A Flying Nobody

4.28.2006

Fun with Big Propellers

You almost don't see them any more on most commercial flights, and the birds are all the more thankful. Of course, you'd be more thankful, too, if you knew that there's a non-zero chance that any blade on a spinning propeller is eligible for a sudden end-of-career separation from the shaft. And if it's not nicely contained in an engine nacelle partially designed with just this concern in mind, it would quite happily slice through the cabin and anything contained therewithin like Wallace's knife through cheese. Aren't we a tad vexed, Gromit?
El Prezo Busho and his entourage decided to stop by campus the other day, arriving and departing via Sand Hill IM Fields. Forrest and I waited two hours before the squad of Marine Ones (modified Blackhawks) and one modified H-53 (for the groupies) landed and took off from the lightly guarded corner of Stanford. I heard the protestors prevented him from getting to Hoover. Good job. If he only cared. Hint, hint. He Doesn't, and neither do I. I couldn't finish my homework because of this, but when's the next time El Prezo visits my campus? More importantly, when's the next time I'll see Marine One? Anyway, Blogger is being stupid and I can't upload some of the pictures, so why don't you check them out.
After waiting a few years (you think I'm kidding), my rendevous with the Pavehawk, the most kick ass CSAR airframe, finally came to pass Tuesday night. Check it out here. The next night, Downey and I annoyed the 129th again and got on the C-130, but no pictures. Just imagine weaving through a valley, less than 500 ft off the ground so the peaks around you are at eye level. Yeah, you understand. No, you don't really understand. Pure kick ass. No one yakked. More kick ass.
Next time you slice that cheese, just think about it. Respect the props.

4.07.2006

Though I Can't On Wounded Knee

You laid out all the soups on the counter, so I wouldn't have to reach for them in the cupboard. You knew I'd be fine--though confined--alone on this rainy day, yet you still wanted to stay. My sausages and eggs were perfect, without a finger lifted. You looked at me and listened in a way I never could and still owe you. For these alone, I gladly take thee. In sickness and in health...in sickness and in health...but you've already fulfilled that promise.
The wedding band arrived, and we both love it. Worry not that it is so small; you've bound me with much more.

2.17.2006

A Summary

I haven't posted for a while, though much was wanting to be said...

Last episode of Grey's Anatomy, Meredith was saved while the bomb squad was blown up when they gingerly cradled the unstable homemade rocket away from our antagonists. No mention was given to the men in uniform beyond showing the pink mist, no eulogy, no appreciation for their sacrifice. Meredith went home, and in just a few hours cathartically talked about her last kiss with Dr. McDreamy with, er, Dr. McDreamy. For those who care, this script speaks for itself. Uniformed people get no love no mo'.

I've studied harder since I've been living with Nika than any of the previous years that I can remember. I thought I'd miss the dorm life, but I don't. I thought I'd miss the dorm food, but I definitely don't. I love this, and I don't see how marriage will be any different. Until the baby arrives. Now that I have Martha Stewart Weddings from Downey's mom (Thanks!), maybe I should rethink the small wedding plan. Stop. Back up. We aren't even officially engaged. Oh right, you're wondering about parental approval. Haha, I'll be flying multi-million dollar killing machines and I need to get approval to marry whom I want? You've gotta be a fossil of humanity.

And it does look like I'll be a killer pilot after all. Eyes looked good (enough) at Brooks. No brain damage. Heart still pumps. And I even turned my head and coughed. I'm all but officially gtg.

This was most flavourless post of my blogging career.