The Flame Challenge Submission

I posted an entry into Alan Alda's Flame Challenge

I thought I'd share it with you. It's not terrible, it's not great. It didn't even get an honorable mention! Go check out the website for the specifics. But the basic rules were: Explain what 'flame" is, to an 11 year old Alan Alda.

Here's my submission:

Dear Alan,

Thank you so much for asking me what a flame is!

Flame, in my understanding, could best be described like this:

Hot, bright, and hungry.

Almost like a living thing, flame needs air, heat, and food (which we would call fuel, like for a car)

When those three things come together in the right amounts, "Flame" happens.

You could also call it a fire.

The flame eats the fuel, changing whatever it eats into something like "Flame poop" This is the ash left behind after the flame is done.

If you put flame to paper, you will be left with very visible ashes, sometimes almost a black and brittle twin to the original paper!

If the flame is eating a gas, like the natural gas you might have at home for your mom's oven and stove; the ash left behind is so slight that you can't even see it. But over time, maybe weeks or months, if you burn a gas like that in the same place, there will be some ash left that you can see.

So flame is hot, and bright, and eats what it is burning, changing it into something like ashes.

I'm not a scientist Alan, but I hope I've helped you with your question!

Sincerely

Fred Robel

Aviation Maintenance Writing Stuff

Hello there!  I know it's been ages since I've written here.  But it's wonderful too.  Being that I've been channeling most of my creative writing into the Fritz365 project, ongoing, forever.

I've got two books out there floating (bloating?) in the ether.  They're free on Smashwords, blah blah blah.

I'm accumulating more stories about aviation, or aviation related things, for a "Tales of the Wrench" book I'm going to do.  I don't know how it will go over.  As most of the stories aren't that long, and it won't be what most people will be expecting for a book about aviation maintenance stuff.

But it will be what it will be.  Filled with stories of things that actually happened to me, incidents that were told to me, dramatizations of things I heard about fourth or fifth hand, and some things that I just plain made up.  As it should be I guess.  The Lore of the Mechanic, indeed.

I'm trying, trying hard, not to peg any person or company with bad things when I write about stuff.  I hope it all comes off ok.  I mean, some of the incidents are pretty specific, and all you'd have to do is google a bit on the subject, and you could find out names, dates, etc.  A couple times I did name company names though, especially if the company in question is out of business.  Or when I'm making fun of them on purpose (Monsanto).  I mean, Monsanto is in the press for all kinds of horrid genetic things; they might be grateful for me to tease them about something else for a change?  Eh, I guess I'll find out.

So here's a thing:  I've often thought that aviation maintenance would make a pretty amusing television show.  I don't know what sort exactly.  You could do a standard half hour comedy thing, or a one hour light drama, with assorted craziness involved.  The set could consist of a large empty building, which we'd call a 'hangar'.  And one or two junky airplanes.  Which can be bought for scrap prices out in the desert.  Just for the set, something for the actors/mechanics to 'work' on and act against occasionally.

Aircraft mechanics as a group, are a pretty interesting lot, with a reputation for not being normal at all.  The mechanic from "Wings" wasn't far off (Lowell? I think was his name...).  Needs development though!

As a matter of fact, some of the stories from my book would be perfect for adaptation into episodes....... just a thought.  Maybe I'll try my unsteady hand at script writing someday, and try to make that happen.  There isn't much aviation mechanic specific stuff out there.  Could be an untapped market!!

So that's that stuff.  Some worries, some ideas.  Some stuff.

Oh, it's summer again.  Which means my in-laws are living in my yard again.  Must be part gypsy.

Cheers, to thoughts on aviation maintenance and stuff.

Writing There, Not Here, And Publishing

I have noticed, and you may not have, that I've been writing less of these columns.

I chalk it up to the fact that I have expanded the scope of what I do on my other blog, the Fritz365.  It used to be all poetry, or at least that which I viewed as such.  Now it has grown into poetry, concept stories, and serialized stories, and a few ideological statements masquerading as some bastardization of verse.

I'm developing my own style, or at least trying to.  It was unconscious at first, but now I choose to continue in the manner in question, it feels like it works for me.  If it ever catches on, it will doubtless be after my death.  Though the chips are stacked, and telling me that it probably will not catch on at all.

I have been mulling over what to concentrate on next.  I have several threads of ideas going here and there.  I have quite a few of the 'Tales of the Wrench' stories out there already.  It wouldn't be too awful to write some more, and publish them in a book and ebook.  Like I did the Man in the Desert concept (Kisses Blood Kerosene & Silk).

I've written a few blatantly biographical ones, and a few others that are almost that, but with some little creative touches in as well.

I've been very pleased with the Amazon.com publishing process, except for one thing:  I can't set the price of my ebooks as Free.  It's very frustrating.  I'm not trying to make money, or a living at this stuff.  Maybe I could someday, but I'm not counting on it.  So the important thing for me is to simply get my stuff before people's eyes.  Hence the desire to offer it for free.

Smashwords, has come to my rescue.  In more ways than one.

While it was easy making the hard copy book versions for Amazon Createspace, it was a little harder to get the formatting right for the Amazon Kindle store.  It was then a few orders of magnitude harder to get the files formatted just right for the Smashwords edition.

Reason being, that Smashwords converts and sells in many different formats, so as to be available on as many devices as possible.  They also have deals with the Apple store to sell the books that have been submitted to them, as long as they meet some stricter "premium" guidelines.

The "premium" moniker has nothing to do with quality of content, at least I don't flatter myself that way.  Because I'm proud to say I got at least one of my books into that status with them.  It was a simple matter of  formatting, formatting, formatting.  I kind of enjoyed it.

Hopefully, my longer poetry collection will be accepted as well.  Though it was done before the Man in the Desert dealio, it has hit Smashwords last.  This is due to me being silly.

Amazon, has a program where authors share in a pot of money if their books get lent out in their new Lending Service.  Now I wasn't expecting to get money, but I did support the program.  I think It's a good idea.  So I signed up, and was nailed down to a 90 day exclusive agreement with Amazon.com.

That, coupled with my inability to set the Amazon pricing to Free, has limited the downloads of my big book of poetry.  As a matter of fact, the only downloads it has, have been on the five 'promotional' days Amazon gives you.  On those days, 5 days of your choosing out of the 90 days exclusive deal; your book is free to download.  I think about 45 downloads happened.  Which is great!  I'm pleased.  I think at least half of those were friends who were just doing it to be nice, but the other half were strangers, I hope.

So this is a rambley blog post, isn't it?

Well, it's about my self publishing, a little anyways.  And I'm still working on it.  I'm still doing my one entry  a day on Fritz365.  Though who knows how long I'll choose to keep it up.  It's not easy to come up with stuff every day I sometimes find.  And I occasionally have to put up what even I consider to be stinkers.  So that says something.

I mean well though, I swear I do!  Every one of them starts with a cute or clever idea.  I just sometimes lack what I need to make it march for me.

Ok, I gotta run, I'm making little sense anyways.  If anyone who reads this has any questions about publishing an ebook on Amazon, or on Smashwords; go ahead and ask.  But try to go through the sites in question first, after all, if I can figure it out with no help other than the FAQ's and the comment boards; anyone can!

Cheers, to glutting the words market

An Apple a Day

An apple a day'
Keeps the doctor away
Or so they say
and thus it must be true

If we take that as gospel
Then perhaps ten would be better
Let's ask the apple apostle
And see what he says

Oh mighty apple guru
Where one is good
Shall many be better?
Or is that more than I should

Shall I be wary?

In response to my query
He gave good advice
If a little scary
And it was so good
I read it thrice!

Dear apple questioner
Your askance is reasonable
Though inadvisable
For reasons I shall now get into

One apple keeps things moving
Your stomach and upper GI
Your colon it groovin
All things work like they should

But add in too many
And trouble comes a plenty
Your stool will be
How you say?

"loose"

I don't mean the kind you sit on
With it's legs getting wobbly
I mean the kind you leave behind
And don't want to pick up after yourself

Lets just say it gets messy
And leave it at that
So keep the apple consumption within reason
So you don't scare the cat

As you would with the scene
That would happen if you
Consumed too many apples
Which I would term as more than two

Regards to your apple intentions
I remain the guru in question
Representing apples
In all their description

The Guy On the Side of the Road

There's a guy lying on the side of the road.

I think to myself that that just can't be. It's right next to a boat shaped planter thing which has a mailbox sticking out of it. Maybe it's someone's scarecrow decoration that tipped over.

Except, I drive this stretch of road twice a day. I've not seen a scarecrow thing there before. It just feels wrong.

It might be some person that went out to get their mail, and collapsed near the mailbox.

I was a couple hundred yards down the road now. And there were lots of other cars around. Nobody stopped.

WTF?

So now I'm concerned, that everyone is just driving by and not checking.  So I pull to the shoulder, and hang a u turn. My heart is racing because I'm worried I might have to do CPR or something.  It's been four years since my last refresher course.

Or maybe this person is dead.  Or maybe it really is just a scarecrow. If it is, I'm going to set it back where it goes, so it stops freaking me out.

I get back to the driveway and pull in.  Grabbing my phone, I hop out and come around the car. Sure enough, it's a guy. 

I call out to him, "Hey, you all right?"

He opens his eyes, "I'm fine.  You got any food?"

I guess I ignore that second part, I don't have any food. 

"You sure you're ok?" I ask again, I'm not really buying it. 

"Yes, I'm good.  They've checked on me.  Give me some food."

Ok, now I'm a little irritated. So I give some lecture-y advice:

"you shouldn't lay there.  I thought you were hurt.  Lots of other people will too you know.  Plus you're like, five feet from a highway.  You could get hurt."

"Give me some food, or go away" is all he answers with. 

So I tell him he should move again, and I walk back to my car.

I'm still concerned, but mostly annoyed now.

But, as I drive away, I think that maybe he does need help of some kind. So for only the second time in my life, I dial 911.

911 picks up "911 Dispatch, what's your emergency?"

I'm not sure how to start, so I introduce myself

"Hello, this is Fred Robel calling,...........um.....I was just driving home, and there was this guy.........."

They interrupt me, "If this is about the guy on the side of the road, he's already been dealt with, and he is fine."

But I persist:  "Yeah, it is, but I mean, I stopped and talked to him, and he IS ok, or he says he is.  But, he's still there....."

They give me the official brush off:  "The police have been dealing with him all day sir.  They transported him to the hospital, and he was fine.  There isn't anything else they can do for him."

It was apparent that nothing was going to happen.  So I thanked them, and they thanked me, and we hung up on each other.

At this point, I'd like to say that I went and got him some food and dropped it off to him.  Or offered him a ride somewhere.  Or something, anything.

But I didn't. 

I stopped and picked up Chinese food for my family, and drove the rest of the twenty miles home thinking that I should have done something.

I didn't see him there on my way to work this morning.  Nobody walking, or sitting, or laying anywhere I could see.  No man in dirty jeans and maroon carhart jacket anywhere to be found.

No chance to redeem myself.

Maybe someone else helped him out. 

Or maybe I was supposed to be that someone.

And someone, dropped the ball.

Cheers, to me thinking I should rename this blog to something like:  My Failing at being Human.

Preemptive Homicide?

So I have a modest proposal, and no, it doesn't involve genocide.

I've seen the Tyvonne (Tyvek?) shooting that happened in Florida recently, absolutely beaten to death in the media.  This guy that shot him, Zimmerman I think is his name, may or may not face any kind of punishment.  For what may or may not have been a justified defense shooting.

That someone has the right to shoot someone if they are threatened with violence, I do not dispute.  I'm down with that kind of cowboy shit.

That someone has the right to carry a firearm I also believe in.

Where the rubber meets the road though, is in how they use it, and when, and where.  I know there are guidelines for this crap in all the state firearm carry laws.

And who, who do you use it on?

That's a sticky thing.  As you might have seen above, I don't remember the kid's name.  I'm not even going to look it up.  He's dead.  Plain and simple.  There is no reason for me to know his name.  I didn't know him, I didn't love him.  But should he have been shot?

Let's make the assumption that he was threatening violence on that Zimmerman fella, because otherwise there is no real discussion, it would just be some degree of murder.

Assuming there was violence in the offing, should Zimmerman have shot him?  Did the kid have a weapon?  Does it matter?  I've seen people get beaten to death with someone's bare hands (thanks internet!), so I know it can be done.  Maybe this kid was a bad kid.  Does that mean he deserved a death sentence?

Here's a really weird thought:  Would it be better to let the kid beat on you some?  Or just shoot him?  What sort of an attack really deserves an armed response?

If you have a handgun, does it matter?  After all, you could be disarmed, and the gun used against you.

So I guess I answered that one myself.  If you have a gun, and you are attacked, you have to assume that the other person could get your gun and use it against you.  Therefore, a lethal response is your only choice.

What if there are no weapons involved?  Should you go for the kill?  After all that is a major movie trope, one that gets reenacted in real life often as well; the bit about the guy coming after you again at a later date, and you don't do so well this time.  Should you kill them preemptively?

Now that though, opens up some interesting doors.  Kind of leads to a free for all of defensive killing, before there is even a fight!

I think it sucks.  I have more questions than answers.  To really turn the other cheek, one would have to not go armed to begin with I think.

I don't remember where I wanted to go with this when I started.  Something about citations for improper gun use or some such.  And here I am, at the sad conclusion, that if you carry a gun in public, you should just shoot everyone you see until you run out of ammo.  Why?  Because any one of them could attack you at any moment, and take your weapon from you, and use it to kill you instead.

There, that's why I don't carry.  If I did, it would only lead to homicide!  Otherwise, why carry one?  A fashion accessory?  Please.

Cheers, to preemptive homicide!

Oh, I forgot, one of the reasons I wanted to write about this, is what I read that a Facebook person said.

He said something to the effect of this:  "That kid in Florida had been suspended from school multiple times, been caught with drugs, and had punched someone in the nose, breaking it.  And you're telling me it was a mistake to shoot him?  He deserved it!"

I was appalled to no end.  I didn't even reply.  How do you reply to something like that?  It's like saying that if you've done something wrong, then there is no hope for you, you should just die.  Right now.

If what he said is true, then I should have been shot around the age of 20.

But I didn't get shot.  I lived on.  I grew up, and saw the mistakes I made in life.  I try to not make them again.  I try to be a good person.  I fail often, but I keep trying.

It's all you can do.

But that kid in Florida?  He doesn't get a chance to be a better person, to learn from those mistakes.  He had judgement passed on him, and died in a puddle of blood on the street, wearing his infamous hoodie.

And I can't even be troubled to remember his name.

Smell You Later

I smell everything

I don't mean that I just smell things as an automatic thing, just like seeing everything, yet not taking it in. Although, it is partly true. I mean that I really smell stuff.

I have a tendency to investigate things with my nose, a little too much for most people's comfort. I don't know why, but I do.

You'll catch me doing it often, usually smelling my hand or my fingers. And yes, sometimes that means there is something gross on my hand. But it just as often could be something nice.

A hint of perfume from someone I recently came into contact with. The scent of cut grass. My lunch. One can never tell.

It is yucky smells that catch the imagination sometimes though. What does that bug smell like that I just crushed? Let's find out. SNIFF

I'm rather sensitive to smells as well. Working where I do, doing what everyone does around me. There are often interesting smells.

Cutting of phenolic material generates a very unique smell. Acidic, and biting in my nose. I can smell it from hundreds of feet away sometimes. I've been told there is a lot of formaldehyde in it. But I don't recall what straight up formaldehyde smells like anymore, if I ever did. So I take them at their word.

Jet fuel is another big one around here. It is slightly different than kerosene, but in the same family. And it lingers. Boy, does it ever. You get some on your skin or clothing, and that stuff just hangs around and won't quit. Sometimes even after multiple washings of your skin or clothes. Some clothes you might as well throw away afterwards, hard to say what it will latch onto permanently.

There are a few smells I like at work. For no good reason, other than they are pleasant. I say it like that, because I shouldn't like them.

there is a particluar kind of Hysol two part epoxy that I love the smell of. I've actually stuck my nose into the can to get more of it occasionally. To me, it smells like sweet almonds. And yes, I know that isn't necessarily a good thing! But I like it just the same.

It's probably a good thing I don't work with it every day. I'd have more drain bramage than I already do most likely.

Certain smells remind me of things. And there is no telling when they will hit.

There is a certain mix of high octane fuel and exhaust smell that reminds me of when I was a kid, racing Quarter Midgets in Lansing. That is a good smell. Sometimes it wafts by and whisks me away to my youth. I like those kinds of smells.

I suppose being olfactory oriented isn't that unusual. I just wish I could turn it off sometimes. I mean, who wants to be put in a foul mood just because of a smell?

I'm glad I tend to live and work where I do. Being in the North Country, whether it's in Waaaay upstate NY, or in Northern Lower Michigan, means that the air quality is not half bad. Much better than in East Lansing area, where I grew up. Not to mention all the other places aviation could have taken me, such as Los Angeles, New York City, etc.

I'll just process all the smells I get, and see what images I get in my head from them. I hope for good mental visions, I can use all of those I can get.

Cheers, to smelling good, or bad, or anything at all.

Aviation Maintenance & Medicine: A Shallow Contrast

There are two people in particular, who can, and probably should rip these thoughts to pieces for me. At which time I can reassemble them in a massive EDIT. Regina, Michael, this means you.

I had some thoughts on similarities and differences that exist between aviation maintenance, and the business of medicine.

I don't have a problem thinking of medicine as a business. As long as it is an ethically run, evolving, customer oriented business model. That could be a very good thing.

I have it easy in aviation in contrast to being a doctor. My 'patients' don't have families, or feelings themselves for that matter. I don't have to worry about pain management, or other human considerations.

I do have something akin to health plans though. The customer who owns the aircraft.

When I look at something, whether it's in the big Repair Station at my main job, or on the side, with a small plane and a regular guy owner; the customer always has the final say as to what gets fixed.

Now, if certain things don't get fixed, then I can't certify the aircraft or part as being airworthy. So there is a certain amount of things that can get fixed without much consultation.

But some things, especially things which are considered cosmetic in nature, it is really up the customer whether or not they get repaired. And truth be told, although quite honestly nothing that I've ever signed the final airworthiness release on, the customer can elect not to have pretty significant things fixed. I don't agree with it, nor would the FAA; but there it is.

I can fix it if I choose. But nobody will pay me to do it. Sometimes I have though. If it didn't involve a lot of time, and I could scrounge up the necessary airworthy parts for free.

How does that compare to the business of medicine? It's not my speciality, but I can see some parallels.

In the analogy, you would be the airplane, the insurance company is the customer who is paying out, and I'm the doctor.

Of course, it breaks down a little bit when you consider that the human patient can pay out of pocket to have something done. The poor airplane has no thumbs, and no wallet, thus not that option.

There are some areas where medicine and aviation can, and should, and probably already have, shared practices. That would be in error reporting.

In aviation, errors result in incidents, and accidents. We have unnapproved parts problems, sometimes not causing a big deal, but they could. Those can range from using a bolt from the hardware store instead of an aviation company, to parts made counterfeit, on the cheap, with fatal flaws that aren't caught due to the cost cutting in the counterfeit process of production.

For such parts, we have the FAA Suspected Unnapproved Parts program. It's a way we can report such things to the FAA. An investigation can be launched, and notices sent out to all effected parties if needed.

We have incident, and accident reporting. Incidents being things that happen, that don't involve damage, injury, or loss of life. Accidents are when something gets smashed up, or someone is hurt or killed.

The wonderful thing about all these reports, are that they are public record. And we can learn from them. All one has to do is look in the right place at the NTSB, or the FAA, and the reports and investigations are there.

Another thing I think, and hope, that doctor's and nurses share with each other: Tribal knowledge.

These are the tips, tricks, and lessons all learned from doing the things we do for a living. Told with candor, and humility, and often humor.

You think a story about someone being horribly injured, or killed, can't be funny? You haven't talked to many aircraft people. It's usually a mix of the funny and tears, depending on the amount of alcohol involved. But I've been there for those stories. I've learned from them.

And more importantly, knowing all that stuff, has made a difference in how I go about my job. When I approach a particular thing, I often think of the stories, and I tell myself: Ok, I know not to do THIS, or THAT. Because something bad happened.

Another thing that should be universal, whether it's fixing aircraft, or humans: Honesty, as in transparency.

There are policies, at the best aircraft repair places, where there is an immunity clause.

If you accidentally damage the aircraft while working on it, you will not lose your job because of coming clean and telling your boss about it. Usually, there are no consequences, sometimes there are small ones. Depending on the situation.

By the same token, if you damage the aircraft, and you try to hide it by not telling anyone. Your job is most often instantly terminated.
I think that this is a very very good thing. If you accidentally put a hole in the fuselage of an aircraft, maybe even damage the support structure under the skin; it would be a very bad thing for that plane to fly away without that being fixed. People could die.

So having an escape like that to bolster people's integrity, is very important.

I've damaged the airplane before accidentally. It happens. Plan it into the budget, and deal with it.

I might be crazy, but I think doctors and hospitals need to do that same thing. Hopefully they do.

Here's where it gets a little sticky though. In an ideal world, a doctor makes a mistake that causes major harm, crippling or killing someone. I want him or her to be able to tell about it, and own up to it. To share what happened, with all the humor and tears, and not lose their job, or be ruined over it.

Lousy doctors shouldn't be allowed to practice on people, but we have that in aviation too. Licensed mechanics, that can't seem to tighten a bolt without breaking something. We put them in places where they can't hurt things anymore. The stockroom, inspection (!). You get the idea. Knowledge and skill can be utilized without throwing the person away. We all have limitations.

On that same deal, should patients be allowed to sue the pants off doctor's who make mistakes such as that? Part of me says yes, part of me says no.

If they can, then it inspires doctors and hospitals to put up the 'blue wall of silence' and cover things up, make things a mystery so patients don't know what is going on. All for the sake of reducing exposure to liability.

But if patients can't sue, then they may be left with the loss of the ability to work for the rest of their lives, permanent pain or physical limitations, the loss of their very life. Hurting those left behind horribly, emotionally and financially, by their absence.

Medical lawsuits drive up the cost of medicine, and medical care. You'd have to be a fool not to see that. Not just measured in money, but in transparency, and honesty to the patient.

Insurance costs and liability can be a huge issue in my industry too. But we still press forward with trying to be open about things. There are flaws, there are coverups. Perpetrated by individuals, companies, and federal agencies. But I'd like to think we are trying hard not to. I'd like to think we are trying to make people understand more what we do. How it makes things safer, it's just science and technology, people.

I'd like to think Medicine does the same thing. That at least everyone wants to be open, and inclusive.

I tend to wonder though. About both industries.

Cheers, to making a more open and less scary world.

Snapshots From a Revolution Discussed

Well, my "30 Days to Revolution", has become something different, and in the end, more fitting for me, and the style that I seem to love to stubbornly cling to. That being, the uber-short-form.

I don't know if it's my ADD, or what, but I just can't bring myself to write more than one or two pages at a time, on a given specific subject. Now, don't get me wrong, I can work within a general framework. I proved it! See last years "seven deadly sins" series, and the serial I did about the astronaut in the desert a few weeks ago. The former, was seven parts (duh), the latter spanned fourteen chapters. I new personal record.

My intent, with writing about an (attempted?) Second American Revolution, was to write it over thirty days, with thirty installments, reflecting 30 days of actual story progress. Unfortunately, after I wrote the first two, I fell out of love with that concept, hard.

So the group is evolving into more of "Snapshots of a Revolution". Which I'm fine with. I'm actually starting to warm to it.

I can write about some of the typical things I write about, life, death, love, hate. And a few that are a little over the top. Oh, and a little humor. That one is still coming. It involves nuclear weapons, and let's admit it: Everything is funny about nuclear weapons, right?

I still think that I'm going to end up on some government watch list, just for publishing this particular group of pieces.

But, It's not like I'm advocating armed rebellion, or revolution against the existing United States of America. Not necessarily because we don't need one, but because it would be total suicide.

If, and that's a big huge sweaty IF; you could organize such a thing without being infiltrated, and shut down before you even started with a group of the size I talk about here: You would be cut to ribbons in our current over secured society. And I guess that in the end, that's a good thing. I don't want civil war. Especially not in this modern age.

With our current technology, and varied personalities in the military; there would always be enough loyalists to put down any rebellion.

And in the end, my literary rebellion will end badly, as is foreshadowed in the opening stanzas of "We Hang Traitors In These Here Parts".

So call it a cautionary tale. Of what could happen if a rebellion got out of the planning stages, and got ahold of weapons, and bombs, and had an actual plan.

It will still end with their defeat, but the cost would be dire. Both in our national identity, and in people.

I'm certain I will fail in some way to illustrate all of this, but that is my intent.

I was drawn to do this, because of all I saw happening in this country, and abroad. Seeing the Arab Spring, and Occupy Wallstreet; I threw out some comments, and a poem or two about an armed rebellion being the only way to 'git er done'. But that was talking out my ass.

Can Occupy make a difference? In my opinion: No. they will be a footnote, to be learned about, just like the anti war protests were for my generation.

It's sad but true. The money does run this country, whether it's some faceless families behind the scenes as many conspiracies purport; or if it's just what you see on the surface: Multiple corporations, and special interest groups, with money to throw around, one up each other financially, until the common man has no voice.

The power of your voice in government is tied to the money in your pocket. That's just the way it is today.

Come to think of it, that would be one way that the 99 percent could take back the country. By pooling all our discretionary income, and buying our government back.

Beat the bastards at their own game.

Cash talks, guns and bombs will be put down, bullshit walks.

Cheers, to the walking talking bullshit mega machine that is the American people.

The Lone Bone Has Left The Building

Don,  I guess I totally don’t remember that his middle name was Don.  Not surprising, as I wasn’t the most observant youngster, even with people I called friends.

Anyhoo, he’s dead:  Tony Edly.  That's him as I knew him in eighth grade.  And he'll always look like that in my head.

I guess Facebook is good for something.  I get to hear that kind of stuff.

And don’t get me wrong, I’m glad she told me.  Yet another good classmate that I lost touch with in the passage of time. 

I can look back on my yearbooks, and see all the faces.  Some of them I remember well, and fondly.  Some of them I could live without certainly.  A few of them still make me wish I was a kid again, sitting next to them, causing trouble. 

Tony was one of those.

I remember a routine he did in class one day.  I can’t remember for the life of me why he did it. I think it might have been some kind of class assignment handed out by the wonderful ‘hippie’ substitute teacher we had for most of one school year, was it seventh?  eighth grade?  I don’t know. 

Just a sec.  I know where two of my St. Thomas Yearbooks are.  Lemme check.

Yes, the substitute that I remember, was Miss Schoder, pronounced as “Skoder” with a long ‘O’ sound.  She was fun as I remember.

And the thing Tony did in front of the class, was some sort of a western cowboy quick draw routine.  I seem to remember him and Steve Stelzer up there doing it for some reason.  One of them was a robot cowboy, that you’d put a quarter into, and he’d challenge you to a quick draw routine…..it’s coming back to me, sort of.

“First you take your gun, then you take your hat, then you count to three, and then you draw!” 

That was said in a robot cowboy type voice, of course.  One person would pantomime taking the things, and putting them on, then walk all bowlegged away and do the count of three and draw.  And I think the joke was, that one or two different people did the routine with the robot, and then the last person goes, and the robot repeats his speech, but then draws on the count of “one”, and wins. 

It’s kind of foggy.  But as I remember it was hilarious at that age. 

Somewhere along the line, and I can’t remember if it was tied to that skit he did, Tony started calling himself, “Tone The Lone Bone”.  Really really funny stuff.  I hope he wasn’t known as that the rest of his life though, it might be an unfortunate nickname for an adult.

I lived about a block away from him in grade school.  We did stuff pretty often for a time.  Although I don’t remember when that time started, or tapered off.  But it was always good fun.  Rode bikes, had a couple sleepovers, I think. 

He lived with his family, in his grandmother’s house.  His mother was there, as were his two older siblings.  They were all very nice as I remember. 

I had some strong opinions about his grandmother there for awhile, but as I can’t confirm any of it.  I’ll not mention specifics. 

I’ll just say that Tony was a pretty awesome kid, despite things being less than ideal sometimes. 

Just a few minutes ago, I Googled him, and found his Facebook page.  Not too many specifics to non-friends such as me.  I’d friend him, but I don’t think there’d be a response. 

Looks as if he might have been into tech.  Computers maybe.  I hope it went well for him. 

I’m sorry I wasn’t a better friend for him.  I’m sorry I lost track of him.  Along with all the rest of my classmates.  We were a really great class, even the stinkers among us were a hoot.

Of course, that doesn’t mean that I’m going to make close touch with everyone again.  I just can’t lie like that, not even to myself. 

But especially tonight, I’m thinking of them all.  And Tony Edly, the boy who was “Tone the Lone Bone”, once upon a time, and made us all laugh so much:  He’s right there with us still.

Cheers Tony, I got a quarter, wanna draw?

Tony Edly 1970-2012

There is no way I'll ever put Don between those two names.......

A Flag, a mask, and Differing Opinions

The role of symbols as a rallying cry cannot be overrated.

But the root meaning of some of these symbols can vary from person to person.

I’m thinking today, of the Confederate States of America's “Stars and bars” flag; and the now well known Guy Fawkes mask.

When I was younger, the rebel flag was a mystery to me. I saw it on the roof of the orange 1969 Dodge Charger that was a star on The Dukes of Hazzard on television. That was probably my first association I had of it. It represented fun, rebelling against crooked authority, maybe speed, cool cars. My introduction to this American symbol was not really based in any reality.

In middle school, I think it was, I learned that the "rebel flag" (though not the actual official flag of the CSA) represented the Confederate States of America. I learned a little more about the American Civil War. But I didn’t clue in at all on the actual situation that brought about the civil war. I just figured they had wanted to form their own country, because they didn’t agree with how Washington DC ran things. Which, is basically true, if a simple reading of it.

But that doesn’t take all the facts into consideration.

.- EDIT: Rather than bullshit you with a bunch of half-wrong talk:  Just reference the Cornerstone Speech, given by the Confederate Vice-President, in 1861.  Slavery, and the subjugation of the black race, is the correct answerto that question of "Why the Civil War?" https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cornerstone_Speech

But I didn’t let it worry me. I was a self centered person. I still associated that flag with the Dukes of Hazzard, and fun, and the whole concept of being a rebel. And since I was into my long run of defying any authority, just for the sake of it, I still liked the flag.

Fast forward to when I was twenty-two. I’d moved up north to the family cottage, so as to live closer to my new career oriented job of aviation maintenance. I’d become a bit of an alcoholic, I’d bought a few guns, a new Jeep, and an old Harley. I bought a cheap Rebel flag at a flea market, and ran it up the flagpole in front of the cottage. I thought it declared me as a “rebel” for all to see. At the time, I liked it.

We are going to ignore the whole picture of me as a beer swilling redneck I just painted there. It hurts to look at that image of what I used to be.

Then my father came up north. He lost his temper when he saw that flag up there. Because to him, it meant something completely different. To my father, born in 1939, he associated that flag, that symbol, with the Ku Klux Klan, racism, segregation, as well as the Confederates. All bad things.

I didn't put it up again. By then I was at least smart enough to know that if something made my father that angry, it should at least give me pause.

I eventually came to the conclusion that as a symbol, the flag did not mean the same thing to all people. And that my view that it was a simple, fun image of being a rebel; was not the most common one. I found the truth of it. That it was heavily associated with the South, and racism. People who wanted racism and separation, tended to use it as one if their rallying symbols. People who wanted brotherhood and unity, looked down on it as a symbol of things opposed to those ideals.

I felt bad that I had offended people in my ignorance. I wanted to hide my face.

And if I had, I hope I would have chosen a Guy Fawkes mask.

This mask should be familiar to people these days for several reasons. The underground hero called V, wore it in the movie of the same name with great success. The group called Anonymous has adopted it as the "face" of who they are; and the occupy movement currently going on also uses it as a strong public persona.

But what is that mask all about? What does it mean?

To myself, who first saw it in the aforementioned motion picture; it represents power, vengeance, and mystery. The character called V, was avenging certain horrible wrongs. He did so grandly, and with style. Few things grab my emotions more than righteous vengeance.

A scene at the end of that movie, captures a hint if why it appeals to both the Anonymous organization, and the Occupy protesters.

It's when seemingly thousands of people, all wearing the guy Fawkes masks, black hats, and capes, converge on the police, guarding The house of parliament I think it was.

The power in that image, of all those people, standing together, against oppression, under the anonymity of the same face, making them even more unified and one: it was breathtaking.

I certainly cannot speak for Anonymous, although I am them and they are me, I understand the imagery. And it is powerful. They are everywhere, they are everyone, very effective.

Occupy Wall street movement uses it for much the same reasons, although with the added benefit of concealing your identity for awhile, avoiding needless reprisals hopefully.

I had to look up the Wiki on who exactly Guy Fawkes was though. Not growing up in Britain, I only knew what the movie had hinted at. That he was a revolutionary "terrorist" who had tried to blow up the British Parliament, but had gotten caught.

I learned he was a great deal more than that, and less, all at once. I won't bore you with everything. But in a nutshell, he was very Catholic, in a time when the Church of England was the only game in town, so to speak. He sold everything and fought for Catholic Spain in the Eighty year war. Returning from that (he wasn't there the entire eighty years), he hooked up with a group that wanted to bring a Catholic King back to the British Throne. Papalists, as they were called. Their idea was to blow up the Parliament building with gunpowder, lots of it.

Tipped off anonymously (how ironic!), the authorities searched the building, finding Guy Fawkes in the lower level, guarding the gunpowder cache. He was tortured, confessed, and sentenced to death. But threw himself from the platform, breaking his own neck.

EDIT: That apparently may be a myth, as official records indicate that Fawkes was hanged until "half dead", then disemboweled, and quartered. That's what i get for trusting in the convenience of Wikipedia.

Going with the legend, I'd like to think he was attempting escape.

So somehow, by my innocent reckoning, he went from religious fundamentalist homegrown terrorist, admit it, that's what he'd be called today; to a symbol to be burned in effigy once a year by the British; to dark hero in the graphic novels, and movie "V for Vendetta"; to a symbol of nameless strength; to a symbol of the common people, Anonymous.

What a long road that image took.

What a variation on what people's feelings there must be about that symbol, that image, the white mask with the fabulous 'stache.

Symbols mean different things to different people. A face that is one's hero, is another's villain. One person's flag of rebel fun, is another's flag of hatespeak.

Cheers to the differences, and learning to see them.

Disbelief Hanging Suspended by Wires

The suspension of disbelief, is a very important concept.

Doing it properly, can enhance any leisure or entertainment experience. Be it a movie, a book, a play, or a story around the campfire.

In the latter example, when someone is telling the scary stories around the campfire, even though the rational and logical you, knows that it's pretend, and there will likely be a "BOO" moment at the end. If you suspend that logic and rationale, you will have an immensely better time. Your tension will build with the story, to be cathartically released at the climax of the story. Much like sex.

Whereas, if you sit around the fire, with a nasty hipster attitude, as if you've been there and done all of this before, and pick apart the details of the story for their plausibility or factuality: not only will you make it a lousy experience for yourself, but you'll detract from everyone else's experience.

Don't be that person, don't be Buzz Killington.

The same concept obviously applies to other forms of entertainment. Really good to have in Magic shows, and plays. Places where either the angle on the show, or the scenery and costumes, aren't as perfect as in movies.

But I love going to them. Even if it's a cardboard cutout backdrop, painted by teenagers. As long as their acting can suck me in, I'm all in.

But, there is a backswing to all of that.

Sometimes, I suspend my disbelief too much. I hang my logic right up, and odn't participate in the mysteries right in the story. I just take it in as it is presented.

It's irritating to sit next to someone who doesn't do it quite as much as I do, and have them get the story twist about ten minutes before I do. all because they interpreted some early clue properly.

Dang it. But that's just sour grapes.

I am trying to get my kids to do it, or rather, keep doing it. It's a sort of childlike thing, the whole concept. I don't want them to get all jaded with things like I did. Which we now think of as being a Dirty Hipster.

I had to recover my suspension of disbelief. I was tired of not enjoying shows and stories as much as when I was a kid.

Maybe that explains why I've gone overboard with it. I just need to get my concept to mature a few years. Not to the hipster teenager phase, but arrest it's development just before that.

That's when it's at it's best. When you can ignore the fact that it's all fake, and enjoy it on it's face value; but still apply logic and learning readily when it helps you along with the storyline or concept.

I'd say I'm too old to change. But now that I know better, I'll keep working on it.

After all, you're never too old to think young.

Cheers, to the tweenager inside all of us.

Patellar Despair

I've got no business being upset.  But there it is.  I'm not perfect anymore.

I should provide the caveat that I never really was actually.  Just as far as general health and functionality goes, this body has been a real workhorse for me. 

I've historically been extremely healthy.  I seldom have, or ever have, had a decent reason to call in sick.  Maybe one day a year, I could be called 'sick'.  The rest of the time, it's just a headache maybe, or I'm wicked tired from doing something.  Or I just plain didn't want to go into work that day. 

FYI, Not counting the day I was high on some kind of opiate pain killer after my kidney stone, I haven't called in sick for almost two years now. 

After I was laid off for that extended period starting in 2009, my work philosophy does not include sick days, where I am not actually sick.  Which is a good thing.  Way better than in the mid 90's, when I'd call in sick pretty regular, just to take road trips with my wife.  Or even just go home sick and watch midday television.

Once, I called in sick, but didn't tell my best friend ahead of time.  So while he was at work, my wife and I took his wife with us on some road trip adventure.  Boy was he mad!  He wanted to have gone too! 

Once again, I digress though. 

My point is, that I've always been healthy, and durable. 

Despite being pretty hard on this body.  Through physical activity via six years of football, and occasional track use, plus all the other dumb stuff a young person does:  I never broke one bone.  For Forty years. 

Never had to have an operation, of any kind.  For forty years.

Then, in my fortieth year, the kidney stone; stupid lump removal on my head; and a broken kneecap. 

What the fuck is going on here?

And now, my perfect body, isn't going to be perfect ever again.  It's the long slide to decrepitude.

The kneecap, seen on X-ray today, isn't healing well in my opinion.  Compared to the one taken the day after I broke it, now almost 10 weeks ago; the one from today looks not substantially different to me. 

Basically, it still looks as broken as the first day. At least to me. It depresses the fuck out of me. Will it ever heal together?  I'm walking around more or less normally now. Is that preventing the bones knitting?

A physicians assistant tells me no.

I get vague reassurances, that it seems to be healing well.  Or that, it's hard to tell, but there may be bone filling in the gap here, it just appears so much lighter compared to the surrounding original bone......

I hate it.  The broken off part of the kneecap (patella), is not lined up properly with the larger piece, and when it heals in it's current position, will be misaligned slightly, to the aft direction, as seen by looking down at it. 

Does that make a difference?  Probably not, as far as immediate functionality goes.  In the future?  Who can say? 

In my mind, the misaligned edges, that will be sticking out, in the direction of the joint (!!!) will be pointy little potential problems.  A weak spot to be exploited by every misstep or kneeling position I take in the future. 

And, immediately speaking.  Devastating to my psyche.  I feel crooked.  Every ache I feel in my newly released from restrictions knee, I imagine to be the bone piece, moving wildly against it's mate.  Grinding itself into smaller pieces, to be trapped in the joint, and leave me immobile on some future pedestrian train track crossing.  Unable to move from in front of the Polar Express, or an Amtrak Commuter train.

If it does not heal, then we are back to surgically removing the small loose piece. Which I am ambivalent about.  Without that piece of bone in there, the same crazy train death scenarios apply.

I know, it's all in my head.  I've had a good run of luck with health, and I need to get over it. 

But I just can't do it today.

Cheers?  I don't think so.

SOPA, PIPA, and me?

SOPA, PIPA, and me.

As I was looking at Scott Johnson's latest Extralife web comic panel, I realized something. Those internet pirate bills, could very well effect me directly.

I don't usually think of myself as a content provider, or anything. But I actually am.

And, I do use small parts of other people's work within my own occasionally. In my poems mostly.

Think of it like a musician recording and producing a single, and he chooses to insert a little five second snippet of another song or something. It can give things an extra zip, or add context, or a familiar touchstone for people to reference within your own original related, or even unrelated work.

99.9% of my work on the poetry blog is original, I'll swear to it. But if you read enough of them, you'll see the odd quote, or something thrown in there.

Gosh, I just had a tangent thought, do I need to add a reference section in the back of my poetry book, in order to give credit to any line or quote that I've borrowed? Holy crap, I hadn't even thought of that. I wonder what the heck is allowed?

As a rule of thumb, I've heard, mostly from Mr. Tom Merritt, that if what you do is transformative, then it's ok to use little bits and pieces of things. But that sometimes, it takes a court case to prove you right, unfortunately

NOw that I've dropped his name, I probably butchered his intentions or something on that. If so I apologize ahead of time, and will edit immediately if required. I don't do much research ahead of time before writing a Warthog entry.

But back on the SOPA, PIPA track.

If an artist, or author read one or my poems on the Google Blogger, and took issue with how I used their words, or even their name maybe, I'll have to look into that one. I did make Jessica Alba into an underbed monster in one poem.

Anyways, if someone had a problem with what I wrote that was copyright related, under those two proposed law packages, they could complain, and I assume my blog site would be blocked. I don't get a chance to say a word about it before hand either.

The BS part of it, is that it doesn't matter if what I did was perfectly acceptable, and legal. If someone complains, it gets censored. The whole thing.

How messed up is that?

I'd heard numerous bad things about these bills, but never associated them with my own published content. I just was sad that many sites I like to visit may be effected.

This though, this changes everything.

Down with SOPA, down with PIPA.

The internets need to have some freedom to express themselves.

I've mentioned it before, relating to issues like this. There ARE existing laws on the books, that could be either enforced better, or tweaked slightly to cover the problems that copyright holders supposedly have.

But that is never anyone's solution, it's always just to add something else to our already bloated legal code system.

Give it a rest. Stop coddling corporations over people.

Cheers, before I get too carried away and write all damned day.

Being a Better Person

In my youth, I would rail against religion given almost any excuse. Especially when I initially broke "officially" with the Catholic church. I think I was about nineteen when I did that.

It was a tweeny, immature soapbox session I held while standing in the doorway to the family den/television room. My parents were both sitting on the couch. I don't recall what brought it on. But there I was, proclaiming my definite belief in the ridiculousness of the Roman Catholic church, and my probable disbelief in god as well.

Thus began years of alternating anger and guilt associated with religion, and all it's trappings. I maintained a sort of 'face' with the family, by attending important holiday masses with them. This went on whenever I was in town for Christmas usually. I don't know why I bothered. All pretense was gone.

I do admit to a certain amount of the comfort food factor, especially around the holidays like that. After all, I had been an altar boy for almost ten years. I knew the mass scripts mostly by heart, as well as most of the hymns, prayers, etc.

I feel badly about all my preaching against religion. Mostly stemming from a comment one of my best friends made once. I may have mentioned it before.

He told me something to the effect of: I don't believe in god anymore, mostly thanks to you.

That stabbed at my heart. I had climbed down off the soapbox for the most part by that point, and to have him say that. Well, that told me I shouldn't have been up there to begin with. I feel like I raped someone spiritually.

It's just not up to me to tell people what to believe, or not to believe. If I do, then I'm as bad as the church.

Belief, or unbelief, should be very personal choices.

To murder a George Carlin quote: Whatever gets you through the day, rub blue mud on your belly, whatever.

And that's the point, isn't it? To make it through each day, with some semblence of sanity and happiness. Despite the fact that our time on earth here is very limited, and this mortal life is all that we know. Everything else, we have to take on faith.

Unbelieving is no less a faith than believing, believe me! You have to work at it. Annd I'm still not perfect at it.

The important breakthrough for me, when I was struggling with religion, morals, ethics, happiness. Was a quaint little argument I made up to 'defend' my so called atheism.

In a nutshell, it is thus: Take two people.

One is a devout religious person, who follows all the rules of his faith, and is fully expecting an afterlife in a good place, be it heaven, valhalla, what have you.

The other person is an unbeliever. This person lives a good life, following his own moral compass, with no expectation of an afterlife, or any reward in that place.

Which one is the better person? The one who is good because of God's rules, and the hope for an eternal reward after this life? Or the person who is good and decent because he/she chooses to be. Because that is how that person believes it should be done. With only this mortal life span to look forward to, no consequences after that.

It's a rhetorical question. You don't have to answer it out loud. The way that I couch it, a logical person would choose the latter individual. But logic seldom plays in faith based scenarios. So I gave up trying with that argument.

That philosophy did help me turn my life around. I feel I'm a better person these days, because I choose to be so. Not because I have to be, or there are some arcane rules to follow.

I always had a problem with authority anyways. This way, it's my choice. :)

But ultimately, I decided, it's not important.

It's not important why you live a good life, or make life better for others. It is only important that you do.

So when I see someone, who was in a dark place at one time, and they are now a changed person, dedicating their lives to helping others; all because they found the lord, or Jesus, or Allah.

I call it a good thing.

I praise them for it. Because they are a better person, and make the world better for everyone else by being that way.

When I was 19 I would have ridiculed them.

Now that I'm 40, I know better.

Cheers, to doing good things for a reason, or no reason at all!

Space Madness! Or: Writing a cheap serial.

I've broken form a little bit. I wonder should I be worried?

Should I tie myself to a so-called "poetry" format for my Fritz365 poetry blog?

Nah!

It started on January 8th, after I wrote a rather free form piece about some maniac testing out a highly, and questionably modified Lear jet.


After, or maybe during, writing it; I decided I should tell some kind of narrative about this guy. Why would he do such a mad thing?

I had to reason: Could a guy that was smart and talented enough to pull off such a feat, still be so delusional that he actually thinks that he has a chance at reaching actual Earth orbit, let alone the Moon?

Does it matter? Was it all just a fancy way to commit suicide for this guy from the very start?

So I gave him some motivation. A life long dream of being an astronaut, and specifically, reaching the moon himself.

I also gave him a disease. This was the motivation for him to sell all his worldly possessions and cash in any savings and retirement he had.

I gave him a timetable. He has a year, at most, left to live. And this unnamed disease has the bad form to get a little worse as it goes. So the last few months of it, are virtually useless for anything else other than sitting or laying around waiting to die.

I gave him no family. Or at least none that I mention. Did he up and leave a wife and kids behind? Taking all their money to fund this mad dream of his? I leave that up to speculation. But I suspect not. The character is too kind hearted for that. He'd never hurt anyone but himself on purpose.

I gave him a companion. Someone to talk to, and hang out with. A dog. Named Dog, of course.

So that's where the storyline has it's beginning. Not on that test flight, which actually happens chronologically towards the end of the tale. But in the desert. Somewhere within four hours of Las Vegas. Kind of a Groom Lake, Area 51-ish type place. Not specified. Good for doing things as you wish to do them.

I haven't yet posted the last three installments as I write this.

I got carried away and wrote the last one yesterday. An Epilogue that sort of wraps things up as far as the question of what was his ultimate disposition.

I'm satisfied with where it went. Although I have the urge to write more substance into the story.

As a matter of fact; looking at the fourteen installments, I have the bones of an actual story. Perhaps not a novel, certainly not THE novel. But I rather like it.

All over a crazy notion I had in my head five years ago, discussed breifly in a place we loved to call "The Room of Speculation".

The idea of going into Earth orbit with a Learjet having rocket motors tacked onto it, got me a sad strange look at that time. I can't blame them. It is a pretty daft idea.

Space actually begins (officially anyways, whatever that means) at an altitude of 50 miles. Get there, and you can persuade NASA, or the Air Force, or someone, to give you a set of Astronaut wings. Or whatever it is that they get. A little golden Mercury capsule perhaps?

I want one!

Know that even insanely bold airplanes such as the SR-71 in level flight, and various prototype aircraft performing what is known as a "Zoom climb", have not gotten over 100,000 feet (which is just under 19 miles). And all those aircraft, are specially built with high temp resistant skins, specialized motors and fuel. Plus the special life support systems for the pilot.

Plus the actual Earth escape velocity, pegged at somewhere around 25,000 miles per hour.

My best guess using Tennessee windage, would put a Learjet on either meltdown or break apart status at somewhere around Mach 2 or 3, given enough thrust. Assuming it could make it through the initial turbulence at the speed of sound, the air friction generating heat on the aluminum skin would eventually cause it to melt, fatigue, crack, etc.

You can see where the story would fall apart on technicalities if it went too far in one direction.

So is it delusion? Or fancy, high tech suicide for the character here?

I like to think it's just like all good mysteries in life.

Somewhere in the middle, where it's all hazy and grey.

Cheers, to crazy ideas, and what puts us up to them.

Tahoma Guilt

As you may know, I'm an aircraft inspector. I've been working in aviation since graduating A&P school back in the summer of 1993. I've had good times, and bad, working for first a cargo carrier, then a research and development facility.

At this R&D facility, I was the lead inspector for six years. I was able to gain a lot of interesting experience there. As that job came to an end during 2008, I was hunting for a job that summer. One of the things I did was post my resume up on some aviation job sites.

One day that summer, while at work, I got a cold call from an air cargo company called Air Tahoma. They were based in Columbus Ohio, and the man on the phone was their Director of Maintenance.

He said he'd seen my resume online, and asked me if I might be interested in becoming the Chief Inspector there at Air Tahoma, Columbus.

That was quite a shock. Chief Inspector is pretty much the top dog position that an aviation inspector can shoot for. The next step up would be something corporate I think.

I told him I was interested. So we talked about it for about twenty minutes, while I sat outside behind our hangar.

What he told me of the position was interesting. What he didn't tell me, spoke volumes.

He told me a little bit about the company and it's history, the types of planes they flew, and the different places in the world they visited with the aircraft.

He told me that the reason he was looking for the Chief Inspector position, was that the current person in the position was an interim measure, and the local FAA was wanting a permanent person in as soon as possible.

Basically, when the feds tell you to get your butt in gear and hire someone, you should listen.

The person there now, I was told, was old and cranky. He didn't want to be a team player, and was always giving the maintenance side a hard time about everything.

The man on the phone told me he was looking for someone who would work with his decisions better, so things could go smoother.

He offered me a salary, right there over the phone. $50 K per year.

I told him I'd have to talk to my wife and think about it before I came for a visit.

He asked me to get back with him that same afternoon with a yes or a no, as he was in a time crunch.

I had to reflect on that phone call for a while.

This was an opportunity for me. To get experience in the top job in my current profession, inspection.

The negatives started adding up though.

Moving to Columbus would be another move to a place where my family had no support system. No relatives, no friends.

$50 K per year, really isn't that much money, especially for that job position.

The things he didn't say started to bother me. Why was he offering me a position, sight unseen, over the phone? The real reason.

What was the current Chief Inspector giving him such a hard time over, and why wasn't that guy going to take the permanent position?

Nobody else on staff had the experience or willingness to take the position?

What sort of things was I going to be expected to be going along with, in order to have things run smoothly?

All these things bothered me.

I talked to my current boss, and friend. We were all looking for jobs at that point, so it wasn't a breach of etiquette or anything.

He kind of came to the same conclusion I did.

Stay away from this one!

It turns out, we were both right. That September, a few months after I spoke with him, one of their airplanes crashed in a field short of the runway there in Columbus. All three crew were killed. The FAA and NTSB stepped in and investigated, found numerous problems, and pulled Air Tahoma's certificate. They were out of business.

I've had time now to think on that whole thing now and then. And I have to admit, I have some indirect guilt. I know it's ridiculous, you don't have to tell me.

Sometimes I play that what if game with myself though. What if I'd taken the job, I'd have been there at that time. What if I could have prevented that from happening?

Now, I'm no hero or anything, don't get me wrong. The problem that brought the plane down, was that the elevator trim cables were hooked up backwards. Easy enough to do actually, if you aren't paying attention. Hooking A to B, instead of A to A, and vice versa.

No inspector signed off on that installation before the plane took off and crashed. If an inspector had looked at it, maybe he would have caught it.

Maybe I would have caught it. Or maybe by being there, I could have worked with the Maintenance guy like he wanted, but still fostered a work environment that promoted quality, and conscientiousness. Maybe that could have helped prevent the mistake.

I'll never know. And since I took a different path, I wasn't involved.

But in another parallel universe, I made the choice to go there.

I have to wonder what happened when I did.