Fly-In!

As often happens, a ThirdWaveDave post tweaked a "bloggable" memory-
With the coming of better flying weather that arrives with late Spring, local airports plan fly-ins to attract those that fly and the general public to their facilities to build goodwill and attract attention to themselves. Some of these events can be pretty extravagant affairs, complete with performances by military demonstration teams like the "Blue Angels", "Thunderbirds", or the Army's "Golden Knights".

I'm frequently asked by promoters to bring a helicopter and give rides at these events. They can be a lot of fun and I enjoy taking part in them, but giving helicopter rides is somewhat stressful because of safety factors, and is a lot of work for a little money.

A few years back I got a request I couldn't refuse. I got a call from a friend I had taught to fly helicopters who owned a local FBO. The festivities would last over Saturday and Sunday, and the "Collings Foundation" was flying in with a couple aircraft...
Their B24, "The Dragon and His Tail", and
their B17, "909":






Being part of the show might give me the opportunity to crawl through these historical artifacts. I couldn't resist!

Weather for the weekend was great. A larger than expected crowd showed up.I gave enough rides to make my participation worthwhile.

At the end of each day, the foundation was selling rides in each of the airplanes to those that could afford the price. I was one of those that could only stand by and drool as the airplanes started, taxied out, and took off.

My FBO friend/student dropped by, and we discussed the old Bombers. I expressed regret at not being able to afford the cost of flying in them.
He said, "I might be able to arrange something for ya. Lemme check."

Later-
"They are flying to "************" tomorrow, (a town 250 miles away). If you can be here at 0900 tomorrow morning, you can fly with them!"

I was scheduled to work at my EMS job. I called and got the day off.
The town was not far from my parent's home. I called them and asked if they could meet me. My Old Man, a WWII Veteran and civilian pilot understood completely:
"Absolutely!"

The flight took 75 minutes. Other than the pilot and co-pilot, I was the only person on the airplane and got to go over it in flight from tail-gunner position to cockpit. It's an experience I'll never forget!

Can you guess which Bomber I chose to fly in, and why?

The Hind

Hind is pronounced with a long-I sound.
I was flying Hueys in the Army Reserve at the time we first learned about the Hind, and we were terrified of this big, tough bird.
We were just beginning to consider the probability of helicopter to helicopter aerial combat, and the idea of taking on a Hind was something that caused us to wake at night in a cold sweat!

The Russians used the Hind extensively in their invasion of Afghanistan until the U.S. started providing Stinger anti-aircraft missiles to the Afghani resistance fighters.

Friend Mark brought this video to my attention. It gives ya a pretty good look at the Hind, and is interesting because the camera speed is in sync with the rotor RPM, which makes the rotor look as if it is completely stopped.
(Watch the landing gear retract.)
And if you're interested, there's a music video featuring several Hinds here.

The "Rightwingosphere"

These folks on the political right simply have no sense of humor!
First folks in Baltimore share their humor with their neighbors,
then a couple liberal leaders "poke" fun at the Secretary of State.

C'mon Conservatives, can't ya take a joke?

Barack Hussein Obama

Or as the inebriated Senior Senator from Massachusetts calls him- "Osama Obama"!
I've been fascinated watching his initial campaign steps, hoping he'd be a change from the Socialist-leaning party he represents. His speech during the Democrat National Convention indicated he might be a moderate. He was so new to National politics, none of us knew much about him.

Turns out he's a typical politician, living in a fabulous home none of the rest of us could hope for, accepting favors from contractors that show he too can dance the line of near-corruption. I'm sorry to have my hopes dashed.

Now comes this latest stumble, turning the 10 dead victims in Greensburg Kansas into 10,000 during a recent speech. Really, it's not a big deal... campaigning is tough and tiring, so all Candidates will eventually make similar mistakes. How much attention is drawn to those mistakes depends entirely on whether the Candidate puts a "D" or an "R" behind their name on the chyron on TV. No one will be talking about Obama's fumble for long, unless he continues to make similar mistakes.

Still, I wonder-
Bein' President of the United States is a tiring job. I can only imagine what it would be like to have every moment of your life scripted for four years, (or eight if you are re-elected).
Want some time to go fishing? You have to block it off months ahead of time, and even then you'll have a gaggle of reporters tagging along to see you bein' attacked by a killer rabbit!
And if some head of State dies while you are on vacation, your vacation is cut short so the U.S. can show proper respect.

The toughness of the campaign gives us an indication how a Candidate would withstand the pressures he/she will experience as President. It's seems early in this effort for Obama to be tired enough to mistake the Greensburg death toll by a factor of 1,000. The Marathon has just begun. What happens when he "hits the wall"?

April 2007, Destin After-Action Report-

What do you call 10 days of cloudless mid-80 degree days, 70 degree, nearly full-moon lit nights, beer, fresh seafood, good company, and the whitest beach you have ever seen?
I think I know. There are a couple words that fit the bill, but they both mean practically the same thing.

Here's how bad it was... I've gained 5 pounds in 10 days.
Oh well, it was worth it, and I know how to lose it!

I went fishing.
I caught fish... several Red Snapper and a Bonita. We brought 'em home and cooked 'em... absolutely wonderful.

We went on the Dolphin cruise again and saw lots of Dolphin (porpoise).

One of the things I don't think I've mentioned before is that the Condo is on the final approach course for Eglin Air Force Base. Couple that with the fact that there is a VFR corridor along the beach, and you can see we get our own informal airshow almost daily. We see C-130's at 100' about 200' offshore. Impressive.
F-18's and F-15's make frequent noisy appearances. Night-time "burner" displays are wonderful.

Coast Guard Dolphins make their way to their base on Okaloosa Island.
Navy TH-57's, Marine Cobras, and the occasional Air Force CH-53 are pretty common.
The Airheart EMS BO-105 and Air Methods EC-135 make their way along the beach.
It's a neat place for those of us interested in watching aircraft.

This week was special-
I hosted a mini-reunion of my High School class, and several of my classmates showed up with their spouses. All were impressed with Destin's beauty and have asked that we make this an annual event.
I agree, and am hopeful for a larger attendance next year. The plans are already unfolding.

It's been over a week since I last posted...
Watching the surf lick the sugar-white sand took precedence.
Back to reality now... I'll try to do better.

Destin, April 2007

Yeah, life's tough.
Somehow, someway, we'll find a way to cope.

The drive down went without a hitch, provided you don't count the flat tire that required the emptying of the trunk in order to get to the spare, or the driving another 6 hours knowing there was no spare should we encounter another "tire surprise".

No rain, no traffic... just a little fog as we got close to the coast. At that point we were smelling the sea, and nothing else really mattered anyway.

A single dolphin made it's way from West to East about 200 feet from the breakers this morning. The forecast is for 80 degree days and 60 degree nights for the next few. My High School classmates will begin to arrive tomorrow night... let the fun begin!

Last night it was blackened tuna.
Tonight, after the sunset ceremony, we're headed to a beachside bar for a Margarita, after which I think blackened Mahi-Mahi with red beans and rice and gumbo on the side will fill my empty spot.

Yes, it is a hardship. Thank God I have friends to help me make it through this trying experience!

Two!

Today marks two years of Pitchpull, and I just don't have much to share.
Most of this week has been spent in preparation for a 10 day stay in Destin, Florida. It's been run here- run there, run back here, and even now, just hours from starting the 11 hour drive, we're not positive we have all the necessary chores done. This morning I still have to do a last-minute oil and filter change on the car, and a friend's lawn needs mowing. We'll be on the road just after Noon, so I'll probably be drivin' with my eyes closed for the last two hours of the trip.

To bring you up to date on my weight loss program-
On 1 January I was unhappy with my appearance and the way I felt. Weighing in at 205 pounds, I promised myself I would lose a pound a week until we made this trip South to meet several High School classmates for a mini-reunion. This morning I tipped the scale at 188 pounds, so I met my goal: 17 pounds gone in 17 weeks.
Last night I put on a pair of Levi's I haven't worn in over 10 years. Finding that they fit, into the suitcase they went!

To those that stop by here and actually take the time to comment now and then I say "Thanks SO much" for caring enough to let me know I've stimulated a thought or two. When we get to Destin and catch our breath, I'll let ya know.

So, more later...

Neither Rain, Nor Snow...

Quickly now-
What's the cost of a first class stamp?
Is it 39 Cents? 41 Cents?
Funny... I can't tell ya. I have a sheet of stamps lying on my desk downstairs.
Still, If I had to wager, I couldn't be sure what each stamp cost me.

How long has it been since you sat down and wrote a letter to someone, put that letter in an envelope, attached first-class postage, and posted that letter? That's another question I cannot answer... but in my case I know it's been years, and I used to write a lot of letters.
There's another blog-post to be written about my frustration with trying to communicate with my male friends, but I'll save that for a later individual post.

How much damage has email done to first-class letters? My guess is that it has decimated them. Email is instant, convenient, and ya don't have to give your "from then to now" history in email... just state your immediate thought, then push "send."
So easy, even my macho "cavemen" friends aren't threatened by it!

How do you pay your bills?
For a while now I have resisted paying my bills online... fearful of the safety of sending my financial information over the "ether". But I finally got tired of the process... physically writing the check, tearing off the payment stub, putting both into an envelope and attaching first-class postage.
Now I simply type in the Dollar amount I want to pay on the bill, designate the date I want it paid, and push the "submit" button.
Done.

The U.S. Postal service still brings the statement for those bills to my mailbox, and MAN, do I ever get a pot-load of junk mail and catalogs on a daily basis! But I find myself raising the flag on that box to indicate there's a letter needing to be picked up less and less.

Personal letters via email...
Business bein' conducted online.
Strike one and strike two?

Fedex and UPS are already the preferred carriers for parcels. With the continuing loss of revenue from First-class postage, what's the future hold for the U.S. Postal Service?
It's gonna be interesting to watch.

A Close Call

Found an interesting video.

Ya gotta protect that tail rotor!

"Tommy"

It was just a small tractor, perfect for a 12 year old.
Grandpa had taught him how to drive it so he could help with the chores.
The problem was the rain...

It had been raining for days.
Warm front stuff- low ceilings and visibilities had kept us from turning a rotor blade for several days.
This call came in-
"Can you fly to a scene just outside ****?"
Less than ten minutes from where the helicopter was parked...
I could hover there if necessary.
"I'll give it a shot. What's the situation?"

"Your patient is a 12 year old male, victim of a tractor rollover."

We took off and headed Southeast with 2 miles visibility in a slight drizzle... perfectly comfortable weather for me because having flown the area for 12 years I knew the terrain and obstructions like the back of my hand.

Over the scene in 6 minutes, we landed near the ambulance on sloping ground, near a small pond. The Ford 8N tractor, now on its side, was adjacent to the ambulance. While my crew prepared the young man for the flight, I chatted with one of the EMT's...

Grandpa was walking alongside as our patient drove the tractor around the sloping ground next to the pond when the tractor started to slide sideways down the slope. Something abruptly stopped the slide, and the tractor rolled over on the young man "dying cockroach" style, the steering wheel crushing his left eye, the bridge of his nose, and popping the right eye out of its orbit onto his right cheek. When the emergency personnel arrived and tried to roll the tractor off our patient, the steering wheel was embedded in his face, and the youngster's head rolled along with the rolling of the tractor.
Fearful of doing further injury, after they had called to get the helicopter on the way, the first responders had procured a hack saw and cut a section of the steering wheel away to free the young man.

They roll the stretcher toward me and he's an interesting sight...
A 12-inch section of the arc of the steering wheel protrudes from his face. His right eye hangs to his face by a thread.

We load him, bring the rotor to operating RPM, and lift.
The Scene Commander, who I later find out is a personal friend of this family, collapses to his knees and buries his face in his hands, sobbing.

I did a follow-up on this case-
Two weeks later I went to the Children's Hospital to meet this youngster.
He smiled as I entered the room in my uniform. Left eye covered with a patch, his right eye was back in its proper place. There was still a little swelling from the trauma and his head was shaved, but otherwise he looked pretty much like any other twelve year old kid.
He was released from the hospital two days later.

That was 18 years ago, so "Tommy" would now be a 30 year old man.
I still remember his last name.
Should I call him and find out how he has done since?

The Reverend Al

This guy is a buffoon.


Considering his history,
why does anyone give him the spotlight he so rabidly pursues?

What right does he have to
throw stones at anyone?

Saguaro

Yeah, it's sold, and that fact has nothing whatever to do with my post. I was looking for a pic with a Saguaro cactus in front of a home, and this one struck my fancy-

We took Desi on a 3 mile walk yesterday, and during the walk we passed several homes with yards similar to this one.

I've commented before about flying helicopters home from California... bein' amazed that within a couple miles of crossing the California/Arizona State line, you begin to see these magnificent Saguaro cactuses (cacti?). There are NONE on the California side of that line, yet the climate and soil have to be nearly exactly the same in that short distance. Why do I not see them West of the Colorado River?

During our conversation yesterday, Tame may have provided the answer to my question:
In Arizona, the Saguaros are protected by State law. That may not be true in California.

Development here in the Phoenix area is amazing. New homes and businesses are going up everywhere. Someone said yesterday
(I haven't researched this), that the physical size of the Metropolitan Phoenix area has quadrupled in the last ten years. Looking at all the construction going on in the area, I tend to believe the statement.

Having a beautiful, tall Saguaro in your front yard would be a "Desert" statement. Seems to me I read some time ago that landscapers were going out into the desert with all the necessary equipment to steal the stately cactuses, then charging a pretty good fee for transplanting them in the front yard of a new home. Now State laws provide a hefty fine if you do that on the Arizona side of the Colorado... maybe those on the West side of the river are still bein' stolen?
Anyone know for sure?

Perfect Mommy

I almost laughed out loud-
I needed a picture to illustrate my post for today, and I found this one listed under the title,
"Terrific Parenting"!
Well, good parenting is certainly in the eye of the beholder.

We are safely in Mesa, Arizona... tired, but warmer than most of you reading this.
Getting here was exhausting. I may tell that story later.
Today we went to Wally World to stock up on supplies that Big Bubba doesn't keep on hand-
Coffee, sweetener, Diet Soda, beer.
Beer!
I'm sortofa a picky beer drinker. I want beer that tastes good, but you know me... I don't want to pay much for it. It was the first place
I stopped on my shopping sojourn. Since we're only gonna be here four days, I bought a six-pack... that's enough to cover this visit.
So picture this-
I'm tired and cranky from our marathon day getting here yesterday. I'm pushing a cart that is totally empty with the exception of this six-pack of brew in it. I walk to the end of the aisle to turn and start down the aisle for the Diet Soda when I encounter "Terrific Mom" and her approximately four year old daughter.
"TM" takes a look at my cart, then stops short and says, "Uh-oh sweetheart! That's the aisle with ALCOHOL! We don't drink ALCOHOL! We need to go find the aisle with soda in it!"
At first I thought it was just odd, and a little funny.
But the more I thought about it, the more I realized I had just received a sermon. I accepted the challenge. I decided it was time for a counter-sermon!
I followed TM to the soda aisle, located the Diet Soda and put it in the cart next to the evil brew. As I passed TM I looked at the innocent daughter, smiled my "Mr. Rogers" smile and said, "Hi, I drink alcohol" in the kindest Greybeard voice I could manage.
TM looked like I had slapped her, but thought she was up to the assault-
"Well, we know that's not good for you, don't we honey?"
But facts were on my side-
"Actually honey, studies have shown that a couple beers a day lower blood pressure, reducing the chance of heart attack and stroke. Those are the facts. Your Mommy might need to do a little more studying!"

Obviously the daughter couldn't have cared less what I was saying, but being faced with facts, TM finally realized she needed to shut her mis-information hole and move on.
No, I don't think TM will immediately go back to the ALCOHOL aisle to buy a liter of wine so she can lower her blood pressure...
My hope is that she'll teach her daughter the pleasures of walking the aisles of Wally World quietly, keeping sermons to yourself.

Doggy Bloggy

As in real life, Desi and Lucy have separated.

Those of you new to Pitchpull need to catch up on our doggy news so you're up to speed.

When we got Desi, our miniature Dachshund, he was supposed to be Big Bubba's dog, AND his responsibility. Complications of family life meant those duties frequently became his Mom and Dad's... he'd be too busy with outside activities to make it home and take care of his dog, so Sara Jean and I would pick up the slack. If I sat down, Desi was in my lap. Of course, Sara Jean and I were both quite attached to him.

Big Bubba graduated college. He immediately accepted a job in Mesa, Arizona. When we moved him there, after much discussion, he took Desi with him. Our melancholy "empty nest" feelings included not only missing our son, but losing half of the "Desi and Lucy" team.
Lucy felt it too. Whenever we would come back from being outside, immediately upon entering the house she would run to Big Bubba's bedroom. I can only assume she was looking for Desi.

Now two months have passed, and the dust has settled. Big Bubba loves his new job and is enjoying rubbing it in that it is 85 degrees and Sunny in Mesa while it is 45 degrees and raining here in the Midwest. We check in on him via webcam about once a week. He looks great, and with Destin jumping up on our son's lap, we can see that he also has made a satisfactory transition.

We're leaving tomorrow (Friday) morning to fly out to Mesa for a few days. It seems silly... we're looking forward to visiting with our son, but we're also happily anticipating visting with Desi for a few days. Lucy is not a concern... she's such a well-behaved little gal, friends look forward to keeping her while we're gone. It's comforting that we don't have to leave her in a kennel, in the care of strangers.

A cold front whisked through here two days ago dropping our temperatures more than twenty degrees. There is a "hard freeze" warning here tonight. The forecast for tomorrow is typical Phoenix: Sunny and 90 degrees. We'll be in shorts and short-sleeves as we walk Desi.

I'll update you from Mesa.

Just A Question of Time, Guvna!, Part III

Not quite a runaway train yet...

... Not quite.

What's that in your bath water, froggy? Bubbles beginning to form?
Tip 'O the hat to QandO

Heavy Lifter?

You may not have friends that are, (or were), "Hook" pilots.
Well, I do!
But if you do, and they ever get all puffed up and begin to act like they are God's gift to any part of aviation at all, show them
this photograph.

They'll quiet down... pretty quick like.

Thanks to Aerospaceweb.org

Drive Electric, Continued

In my "Drive Electric" post, referring to the "Stallion" I asked:
"Why doesn't someone produce something similar with an enclosed cabin?"

Well, take a look here.

With a 40-mile electric-only range, it may be just what I need.
Now, is it affordable?

H/T Instapundit

Less Weight/Drag... Almost There!

A quickie to bring ya up to speed on my weight loss program.
I'm now in my 13th week and I've lost 14 pounds.
Yesterday I revelled in the fact that my jeans were almost falling off my hips, revealing a pretty good "Greybeard butt-crack"!
(Ooooh, yuck!)

Fourteen down and 4 to go.
A pound a week... so if I'm successful, I'll reach my goal in a month.
Keep positive thoughts comin' my way, please!

Circa March, 1969

I'm not exactly sure of the date, but I know he's playin' double deck Pinochle!
The walls were plywood darkened with a blowtorch.
Music by TEAC.
I'm surprised there's no beer in the picture!
Is that the fourth trick in his hand?

Drive Electric

We've talked before about oil concerns, about fuel mileage, and about energy alternatives.
I'm still drivin' the same old car (a '95 model with 208,000 miles on it), that I was driving when I discussed driving techniques to get the best gas mileage in your own car.

Mike's comment to this post is an indication that like so many alternatives available to us today, nothing comes without cost, including the new Hybrid cars.
I'd like nothing better than to tell Hugo Chavez to "drink your oil!",
but there just aren't any really good alternatives for us right now.
(Oddly, the only Service Station that sells the new E85 ethanol fuel anywhere near me is one of loonie Hugo's "Citgo" stations!)

I'd love to drive one of these, but although it's a great first step and a wonderful "proof of concept" vehicle that I hope will open doors to more practical alternatives in the future, it presently comes with a price tag that only Warren Buffet or Bill Gates or their peers can handle.

I really like what I see here. With the power-to-weight ratio of a sports car, and the claim of 45 miles per gallon on the highway from the 2.3 liter engine, I'm tempted, in spite of the $30,000 entry cost.
Still, with the open cockpit the Stallion would be an uncomfortable ride during rain or snow, even though it has heat and air-conditioning for its occupants. Why doesn't someone produce something similar with an enclosed cabin?

Unfortunately, I can get similar fuel mileage with something like this, while carrying four people and their luggage in a heated/air conditioned environment, protected from the rain, snow, and road spray, for about half the cost of the Stallion, and one tenth the cost of the Tesla.

Oh well.
Do you know a better alternative?

Docs Dilemma

Let's assume you're a damn good cancer specialist.
A patient comes to you, needing your expertise.
She is the wife of a guy running for the office of President of the United States.
He happens to have become a multi-millionaire by suing Doctors for malpractice.
What do you do?
Is your dance ticket filled?

Hat tip- Kevin, M.D.

A Strange, Wonderful Business

I'm now in my 40th year of earning my living by pushing air downwards.
To say it's been an interesting trip would be an understatement. There are memories of a thousand incidents running around in my head, waiting for something to happen to remind me to share them with you.

Aviating takes a lot of money. In order to make money, people frequently need to aviate. It's an interesting dance. The fact that aviating requires a lot of $$$$ frequently puts those of us that aviate in contact with, shall we say, some "interesting" elements of society.

The phone rang, and I answered. The guy at the other end said "I talked with Don XXXXX, and he recommended you highly. (Don was an FAA inspector and an old friend).

"Okay, how can I help you sir?"

"I need a good pilot to pick up a JetRanger in Houston and fly it to Ft. Lauderdale. There you'll pick up an associate of mine and fly to Newark, New Jersey. Could you do that next week?"

I was between jobs, so the idea of picking up a little cash certainly was attractive.
But in the back of my head an alarm went off...
Houston- to Ft. Lauderdale to pick up some Dude, then Newark? An interesting, inefficient trip for a helicopter, don't ya think?

I didn't bother to ask why he wanted me to take that strange route.
What I did say was,
"I'll do the job with one stipulation- I want $1,000 up front, and I promise you that if anywhere along the way I get the impression drugs are involved, I'll abandon the helicopter and board a commercial Jetliner home."

"Oh no!", says he... "No drugs involved here. I understand your concerns. Let me talk with the boss, and I'll be back in touch."
And he hung up.

I never heard from him again.

Get 'Em While They're "In"!

I know you, like me, are concerned about the environment.
You're probably feeling real guilty about living in your big ol' home...
heating and air conditioning all that unneeded space.

Or like me, you grimace every time you start your "Belchfire 8" automobile and drive it half a mile to buy that quart of skim milk.

Have no fear, bunky... Old Greybeard is here to help!

I've decided to sell "Carbon Credits"!
Like our beloved prophet Al Gore, you can continue to fly around in your Gulfstream jet, or pay a huge electricity bill for your expansive digs...
and feel no guilt whatsoever...
you've cleansed yourself of sins by purchasing your "Greybeard Carbon Credits"!

Simply send your checks to:
"Blue Sky" Carbon Credits
c/o Greybeard
Farce, Missouri
BR549

Non-Combat PTSD

It used to be a Honda Accord... I'm guessin' a mid-90's model.
It's on its side, impaled and bent around a scrub oak tree.
There are two teenagers inside.
One of 'em is alive. He's the reason I'm here.

The call came at about 2200 hours...
"Can you go to the 'LittleTown' area?"

"Yep."

"Then you have a primary go... a motor vehicle accident."

My crew is upstairs resting. I grab the phone and announce the flight over the intercom, then jog to, and start the aircraft. The crew boards as I bring both engines (and the rotor) up to operating RPM.

Our Dispatch-
"Your patient is a 15 year old male, victim of a high-speed MVA.
We have nothing further for you right now. They are still extricating him from the vehicle. Your coordinates are...."

I already have the nose pointed in the general direction, the airspeed indicator showing 130 knots... (150 m.p.h.)
Ten minutes out I radio my point of contact-
"We're ten minutes away from ya. At your convenience, can you give us a description of the LZ and a patient update, please?"

"Roger. We're gonna land you in a field adjacent to the road, just South and East of the scene. We have the LZ marked with red rotating beacons. I can't tell you much about your patient that you don't already know, except that this will be a long extrication... it may be half an hour."

Using my superior piloting skills, I land the helicopter in a barely lighted LZ in a sloping pasture, a football field away from the accident scene. My crew departs to provide assistance where they can. Knowing it's gonna be a long wait, after checking to insure I'll have enough battery to restart the engines, I shut the helicopter down.

They've knocked down a fence so we can move the stretcher to the scene. I walk across the downed fence to a road strewn with small pebbles... a result of the Honda leaving the road. A State Trooper has a measuring wheel, measuring skid marks. I overhear him talking to a Deputy Sherriff... "115", to which the Deputy responds,
"115? Wow."

The car departed the left side of the road sliding driver's side first, throwing gravel everywhere. About four feet down a slight embankment it encountered the little oak. I'm always amazed... in automobile-tree collisions, even small trees always win.
The tree cut through the driver's door and about halfway through the floorboard, at which point the car rolled up on the driver's side and bent itself in a slight "U" shape around the tree.
I can see them working around our patient. The other occupant of the car, our patient's 18 year old brother, is nowhere to be seen... wrapped up in bent metal somewhere.
He'll never feel pain again.

Twenty minutes after our arrival, he's free.
Wearing his seat belt, he's in surprising condition, all things considered.
His legs are both broken and his dilated eyes indicate he has had his "bell rung good"... a closed head injury. But he's not bleeding externally, his vital signs are strong, and he is responding to questions.

He remembers his older brother saying, "Let me show you how fast she'll go", then remembers looking at the speedo reading 115 as they headed for the bushes.
He doesn't ask about his brother. He knows.

We can never know what he's experienced.
Trapped in that confined space in that little car, how long did his brother live?
Did they converse?
Was he touching his brother in any way as the life drained from him and his body cooled?

The flight to the Trauma Center takes 25 minutes.
During the flight he answers questions when asked, but is otherwise eerily calm.
This young man has been through a life changing experience. He'll no doubt suffer from post-traumatic-stress-disorder as if he had been in combat.

The help will be there for him when he needs it.
For that, I am glad.

Just A Question of Time, Guvna!, Part II

Or, maybe not-
Maybe it'll end up being a European Civil War.

Are you a risk taker?
If this continues, there'll be money to be made selling the Euro short!
(European Declaration of Independence at the end of the article.)

Hat tip to Instapundit.

Oh, Happy St. Patty's Day everyone!

First, Kill The Lawyers

I'm continually amazed by this sort of thing.
What sort of person considers bringing such a lawsuit?
Wonder why your health care costs are going through the roof?
Part of your healthcare cost is EMS companies having to defend themselves against frivolous lawsuits!

Hat tip to Kevin, M.D.

Darfur

We're bein' told genocide is being performed in Darfur.
I'm sure that's probably right.

Today I received a plea to petition President Bush to take action.
Why should I ask ChimpIdiotHalliburtonHitler Bush to do anything?
He'd probably do something stupid, like illegally invade Sudan!

The thing that absolutely boggles my mind is that the same boneheads that say the war in Iraq is illegal, in spite of 17 United Nations Resolutions which indicate it wasn't, now want the U.S. to do something that is the not U.S., but the U.N.'s responsibility.

I have a better idea...
France is actually smart...
Let's petition them to resolve Darfur's problems!

Doing The Right Thing, Finally

Politics is such crap.
Ya gotta keep uppermost in your mind that all politicians are prostitutes.
It's been hard to watch the news lately because our government seems to be devouring itself. Some of it is fun to watch... the Loonie Left hounding "Lady Speaker" about "Viet Nam'ing" Iraq, for instance.

The revelations about Walter Reed hospital are a different matter though.
Remember the movie article 99?
Haven't seen it?
I recommend it... well acted, and a story that needs to be told.

Released in 1992, it's a black comedy, telling the story of Doctors trying to do what's right for their patients in a system that is sadly neglected and underfunded.

1992? Really?
This problem was highlighted before Sir William and Lady Hillary assumed the throne?
Yep.
In their defense, the VA hospital system has been a disgrace for as long as I can remember. It's been neglected by Republicans and Democrats alike. That's why it's such a hoot to watch the news about Walter Reed and the rest of the VA system now.

So, as amusing as it is to watch, "BushDerangement Syndrome" may actually accomplish something this time...
Our Veterans deserve the best treatment we can give them.
It looks like the VA system may finally get the attention, (and let's hope the budget), it deserves.

Just don't be fooled-
Democrats, and Republicans, have shamefully ignored this problem for decades.

Just A Question of Time, Guvna!

Shari'a law in British Public Schools? (From the U.K. Daily Express)

"When swimming is allowed, boys should wear clothing covering their bodies “from the navel to the neck”, even during single-sex pool sessions, while girls must be covered up completely at all times, apart from the face and hands."

Read it all here.

Muslims probably don't have the political power to pull it off just yet.
But with their proportional birth rate, it is just a matter of time.
Spain cowers.
France burns.
Now England?

But ladies, don't despair...
even under Shari'a, you can still make a fashion statement!

Hey Froggy, how's that water?

Wasted Storage Space

If you're not a car nut you can stop reading now, because if you continue, you're gonna be bored.

"I coulda had a V-8!"
On the way to work the other day, I was thinking of stuff taking up space in my gray matter that needs to be deleted so it can be put to more profitable use.
Let me run some numbers past ya... those of you that are certified car enthusiasts will recognize them:

265, 272, 283, 292, 327, 350, 352, 383, 389, 390, 396, 409, 413, 421, 426, 427, 429, 454...

Are you smiling?
If you are, you already know where I'm headed with this thought-
Those numbers all have one thing in common... they are all V-8 engines that were available in American automobiles in the 50's, 60's, and 70's.
With one exception, a real car nut can tell you which manufacturer produced an engine that displaced the number of cubic inches corresponding with each of those numbers. Can you identify the ambiguous number? If you can, you are, as Barry Meguiar would say, "Car Crazy!"

That is the sort of information taking up space in the recesses of my brain.
Isn't that sad?

Ouch!

R44 Pilot:
"Doc, it hurts when I do this."

Doc:
"Don't do that!"

UPDATE:
Well, something interesting is going on.
"Charley", the featured "super" helicopter pilot that wrecked his perfectly lovely helicopter, has forced YouTube to take down the video. Luckily, Cousin Jim found another one and forwarded it to me.
So, if you want to show your friends some very poor judgement displayed by a helicopter pilot, you can just click here.

Moose Vs. Helicopter-

Ya don't mess with an animal the size of a small car.
He can change your plans.

Surviving

I land to pick up the specialty team-
Doctor, Nurse, and Respiratory therapist, along with an isolette.
We are flying an hour South to pick up a very sick newborn.
The outside temperature is 25 degrees Fahrenheit, and these folks are all dressed in scrubs.
Blockheads! They've been told again and again how dangerous it is to fly unprepared.

Aviation is a risky business.
Some might quibble.... so let me qualify that statement a little-
Life is a risk.
None of us get out of life alive.

Part of the reason I love being involved with Aviation is because pilots know and gladly accept the risks that are involved. I'm still amazed by non-fliers that approach me and say, "I'd never fly in a helicopter... they're just too dangerous." And it's true, they certainly are more dangerous than sitting home on the sofa. But do you want to rub elbows with someone whose greatest interest in life is sitting on the sofa, watching "Deal, or No Deal"?
Not me!

So there's no question-
Flying is more dangerous than sitting at home watching TV.
As pilots we accept that fact and, to the degree we can, try to mitigate those risks:
We do a good preflight.
We take checkrides and flight reviews.
We learn and practice emergency procedures.
We wear seat belts and shoulder harnesses.
And so on...

In 1981 I attended the Aviation Safety Officer's Course at Ft. Rucker, Alabama.
The course prepared me to come back to my Division and observe our operations to insure our units were accomplishing the mission in the safest manner possible.

During the course, I heard a story that was like a ton of bricks bein' dropped on me:
In 1965, an Army Reservist took off from his base in a Hiller OH-23D, had an engine failure, and crashed in trees just 6 miles from his takeoff point. In the crash sequence the aircraft assumed a dramatic nose-down attitude, filtering it's way through the trees to the ground. The impact broke his right arm and both of his legs. The trees were covered in full summer foliage, which covered the wreckage in such a way that searchers couldn't see the crash site from the air.
The pilot somehow got out of the aircraft and used his good arm to get as far away from the helicopter as he could, then waited for rescuers to find him.

Three weeks later, by chance, a Hunter found him... dead.
Leaning against a tree, they found he had pulled out his wallet, and in a semi-circle in front of him had made a shrine of the pictures of his wife and two kids. He had also gathered kindling and tried, unsuccessfully, to light a fire. (Try striking a match with one hand.)

The thought of this guy... alone, critically hurt, waiting day after day for searchers to find him, had a profound effect on me.
When I finished that course and returned home, I decided to establish a survival school for my Division Aviators.

I signed up for a Cold Weather Survival School North of Ely, Minnesota, to get a feel for how I should write the syllabus for my school. When I arrived it was warm for that time of year... 15 degrees below Zero. We made our own shelters and spent three days and nights outside in the cold. I slept alone in a personally constructed snow shelter while the temperature outside dropped to minus 30 degrees Fahrenheit.
(The long hours of darkness bothered me more than the cold temperatures.)
I hate cold weather, but I learned that if you are prepared for emergencies, have the proper attitude, and don't panic, you can survive almost anything.

When you go fly (or go drive your car), do you take emergencies into consideration? If your journey ends short of it's intended destination, can you call for help? Can you survive until help arrives?

Be prepared.
Flying or driving, if bad things happen to you, you may end up being a pedestrian. It could be worse... you could be incapacitated in your vehicle with all the windows broken out, exposed to extreme cold until help arrives. If your rescue takes more than a few hours, access to food and water might also be critical.

It takes very little time, effort, and space to prepare for surprises.
Wear proper clothing for the weather... coat, headgear, gloves, footgear.
Have a "survival kit" appropriate for your circumstances-
blanket, flashlight, water, matches, snacks.
Cell phone coverage is expanding, and you don't have to subscribe to a service to make emergency calls... a working old phone will work in case of emergency.
Anytime I fly cross-country, I carry a handheld VHF transceiver...
just one more way to communicate.
I know I'm probably missing something here.
If you have something to add, please leave a comment.

No matter how much we plan, inspect, and practice, things can and do go wrong.
Flying, (and life), is safer when we are well prepared for the bad things that might happen.

Enterprise

I blogged about it in this post.
Virtually all Army Aviators pass through "Mother Rucker"... Ft. Rucker, Alabama.

Enterprise, Alabama is just outside the South gate of Mother Rucker, and is home to many soldiers and others that work there.
We Army Aviators are watching news of this terrible tornado with great sadness.

Our pride in watching part of our family, LTC Bruce Crandall, receive the Medal of Honor, is now tempered by the emotions of watching another part of our family suffer such tragedy.

Eight kids dead. That number may change, because several are seriously hurt.
Such a small town... so much heartache.

But one of the greatest thing about small towns is that feeling of family.
The Boll Weevil couldn't beat 'em...
The community will band together and heal from the wounds caused by this tornado too.

Courage

I wondered if I should post on the subject of Bruce Crandall receiving the Congressional Medal of Honor at all, then decided I should, 'cause you need to hear my two cents.

And yet, I'm at a loss for words.

I saw the movie.
Viet Nam Veterans will all be moved by it, but I've seen enough movies to know you have to take them with a grain of salt... (the tactics used by the gunship similar to the one I flew, near the end of the movie, are completely wrong and would never have happened that way!) One of these days, I look forward to reading General Moore's book and learning the straight scoop.

I know this much:
The Landing Zone was receiving so much fire, the Infantry Commander closed it down.
Bruce Crandall continued to fly into the closed zone for three days.
He landed in that zone 22 times.

He knew each time he started his approach that he was likely to take a bullet, yet he refused to abandon his comrades.
That, Ladies and Gentlemen, is unimaginable courage.

Obsessed?

Do you know Karen Carpenter's story?
I saw the movie, so that makes me an expert, right?
Karen starved herself to death. Like so many people we see during war or famine, her body was deprived of what it needed. Karen's dieting stopped her heart.
Some wonderful music stopped too.

Years ago we based our EMS helicopter at a hospital.
Initially the hospital found space for us on the same floor where they were treating anorexic teenage girls. It was an uncomfortable situation for all concerned...
We couldn't even pop popcorn in our room, because it rightfully alarmed the program supervisors. We were soon moved to different quarters.
But it was horrifying to see the shape some of those little girls were in, and hear stories of what they would do to try to keep from eating. It's a mental disease.

Then you have the other side of the coin... the morbidly obese.
It's also a mental disease... an addiction, every bit as powerful as most recreational drugs.
It damages the heart in a different way, and leads to lots of other problems.

I love to eat.
I've fought being overweight all my life.
If I don't pay close attention to my diet, I settle at a weight about 20 pounds above what I consider ideal. (I'm a little over 5' 9" tall, and on 1 January, I weighed 206 pounds.)

Last fall, I had the displeasure of using a bathroom that had a mirrored shower stall.
While conducting my business there, I took a close look at myself in the mirror.
(I know... it's an ugly visual, isn't it?)
And that's exactly my point. But it's not just my appearance...
I have to pass an annual flight physical. My overall health is vital to my livelihood.
Heart, kidneys, eyes, knees and other joints...
almost everything about your body is adversely affected when you are overweight.

So I decided it was time to quit thinkin'/talkin' about it, and get serious.
I made the New Year's resolution I've made in past years...
but this time I shared my resolution with friends, and made a promise-
I'm gonna lose a pound a week until I reach 188 pounds... a loss of 18 pounds.

Sara Jean doesn't like it when I lose weight.
The first place you notice my weight loss is in my face. I get hollow cheeks, like Abraham Lincoln. The loss of fat in my face also makes me look tired.
She also dislikes hugging me when I lose weight... she likes meat on my bones.

But turning 60 was a milestone for me in many ways. I want to establish habits that will make it easier to better control my health. I'd like to be healthy when I reach 85.
So, it's "Eat less, and exercise."
And here's the plan:
For the rest of my life, I'm gonna have a weekly weigh-in on Saturday.
I'm gonna reach my target weight, then maintain it. If I find I've gained a pound or two, I'll lose it immediately by closing my pie-hole and exercising more.

I'm in the 9th week of my diet, and I've lost 8 pounds. I'm a pound behind schedule.
Moving Big Bubba to Arizona, then coming home to a big Valentine's Day dinner was a speed-bump to my plan. But it proves my point...
I know where I am, I know where I want to be, and I know how to get there.

It's tough.
So am I.
I'll keep ya posted.

Vapid

Did you watch?

No, I didn't either.
And apparently few others did...
They're now saying it was the 3rd least watched Oscar
broadcast ever.
Think they'll get the message now?

Nah!

So Al gets his Oscar...
Too bad "The Dixie Chicks" didn't have a dog in the fight...
They'd have been a shoo-in too!

The Sun Rises

Another of the things I like about working nights-
I see a lot of sunrises.
Sometimes I'm finishing up a flight, returning to my base of operations as the sun peaks it's head above the horizon. A pretty sunrise viewed from the cockpit is a gift from God.
They're a reminder that no matter what happens, the world turns, and life goes on.

My job, by definition, exposes me to a lot of turmoil and tragedy.
I frequently have to remind myself the patient and family I'm dealing with may be having the worst day of their lives. There is an odd satisfaction in being a part of the solution to their problem... one of the first, (and critical), links toward healing. And the neat thing is, more and more, there is medical help for our patient, a probable successful outcome, no matter what their problem.

I woke this morning, checked my email, and was guided to this post at Andrea's Blog, where I read news that concerns me.
ThirdWaveDave is another of the many people I know only via computer... I read his blog regularly, and have had a few contacts via email. He's a guy I had looked forward to being able to tell lies to over a beer (or three) one day.

Links in Andrea's post provide the "sunrise" I had hoped for-

"Until recently, the only successful treatment of CML was to destroy the patient's bone marrow and then restore blood-cell production by infusing stem cells from the bone marrow of a healthy donor."
And then... "But now treatment with the drug imatinib mesylate (Gleevec® also known STI571) appears to be able to cure the disease. "

The link goes on in detail with how the medication binds with cells in order to control the problem... my eyes glazed over trying to sort it out. I already had the news I wanted...
90% of those treated have good outcomes.

I'm sure Dave is glad to know that. I'm glad to know that too, so I can continue looking forward to sharing that beer. But I'm also aware that side effects from these medications can make life uncomfortable for those taking them, so the road Dave has to take may be covered in potholes for a while. And... 90% ain't 100%, no matter how much we'd like it to be. Prayer and good wishes can help to insure our friend TWD is part of the 90% that responds favorably to the treatment.

So please, my friends, join me in wishing TWD well. He stops by here regularly to read, so you can either comment here, or at the link to his site above.

And Dave, keep us updated on your progress.
The first, second, and THIRD rounds are on me!

Throw the Bums Out!

"Ask not, what your country can do for you...
Ask, what you can do for your country!"
Can you imagine a Democrat making that statement today?
Nor can I.

I'm exasperated.
The country seems to have lost its rudder.
Our major news sources aid and abet the enemy, and a large section of the population blames our ills on our government and the folks that are risking their lives to protect us.
(And amazingly, the folks that have the most to lose should our enemy be successful...
women, homosexuals, etc....
are frequently the most anti-war and anti- present government! Ludicrous.)
We are rapidly approaching the time when we can no longer meet the payment requirement of our entitlement programs.... medicare, medicaid, and Social Security.

So as I say, I'm exasperated. I know the feeling of being dissatisfied.
We have a government of Socialists, and near-Socialists,
and I know who's to blame!

I want change.
I want people to take responsibility for their own lives, their own messes.
I want people to say "I'm sorry" and mean it.
I want to get back to a place where my candidate is willing to do hard things, because it is what must be done.

I'm tired of the bureaucratic waste and corruption that comes with big government.
I think government has to provide a minimal safety net,
then rehabilitation/education for those that fall from a successful life, but I know those services must be limited, or waste, fraud, and corruption eat them up.

I'm tired of voting against the other candidate, rather than for my candidate.

Have you ever taken a look at the Libertarian party?
I like almost everything about their platform, except I get the impression they'd be near-isolationists so far as National Defense is concerned.
In the last election, I voted for Libertarian candidates where they were running, with the exception of the office of President.

"If ya wanta keep gettin' what you're gettin', keep doin' what you're doin'."
That's a mantra I have repeated on many occasions to Big Bubba.
But it readily applies here too, doesn't it?
I refuse to vote for someone that doesn't know what the definition of the word "is" is,
but voting for a near-Socialist has made me hold my nose as I pull the lever.

-Lookin' at the man in the mirror, I have identified who needs to initiate the change.
I'm ready for it...
I hope you are too.
I don't know how long it will take for our dissatisfaction to register, but the sooner we all express our rage about the present situation, the sooner change can happen.

Therefore, I'd like you to take a look at this candidate,
a "Pitchpull" reader who has shared his thoughts with us.
I like much of what he says.
I think it would be wonderful if he got enough votes to appear on the National radar screen.
Ready for a change?
Bloggers in general- here's our chance to shake the system and have a little fun-
Christian bloggers... here's a chance to make an important point, and maybe we can elect someone that can remember where the billing records are.

If you agree with me, and you find Cary's ideas similar to yours,
why not consider writing him in?
And in local/State elections, you could do worse than voting for a Libertarian!
Let's express our rage. Let's start makin' the change.
Let's quit doin' what we've been doin'!

I Control Your Mind!

Yes, I can, and will, unless you resist the temptation to click here.

(But you won't be able to resist, and I'll have successfully implanted an evil that will occupy your mind for days!)

Fundamentalists

I've noticed something lately about our news media that concerns me.

When the Taliban first came on my radar screen, just about the time they destroyed the Bamiyan Buddhas, I thought to myself, "these folks are crazy, and are exhibiting behavior that is not gonna win them a bunch of friends!"
The passage of time has made my memory of the chain of events a little fuzzy, but shortly thereafter we heard/saw how Afghani women who "offended Islamic principles" in public were beaten with sticks until they got off the street.
About that same time, this story made headlines:

"The rules of behaviour and dress are draconian and enforced with barbaric cruelty. Last March in Mecca, a girls' school caught fire. Some of the students escaped. But they were without veils. Muttawa zealots herded the panicked girls back into the blazing building. Fourteen teenagers died and dozens more suffered horrific burns. The muttawa later said they hadn't realised the severity of the fire."
That news comes from this article.

I can only say I was horrified and confused.
I knew little about Islam. I was aware of Muslims mostly by encountering the women in the marketplace, wearing their traditional dress. These women were always quiet and unassuming. I had never felt threatened by them. But being aware of the above incidents, it was obvious there were things going on in the Islamic faith that didn't jibe with what I was seein' in the grocery store.

What spooks me a little is this:
The incidents I mention above were all openly reported by our media as things that happened because of fundamentalist Islamic beliefs.
Then came Denmark and the Mohammad cartoons. and it seems to me there has been a change in the way our news is being reported.

These guys,
and this guy,
and the 18 year old that committed this act of terror all have something in common, (and the MSNBC article is the only one that alludes to it...
they're all Muslims.)

A simple question for you-
If all these acts had been committed by fundamentalist Christians, would the fact that fundamentalist Christians were committing these crimes have been a SCREAMING HEADLINE?
Being a Christian, I'm not an objective judge,
but looking at the way news about James Dobson, Pat Robinson, and Jerry Falwell are handled, I think our media would have people all over the world fearful of "these crazy Christians".

I suspect there are many acts of Jihad happening
in the U.S. and the world that our media are not reporting
as acts of Islamic fundamentalist terror.
That troubles me a lot.
That's information I'd like to know.

But all this has served as a caution to me,
and should also cause my Christian brethren to pause and reflect:
If we want others to admire and emulate us, we must love and try to understand our fellow man, and be careful not to fall into "the Taliban" sect of Christianity.

Free Installation!

The battery in our 1999 vintage automobile came with the car when it was new.
I intended to replace it this fall, prior to the really cold weather setting in. I forgot.
So when this latest cold spell, (single-digit temperatures), blanketed the area, I figured we'd go out one morning to find the car wouldn't start.
But it's been reliable and hasn't let us down.

Knowing I had pushed my luck pretty far, I went to Wally World to buy a new battery yesterday. There was a method to my madness-
Buy your battery at WW and they will install it free!
On this particular model car, the battery is completely out of sight. There are battery posts readily marked up front, under the hood, but the battery is tucked down under the engine somewhere. I've never seen it, so I had no idea how difficult it would be to replace it.
Why worry? Wally World will do it free!

Taking a look at the batteries on display, it appeared I had two choices-
A "good" battery... 650 Cold Cranking amps, was gonna cost me just under $50.
A "Maxx" battery... 900 Cold Cranking amps, would cost an extra $15. To me, it seemed a no-brainer... I was looking for a battery that would spin the cold engine and make it easier to start. I decided I'd spend the money on the "Maxx".

The helpful clerk behind the counter was named Brett. I told Brett I needed a new battery, and Brett asked what make/model car I owned, stuck his nose in his reference manual, and said "you need a 34N".
He walks over to the display and grabs one of the "good" batteries.
"No, no Brett... I want the larger battery with more power."
(Tim Allen grunts here, please.)

"We can't do that. The spec calls for the 34N."

"What? What spec is that?"

"Our reference book specifies what battery we can install, and the 34N is the battery that goes in your car."

"What kind of craziness is that? The two batteries are the same size!"

"No, they're not."

I grab both batteries and set them on the floor. They appear to be EXACTLY the same size!

"You mean to tell me those batteries are not the same size?"

"Yep."
(Now, my friend Brett has begun to turn on me. He is showing me a little attitude. I don't like clerks that show me attitude.)

"Got a tape measure, Brett?"

"Uhh, well, I don't THINK they're the same size."

"Well Brett, are they or aren't they? They look to be exactly the same outer dimensions. Give me a tape measure Brett!"

"Well even if they are, I can't put that battery in your car because our book specifies the 34N."

I measure the batteries. They are exactly the same size.

"Here Brett, take this piece of paper and pen, and write your store manager's phone number on it, please."

I leave Wally World, having failed my mission, and go to work a full 90 minutes early... the time I figured it might take to install the battery. From work I call the nice Wally World manager and explain how Brett was really not the most helpful of clerks, and ask what is this crap about not being able to sell/install the 900 Cold Cranking amp battery in my car?

My new friend the Wally World manager is very apologetic. He says his clerk is mistaken... that there have been lawsuits (damn lawyers again), and young clerks like Brett sometimes are overly cautious. If I will return to the store, he'll be more than happy to insure I am satisfied.

"No, I really don't think I want Brett and his crew touching my car tonight. How 'bout I come by first thing in the morning?"

"That'll be fine".

So, bright and early in the morning after I am relieved, I return to Wally World to meet my next new friend, Don the installer.

I warn Don that the battery is one of those you cannot see from above.
Don's an expert... "Yeah, we'll have to go through the fender to get to it."

I watch from 20 feet away behind the safety fence as they put the car on the lift and remove the right front tire. They then unscrew four screws in a panel inside the fender, and set the panel aside. Then my new friend Don gets a funny look on his face. He calls another guy over, points at something I cannot see, and they have a little discussion.
He walks across the shop floor and gets another tool kit, and begins to assemble a long line of extensions to his ratchet/socket set.

To make a long story short, much head scratching, lifting/lowering of the car, attacking the battery from above and below followed. In this shop, where experts do this sort of thing all the time, it took them 75 minutes to install my new battery!

When the dust had settled and the car was back on the ground, Don came over and confided,
"I'll never do another one of those!"

So now comes my obvious question-
"Free Installation" if you buy the battery at Wally World...
If this battery turns out to be a dud, can they refuse to install a replacement?

Birdman

I had seen still photos, but this video is wonderful.

Where do I sign up?

(Thanks Jim!)

The Mystery Patient

"Your patient is a 21 year old male. He has severe trauma to his right hand, including fractures, lacerations, torn tendons, and glass and metal contamination."

We arrive to find a red-headed kid that looks like "Butch" from "Our Gang's Little Rascals" waiting for us.
Dad, (also red-headed), is sitting, concerned, in the room with him. Right now "Butch" is frightened with the prospect of losing his hand. But he looks like the kind of kid that would otherwise seek a fight, or, if necessary, start one himself just for the entertainment.

My paramedic asks, "How'd this happen, partner?"
- Looks at his Dad... "I ain't sayin'."
Uh-oh.

As usual, alcohol is involved. He's not falling down drunk, but he's gonna feel more pain in a couple hours... maybe a little headache too.

His injury is serious. Several bones are broken, two tendons are completely severed. His hand looks like roadkill, and is peppered with shards of glass, rocks, and small metal bits. He needs a specialist, and quick.

We load him aboard the aircraft and get started toward the help he needs. Over the intercom I ask my crew the first question that comes to mind:
"Did he and Dad steal a car and wreck it?"
During the 25 minute trip, he offers no clue.

I land at the receiving hospital, unload crew and patient, and head to our main base to refuel.
When I return to pick them up, my crew is smiling- away from Dad, sobering up a little, Butch had spilled the beans:
"You guessed it, Greybeard! He and Dad stole a car and wrecked it. He had his hand out the window, and the car rolled over and crushed it."

Oh well.
Even the "Butches" of the world deserve and get good medical care.

Olbermann/Stanford-Binet

Hey, all you Olbermann fans, (and heaven knows he has tens of 'em!)
Chris Muir devoted his strip to him today.
Enjoy!

Buzzed

Seen today on a bumper sticker:

DRINK COFFEE,
DO STUPID THINGS FASTER!

Waking The Beast

Make one minor change, and the car in the photograph looks exactly like the dust covered car sitting in my garage. The exception is that my car has insignia indicating there is a 454 Cubic Inch/390 horsepower engine under it's hood, while the pictured car has a wimpy 350 C.I. engine.

I wrote earlier about the car and why I was no longer driving it here.

Now that Big Bubba is enjoying 80 degree afternoons in a Phoenix suburb, it's time to brush off the dust, drop in a new battery, and let the 7.4 liter powerplant contribute to global warming.

At 13 miles per gallon, my new Army pension is gonna come in handy.

Our Nest Is Empty

On the morning of 1 November, 1968, I woke up in the bedroom I had slept in for 18 years, looked at the ceiling, and thought to myself, "when I wake up in my next 'home', some of my neighbors will be shooting at me." I would leave that day for Viet Nam.

My bags were packed.
I had decided I didn't want to lose control and cry at the airport,
so I had a friend come to our house to drive me there...
Goodbyes would be said at our home.

I picked up my bags to carry them to the car. My intent was to put the bags in the trunk, then return for hugs and kisses before driving away.

Dad mistakenly thought I was going out the door for good.
From behind me I heard him call my name in such a strange way, it was like an animal's cry...
When I turned to look at him, he was crying.
Dad wasn't the crying type.
Dad was a macho guy.
He always had trouble expressing his love, but there were enough times like these that I knew he loved me deeply.

That was a hard time, but the past week has been the most stressful of my life.
We've thought about it for years... planned it for weeks.
Our son, our only child, no longer lives in our home.

It's all happened so quickly-
He graduated, interviewed for this job, was offered the position and accepted it, all within a month.
He's never been away from home for more than a week at a time.
Now he's in his own home more than two day's drive away, and going into his empty bedroom hurts so badly we can't stand the thought of cleaning it right now.
It can wait 'til later.

I've not had 8 hours sleep (in a night) in over a week.
I stole hours I should have been sleeping to rent the moving Van.
We packed it and drove 14 hours each of two days, then 3 hours the final day to get to Mesa, Arizona. We then unpacked the Van and began the job of unpacking boxes and constructing "easy to assemble" furniture my son had purchased for his new home.
More sleep deprivation... I "easily assembled" furniture from 8 in the morning until almost 2 A.M. for the next two days.
Yesterday we returned the Van, then flew back to this house that feels mighty empty right now.
I can't help thinking of Mom and Dad, and how strong they had to be to stand and watch their son drive off on his way to fly helicopters in a war where the news was reporting helicopters being shot down on a daily basis.

My son is safely in Mesa, Arizona, yet my heart aches.
How do parents stand sending their children off to war?

God Bless them all!