Connections.

Over the past several months I have attended several gatherings, whether it be with friends, family, other pilots, etc. This is not unusual, summertime in Central New York encourages this sort of merriment. People like to get together. I enjoy getting together with folks, breaking bread, chatting, having a beer. 

One thing that I’ve noticed in the recent gatherings is that conversation starters have been regularly prefaced with statements like, “Did you see on Facebook that I…” or “We went down south for a for a few days, or did you see the photos on Facebook…”.

Facebook has become as prevalent at a family picnic as potato salad and ants.

I’ve mentioned before that I have a love/hate relationship with Facebook. There is nothing spectacular about the software, in fact, it’s downright awful. The interface is clumsy, the experience is mediocre at best. Facebook doesn’t really have a product outside of user data. Personal information is monetized.

Yet, everyone uses it. And it pounds at people to keep using it.

Personally I’m horrified at the idea of putting all of my digital eggs in one electronic basket, only to be used for ad-revenue generating purposes. However, I can’t help but continue to use Facebook because it’s the platform that is connecting family and friends to one another in this electronic age. Personal blogs such as these are all but extinct (thanks for hanging around, by the way). Organizations are no longer vying for websites about their group but instead reaching out through a Page on Facebook. Debates are taking place on Facebook, though many of the debates that pass through on my stream seem to be quite idiotic. How do I know these people again? I recently heard that coaches and the like are reaching out to parents through Facebook Messenger instead of using traditional vehicles like email, the telephone or typed out memos printed on ditto paper.

I’ve always hoped that Facebook would become the next MySpace, where people abandon the platform in droves and move onto the next big thing, but the roots of Facebook seem to be pretty deep. It would take something really, really big to sway people away from Facebook. And as awful as the service is, those roots are deep because of one thing it’s doing really well, and that’s connecting people.

Clickity Click Click Click.

As a software developer I spend a lot of time typing of computer keyboards. Because of this I am rather picky about the keyboard that I use as my daily driver. Modern PC keyboards of the 2000s tend to be quite mushy and breakdown over time. The latest trend in keyboards has been those low-profile, nearly zero-travel chicklet type keys. This is a result of many PC manufacturers trying to follow the lead that Apple started with this trend. I guess most people forget that the old Atari home computers in the 1980s had similar chicklet keys. I didn’t like them then and I don’t like them now.

My full-sized, wired (the horror!) Apple keyboard start showing signs of a slow death last week so I was in the market for a new keyboard for my home office setup. I have a couple of Apple wireless Bluetooth keyboards lying around, but since I have a pretty robust setup for my home office, I’d like to use a full-sized keyboard for my full-sized needs.

Back in the day I loved the old IBM “Model M” keyboards. These are the ones that are really loud and clicky. The keycaps and the arrangement of the alphabetic keys are reminiscent of the old IBM Selectric Typewriters. The feel, the pressure, the response are all typewriter like. Those old Model M keyboards were fantastic to type on and I was always able to fly along at a rapid pace when placed in front of those keyboards. One of the best things my Mom ever did was allow me to type on her typewriter growing up, but with very strong encouragement to use the correct fingerings for typing. 40 years later I am still able to type over 100 words per minute.

Before buying a new keyboard I went into my technological boneyard and found a full-sized Apple keyboard from the early 2000s. This was from one of our old white cased iMacs. They keys are white and the whole keyboard has that translucent Apple feel to it. Typing on it is alright but it’s nothing to write home about. I can fly along pretty well but the response was mushy.

Still dreaming about the IBM Model M keyboards from days of past, I went searching on the Internet and found that Unicomp makes a variant of the old IBM Model M keyboard, including a model made specifically for Mac! I know, the horror, but having an IBM designed keyboard with an Apple layout would be quite cool and in my eyes would be the best of both worlds. The keyboards are fairly pricey, but they’re built like a tank and the keyboard should theoretically last me a long time. So I ordered one.

Today my Unicomp Mac Buckling Spring keyboard arrived. I was ecstatic!


Typing on the keyboard is a dream. I tested my typing skills on it this afternoon and I was able type at 109 WPM on it. Not too shabby. I have to admit there were a couple of issues when it arrived. The left corner Control key had popped off and the A key’s response was intermittent at best. I took the underlying key cap mechanism from F15 and swapped it with the A and I haven’t had an issue since. Still, for a keyboard clocking in at over $100, this is a bit disappointing. So much for “it just works”, but that’s why I usually buy Apple products.

Other than the two small hiccups, I am very pleased with the keyboard and I was able to fly through some coding I had to do this afternoon. The clickity click click of the keys allowed me to get lost in the moment and find my coding zen.

I guess I’m just easy to please.

Accuracy.


As a pilot I’m pretty tuned to the current weather conditions. With at least two flights planned for any given week (and hopefully more if finances allow!), I pay close attention to the forecast and plan accordingly.  During ground school we are encouraged to watch the local forecasts and The Weather Channel™ to further our understanding of the weather and how it will impact what we can do in the skies.

On Friday morning I was watching the local weather in preparation for a flight to Portland, Maine. The air personality was talking about enjoying this last day of summer-like weather because it was going to turn much colder and the skies would be rainy for much of the weekend.

It is now Monday morning. When I awoke at 6:00 a.m. It was 66ºF and quite humid. 66ºF in these parts in the middle of September is hardly much colder weather. I’m reminded of a foggy summer morning, three days after that last day of summer-like weather they were talking about.  We had a few rainy spells but nothing horrible. 

This was another reminder that commercial media first and foremost serves the purpose of generating ad revenue. Their product is weather information, and people are more apt to follow the weather, especially in this day and age, if it has a certain edge to it. “Storms could turn strong and severe this weekend if a storm front passing through decides to stall, which some forecast models indicate could happen if another front elsewhere in the country turns off its current path”.  As long as the words strong and severe were in there and there was some sort of truth to it, the smiling air personality could continue to smile knowing they were telling the truth to the public.

There were no storms. There was three flashes of lightning last night, which prompted the National Weather Service to issue a Severe Thunderstorm Warning. We were on the very outer edge of the warning area, so Earl and I drove smack dab into the middle of the predicted storm’s path. No lightning. No wind. No rain. Just dark sky (it was 8:00 PM) with the evidence of some grayish clouds reflecting the lights of the area. Then three flashes of lightning. That was it.

I’m ready for autumn weather. Heck, I’m ready for winter weather. I just wish the forecasters would stop getting my hopes up.

I need to stop paying attention to the revenue-generating weather outlets and start doing my own forecasting. It will make me less crazy.

The Pedestrian Rant.

I haven’t been riding my bike in recent weeks. Most of this is probably due to laziness but I’ve also been concerned about my safety on the roadways as a cyclist. Over the past couple of years I’ve had a few close calls that made me sweat a bit; motorists coming quite close to me even though I’m over as far away from the driving lanes as I can safely be without losing control of the bicycle in the dirt or some random person’s lawn.

I’ve been walking every morning to somewhat compensate for the change in exercise patterns. We live on a former country road that has been developed with apartment complexes and housing developments up the hill from us. The posted speed limit is 45 miles per hour. The county will occasionally post one of those electronic speed meter signs that tell motorists how fast they are driving. When that’s up and monitoring traffic, folks still come down the hill well over 45 MPH. I wouldn’t mind their excessive speed as much if they were safely driving the vehicle, but in the morning hours there are folks fiddling with their phone, putting on makeup, shaving, etc as they make their way down our hilly and somewhat curvy road.

The shoulders of the roadway are four feet wide with two feet of pavement and two feet of dirt. If there is no oncoming traffic I walk on the paved portion but remaining on my side of the white line delineating the driving lane from the shoulder. If there is traffic coming along I move over to the dirt portion. Many sections of the road around us are flanked by a three foot deep ditch immediately off the shoulder so that’s why I try to stay on the shoulder as much as possible.

Now, I realize that this particular road wasn’t designed for pedestrians, it was designed for vehicles so that’s why I do my best to stay as safe as possible while I’m making my way to a quieter street about a mile away from the house. However, over the past year, and especially the past six months, I can’t help but notice the degradation in driving habits as exhibited by these fine folks flying down the hill making their way to wherever they feel they need to be.

This next portion of this blog entry may sound sexist and ageist and the like but the fact of the matter is I’m making honest observations based on a small sampling of the drivers coming down the roadway in the morning.

1. Young girls will be wearing aviator sunglasses, have their hair tied up into some sort of arrangement on the top of their head and will rarely be looking at the road. It could be before sunrise but they still have their sunglasses on. They are enthralled with whatever is going on on their phone at the moment and driving the motor vehicle comes secondary. They will be over the white line, they will oversteer the curve, glance up to see why there’s dirt flying around and then resume their primary objective, playing on their phone. I jump into a ditch.

2. Young men will do anything they can (hat turned sideways, scruffed up fuzz, tattoos all over, gold chains, etc) to look contrary to their middle to upper-middle class upbringing, have some sort of low riding vehicle that basically turns into a hockey puck in the winter and will have their seat slung back so far that they have no hope of seeing more than six inches off the front of the car. They casually glance at their phone as they look around to make sure people are looking at them. The bright side of this equation is that they’ll slow down to 5 MPH to cross the railroad tracks because anything faster will rip out any and everything on the bottom of the vehicle. Like their female counterparts, they are too busy doing other things, will oversteer the curves and I’ll end up jumping in a ditch. They, too, wear their sunglasses at night.

3. There’s one middle aged guy driving a BMW that is always shaving. Always. Every day. He drives by, he’s shaving. He slows down for the school bus, he’s shaving. This supports my claim that men that shave with electric shavers are highly disorganized, lazy people that have little disregard for their appearance, the people around them and any sort of common sense. It’s about him and only him. As he tries to get that spot under his nose, he’ll oversteer the curves and I’ll have to jump in the ditch.

4. The old woman that drives somewhere at 7 a.m. every day has her own story. She’s lucky to know what country she’s in let alone worry about keeping the damn vehicle between the white lines. She’s moving at 20 MPH (somehow she has the vehicle moving nearly sideways), giving me plenty of time to jump in the ditch when she oversteers the curve and brushes by the bushes in front of the neighbor’s house, scaring the occupants and sending me cursing.

5. One of the two biggest competitions for motorists in this area is to see how long of an empty trailer they can tow behind their truck without dragging the ass end of their F150 onto the pavement. There’s never anything in these trailers, they’re just empty as they get towed behind these big trucks. Being in a lower income area of the state, I can only assume that these empty trailers are to be considered in the same way as rich men driving Hummers. They’re dick extenders. They oversteer the curves, the empty trailer swings around a bit and I end up jumping in the ditch.

6. The other biggest competition for motorists in this area is to see at what young age they can get a handicapped sticker hanging from their mirror. They can’t see the line because they have this big ass handicapped placard hanging down the middle of their windshield, guaranteeing them a parking spot close to the corral of electric scooters at the market, and thus they oversteer the curve and I end up jumping in the ditch.

7. And last, but not least, there’s school bus 380, which makes multiple trips through the area picking up children that are sitting on the corner tapping at their phones. School bus 380 comes barreling down the hill well above the posted 45 MPH speed limit. The driver then jumps on the brakes when he realizes the railroad tracks are still there, same as yesterday, and he must stop. Sneaky railroad tracks. A casual glance inside the bus reveals school aged children hurled forward with their heads in a downward position. They must be looking at their phones as they endure this gaiety.

I don’t think it’s unreasonable for me to walk along a highway when there is theoretically plenty of space for me to do so. I could go on with my rant but my blood pressure is up now and I need to calm down a little bit.

Live Goosebumps.

Very few pop music performances of the 21st century give me goosebumps. This is a delightful exception.

Here’s kd lang performing Joni Mitchell’s “Help Me” live in 2000. I hope you feel the goosebumps as well.

I Love NY. This Space For Rent.

I’ve mentioned before that I’m not a fan of advertising. Not only do I not like advertising, I actually despise it. I realize that in today’s economy advertising is basically what keeps the United States afloat, but I think that we, the public, are better than dancing purple pills, people screaming “Huuuuuuuuuge”, men that call themselves Crazy Eddie and long lists of side effects that usually include “explosive diarrhea”, even though the medicine being hawked is suppose to make us feel better.

New York State Governor Cuomo (I like to call him “King Andy”) looked around The Empire State, realized the economy was not doing well and decided to fix the situation by inviting tourists to come take a look at all New York State has to offer. He recently launched a $25 million ad campaign that involves celebrities saying how much they love New York and more importantly, signs telling everyone how lovely New York State can be.

Signs, signs, everywhere are signs.

Usually when one crosses a state border they are greeted by a sign of some sort welcoming them to the state they have just entered. “Welcome to Connecticut, Full of Surprises”. “Welcome To Pennsylvania, State of Independence.”

Crossing into New York State you are now greeted with a succession of FIVE welcome signs. But that is only the beginning of the frivolity, as the state border is not the only place you can enter the Empire State.

You’ll see the same five signs coming out of the airport as you try to figure out how your rental car works.

You’ll see the same five signs if you’re leaving the New York State Fairgrounds.

You’ll see the same five signs if you’re entering the New York State Fairgrounds.

You’ll see the same five signs if you’ve traveled more than 30 miles on the New York State Thruway.

You’ll see the same five signs in the geographic center of the state.

You get my point.

Yes, there are signs 200 miles from the closest state border welcoming you to New York State. Over one third of the bridges might be structurally deficient, we might have the only interstate exits in the country that are still numbered sequentially (for example, 20-21-21B-21A-22), you might lose a wheel or two in one of the wide selection of potholes we offer in any given mile, but by god, we have signs welcoming you to the Empire State.

Think I’m kidding? Here’s some screen caps of the signs, 260 miles from the state border.

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Monotonous, ain’t it?

Please note that all the signs are encouraging you to download the ILoveNY app, apparently while you’re driving. At the very least, visit the website. Never mind that we spent a million or two a few years ago renaming all the Rest Areas to Text Stops (with more signs counting down the miles to the next “Text Stop”). Oh! And speaking of advertising, all of our Rest Areas Text Stops are now sponsored by Geico.

With more signs advertising this fact.

To keep with the theme of banging motorists over the head with advertising, there are now miniature versions of these signs mounted to the toll booths as you enter the New York State Thruway.

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I was especially disheartened to see these new toll booth advertisements because I was kind of proud of the fact that we didn’t pimp out toll booth space for advertising like the surrounding states did. But apparently what’s good for the goose is good for the gander or the very least to get my dander up.

I wouldn’t be nearly as bothered by all these signs (and the money associated with them) if they were installed and left as is, but apparently they did please the aesthetic sensibilities of someone and they have been moved around (by a mile or two), replaced (because the color was off in the original version) and re-angled in relation to the roadway on the weekend, in the dark of night, during prime overtime hours. Driving home from a late flight into Syracuse on multiple occasions in the past couple of weeks I saw the crews installing, uninstalling and such under the cover of darkness.

Advertising is in it’s prime. In glorious overtime. I Love New York. Sigh.

Flight 93.

I hadn’t planned on writing two blog entries on this 15th anniversary of 9/11, but this evening I spent some time listening to the ATC tapes from that day. As a relatively new pilot, this was the first time that I had listened to the Air Traffic Control recordings and had an appreciation for what was really going on with ATC that day.

I made it through a lot of the recordings (they’re available on YouTube) until I got to the recordings of United Flight 93, which ultimately crashed near Somerset, Pa. as a result of the actions and reactions of the crew and passengers of that flight. It was then that the tears flowed when it was apparent, even on the recordings, that the crew and passengers had made a purposeful decision to not allow United 93 to get to the diverted destination. The crew on the flight deck, knowing their fate, had apparently made the conscious decision to put that airliner on auto pilot and switch the radio so that it would default to external transmissions (instead of the intercom for the passengers). This is why ATC and other aircraft in the area was hearing about the bomb and the fake announcements the hijackers thought they were making to the passengers.

All of this is common knowledge today. But still hearing those transmissions, coupled with knowing what the courageous crew and passengers did to prevent the airliner from making its intended target, brought me to tears this evening.

In 2002 Earl and I visited what was at that time a very makeshift memorial to United Flight 93 near Somerset, Pa. I remember seeing the chain link fence covered in mementos and seeing these two memorials at the site.

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I hope that if I am ever in a similar situation that I will have the courage that the crew and passengers of United Flight 93 exhibited that day.

United.

I tried to find a fitting photo to place at the beginning of this blog entry but nothing moved me enough to include it here.

This blog had only a handful of entries when the events of 9/11/01 took place. I remember being too stunned to write about the day. Too depressed. Too confused. I hastily wrote an entry on the morning of 9/12. It’s posted here.

I can vividly remember the events of the day: the wave of “there has been a disturbance in the force” I felt as I rode the elevator up to the 16th floor of a local bank building, where my office was located. Earl calling me a couple of minutes later and telling me an airplane had hit the World Trade Center. Walking into the office and going to one of the production studios, where a television had just been tuned in using rabbit ears. We watched ABC because that’s all we could get in on the tiny TV. A bunch of us watched live on television when the second airliner hit. I remember feeling nauseated. When the first tower fell to the ground I remember feeling nauseated to the point that I made my way near the garbage can. Three thoughts ran through my head: “oh my God, all those people”, “oh my God, don’t puke here” and the last one was the loudest.

The world I know is gone forever. The country we know is gone forever.

There were so many displays of unity in those days after 9/11. Politicians singing together instead of arguing at each other. Elected officials setting aside their differences to keep the country back on track. People were working together, not drifting apart.

But then, well, time happened. The United States adapted, the populace accepted significant infringements on personal freedom as the new norm, technology moved on and we adapted to our new normal. By the mid 2000s, the moments of unity had faded away and we were back to the world of divisiveness with a renewed intensity. Blame those that look differently. Blame those that act differently. Diversity is dangerous.

Gosh how I miss that feeling of unity we had shortly after the 9/11 attacks. Neighbors helping each other. Strangers helping strangers. Looking out for one another instead of looking askance at those that seem different. Courage instead of fear. Defiance in the face of destruction.

We now live in a country where a balloon pops and people scramble for their lives. A simple power outage happens in a public place and there’s shrieking and screaming and other sounds of fear. It’s like we’ve had 9/11 PTSD beat into us by the politicians and the media that once united together. We were on the right track there for a little while and then, well, fear sold better. Agendas were furthered when people were scared.

I ended up not having to use that garbage pail on 9/11 as I kept my cookies together. It’s a shame that the world changed forever the way it changed forever.

I finally settled on a photo. Two sets of power lines marching across parking lots. Two towers standing in unity together.

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Keep Right Except To Pass.

To all you folks that stay in the left lane not passing anyone even though you’re doing the speed limit, you’re a major part of the problem leading to the higher accident rates in the United States.

Mid Century Modern.

Earl and I have pretty much decided that when Earl retires in a year or two, we’ll be moving to a smaller house elsewhere. I think I have him talked into looking for a Mid-Century Modern home when we go house hunting. I would really like something like this:

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There’s little doubt that my love for this style of home was inspired by my grandparents house, built in 1959. When my grandfather died in 2005, the house was sold by the estate. A man purchased the farm to convert it to a hunting camp of sorts. The house has seen better days.

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A late 1950s ranch would fit the bill perfectly. I’d love to have 1950s touches like a central vacuum system, an intercom system, a kitchen with the oven built into a a brick chimney, lots of light, windows high and windows low, etc.

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I will be very a happy man when this dream comes true.