP Jeff Suppan, RHP Anthony Reyes, RHP Jason Marquis, RHP Sidney Ponson
If you look at this group the first thing you notice is the absence of Matt Morris, a Cardinal since 1997. Many fans believe the Redbirds should have done more to shore up the starting rotation after Morris's departure in free agency, and there was a fair amount of disappointment when the chase for A.J. Burnett ended in failure, but I believe there is cause for optimism. Carpenter and Mulder are known quantities. Either hurler is capable of a Cy Young caliber year. Suppan is a steady innings-eater who brings his best stuff to big games (remember game 7 in 2004?). the 4th and 5th starters will emerge from the trio of Marquis, Ponson, and rookie Anthony Reyes. Anyone who saw Reyes's major league debut in which he surrendered just 2 runs in 6 2/3 innings must believe he's ready for the show. The hard throwing 24 year old backs up a mid-90's fastball with a wicked slider, and as he gains more control over a blossoming 12-6 curve he could become something special. I'll go ahead and say it now: Anthony Reyes will be the NL rookie of the year in 2006. That leaves Marquis and Ponson to duke it out for the 5th and final spot in the rotation. As of right now, the job is Marquis's to lose, but if Ponson's rehab from alcohol abuse is coming along as well as he claims and he returns to his 17 win form of 2003, it may relegate Marquis to the bullpen. Whatever the case, the starting 5 is sure to have another solid year.
First Base: Albert Pujols
The best player in baseball will have another MVP on his mantle after 2006, and maybe even a Gold Glove to go with it.
Second Base: Junior Spivey
The Cardinals went bargain basement shopping for a secondbaseman for the second straight year, and hopefully this year's purchase will be as successfull as last year's. Spivey had an injury plagued, unproductive 2005, leading to the Nationals' choice to non-tender and release him. Just a few years removed from his All-Star 2002 season, Spivey is a solid defender with good speed who makes contact at the plate. He even has a bit of pop in his bat, having belted as many as 16 homers in a season. It is remarkable how similar the acquisition of Spivey this year is to the acquisition of Grudzielanek last year. Once again the Redbirds are risking that a player with recent injury concerns will return to form to be a productive everyday piece of the puzzle.
Third Base: Scott Rolen
Rolen's 2005 season was wiped out on May 10th after a collision with Hee Seop Choi of the Dodgers left him with a bum shoulder for the rest of the year. Surgery was performed, the outcome was deemed successful, and Rolen should be healthy for the start of spring training. Not only that, but he is sure to be hungry to prove himself after missing out on another playoff run. The return of baseball's best third baseman to his cleanup spot in the order will do wonders for the Redbird offense in 2006.
Shorstop: David Eckstein
The fans in St. Louis love David Eckstein, and why not? The all-out, never-say-die, mighty-mite plays every game like it might be his last. Eckstein will have another solid year at the plate and continue to improve defensively.
Left Field: Larry Bigbie
The acquisition of Bigbie in a trade for Ray King was the first impact move of the offseason for the Redbirds. Bigbie suffered through injuries and posted poor numbers last season, but is just a year removed from back to back solid years with the Orioles in which he hit .303 and .280 respectively. He is a solid left handed batter, and Cardinal fans will be amazed at how similar his stroke is to that of Larry Walker. At only 28, Bigbie's best years are in front of him, and he should produce quite nicely for the Redbirds.
Center Field: Jim Edmonds
At 35 years old Edmonds is no longer a spring chicken in the baseball world. He must realize that his oppurtunities to win a World Championship are dwindling. Also, he has remarked about how dissappointed he was with his "subpar" 2005 in which he batted just .263. However, the slugging outfielder clubbed 29 homers and drove in 89 runs. Edmonds is clearly anxious to return to the diamond in hopes of proving that his best days are not behind him. His patience and versatility at the plate coupled with Tony LaRussa's preference for, "damage," early in the lineup make him a candidate to hit in the # 2 spot vacated by Larry Walker. As usual, Edmonds will take home the Gold Glove in 2006.
Right Field: Juan Encarnacion
After failing to sign Jacque Jones the Cardinals turned to plan B in Encarnacion, a versatile outfielder with the potential to hit .280, 20, 85, AVG, HR, RBI. Encarnacion is a bit of an enigma, however, in that he suffers from an occasional lack of focus. He is prone to lengthy slumps and careless mistakes defensively. Hopefully the veteran presences of Pujols, Rolen, and Edmonds will keep Encarnacion's mind on the game and lead him to realize his high-end potential.
Bullpen:
The retooled bullpen is still taking shape, but most of the key pieces are in place. Isringhausen will return to close, and continue to give me heartburn. The bend-but-don't-break hurler gets the job done, albeit a bit too dramatically for my taste. The addition of Braden Looper is encouraging, as it brings in a solid setup man with closer experience. Lefties Randy Flores and Ricardo Rincon form a solid, though not spectacular duo, and Brad Thompson should improve on his rookie campaign that saw him emerge as a trusted member of the bullpen.
Bench:
There is great depth and talent on the St. Louis bench, despite the departures of Abraham Nunez and the fading John Mabry. So Taguchi will continue to provide good contact and solid outfield defense, and John Rodriguez's power stroke from the left side make him a dangerous pinch-hitter. Infielder Deivi Cruz can play either shortstop or second base, and has a patient eye at the plate. Utilityman Hector Luna has another year or two before he developes into a solid everyday type player, but he is talented and capable of delivering the big hit in the clutch.
Overall the Redbirds aren't so bad off. Sure, there are some injury risks, and a few of the new additions are unknowns, but the core of a very good team returns. If you look down a roster that includes names like Carpenter, Mulder, Rolen, Edmonds, Eckstein, and Pujols, you have to feel pretty good about your chances no matter who fleshes out the roster. Walt Jocketty has made moves to plug holes in a ship that wasn't taking on much water anyway, and the product on the field next year promises to be just as good as 2005.
Starters: RHP Christ Carpenter, LHP Mark Mulder, RHP Jeff Suppan, RHP Anthony Reyes, RHP Jason Marquis, RHP Sidney Ponson
If you look at this group the first thing you notice is the absence of Matt Morris, a Cardinal since 1997. Many fans believe the Redbirds should have done more to shore up the starting rotation after Morris's departure in free agency, and there was a fair amount of disappointment when the chase for A.J. Burnett ended in failure, but I believe there is cause for optimism. Carpenter and Mulder are known quantities. Either hurler is capable of a Cy Young caliber year. Suppan is a steady innings-eater who brings his best stuff to big games (remember game 7 in 2004?). the 4th and 5th starters will emerge from the trio of Marquis, Ponson, and rookie Anthony Reyes. Anyone who saw Reyes's major league debut in which he surrendered just 2 runs in 6 2/3 innings must believe he's ready for the show. The hard throwing 24 year old backs up a mid-90's fastball with a wicked slider, and as he gains more control over a blossoming 12-6 curve he could become something special. I'll go ahead and say it now: Anthony Reyes will be the NL rookie of the year in 2006. That leaves Marquis and Ponson to duke it out for the 5th and final spot in the rotation. As of right now, the job is Marquis's to lose, but if Ponson's rehab from alcohol abuse is coming along as well as he claims and he returns to his 17 win form of 2003, it may relegate Marquis to the bullpen. Whatever the case, the starting 5 is sure to have another solid year.
First Base: Albert Pujols
The best player in baseball will have another MVP on his mantle after 2006, and maybe even a Gold Glove to go with it.
Second Base: Junior Spivey
The Cardinals went bargain basement shopping for a secondbaseman for the second straight year, and hopefully this year's purchase will be as successfull as last year's. Spivey had an injury plagued, unproductive 2005, leading to the Nationals' choice to non-tender and release him. Just a few years removed from his All-Star 2002 season, Spivey is a solid defender with good speed who makes contact at the plate. He even has a bit of pop in his bat, having belted as many as 16 homers in a season. It is remarkable how similar the acquisition of Spivey this year is to the acquisition of Grudzielanek last year. Once again the Redbirds are risking that a player with recent injury concerns will return to form to be a productive everyday piece of the puzzle.
Third Base: Scott Rolen
Rolen's 2005 season was wiped out on May 10th after a collision with Hee Seop Choi of the Dodgers left him with a bum shoulder for the rest of the year. Surgery was performed, the outcome was deemed successful, and Rolen should be healthy for the start of spring training. Not only that, but he is sure to be hungry to prove himself after missing out on another playoff run. The return of baseball's best third baseman to his cleanup spot in the order will do wonders for the Redbird offense in 2006.
Shorstop: David Eckstein
The fans in St. Louis love David Eckstein, and why not? The all-out, never-say-die, mighty-mite plays every game like it might be his last. Eckstein will have another solid year at the plate and continue to improve defensively.
Left Field: Larry Bigbie
The acquisition of Bigbie in a trade for Ray King was the first impact move of the offseason for the Redbirds. Bigbie suffered through injuries and posted poor numbers last season, but is just a year removed from back to back solid years with the Orioles in which he hit .303 and .280 respectively. He is a solid left handed batter, and Cardinal fans will be amazed at how similar his stroke is to that of Larry Walker. At only 28, Bigbie's best years are in front of him, and he should produce quite nicely for the Redbirds.
Center Field: Jim Edmonds
At 35 years old Edmonds is no longer a spring chicken in the baseball world. He must realize that his oppurtunities to win a World Championship are dwindling. Also, he has remarked about how dissappointed he was with his "subpar" 2005 in which he batted just .263. However, the slugging outfielder clubbed 29 homers and drove in 89 runs. Edmonds is clearly anxious to return to the diamond in hopes of proving that his best days are not behind him. His patience and versatility at the plate coupled with Tony LaRussa's preference for, "damage," early in the lineup make him a candidate to hit in the # 2 spot vacated by Larry Walker. As usual, Edmonds will take home the Gold Glove in 2006.
Right Field: Juan Encarnacion
After failing to sign Jacque Jones the Cardinals turned to plan B in Encarnacion, a versatile outfielder with the potential to hit .280, 20, 85, AVG, HR, RBI. Encarnacion is a bit of an enigma, however, in that he suffers from an occasional lack of focus. He is prone to lengthy slumps and careless mistakes defensively. Hopefully the veteran presences of Pujols, Rolen, and Edmonds will keep Encarnacion's mind on the game and lead him to realize his high-end potential.
Bullpen:
The retooled bullpen is still taking shape, but most of the key pieces are in place. Isringhausen will return to close, and continue to give me heartburn. The bend-but-don't-break hurler gets the job done, albeit a bit too dramatically for my taste. The addition of Braden Looper is encouraging, as it brings in a solid setup man with closer experience. Lefties Randy Flores and Ricardo Rincon form a solid, though not spectacular duo, and Brad Thompson should improve on his rookie campaign that saw him emerge as a trusted member of the bullpen.
Bench:
There is great depth and talent on the St. Louis bench, despite the departures of Abraham Nunez and the fading John Mabry. So Taguchi will continue to provide good contact and solid outfield defense, and John Rodriguez's power stroke from the left side make him a dangerous pinch-hitter. Infielder Deivi Cruz can play either shortstop or second base, and has a patient eye at the plate. Utilityman Hector Luna has another year or two before he developes into a solid everyday type player, but he is talented and capable of delivering the big hit in the clutch.
Overall the Redbirds aren't so bad off. Sure, there are some injury risks, and a few of the new additions are unknowns, but the core of a very good team returns. If you look down a roster that includes names like Carpenter, Mulder, Rolen, Edmonds, Eckstein, and Pujols, you have to feel pretty good about your chances no matter who fleshes out the roster. Walt Jocketty has made moves to plug holes in a ship that wasn't taking on much water anyway, and the product on the field next year promises to be just as good as 2005.
Monday, December 26, 2005
From the Airwaves
Heard on Chicago Center's frequency on Christmas Day:
Eagle Flight 1234 - "Good morning and Merry Christmas, center, Eagle 1234 is with you level at 240."
Chicago Center - "Eagle 1234, good morning, happy holidays. The ghost of Christmas delays says procede direct HALIE intersection and expect holding."
Eagle Flight 1234 - "Ba humbug."
Eagle Flight 1234 - "Good morning and Merry Christmas, center, Eagle 1234 is with you level at 240."
Chicago Center - "Eagle 1234, good morning, happy holidays. The ghost of Christmas delays says procede direct HALIE intersection and expect holding."
Eagle Flight 1234 - "Ba humbug."
Southern "Cuisine"
There are certain combinations of words that simply do not work. Phrases which, when uttered, immediately create confusion. Examples of these kinds of phrases are, "There are no delays to O'hare today," or "Fisher is under it, and he makes the catch," or, "Higa shoots, it hits the post and in!" Thanx to our new friend we can now add the phrase, "fine southern cuisine," to our list of non-sensical statements.
Italians and French people have fine cuisine. Southerners do not. Fine cuisine consists of filet mignon, smoked partridge, salmon pate, and boiled lobster. Therefore, unless your definition includes fried chicken, grits, pork rinds, and chewing tobacco, it is impossible to pronounce the phrase, "fine Southern cuisine," with a straight face. This having been said I have eaten several fine meals in the South, all of them at restaurants specializing in the fine cuisine of some other region. There's nothing quite as entertaining as listening to a Southerner sitting in a Spanish or Italian restaurant and trying to pronounce the names on the menu...
Italians and French people have fine cuisine. Southerners do not. Fine cuisine consists of filet mignon, smoked partridge, salmon pate, and boiled lobster. Therefore, unless your definition includes fried chicken, grits, pork rinds, and chewing tobacco, it is impossible to pronounce the phrase, "fine Southern cuisine," with a straight face. This having been said I have eaten several fine meals in the South, all of them at restaurants specializing in the fine cuisine of some other region. There's nothing quite as entertaining as listening to a Southerner sitting in a Spanish or Italian restaurant and trying to pronounce the names on the menu...
The Night Before Christmas
Twas the night before Christmas and out on the ramp,
Not an airplane was stirring, not even a Champ.
The aircraft were fastened to tiedowns with care,
In hopes that come morning they all would be there.
The fuel trucks were nestled all snug in their spots,
With gusts from two-forty at thirty-nine knots.
I slumped at the fuel desk, now finally caught up,
And settled down comfortably, resting my butt.
When the radio lit up with noise and with chatter,
I turned up the scanner to see what was the matter.
A voice clearly heard over static and snow,
Called for clearance to land at the airport below.
He barked his transmission so lively and quick,
I'd have sworn that the call sign he used was "St. Nick."
I ran to the panel to turn up the lights,
The better to welcome his magical flight.
He called his position, no room for denial,
"St. Nicholas One, turnin' left onto final."
And what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a Rutan-built sleigh, with eight Rotax reindeer!
With vectors to final, down the glideslope he came.
As he passed all the fixes, he called them by name:
"Now Ringo! Now Tolga! Now Trini and Bacun!On Comet! On Cupid!"
What pills was he takin'?
While controllers were sittin' and scratchin' their heads,
They phoned up my office and I heard it with dread.
The message they left was both emphatic and dour;
"When the fat guy pulls in, have him please call the tower."
He landed like silk, the sled runners sparkling.
And I heard, "Left at Charlie," and "Taxi to parking."
He slowed to a taxi, turned off of three-oh,
And stopped on the ramp with a "Ho-ho, ho-ho."
He stepped out of the sleigh and smiled at my shock,
As I ran out to meet him with my best set of chocks.
His red helmet and goggles were covered with frost,
And his beard was all blackened from reindeer exhaust.
His breath smelled like peppermint, gone slightly stale,
And he puffed on a pipe, but he didn't inhale.
His cheeks were all rosy and jiggled like jelly,
His boots were as black as a cropduster's belly.
He was chubby and plump, in his suit of bright red,
And he asked me to "fill it, with hundred low-lead."
He came dashing in from the snow-covered pump,
I knew he was anxious to be drainin' the sump.
I spoke not a word but went straight to my work,
And filled up the sleigh, without being a jerk.
From the restroom he returned with a sigh of relief,
Then picked up a phone for a Flight Service brief.
And I thought as he silently scribed in his log,
These reindeer could land in an eighth-mile fog.
He completed his pre-flight, from the front to the rear.
Then he put on his headset and I heard him yell, "Clear!"
And laying a finger on his push-to-talk,
He called up the tower for clearance and squawk.
"Take taxiway Charlie, the southbound direction,
Turn right three-two-zero at pilot's discretion.
"He sped down the runway, the best of the best,
"Your traffic's a Grumman, inbound from the west."
And I heard him proclaim as he climbed through the night,
"Merry Christmas to all! I have traffic in sight."
- Anonymous -
Not an airplane was stirring, not even a Champ.
The aircraft were fastened to tiedowns with care,
In hopes that come morning they all would be there.
The fuel trucks were nestled all snug in their spots,
With gusts from two-forty at thirty-nine knots.
I slumped at the fuel desk, now finally caught up,
And settled down comfortably, resting my butt.
When the radio lit up with noise and with chatter,
I turned up the scanner to see what was the matter.
A voice clearly heard over static and snow,
Called for clearance to land at the airport below.
He barked his transmission so lively and quick,
I'd have sworn that the call sign he used was "St. Nick."
I ran to the panel to turn up the lights,
The better to welcome his magical flight.
He called his position, no room for denial,
"St. Nicholas One, turnin' left onto final."
And what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a Rutan-built sleigh, with eight Rotax reindeer!
With vectors to final, down the glideslope he came.
As he passed all the fixes, he called them by name:
"Now Ringo! Now Tolga! Now Trini and Bacun!On Comet! On Cupid!"
What pills was he takin'?
While controllers were sittin' and scratchin' their heads,
They phoned up my office and I heard it with dread.
The message they left was both emphatic and dour;
"When the fat guy pulls in, have him please call the tower."
He landed like silk, the sled runners sparkling.
And I heard, "Left at Charlie," and "Taxi to parking."
He slowed to a taxi, turned off of three-oh,
And stopped on the ramp with a "Ho-ho, ho-ho."
He stepped out of the sleigh and smiled at my shock,
As I ran out to meet him with my best set of chocks.
His red helmet and goggles were covered with frost,
And his beard was all blackened from reindeer exhaust.
His breath smelled like peppermint, gone slightly stale,
And he puffed on a pipe, but he didn't inhale.
His cheeks were all rosy and jiggled like jelly,
His boots were as black as a cropduster's belly.
He was chubby and plump, in his suit of bright red,
And he asked me to "fill it, with hundred low-lead."
He came dashing in from the snow-covered pump,
I knew he was anxious to be drainin' the sump.
I spoke not a word but went straight to my work,
And filled up the sleigh, without being a jerk.
From the restroom he returned with a sigh of relief,
Then picked up a phone for a Flight Service brief.
And I thought as he silently scribed in his log,
These reindeer could land in an eighth-mile fog.
He completed his pre-flight, from the front to the rear.
Then he put on his headset and I heard him yell, "Clear!"
And laying a finger on his push-to-talk,
He called up the tower for clearance and squawk.
"Take taxiway Charlie, the southbound direction,
Turn right three-two-zero at pilot's discretion.
"He sped down the runway, the best of the best,
"Your traffic's a Grumman, inbound from the west."
And I heard him proclaim as he climbed through the night,
"Merry Christmas to all! I have traffic in sight."
- Anonymous -
Thursday, December 22, 2005
Merry Christmas Everyone
As usual, the holidays find me traveling, and not by choice. That's right folks, I'm working Christmas for the second straight year. In case you're wondering, no, I don't get paid extra for it. However, let me say to you, the patronage of this blog, Merry Christmas, blessings to you and your families, and if there's another holiday on your calender this time of year, then enjoy that too.
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
Monday, December 19, 2005
Quote of the Week
"The lonliest words you'll ever know: if only, if only it were so! The emptiest words that there'll ever be: it could've been me! It could've been me!" - Meatloaf
The South
Tonight it was my pleasure to join ER and a new friend, Jessica, for some Steak n' Shake. Jessica, we soon learned, is from the south. As is my nature, I immediately began to ridicule the things about the south I find strange or ridiculous. Chief amongst them is the southern fascination with the Waffle House. Any of you who have ever traveled in the south know what I'm talking about. The giant black letters on the yellow background, inviting you to warmed over eggs, soggy pancakes, burnt bacon, and grits.
What the hell is a grit? The last time I checked, grit was a tecture. Sandpaper is gritty. It's not a food. I asked Jessica, but she was unable to offer a satisfactory answer. All I got out of her was, "It's a part of corn." How anyone can eat something that was once a growth on their foot baffles me...
During the course of our discussion ER revealed to us his "feminine side." Which basically includes the fact that he can't hold his liqour, is into the cutsy kid thing, and watches chic flix. He is the only man I've ever met who freely admits to channel surfing, spotting, "How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days," and making the conscious decision to stop and watch. There are certain sides of ourselves we just shouldn't show people...
What the hell is a grit? The last time I checked, grit was a tecture. Sandpaper is gritty. It's not a food. I asked Jessica, but she was unable to offer a satisfactory answer. All I got out of her was, "It's a part of corn." How anyone can eat something that was once a growth on their foot baffles me...
During the course of our discussion ER revealed to us his "feminine side." Which basically includes the fact that he can't hold his liqour, is into the cutsy kid thing, and watches chic flix. He is the only man I've ever met who freely admits to channel surfing, spotting, "How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days," and making the conscious decision to stop and watch. There are certain sides of ourselves we just shouldn't show people...
Christmas
Did we miss its real meaning
when all that we were dreaming
was of gifts and of receiving
some useless, soon forgotten thing?
How could it be that we've forgotten
after all the blessings we have gotten
have we come to be so rotten
that we care not about our Lord?
Are we so blind that we don't care
about that king by which we swear
who born this day and came to dare
dark death to leave us be?
Tell me how we cannot see
that he who came for you and me
is merely destined just to be
drowned out by dinner and some tree!
Or do we still remember
in the later of December
he who came to us in winter
and will come again sometime?
Yes! Christmas still has meaning
still is more than just receiving
as some people still are dreaming
of Christ the King, our Lord!
-DEH
when all that we were dreaming
was of gifts and of receiving
some useless, soon forgotten thing?
How could it be that we've forgotten
after all the blessings we have gotten
have we come to be so rotten
that we care not about our Lord?
Are we so blind that we don't care
about that king by which we swear
who born this day and came to dare
dark death to leave us be?
Tell me how we cannot see
that he who came for you and me
is merely destined just to be
drowned out by dinner and some tree!
Or do we still remember
in the later of December
he who came to us in winter
and will come again sometime?
Yes! Christmas still has meaning
still is more than just receiving
as some people still are dreaming
of Christ the King, our Lord!
-DEH
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Christine is Funny
Living with Christine for a couple of months now has caused me to realize just how funny she really is. Unfortunately for Christine, she's not trying to be funny, it just happens. Clumsiness tells only half the story, as she is capable of uttering many phrases that work against her in comedic fashion.
For example, tonight, after I helped her reassemble the futon, I jokingly held a bottle of water over her head. Her response was to say, "I'm gonna tell Ron (her fiance) that you were trying to get me wet!"
Freudian slip? You be the judge...
For example, tonight, after I helped her reassemble the futon, I jokingly held a bottle of water over her head. Her response was to say, "I'm gonna tell Ron (her fiance) that you were trying to get me wet!"
Freudian slip? You be the judge...
Linda
Speak Linda's name, and she appears! It's about time you contributed to this work in progress!
Congrats to BenDo
Heartiest congratulations to my corporate colleague Dolan who is the proud new owner of an Airline Transport Pilot certificate. For those of you not involved in aviation, the ATP is the highest grade of pilot certificate the FAA can issue.
They'll let anyone be captain on G-V's these days...
Nicely done BenDo!
They'll let anyone be captain on G-V's these days...
Nicely done BenDo!
Quote of the Week
"Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you've imagined." - Henry David Thoreau
From the Airwaves
Recently heard on O'Hare Approach control:
ExpressJet 1234 - "Approach, Expressjet 1234, what aircraft are we following?"
Chicago Approach - "Sir, you're following a heavy triple-7"
ExpressJet 1234 - "Ah, how many miles in trail are we sir?"
Chicago Approach - "You're 5 in trail sir."
ExpressJet 1234 - "Isn't that a little close for comfort?"
Chicago Approach - "I'm extremely comfortable, thanx for asking."
ExpressJet 1234 - "Approach, Expressjet 1234, what aircraft are we following?"
Chicago Approach - "Sir, you're following a heavy triple-7"
ExpressJet 1234 - "Ah, how many miles in trail are we sir?"
Chicago Approach - "You're 5 in trail sir."
ExpressJet 1234 - "Isn't that a little close for comfort?"
Chicago Approach - "I'm extremely comfortable, thanx for asking."
Friday, December 09, 2005
First Mistake
Only after I wrongly accused English-teaching Linda of being the masked menace of this blog does Anonymous make their first grammatical mistake. "...leading you need to bait me..." Don't you mean, "you're," my incognito friend? And by the way, "Fear not my good natured witty friend..." should look more like, "Fear not, my good-natured, witty friend..."
Anonymous has yet to curse, or use sexual references. Since nearly all of the male friends I associate with do both on a regular basis, this leads me to believe that Anonymous is a woman. Let's face it, a guy would have the balls (pun intended) to admit their identity.
You are my tormentor, Anonymous... I shall have my vengeance.
Anonymous has yet to curse, or use sexual references. Since nearly all of the male friends I associate with do both on a regular basis, this leads me to believe that Anonymous is a woman. Let's face it, a guy would have the balls (pun intended) to admit their identity.
You are my tormentor, Anonymous... I shall have my vengeance.
Thursday, December 08, 2005
Where have you gone, Anonymous?
My nemesis seems to have burrowed into a hole. It has been the better part of two weeks since our friend Anonymous has stopped by to ridicule me. Perhaps I am so hot on his / her trail that he / she won't risk further posting for fear of being exposed. This confrontation will not be forgotten, Anonymous...
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
New Feature
This week I'm adding a new weekly feature to the blog. The Quote of the Week. The quote may be famous, it may be obscure. It may be a bit of wisdom, it may be a joke. It may be inspiring, or spiritual, or utter nonsense. You'll just have to check back each week to see what's been posted. Anyone who wants to post there favorite quotes is welcome to do so in the comments section.
Since this is the first week, there will be two quotes, because they are my two favorites. Enjoy!
"When once you have tasted flight you will forever walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward, for there you have been, and there you will always long to return." - Leonardo DaVinci
"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; because there is not effort without error and shortcomings; but who does actually strive to do the deed; who knows the great enthusiasm, the great devotion, who spends himself in a worthy cause, who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement and who at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly. So that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat." - Theodore Roosevelt
Since this is the first week, there will be two quotes, because they are my two favorites. Enjoy!
"When once you have tasted flight you will forever walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward, for there you have been, and there you will always long to return." - Leonardo DaVinci
"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; because there is not effort without error and shortcomings; but who does actually strive to do the deed; who knows the great enthusiasm, the great devotion, who spends himself in a worthy cause, who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement and who at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly. So that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat." - Theodore Roosevelt
Sunday, December 04, 2005
Violent Video Games
Tara asked me tonight if I played violent video games and, of course, I responded with a resounding yes. She was a little bit taken aback, but the fact is, violent video games are great for society. Allow me to expand:
Every week I go to work. I deal with the traveling public, aka the idiot road show, I work within the national airspace system which was designed in the 50's, and one of my coworkers needs an instruction manual on how to use their brain. For all you flight attendants out there, yes, I'm referring to you. So basically for four days my patience is tested to its limits, and I return home frustrated and angry. Ground stop delays, and screaming babies, and yelling passengers, and the flight attendant needs ice, and "you lost my luggage," and I JUST WANT TO SHOOT SOMEBODY!!!! Thankfully for the traveling public, I am able to release my considerable ire on a violent video game instead of them. Very few things are as satisfying as blasting a 3D animated monster with a double-barreled shotgun. Especially when in your mind you're really shooting at the guy in seat 3 B who accused you of lying to him about your maintenance delay, or the chic in 16 C who refuses to get off her cell phone after the door is closed.
I realize there are a lot of people out there who think violent video games contribute to violence in our society. What a load of shit! If it wasn't for the release people like me get from violent video games, there would be a helluva lot more violence going on in the world. People in service industries everywhere would be blasting customers and coworkers alike on a weekly basis. Then again, considering some of the people I'd have shot by now, maybe that's not such a bad idea...
Every week I go to work. I deal with the traveling public, aka the idiot road show, I work within the national airspace system which was designed in the 50's, and one of my coworkers needs an instruction manual on how to use their brain. For all you flight attendants out there, yes, I'm referring to you. So basically for four days my patience is tested to its limits, and I return home frustrated and angry. Ground stop delays, and screaming babies, and yelling passengers, and the flight attendant needs ice, and "you lost my luggage," and I JUST WANT TO SHOOT SOMEBODY!!!! Thankfully for the traveling public, I am able to release my considerable ire on a violent video game instead of them. Very few things are as satisfying as blasting a 3D animated monster with a double-barreled shotgun. Especially when in your mind you're really shooting at the guy in seat 3 B who accused you of lying to him about your maintenance delay, or the chic in 16 C who refuses to get off her cell phone after the door is closed.
I realize there are a lot of people out there who think violent video games contribute to violence in our society. What a load of shit! If it wasn't for the release people like me get from violent video games, there would be a helluva lot more violence going on in the world. People in service industries everywhere would be blasting customers and coworkers alike on a weekly basis. Then again, considering some of the people I'd have shot by now, maybe that's not such a bad idea...
Saturday, December 03, 2005
From the Airwaves
Recently heard on Cleveland Center's Frequency:
"Yo, yo, yo! Clevey center, Expressjet 1234 witcha, keepin' it real at 230!"
"Yo, yo, yo! Clevey center, Expressjet 1234 witcha, keepin' it real at 230!"
Sunday, November 27, 2005
Back to Square One
It seems I have gone astray in my investigation... I must first apologize to Linda for falsely accusing her. I'm sure she'll understand...
Anonymous, you may have won this battle, but the war goes on. With each new comment you leave I glean new clues. Very soon I will tie all the loose ends together and expose you to the world. I shall not rest until this mystery is solved!
Anonymous, you may have won this battle, but the war goes on. With each new comment you leave I glean new clues. Very soon I will tie all the loose ends together and expose you to the world. I shall not rest until this mystery is solved!
The 12 Days of Airline Pilot Christmas
On the 12th day of Christmas the sky gods sent on me:
12 reassignments,
11th in the queue,
10 new routings,
9 aircraft swaps
8 turns in holding
7 MEL's
6 feet of snow
5 HOUR GROUND STOP!!
4 gate changes
3 go arounds
2 return to gates
And an overnight in Moline!
12 reassignments,
11th in the queue,
10 new routings,
9 aircraft swaps
8 turns in holding
7 MEL's
6 feet of snow
5 HOUR GROUND STOP!!
4 gate changes
3 go arounds
2 return to gates
And an overnight in Moline!
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
Anonymous
Your time has come, Anonymous. No longer will you hide in the shadows, cloaked like a coward as you fling insult after insult from the safety of darkness. I have ascertained your true identity!
And so, LINDA, no longer will you slither behind the cover of anonymity. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, only an English teacher could have been capable of the grammatically flawless comments posted. Only an English teacher writes with such clarity and creativity. If the comments section allowed the use of red ink, you, Linda, would have used it.
Linda, AKA Murph. She of the nice shoes! Accept responsibilty for your actions! Enter your plea of guilty, and you shall have mercy...
And so, LINDA, no longer will you slither behind the cover of anonymity. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, only an English teacher could have been capable of the grammatically flawless comments posted. Only an English teacher writes with such clarity and creativity. If the comments section allowed the use of red ink, you, Linda, would have used it.
Linda, AKA Murph. She of the nice shoes! Accept responsibilty for your actions! Enter your plea of guilty, and you shall have mercy...
Monday, November 21, 2005
Thanksgiving
I actually have Thanksgiving off this year. It will be the first major holiday I've had off since I started working at Eagle. Actually being around for a family holiday will feel quite weird I think... Needless to say, I'm looking forward to it. Sometimes it crosses my mind that I sacrifice a lot for this job, but then I remember that normal people actually have to work for their paychecks...
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
Dolan
"Ok Higa, the reason that it's not Fish nor myself messing with you on your blog is not that fact that we're not capable of it, but rather we don't care about you enough to bother on a long-term basis." - Ben Dolan
A quick review of this blog will reveal a startling fact: The only person who has written more words in this blog than Dolan is me. Dolan's 4 comments are the most by any single person, and his sometimes three paragraph long notes are by far the longest comments left. However, my esteemed corporate colleague would have us all believe he has better things to do...
As for being capable of producing comments of the same caliber as our friend Anonymous, lets take a quick look at Bendo's most recent posting... "Not that fact that..." Clearly the first "that," in the sentence is not a typo. Ben obviously intended to put it there, despite the fact that he is grammatically in error. "Capable of it, but rather we don't care..." The lack of a comma after "but rather," is considered gross negligence in most english classes. "More or less something to kill time with." This is a sentence fragment. Most civilized human beings use complete sentences.
Our friend Anonymous makes no errors in punctuation, constructs gramatically perfect sentences, and writes with a creativity and clarity that sets him or her apart from many good writers. I have narrowed down the possibilities to only a few. Expect judgement to be handed out very soon, Anonymous. Your days are numbered...
A quick review of this blog will reveal a startling fact: The only person who has written more words in this blog than Dolan is me. Dolan's 4 comments are the most by any single person, and his sometimes three paragraph long notes are by far the longest comments left. However, my esteemed corporate colleague would have us all believe he has better things to do...
As for being capable of producing comments of the same caliber as our friend Anonymous, lets take a quick look at Bendo's most recent posting... "Not that fact that..." Clearly the first "that," in the sentence is not a typo. Ben obviously intended to put it there, despite the fact that he is grammatically in error. "Capable of it, but rather we don't care..." The lack of a comma after "but rather," is considered gross negligence in most english classes. "More or less something to kill time with." This is a sentence fragment. Most civilized human beings use complete sentences.
Our friend Anonymous makes no errors in punctuation, constructs gramatically perfect sentences, and writes with a creativity and clarity that sets him or her apart from many good writers. I have narrowed down the possibilities to only a few. Expect judgement to be handed out very soon, Anonymous. Your days are numbered...
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
I Have Curtains!
Upon learning of my curtain problem (discussed in an earlier post) my sister Maria volunteered to purchase some fabric and custom make me some window dressings. This occured 3 weeks ago. At that time, I was told, "When you come back from your next trip, your curtains will be ready." 4 trips later, on this the 15th day of November, 2005, I am in possesion of what I must say are a fine set of curtains. My sister does good work, even if it does take her 4 times longer than she says it will. I am no longer at the mercy of the crack ass of dawn, as I can block the world out in the morning and lay content in utter darkness. The people across the street will also be spared the view into my room. No longer will they be able to watch me change, which is every bit as good for me as it is for them. Lets face it, no one wants to see that...
Clues
Anonymous has returned, and this time, left some clues. He or she is toying with me. Dropping me breadcrumbs, peaking from the shadows...
Clearly our anonymous friend is a lucid, imaginative writter. Since this reveals a reasonable level of intelligence, clearly Dolan and Fisher are no longer suspects. Our mysterious guest also dropped this bit of information, "I know you personally." This leads me to believe it is someone reasonably close to me. When I find the culprit, it will be just like Caesar turning to Brutus. "Et tu, Brute?"
Your face will not remain masked for long, Anonymous...
Clearly our anonymous friend is a lucid, imaginative writter. Since this reveals a reasonable level of intelligence, clearly Dolan and Fisher are no longer suspects. Our mysterious guest also dropped this bit of information, "I know you personally." This leads me to believe it is someone reasonably close to me. When I find the culprit, it will be just like Caesar turning to Brutus. "Et tu, Brute?"
Your face will not remain masked for long, Anonymous...
From the Airwaves
Recently heard on O'Hare approach control:
Approach controller - "Gateway 1234 do you have the airport in sight?"
Gateway 1234 - "Ah, negative sir, we're looking for it..."
Approach controller - "It's the 10 square mile piece of concrete directly in front of you."
Gateway 1234 - "Ooooh, you mean THAT airport..."
Approach controller - "Gateway 1234 do you have the airport in sight?"
Gateway 1234 - "Ah, negative sir, we're looking for it..."
Approach controller - "It's the 10 square mile piece of concrete directly in front of you."
Gateway 1234 - "Ooooh, you mean THAT airport..."
Thursday, November 10, 2005
The Gauntlet has been Thrown
That's right folks. Our friend anonymous returned to taunt me. Transgressions of this nature are not easily forgotten, neither are they easily punished. You will be caught, Anonymous. Oh yes, you will be caught. I only hope you have the guts to admit your identity when I reveal it...
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
Anonymous
"So if Fish can do it, what exactly is your excuse?" - Anonymous (from comments under "the star of the show")
This is the manner in which one of you who reads this blog choses to ridicule me. It was a cowardly strike, the attacker not willing to reveal his or her identity. Does the assailant lack the intestinal fortitude to receive the payback that is certainly awaiting him or her? At least Bendo possesses the testicular strength to accept responsibility for his infantile ranting (during which he reveals a clear lack of confidence in his own sexuality), but anonymous clearly refuses to stand and be counted. This mystery will be solved, and retribution shall be swift!
This is the manner in which one of you who reads this blog choses to ridicule me. It was a cowardly strike, the attacker not willing to reveal his or her identity. Does the assailant lack the intestinal fortitude to receive the payback that is certainly awaiting him or her? At least Bendo possesses the testicular strength to accept responsibility for his infantile ranting (during which he reveals a clear lack of confidence in his own sexuality), but anonymous clearly refuses to stand and be counted. This mystery will be solved, and retribution shall be swift!
From the Airwaves
Recently heard on O'Hare Approach Control:
Gulfstream 123AB- "O'hare approach, good morning, Gulfstream 123AB is with you at 11,000, we have information Sierra."
Approach Control - "Gulfstream 3AB, O'Hare approach, expect ILS runway 27 left"
Gulfstream 123AB- "3AB, can we request runway 32 right?"
Approach Control- "Sir, you can request whatever you want."
Gulfstream 123AB- "ahh, ok sir, we'd like to request runway 32 right."
Approach Control- "Gulfstream 3AB roger, expect runway 27 left."
Gulfstream 123AB- "O'hare approach, good morning, Gulfstream 123AB is with you at 11,000, we have information Sierra."
Approach Control - "Gulfstream 3AB, O'Hare approach, expect ILS runway 27 left"
Gulfstream 123AB- "3AB, can we request runway 32 right?"
Approach Control- "Sir, you can request whatever you want."
Gulfstream 123AB- "ahh, ok sir, we'd like to request runway 32 right."
Approach Control- "Gulfstream 3AB roger, expect runway 27 left."
Chicken is my Enemy
The cold sweat, the shakes, the utter lack of control over what comes out of your asshole... You all know what I'm talking about: Food Poisoning. The basic premise of cooking chicken is that you make damn sure it's cooked inside and out, in order to avoid having one of your patrons go home with a biological time bomb in their stomach. At about 2:10am central time, the bomb went off. When it was all said and done, the offending poultry cost me 10 hours of my body "clensing" itself, a horrid ride in the jumpseat of an MD80, a visit to the ER to have fluids replenished by IV, and $13. Just like during a hangover, I promised God I would never eat chicken again...
Friday, November 04, 2005
The Star of the Show
Recently I overnighted at Dulles in Northern Virginia, which is not too far from where Fish lives. I called him, we exchanged the obligatory insults, and arranged to get together for some lunch before I left for Chicago the next day. Many of you who received the original email announcing the birth of this blog may remember that I warned everyone they'd likely be ridiculed at one time or another. Fisher could read the writting on the wall, saying, "I'm gonna have a F%!^ing starring role in this thing!" Well Fish, you're right. Of all the people I know in my life, few are as likely to be verbally assaulted as Fish. Not just because it's easy, but because, in all fairness, he turns it around with surprising speed and accuracy. Especially for someone of his limited intelligence. Most of my friends would tell you that the more I make fun of you, the more I like you. If this were true, I'd have asked Fisher to marry me years ago. And if you think that's disturbing, consider this: about a year ago Fish married a nice girl by the name of Jen. Jen is a beautiful, thin, intelligent, gal. Fish is an ugly, fat, ignorant, unskilled, asshole. I constantly ask him if his wife has figured out she's too good for him. His typical response: "Not yet, and I hope she never does." To all you bachelors out there, don't lose hope. If Fisher did it, ANYONE can do it. Just think of it as trying to catch a fly ball that gets lost in the lights... right Fish?
Thursday, November 03, 2005
The Pact
I just returned from Seattle, where Russell and I spent almost exactly 24 hours raising hell. It was an important mini-vacation because of a pact which we agreed on over dinner. Before I discuss the pact, I feel compelled to relate the details of the journey: We met at Sea-Tac Airport at 11:30am, grabbed some lunch, and headed straight for the Seattle Museum of Flight, where we spent the better part of the day. It is an incredible museum and I highly recommend it whether you like airplanes or not. Around 4:30 we hit the Boeing company store, picked up a souvenir or two, and headed for the hotel for a little relaxation before venturing out for dinner.
Ah yes, dinner...
We settled on a place called Elliott's Oyster House which is on a pier in downtown. It was a classy place with conservative decorations, a friendly staff, and an impressive assortment of wines and local microbrews. Russ indulged in a Californian red, while I preferred a Seattle brewery's hefeweizen. We split a tasty fried calamari appetizer before gorging on stupendous entrees. Russ choose theTop Sirloin and Shrimp/Prawn brochette, while I opted for a whole, hot, steamed dungeoness crab. I was quite confused when I first laid eyes upon my dinner. It was, in fact, a whole crab... In it's shell. I called our excellent server Dave over and said, "Dave, I'm just an ignorant midwestern guy. How do I eat this thing?" To Dave's credit, he didn't laugh at me. Russ did. A lot. Asshole. With a bit of instruction I was on my way, and not long thereafter there was a bowl full of cracked crabshell left in front of me. Dessert was next on everyone's mind. Russ selected the sunken chocolate soufle a la mode, and I went with the fried chocolate troufles with ice cream in a pecan brittle shell. In case you hadn't figured it out yet, dinner was incredible. Russell and I agreed it was easily within the top 5 meals either of us had ever had the joy of consuming. The total cost, including tip: $156.
This morning we awoke (both still full from dinner) and headed to Everrett where Boeing builds it's widebody commercial airplanes. We took the hour long tour of the facility which included the 747 assembly line and the flight line where completed airplanes awaited delivery, then raced back to Sea-Tac and parted ways. My flight lifted off at 11:30am. It was, without a doubt, one of the most enjoyable consecutive 24 hours of my life.
So, the pact. While at our mind-blowing dinner, Russell and I agreed that our excursion was simply too much fun, and we had to do things of this nature more often. The detirmination was that once each quarter we had the obligation to embark on a journey similar to our trip to Seattle. So, with some spit and a handshake, we swore that once every 3 months we would find a city of mutual interest, meet there, see the sights, and consume one superb meal. The leading candidates for the February / March excursion are currently San Diego and San Francisco, but there is plenty of time to plan that trip. Right now, it's getting on bedtime, and I have a dungeoness crab to dream about...
Ah yes, dinner...
We settled on a place called Elliott's Oyster House which is on a pier in downtown. It was a classy place with conservative decorations, a friendly staff, and an impressive assortment of wines and local microbrews. Russ indulged in a Californian red, while I preferred a Seattle brewery's hefeweizen. We split a tasty fried calamari appetizer before gorging on stupendous entrees. Russ choose theTop Sirloin and Shrimp/Prawn brochette, while I opted for a whole, hot, steamed dungeoness crab. I was quite confused when I first laid eyes upon my dinner. It was, in fact, a whole crab... In it's shell. I called our excellent server Dave over and said, "Dave, I'm just an ignorant midwestern guy. How do I eat this thing?" To Dave's credit, he didn't laugh at me. Russ did. A lot. Asshole. With a bit of instruction I was on my way, and not long thereafter there was a bowl full of cracked crabshell left in front of me. Dessert was next on everyone's mind. Russ selected the sunken chocolate soufle a la mode, and I went with the fried chocolate troufles with ice cream in a pecan brittle shell. In case you hadn't figured it out yet, dinner was incredible. Russell and I agreed it was easily within the top 5 meals either of us had ever had the joy of consuming. The total cost, including tip: $156.
This morning we awoke (both still full from dinner) and headed to Everrett where Boeing builds it's widebody commercial airplanes. We took the hour long tour of the facility which included the 747 assembly line and the flight line where completed airplanes awaited delivery, then raced back to Sea-Tac and parted ways. My flight lifted off at 11:30am. It was, without a doubt, one of the most enjoyable consecutive 24 hours of my life.
So, the pact. While at our mind-blowing dinner, Russell and I agreed that our excursion was simply too much fun, and we had to do things of this nature more often. The detirmination was that once each quarter we had the obligation to embark on a journey similar to our trip to Seattle. So, with some spit and a handshake, we swore that once every 3 months we would find a city of mutual interest, meet there, see the sights, and consume one superb meal. The leading candidates for the February / March excursion are currently San Diego and San Francisco, but there is plenty of time to plan that trip. Right now, it's getting on bedtime, and I have a dungeoness crab to dream about...
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
The Traveling Public
It must be a huge conspiracy. There can be no other explanation. The TSA, in their efforts to continue to harass crewmembers even after they've passed through the security checkpoint, has boosted the mind-numbing power their metal detectors have on passengers. The end result: every passenger inside the secure area of the airport is a complete idiot until they finish their journey. The other possible explanation is that people really are that stupid.
In all fairness, I realize most people don't know all that much about airplanes, but really...
Lets start with the "what if" questions. Due to the fact that Chicago is full of Cubs fans I refuse to live there, which leaves me with the alternative of commuting to work. So every week, twice a week, I'm forced to board an aircraft as a passenger and sit in the peanut gallery. Invariably next to some obnoxious fat guy, or an old lady who's afraid of flying... In my uniform... I've fielded such questions as, "What if a bird hits the plane?" "What if the wheels won't come down." "What if the pilot gets sick?" And my personal favorite, "What if the wing falls off?" The temptation to say, "In that case, we crash, burn, inhale smoke, and die horribly," is almost uncontrollable. Almost... I even had one guy ask me if a turbine engine had cylinders and pistons, "just like my car engine, right?" It's amazing the likeness between a Ford and a Boeing... To be honest, it's not so much the lack of cognitive thought behind the questions that's the most annoying thing. The worst part is, this is my commute to work. It's the equivalent of having someone you've never met before sitting next to you in your car in traffic in the morning asking you questions about your job in much the same way a 5 year old child would do.
You'd think that once I arrive in Chicago I'd be able to avoid ridiculous questions. Unfortunately, when you wear a uniform at the airport, you might as well have a giant, "Information" sign strapped to your forehead. This environment lends itself to questions like, "What gate does flight 1156 leave from?" There are, on the average day, about 3000 departures from some 200+ gates at O'hare. I have yet to memorize all of them. Occasionally in the terminal, passengers become beligerent. This is actually kind of amusing. While on a mechanical delay once, the following conversation occured:
pax: "What's wrong with the plane?"
me: "Their's a problem with the engine, but maintenance thinks they'll be able to fix it soon."
pax: "Ok, so what's the problem, I'm not stupid, what's really wrong with it?"
me: "There is a small chip in part of the compressor they have to either fix or replace."
pax: "Well we can go without air conditioning, can't we?"
me: (with a befuddled look) "Excuse me?"
pax: "The compressor is part of the airconditioning, and we don't really need that do we?"
me: "Sir, the compressor has nothing to do with the airconditioning on the airplane, it's a vital part of the engine."
pax: "Listen, I told you I'm not stupid, it's gotta be just like the compressor in my car, it runs the airconditioning. Don't lie to me."
me: (pointing out the window) "Do you see that airplane out there?"
pax: "Yeah."
me: "Does it look anything like your car?"
He walked away with an angry look on his face, probably still convinced I'd lied to him.
Finally, what is the deal with the way people walk in the terminal these days? Does the association of fat people decree that their members should all walk shoulder to shoulder in a narrow hallway? It's like a giant steamroller pressing down the concourse, consuming all in it's path. The only respite is when they arrive at the food court and scatter like children in Toys R Us. And how about the people who look one way, and walk in a completely different direction? While 95% of the rest of the world is walking straight ahead in reasonable order, this person is cutting across all lanes of traffic like an 82 year old on the highway. Typically, these kinds of offenders have their gazes fixed on the departure information screens. They have that look on their faces... You know the look... Mouth partially open. Eyes blank. Brow furroughed in confusion. The first hint of drool venturing onto their chin. Clearly the alphabetical order on the screen requires so much attention that walking in a straight line becomes impossible. Thank God they're not chewing gum. Perhaps the worst offenders of all are the wheelchair employees. Whether pushing an ancient ass or not, these psychopaths barrel through the terminal with their chairs like Saddam with a new bioweapon. They reak indiscriminant destruction on anyone foolish enough to stand in their paths, believing that after mumbling phrases like, "Excuse the wheelchair," they have the right to trample you if you don't move. And finally in this category, how about a big round of applause for the parents who strap their kids to leashes in the airport. Unable to make the distinction between their child and their pet, these folks tether their toddlers on 10 foot neon green and blue rope. And you just want to smack the stupid $%&*#+%! It's not like they keep the kid close, where they can do no harm. Oh no! If the kid has ten feet to play with, he damn well better use it all... In the terminal at Chicago O'Hare... The busiest airport in the world... Where the width of the concourse is about 20 feet. The adult holding the leash (and looking far less intelligent than the child at the end of it) doesn't seem to mind that their 5 year old is blocking half the terminal with what looks remarkably like a finish line. The desire to race through the leash at full speed, chest puffed out, arms extended, is nearly overwhelming. Unfortunetly you realize that due to the size of the child and the obesity of the adult holding the child, it will be the kid you send flying instead of the offensive adult.
And you all thought the hardest part of my job was landing the airplane...
In all fairness, I realize most people don't know all that much about airplanes, but really...
Lets start with the "what if" questions. Due to the fact that Chicago is full of Cubs fans I refuse to live there, which leaves me with the alternative of commuting to work. So every week, twice a week, I'm forced to board an aircraft as a passenger and sit in the peanut gallery. Invariably next to some obnoxious fat guy, or an old lady who's afraid of flying... In my uniform... I've fielded such questions as, "What if a bird hits the plane?" "What if the wheels won't come down." "What if the pilot gets sick?" And my personal favorite, "What if the wing falls off?" The temptation to say, "In that case, we crash, burn, inhale smoke, and die horribly," is almost uncontrollable. Almost... I even had one guy ask me if a turbine engine had cylinders and pistons, "just like my car engine, right?" It's amazing the likeness between a Ford and a Boeing... To be honest, it's not so much the lack of cognitive thought behind the questions that's the most annoying thing. The worst part is, this is my commute to work. It's the equivalent of having someone you've never met before sitting next to you in your car in traffic in the morning asking you questions about your job in much the same way a 5 year old child would do.
You'd think that once I arrive in Chicago I'd be able to avoid ridiculous questions. Unfortunately, when you wear a uniform at the airport, you might as well have a giant, "Information" sign strapped to your forehead. This environment lends itself to questions like, "What gate does flight 1156 leave from?" There are, on the average day, about 3000 departures from some 200+ gates at O'hare. I have yet to memorize all of them. Occasionally in the terminal, passengers become beligerent. This is actually kind of amusing. While on a mechanical delay once, the following conversation occured:
pax: "What's wrong with the plane?"
me: "Their's a problem with the engine, but maintenance thinks they'll be able to fix it soon."
pax: "Ok, so what's the problem, I'm not stupid, what's really wrong with it?"
me: "There is a small chip in part of the compressor they have to either fix or replace."
pax: "Well we can go without air conditioning, can't we?"
me: (with a befuddled look) "Excuse me?"
pax: "The compressor is part of the airconditioning, and we don't really need that do we?"
me: "Sir, the compressor has nothing to do with the airconditioning on the airplane, it's a vital part of the engine."
pax: "Listen, I told you I'm not stupid, it's gotta be just like the compressor in my car, it runs the airconditioning. Don't lie to me."
me: (pointing out the window) "Do you see that airplane out there?"
pax: "Yeah."
me: "Does it look anything like your car?"
He walked away with an angry look on his face, probably still convinced I'd lied to him.
Finally, what is the deal with the way people walk in the terminal these days? Does the association of fat people decree that their members should all walk shoulder to shoulder in a narrow hallway? It's like a giant steamroller pressing down the concourse, consuming all in it's path. The only respite is when they arrive at the food court and scatter like children in Toys R Us. And how about the people who look one way, and walk in a completely different direction? While 95% of the rest of the world is walking straight ahead in reasonable order, this person is cutting across all lanes of traffic like an 82 year old on the highway. Typically, these kinds of offenders have their gazes fixed on the departure information screens. They have that look on their faces... You know the look... Mouth partially open. Eyes blank. Brow furroughed in confusion. The first hint of drool venturing onto their chin. Clearly the alphabetical order on the screen requires so much attention that walking in a straight line becomes impossible. Thank God they're not chewing gum. Perhaps the worst offenders of all are the wheelchair employees. Whether pushing an ancient ass or not, these psychopaths barrel through the terminal with their chairs like Saddam with a new bioweapon. They reak indiscriminant destruction on anyone foolish enough to stand in their paths, believing that after mumbling phrases like, "Excuse the wheelchair," they have the right to trample you if you don't move. And finally in this category, how about a big round of applause for the parents who strap their kids to leashes in the airport. Unable to make the distinction between their child and their pet, these folks tether their toddlers on 10 foot neon green and blue rope. And you just want to smack the stupid $%&*#+%! It's not like they keep the kid close, where they can do no harm. Oh no! If the kid has ten feet to play with, he damn well better use it all... In the terminal at Chicago O'Hare... The busiest airport in the world... Where the width of the concourse is about 20 feet. The adult holding the leash (and looking far less intelligent than the child at the end of it) doesn't seem to mind that their 5 year old is blocking half the terminal with what looks remarkably like a finish line. The desire to race through the leash at full speed, chest puffed out, arms extended, is nearly overwhelming. Unfortunetly you realize that due to the size of the child and the obesity of the adult holding the child, it will be the kid you send flying instead of the offensive adult.
And you all thought the hardest part of my job was landing the airplane...
Monday, October 31, 2005
Momentous Occasion
On October 31st, 2005 at precisely 1:44pm Central Daylight Time, Glenna and I agreed on something. I don't really remember what we agreed on, but we did. This is a big deal since Glenna is a confused liberal and I am a right-thinking conservative. Moments later it became apparent to me that Glenna is incapable of downshifting and has no earthly idea where the tachometer is located.
From The Airwaves
Recently heard on Cleveland Center's Frequency:
United 1234 - "Cleveland Center, United 1234, we just started picking up some continuous light, occasional moderate turbulence here at flight level 340, do the rides improve up ahead?"
Cleveland Center - "United 1234 yessir, the rides will improve as you move eastbound, I've had several aircraft complain of some chop right there over Detroit but it shouldn't last more than the next 20 miles or so."
United 1234 - "Great sir, thanks for the heads up."
Cleveland Center - "It must be the differential heating from all the burning cars in Detroit."
United 1234 - "Cleveland Center, United 1234, we just started picking up some continuous light, occasional moderate turbulence here at flight level 340, do the rides improve up ahead?"
Cleveland Center - "United 1234 yessir, the rides will improve as you move eastbound, I've had several aircraft complain of some chop right there over Detroit but it shouldn't last more than the next 20 miles or so."
United 1234 - "Great sir, thanks for the heads up."
Cleveland Center - "It must be the differential heating from all the burning cars in Detroit."
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
The Postman
Yes, the Postman. That is what they used to call me. In fact, if "they" were here, they would still call me that. Isn't that right Fish? The fact of the matter is, it's a dubious nickname. You see, when I was in college and played intramural soccer I managed to hit the post more often than the net when I was shooting. Although official stats were not kept, it is estimated that in 35 games I scored 15 times, and hit the post 567 times. Fisher, back me up on this. For those of you who don't know, I'm refering to Tim "Are You Serious?" Fisher. Or as I like to refer to him, Ruen. Fish was our goalkeeper. And he wasn't very good. And when anything strange happened, like Jenn "the Gimp" missing a hat trick from 3 feet away on an open goal, you could hear Fisher pretty much anywhere in the state of Florida screaming, "Are you serious?" The other team mantra was, "Damnit!" I'll leave it up to you to interpret how good we were. Which brings me to last night, while we're on the topic of soccer teams that suck. Tuesday nights are marked by indoor soccer at Westchester (check it out at www.vettasports.com) And boy do we suck. The really obnoxious thing is that despite the fact that the goal is basically a rectangular hole cut out of the wall, they still feel the need to paint a 4 inch red stripe around it, representing the post. Usually, I'm not a conspiracy theorist, but clearly, something higher is at work here, because despite the fact that the goal is considerably smaller, I still manage to find that damn red stripe more often than the net behind it. The red stripe is in fact a great source of consternation for me. I am always left to wonder, if the area around the goal had been left white like the rest of the wall, with no representation of a post whatsoever, would my shots still be attracted to that spot like a lush to a pub crawl? The typical end result of all of this is that just as surely as Dude with the OJ will have a glass of OJ in his hand, I will hit the post most of the times I shoot. Typically we lose the game by the same number of posts I hit. For example, last night, we lost 6-3, and I hit the post 3 times. 3 TIMES!!!!! Most people don't hit the F'ing post 3 times in an entire season! But not Dan the Postman. Oh no. He'll hit the post at least 100 times this year, and I gaurantee our team winds up outscored by exactly that many goals.
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
Finally Moved In
So all of my things are unpacked, the wireless internet works, the entertainment center is up and running (aside from a defective satellite receiver). So basically all is well at my new residence, aside from the fact that I still don't have a curtain for the one window in my bedroom. This creates a serious problem. Because of the geometry of the room, my bed is positioned so that my head rests directly underneath the window when I sleep. All well and good until the sun comes up and pours through the excrutiatingly clear glass. Those of you who know me are aware that early mornings are about # 3 on the rather lengthy list of things that piss me off. Further complicating the issue is that the window is not a standard size, and window dressings are expensive. Finally, as though that wasn't enough, at night, with the light on in my room, everyone on the street has an unubstructed view of me sitting at my desk, or changing. It's not like anyone is really that interested, but then again, it's like a good car wreck, or a fat chic in spandex: So gut wrenchingly disgusting you can't take your eyes off it. The point of all this is that I need a curtain...
From the Airwaves
Recently heard on O'Hare ground control frequency:
O'Hare - "Delta 1234 I told you to make the left turn on Bravo, your other left sir! Double back on Alpha please."
Delta - "Delta 1234, sorry sir, we'll double back."
O'Hare - "Delta you went the wrong way again! How many lefts do you have?"
O'Hare - "Delta 1234 I told you to make the left turn on Bravo, your other left sir! Double back on Alpha please."
Delta - "Delta 1234, sorry sir, we'll double back."
O'Hare - "Delta you went the wrong way again! How many lefts do you have?"
Monday, October 24, 2005
Why Am I Here?
Is it because I'm arrogant enough to think that people actually care what I'm thinking? Is it because I'm arrogant enough to believe my wisdom should be as readily accessable as possible? Is it because I'm arrogant enough to assume my musings are worth other people's precious time? Is it because I'm just arrogant?
Is it because no one listens when I complain? Is it because I need a place to vent my frustrations? Is it because lots of things piss me off and I need to verbalize them? Is it because I just bitch too much?
Is it because I have something to offer that might make someone smile? Is it because a little humor is good for everyone? Is it because there is just one person out there who will read something I write here, and it will make them laugh, and their day might be a tiny bit brighter? Is this a bunch of shit or what!?
Maybe I'm just bored...
Is it because no one listens when I complain? Is it because I need a place to vent my frustrations? Is it because lots of things piss me off and I need to verbalize them? Is it because I just bitch too much?
Is it because I have something to offer that might make someone smile? Is it because a little humor is good for everyone? Is it because there is just one person out there who will read something I write here, and it will make them laugh, and their day might be a tiny bit brighter? Is this a bunch of shit or what!?
Maybe I'm just bored...
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