Flight 93

I'm not normally an A&E type guy, but I happened across an advertisment last night for a movie about the people/events around United Flight 93, the one that crashed after the passengers took over from the hijackers on 9/11.

I was a little hesitant. If I was a screenwriter I don't think I would touch the subject.

It was preceded by a documentary about the events of the day, and then the movie started...

Absolutely amazing.

I'd like to know (and hopefully the answer would be "none") how much they embellished or had to make up due to a lack of facts. I think it should be a mandatory requirement for Americans (in particular Cindy "Psycho" Sheehan) to watch some form of documentary about that day as a reminder once a year. Watch the people diving from the top floors of the WTC through the smoke. Watch movies like this one and listen to the conversations these people had with their husbands, wives, mothers and fathers when they figured out that they were probably all going to die. I think we'd have a few less protests going on.

When I first saw "Schindler's List" many years ago, I had a feeling similar to what I had last night. During a brutal scene in the middle of the movie about the Nazi's clearing out a ghetto, they show the soldier's shooting scared wives in their husband's arms point blank in the forehead because they weren't moving fast enough. I remember, at my younger and about-to-join-the-military age, thinking to myself how satisfied I felt that we had completely crushed the regime and people that were responsible for those acts. I felt the same way last night as I watched those freaks take over that plane.

As a pilot, that's one of the things you fear most--losing control of the plane you're in charge of. Losing control of the ability to keep safe those you're being paid to do protect. I'll write more on that later.

Slacker Parents

Trouble posted a great one today about what it's like being a parent these days. I really feel, sometimes, like other parents have it as their mission in life to make parents like me and the wife feel as if we're not doing enough. Part of me gets pissed, but part of me wonders why it is that other families get to lead normal, fun-loving, watch-adult-TV-go-on-date-night lives but we can't manage to because we're going 16 hours a day and still not done by the time we crash at night.

Check it out: self-portrait of a slacker mom

Chuck

I saw this when I was in Qatar and almost burst my aorta I was laughing so hard. Not everyone seemed to get it, though...I think you have to have had a thing for Chuck at some point in your life. Or at least are perceptive enough to catch his "aura."

Getting There posted it on his website here.

Vonnegut

A very good friend of mine sent this to me the other day. I think I've seen it before, but it's worth reading again....

Deep Thoughts, by Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.

Ladies and gentlemen of the class of '97:

Wear sunscreen. If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. The long-term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience. I will dispense this advice now...

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth. Oh, never mind. You will not
understand the power and beauty of your youth until they've faded. But trust me,
in 20 years, you'll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you
can't grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really
looked. You are not as fat as you imagine.

Don't worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubble gum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blindside youat 4 pm on some idle Tuesday.

Do one thing every day that scares you.

Sing.

Don't be reckless with other people's hearts. Don't put up with people who are reckless with yours.

Floss.

Don't waste your time on jealousy. Sometimes you're ahead, sometimes you're behind. The race is long and, in the end, it's only with yourself.

Remember compliments you receive. Forget the insults. If you succeed in doing this, tell me how.

Keep your old love letters. Throw away your old bank statements.

Stretch.

Don't feel guilty if you don't know what you want to do with your life. The most interesting people I know didn't know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives. Some of the most interesting 40-year-olds I know still don't.

Get plenty of calcium.

Be kind to your knees. You'll miss them when they're gone.

Maybe you'll marry, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll have children, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll divorce at 40, maybe you'll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary. Whatever you do, don't congratulate yourself too much, or berate yourself either. Your choices are half chance. So are everybody else's.

Enjoy your body. Use it every way you can. Don't be afraid of it or of what other people think of it. It's the greatest instrument you'll ever own.

Dance, even if you have nowhere to do it but your living room.

Read the directions, even if you don't follow them.

Do not read beauty magazines. They will only make you feel ugly.

Get to know your parents. You never know when they'll be gone for good. Be nice to your siblings. They're your best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future.

Understand that friends come and go, but with a precious few you should hold on.

Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle, because the older you get, the more you need the people who knew you when you were young.

Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard. Live in Northern
California once, but leave before it makes you soft.

Travel.

Accept certain inalienable truths: Prices will rise. Politicians will philander. You, too, will get old. And when you do, you'll fantasize that when you were young, prices were reasonable, politicians were noble, and children respected their elders.

Respect your elders.

Don't expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund. Maybe you'll have a wealthy spouse. But you never know when either one might run out.

Don't mess too much with your hair or by the time you're 40 it will look 85.

Be careful whose advice you buy, but be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia. Dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it's worth.

But trust me on the sunscreen.

Monster Playset

Item #3 on my list of things to do when I get back--build a monster playset--done.

It took about $300 more and 4 days longer than I had thought it would (or planned for) but when we were done "monster" was a bit of an understatement. If the Mexicans ever invade us this is where the family's going to hole up. I should have known it was going to be a bit more than I thought when I suggested to my Dad that we build one. Within hours we were tearing down the disaster that came with our house and buying lumber for the new one. The beauty is that my Dad made it up pretty much in his head, with requests from my kids pellting him like a hailstorm the entire time. In the end, Sarah got her bridge, Sammy got his rock wall, and they absolutely love the end result. Kinda shot my Dad's vacation in the foot, but we had a good time anyway.

My hiatus is over. Writing just wasn't on the agenda during my vacation, and even less so when my parents were in town. It may be a case of "too little, too late" as my counters have plummeted from upwards around a hundred hits a day to barely fifteen now. It's funny--as soon as I wrote my last post from the desert people stopped reading. Breaking into the milblog arena seems easy compared to any hopes that I have of breaking into "regular" blogs. I'm not sure if anyone's interested in reading about an officer who has the unbelieveably most boring job on the planet when he's at home. Hopefully that'll change soon.

Proved this morning that even when it's 30 degrees outside and I can't feel my fingers from the cold that Harley ride in the morning is the best 30 minutes of the day. I was bundled up like an eskimo going out--my gloves are just a little on the thin side.

Did a lot of thinking while I was taking a break about what I plan on doing here. The first thing is I definitely need a new look. At least a banner. I just don't know anywhere I can get one made...if anyone has a suggestion I'm all ears.

Next thing I was thinking of doing is that I have a million stories in my head that I would love to get down. I've seen some blogs that have their posts organized into categories--I'll have to figure that one out. With not a lot to do over there we told quite a few stories of our experiences, so on the dry days like I've had recently I'm going to start getting some of those down before I lose them. Oh I'll still be political and bitchy on here too--even moreso since I'm back at work in uniform--but it should be nice to break it up. I have a feeling the one-two punch of Iran-Hamas is going to provide a plethora of material.

So anyway--to the very few who have continued reading--it's good to be back. Sorry for the break.

Birthdays

Happy Birthday Dad. He turned a whopping 55 today. To celebrate my parents are zipping down here to spend a week or so in the sunny Arizona desert. My Dad and I will golf a bit, maybe get to work on the monster playset the kids are going ga-ga over. All in all, it's a decent way to spend my last few days off before heading back into the workplace...

Happy birthday to Trouble, who turns a meager 40 today. Her website has a list of things she has learned over the last 40 years, and it's awesome. Check it out.

The kids are bouncing off the walls because GRammy and GRampy are coming to town...its been a while due to a minor hiatus taken during my deployment. Should be a good week.

Reflections

Well, I have officially made it a week of being back from the desert. Most of my freinds from over there are probably home or on their way at this point too. A thought crossed my mind quite a bit during this week, whenever someone realized that I had just gotten back from Qatar.

"America Supports You."

I know this one is going to ruffle some feathers...

While I was there I recieved so much support from friends and family, and from a multitude of complete strangers via this blog that I was practically overwhelmed. Overhwelmed enough that I felt that I needed to return the favor to other milbloggers once I got home (I am). So, I was expecting (not demanding, wanting, or feeling it was required) the same amount fo support once I got on that plane and headed east.

Nope.

Nada. Zilch. Zero.

The pilot of the plane that took us home said "Welcome to the United States" when we landed (to much appluase). The hotel staff in Norfolk, although not entirely rude, never said a word--even though they knew what the 140 of us with desert uniforms were there for. The taxi driver (little punk blasting rap music the whole way to the airport--more fodder to feed my "what's coming in the next generation" fire) specifically asked if I was with that group, and again said nothing. The airline folks had to have my situation explained to them 50 times while I tried to get on a standby flight to get home before midnight. Nothing. And since I've been home, unless they are directly related or are good friends of mine, I haven't heard a word. Even the commercials on TV (the ones that they show on AFN overseas 50 times a day) have stopped.

I'm not, in the least bit, complaining. I'm just surprised. I'm rapidly figuring out that all of those polls about "Do You Support the War?" should have a fourth answer in addition to "Yes," "No," and "Undecided." There should be an option to say "I really don't care either way." Because that's what, in the week I've been back, I've been seeing. There's not much of a defeatist regime here, but there's not much of a Victory regime either. There's a vast country of people that are so wrapped up in their daily lives that they seem to have forgotten completely that men and women are dying over there. Thank God in Heaven that's not the feeling that we get overseas. I expected to come back to a country split down the middle over this, and what I found was a whole lot of apathy. Or lack of understanding.

The people who come on here and read this stuff are awesome. Even the ones that don't support what's going on--because at least they have the juevos to stand for something and voice their opinion of it (flawed as it may be). It's the ones that don't, that sit there with their iPod's blaring as they walk down the street oblivious, that scare me the most.

Maturity

When I was thirteen I had long hair and was overweight, and had little, if any, direction.

Then I saw "Top Gun."

Actually, it was "Iron Eagle" that started it, but Doug Masters was so hokey that I usually don't claim that and blame it on Tom Cruise and Val Kilmer...

I had always been interested in flying, but the military never crossed my mind. After seeing those movies, I joined the Massachusetts Civil Air Patrol and never looked back. By the time I got to college, I wanted to go to the Air Force Academy and couldn't due to my grades, so I enrolled in The Citadel. Good call on my part. I think I would have been back home by the end of first semester had I been left to my own devices.

When I arrived at pilot training in the summer of 1994, I was an arrogant, self-involved idiot. Graduating from pilot training just re-emphasized that. I walked around anywhere like I owned the place, much like most young pilots do, even though I had very little to back it up. The instructors at the time also reinforced that, saying that it was a mandatory personality trait to be an aviator--to be a pompous, arrogant, ass.

What a crock.

I went to the commissary yesterday. It has been 13 months since I flew an aircraft, and I have just returned from the desert and watching what happens to popous, arrogant, asses. There were a few of them there, 2Lt's and 1Lt's, cruising through the building like it was built specifically for them. Part of me was actually angry, as they cut in line in front of my wife and kid--but mostly I just wanted to laugh.

After 3000 hours, I could literally fly circles around these punks and they wouldn't even know it. I guess it's a level of maturity that I have picked up at some point along the way. The Air Force community outside of flyers has a slight distaste for pilots that I never really understood. Its becoming much clearer now that I look at them from an outside perspective. I'm just glad I never taught my students to be like that, and I hope that none of them ever ended up that way.

Man, I'm getting old.

Goodwill

Keeping with my promises, we dumped bags and bags of stuff off at Goodwill today. Most of it has been easy sacrifice--stuff that I'm not sure I really wanted anyway. I think the hardest part has been getting rid of some of the kid's clothes that have worn out, and toys that have sat idle for way too long. The monkies haven't ever been real attached to any toys we've gotten them--Sarah had a security pacifier when she was a toddler that she lost and we didn't replace, but that's about it.

I've got some thoughts building up for a good post...haven't been too political lately except for the fact that the raving lunatics politicians are surprisingly quiet about the whole Iran thing. Man would that be out of control. Not only is that guy a psycho like Saddam, but he advertises it loud and clear every time he steps up to a mike.

More on this later...

Cowboy

Next step in my post-deployment re-creation--getting out more.

Yesterday we packed up and went to Tombstone--you know, the place where they had the shootout at the OK Corral (which, incidentally, they only show at 1400 each day--important detail). It would have been great had it not been 43 degrees all day. If you ever get the opportunity it's a great time. It appears they haven't changed anything since the 1800's or so.

What cracks me up, as always, is the imagination of kids. Put a cowboy hat on four-year-old and he is suddenly Wyatt Earp himself walking the streets looking for bad guys. I'm not sure if Marshall Earp had his pregnant mother walking behind him while he cruised the streets of Tombstone. Sammy apparently didn't mind. The only thing missing from his sidekick was the little fan being constantly waved with utterances of "my, my, what an uncivilized town" from his sister.

We I bought ourselves another trip since I was too lazy to check and see if they show the shootout at specific times, thus causing the Marshall to miss it. Should be worth the trip.

Another character flaw (I have many) is that I can't keep myself from drooling over toys. The latest toy was a second (Emily fiercely protects the first) camera so that I can regularly post on here. The only reason we bought her the original camera in the first place was because we had lost her very expensive Canon last summer. Of course the day after I buy the new camera, we find her old one. By this point I had fallen in love with my new toy, so now we have three. I wonder why I carry a credit card debt.

We told Sammy to look mean in this last picture. Man he cracks me up sometimes.