the nothing post

its 6:49pm. i am sitting on my bed, listening to martha wainwright (big surprise). the tv is on, but muted. sun is still shining but its gotten to cold to be enjoyable at this hour. no one is around. absolutely no one. so why am i bothering to write an entry here? because its something to do. i have nothing really to say. time to list recent tastes on things. what hell, why not.

books: breakfast of champions - kurt vonnegut.

drink: chivas regal

music: martha wainwright

ha, the lyric i just heard was "this life is boring." fitting isnt it? so this is what i have to look forward to folks. the non existence of a social life and the internet, i might as well be living out in nebraska. on a good note, i have about $50k worth of flying i get to do in the next 9 months or so, which is awesome.

i need to travel.

ever get to the point where you act a certain way in certain situations and you cant stand yourself for acting that way? here is the metaphor...actually its a simile. when i eat something that i really love...lets say its pizza just for arguments sake, well some people will take their time eating and savoring it. i like to savor it too but i usually eat it really quick because i dont want to leave one taste bud out. know what i mean?

this has been the nothing post....youre welcome.

some more

"the truth is i dont know." jack spoke softly. every thought that he had about the world was slowly unraveling. he had only met one old woman, a bartender, and a beautiful woman in a park yet his entire world was thrown upside down with only fuck and shit to show for it. he proceeded to tell this young woman the story of the flash cards and his mothers death and his self directed teaching and his mothers distaste for cheaters and the old woman and love and war and hate and dinosaurs and everything else he could think of.

the girl said "oh."

jacks world needed to be redefined. he asked the girl to meet him there in one week, at the same time, at the same park bench. he promised her that he would have his answer for her then.

she asked "what was the question?"

a quick story that could be a longer story

jack was raised by a very careful mother who felt that raising her son in her home was the safe thing to do. the public school system was just to infiltrated with vermin and wicked teachings for her son to be pure, and she couldnt afford the private ones. she was poor enough where she couldnt even afford the books. she took it upon herself to draw up flash cards, they were all the rage when she was in school. she had grand plans for her cards, they would address everything from math to english to astrophysics once jack was old enough of course. since everything she will ever teach jack is going to based on words and communications, it seemed as good a place to start as any. she ran into a problem though when she did not have a dictionary. being ever so resourceful she figured she was smart enough where she could write her own, and they would be just as good as whatever webster had to say on the topic. she started with what was most important:

"Love"

and on a seperate card so as to discourage cheating:

"everything that is good in the world."

further deciding that grouping words together by association would help:

"hate"

and on a seperate card:

"everything that is bad in the world"

and so she continued touching on every topic that she could possibly think of. words were included that would be used in lessons in the future, all with their definitions conjured by herself. war: the absence of love. peace: the absence of hate. color: the absence of tolerance. dreams: adventures of the courageous mind. work: a means to an end. once satisfied that she had a good head start on her project, jacks mother reitred to her bed.
in the room beside hers, her little man slept. aware that tomorrow he would take his first steps towards being a man and conquering the world, even if it meant first learning the fundamentals of speech and arithmatic.

the following morning, jack rose quickly. no alarms had gone off, no bells had rung but he was caught up in the excitement usually reserved for mornings when children would find presents hidden under a tree. he ran to his mothers room to wake her. he called her name. he yelled at her. tugged at the sheets. felt her hand. saw her lips. a blue that rich had never touched his eyes, not even from the sky above. the cold touch of her hand froze his spine and made it tingle with fear. being so young, he had no real concept of death. how much can you know about death when you havent quite figured out what life is just yet?

determined to make his late mother proud, jack set himself to the task of learning. he would learn everything his mother had to teach him. every syllable, every letter, every symbol of punctuation. he picked up the cards his mother had slaved over for months. he picked them up in his hands, the lessons his mother had wished to teach him, all there in sequence. he picked them up in his hands, where they remained for all of five seconds.

funny how grim gravity can be.

they covered the floor. from underneath the table to the ancient hutch in the corner, the room was now carpeted in thought. gathering them back up, jack realized that his mothers teachings would now be all but impossible to learn. lesson number one, arrange the words in their correct order. since his mother had wished to instill honor in the boy and refute any hint of cheating, she had placed the definitions of the words on seperate cards. jack worked slowly.

"France"

what was france? he was sure he had heard the word. was it a place? a country? a religion? he had no idea. searching around he found a definition that seemed like it might fit.

"when two people push their lips together"

that seemed proper. he was sure the context was on as he slightly remembered hearing something about this in the past. moving along.

"dinosaur"

hmmm....this one is a little tougher.

"the most important man in the world"

perfect.

"love"

love?

love?

lllloooovvvveeee????????

love love love love love?

he knew it wasnt a place. he knew it wasnt someone. he knew it wasnt an idea necessarily, or a religion. he knew it wasnt a color or a game or a career. but what was it.

"everything that is bad in the world"

seemed as good as any. next?

"hate"

"everything that is good in the world."

jack proceeded to butcher the english language to a point where it was almost unrecognizable. years past, jack holed up in his shack laboring over these cards as his mother would have wanted him to. after all, she hated him so. she only wanted what was worst for him after nothing.

at the ripe old age of 20 years old, jack finally figured that he had learned all there was to learn about the world and he kept his promise. walking down the street, an old woman looked at him, seeing a new face for the first time in 15 years was a shock to the old woman.

"who the fuck are you?" she asked....delicately.

seeing as how this was the first time jack was being tested on his linguistic skills, his mind raced. fuck? what the hell word was fuck? he had to improvise. maybe fuck meant a relative, or a daughter or a son? she wanted to know who his mother was?

"i am jack. and i am a fuck of my mothers. my mothers fucker if you will"

wide eyed, the old woman was taken a back.

"at least youre honest" and she scurried off.

jack was pleased with himself. not only was his first public encounter over with, but he had learned a new word. strolling along the street for the first time, he noticed a sign for a pub. this was another word that he had never seen before.

"waddya want?

"i am jack, and i am a fuck of my mothers." he said nervously

"yeah well so am i, and im sure this guy here was too" the bartender groaned, pointing at a man, covered in piss and vomit from head to toe."

jack was elated, he did not know that he had relatives. he knew from his teachings that members of a family are supposed to hate each other. so he took it upon himself to declare his hate for his new relative (this is getting ridiculous i know)

"i hate you so so very much, my new fuck"

"wait what? your new fuck? who the fuck do you think you are, coming in here thinking you can bag my ass. aw hell no, takes alot more than that shithead."

when jack woke up, he was in an alley behind the bar. the man that was in the bar covered in piss and vomit was now in teh alley, covered in piss and vomit. jack was also now covered in piss and vomit. but none of it was his.

after cleaning himself off to a satisfactory degree, jack headed towards the park. as soon as he reached the gate, he saw a lovely young lady sitting on a park bench. she had beautiful black hair, neat little glasses, and a smirk on his face. jack was overcome. he melted on the spot. feeling more alive than he has ever felt he felt a sudden uneasiness rise and fall over him like a tidal wave. this cant be hate. it doesnt make sense. he could not go back on his learning though. approaching the girl, he bent down close.

"i hate you. i hate you with everything i have and i want to make war with you."

"uh....what?"

shit. jack learned the meaning of shit at the moment. maybe he was wrong. better try again just to be sure.

"i am full of hate and i want to share that with you. war can be ours for as long as we live."

"uh, im sorry, one more time?"

realizing that maybe this girl wasnt into that type of thing, he switched gears. hoping for the best he leapt:

"i mean..uh...i love you. ive loved you since i saw you. i cant believe how much i love you. does everyone love you because i can see how that would happen. you are probably the reason peace exists."

at this, she smiled, told him he was sweet and that he could sit down next to her.

"so whats your name?"

"i am jack...and i am my mothers...."

"youre mothers?"

i am just my mothers i suppose."

okay, so, you could tell that you loved me at first sight eh? thats pretty remarkable."

"well yes it wasnt hard." jack had to try to find things that he did not like about her. "i think your glasses are lovely, and your black hair means love to me. also, the way you are holding your pen, i do not know why, but even that says love. love love love love love."

"really? i hate these glasses. they make me look stupid."

"why do you hate them if they make you look stupid?"

"well thats why, because i look stupid in them."

sensing that he may be wrong again, jack attempted to consider that he was wrong. he was unsure of himself so he just aked her ubruptly.

"if you hate your glasses, what is love then?"

"wow, well if you can tell me, that would be wonderful to know."



to be continued.....

well said

"how do you explain this sort of feeling to those who dont fly? how do you explain color to somebody blind from birth? passengers in airlines see the tops of the clouds, can see a sunrise, a sunset, but the motion is missing. a carnival ride gives you the motion, but the freedom is missing. when an airplane feels right to someone well-trained to fly it, its as if you are a part of it, as if its an extension of yourself, your will, your personality. you think, and it does like a hand or an arm. its in your bones, almost. it isnt an airplane, just you, with wings, free to go and do whatever you please...
all those years they actually paid me to do this. imagine. what a deal! how many people make their livings doing a thing they would gladly do for free? ill admit my mind wandered. i noticed the smog, and thought about muroc way back in the early days, and how we noticed and talked about the smog in L.A. before anyone even gave it a name. i thought about sonic booms, and how much fun it had been to make those back when truman was president, shaking up people below who didnt know what they were. i remembered, as i surveyed alabama below me, the thought that occurred to me as a kid back in training: all this is mine!"

Col. Bud Anderson from his book To Fly To Fight. Bud led a fighter group in WWII, was a triple ace in that war, had his hand in all the best test flying of the century, and still flies a p-51 around the country. i had the great priviledge to meet him last year at oshkosh. i just finished his book on the ride home from work today and ive never read a passage where someone was able to come close to what it is about flying...

schism

Im annoyed, frustrated, a little hurt, and slightly confused.

When my dads accident happened I was in boston. I rushed down on an amtrack train as fast as I could. Mike, my soon-to-be brother-in-law picked me up at the train station and brought me to the hospital. My sister met me in the lobby. She wasn’t crying, I couldn’t tell if she looked like she had. She had a serious, authoritarian look about her. We went up the elevator. The hospital wing was typical, white linoleum floor, portable IV’s all over the place, empty gurneys, biohazard bags, closed doors with windows that had chicken wire sandwiched between the two panes, crying, silence, white, white, and sterile. She led me into the room when my dad’s life was being saved. He laid there, a blue tube coming out of his mouth, his left leg raised in a sling, blood was starting to seep through where his ankle should have been. Everything smelled so clean. His head was already in the halo, he had broken two vertebrae in his neck. Machines beeped, lines were etched on an LED screen, I heard people talking but I wasn’t listening. He still had dirt next to his eye, his fingers were covered in dried blood and dirt and iodine. Howie was already dead. I went and stood up by his shoulder, on his left side. He opened his eye just enough for a sliver of light to work its way in, enough to see me. He reached out for my hand and I held his. I now had blood and dirt and iodine on mine, his blood, his dirt, his iodine, my blood, my dirt, my iodine. He squeezed with everything he had left, which wasn’t much, but it was enough to tell me everything he needed to say.

Its hard to stay annoyed, frustrated, a little hurt when you have a memory as vivid as that. But its that memory that makes everything confusing.

tiiiiiiiiiimmmmmmmme on my side...not

There aren’t too too many people around that over 100 years old.  Even if someone is 100, they were only born in 1906.  if we were looking for someone born in the 1800’s they would have to be at the very least 106 years old.  There definitely aren’t too many of them around.  You gotta figure that pretty soon every person that was ever born in the 1800’s is pushing up daisies.  That got me thinking that when I was 10, it wasn’t all that far fetched to find someone born in 1890.  they would still be 100 years old, but we still had an entire decade worth of people that were born in the 1800’s.  and now, how many do we have left?  It got weird to think about that.  its like all that time, and all those memories are dead too surviving only in yellowed photographs and in inked words.  

Think about how weird that is for our parents.  My parents were born in the 50’s.  if someone were born in 1890, they would only have been 60 when my parents were born, 80 when they were 20 and so on.  It must be weird for them that all the old people are now dead people.  And its going to be weird for us too when we turn into old people.  Crap.  Time keeps ticking and there aint nothing we can do about it.  Time…what an asshole. 

flaming maserati's

i just got back from four glorious days in florida. i went down with some friends to the Sun N Fun fly-in just an hour outside of orlando. basically take a big field, park a few thousand airplanes on it, and have a bbq.
first day. we get there and park our car. everyone parks in this big huge grass field. they probably use this field once a year just for this purpose, so it was freshly mowed...BUT not raked. as a result there was a ton of dead, dry grass lying around. we park our car and are getting our stuff together and applying as much sunscreen as possible. i notice a little puff of white smoke coming about three or four cars away. i thought maybe someone was grilling. then more smoke starts spewing up. i walk over to go check out what is going on only to find a brand new maserati sitting there with its front right quarter panel on fire. holy shit. i froze, wasnt sure what to do. other people had taken notice. the fire starts to spread on the dry grass pretty quick. next thing you know, the caddy next to the maserati starts catching on fire too. i finally break into a run to try to find someone. i see someone that looked official and yelled at him that he has two cars on fire. because the grass was so very dry, and the response of the fire dept. so very slow, by the time the fire was put out, 24 cars had caugh on fire. about 12 of them were completely destroyed to the point where there was nothing left but a melted shell of what was once a car. rims melted, glass gone, gas tanks blown up, tires gone, everything just destroyed. the picture below is the fire in its early stage, probably only a handful of cars were lit up at this point, it got alot bigger.
other than that, the weekend was great. i got my first ride in a Pitts special (little yellow plane below). it is a monster of an aerobatic plane that i have wanted to fly ever since i saw one years and years ago. pulled out all the stops, did crazy cool maneuvers that i cant really describe to you unless you know the names of them. i looked up "lomcevack"to see if i could find a video, but didnt. i did find this description though: "a graceful end-for-end tumble on all three control axes, finishing with the aircraft in an inverted spin." lomcevak translated means headache. (pronounced lum-sha-vach)
go to mikegoulian.com and watch the video. pretty much everything he does in that video i did. not as hard, and not as fast, but youll get the idea.
a great time, a nasty sunburn, and enough barrel rolls to keep me happy for a few days. anyone want to go flying?

decision 2006

i have put way more thought into this than any reasonable being should ever put. this has been on my mind for awhile now and i just cant come to a decision. should i buy an xbox or not?
here is the argument for it: i have never done anything purely stupid. ive always done stuff that would educate me in some way, mentally, grammatically, physically and so forth. but video games are just pure stupid fun. there is nothing to be learned from them at all other than the fact that repetitive thumb motions will result in sore thumbs. also, with my move to RI soon, ill need something to keep me entertained. i am going to be spending all day working on stuff that i would normally work on at night. so basically, i might just have this giant guilty conscious lifted off my shoulders. yes i can do something stupid every once in awhile, and not worry about wasting my time!
argument against it: well, that may all be true but with the time you do waste you could still be doing something better. you have to figure that there is someone out there that wants to be the best. and whoever works the hardest is going to be the best. so while i may be sitting on my tookus playing splinter cell for the 14th straight hour, my competition has been reading or studying, or making contacts or just doing something. and they will be better than me. and what was the trade off? i had stupid fun.
i think i just answered my own questions.

music is fun

tonight i went and saw Eisley at the paradise. its the second time i saw them and ya know what? they make me happy. they are just fun to listen to. they dont challenge me, they dont take risks, but they hit so many good notes and have so many good harmonies that i cant deny them. just fun. good fun. the first time i heard them i had a nervous breakdown. i was looking at venues to play out in chicago and they were playing the doubledoor. i hit the link to their site and shat myself. they are all my age or younger, but doing some pretty cool things. check them out...www.eisley.com
ive bought two discs in the past two days. first up, the yeah yeah yeahs new one. i loved the first one. it was raw and dirty and fun. the guitar playing is all over the place but brilliant, same for the drummer, and karen o is nuts. they somehow managed to tone down a bit for the new disc. kind of a dissappointment.
the other purchase was martha wainwright. wow. wow wow wow wow wow. perfect. so friggin good. she lays down such a rich soundscape in her tunes. her voice takes some getting used to, its almost as if the air she breathes is infused with a little helium but the music is completely tight and just sad bastard enough for me to totally dig it. i went to a show tonight, its 1am, and i am listening to her through headphones. she is like a warm blanket after a snowstorm. fits perfectly and makes you feel right at home. best purchase in recent memory.
might not be going to florida next week, the plane i was going to take needs a new engine. boo on that. but that opens me up for whatever. hmmmmmmmm.