On The Beach

Homer (the one that’s not Jethro’s partner) sang of coming home, or trying to anyway. It was kind of a main theme for the guy. At the time, a few thousand years ago, coming home would have been just about IT since nobody lived long enough to really go very far more than about twice. Twice would have been pushing it. About all the hell I ever do is come home or get ready to leave. I don’t have to contest with suitors every time I come home but Odysseus never had to go in and out of Midway, even in good weather. Or try to keep cat hair off of navy blue slacks.

And he never had to go Dallas-St Louis-Chicago-St Louis-Oklahoma City-Las Vegas-Hartford-Orlando-Ft Lauderdale-Baltimore-Las Vegas-Providence-Chicago-Kansas City-Dallas and points in between over a four day period and still know where he was the entire time.

As for sirens, try having a minor air leak around a cockpit window all day long. It can be a noise that leaves a mark on ones brain. Of course the same day my really expensive TSO German Sienheiser noise canceling headset decided to malfunction like a U-Boat screen door . . . leaving me with only a squirt bottle of sunglasses cleaner to stop the wind noise. The how to stop a window squeal with sunglasses cleaner trick only works at high altitude.

I find it really interesting how various people interact so very differently in a controlled setting like an airline cockpit. Some people are chatty, some are conversational and some are as entertaining as a stump. An open request to all of the chatty types: Please shush, To the stumps: Please learn some standard questions, watch Letterman and copy him. Do not give a one word answer to anything, read a book.

This week 27:46

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