HawleyBlog

Reserve is over and I have eight days off! Ordinarily that would be great news but instead of eight days to enjoy myself I am off to "Pistol Packen' Pilot" school. I only get ten days off each bid period (four weeks) and I had to fight tooth and nail to get eight of them in a row. That leaves me only two other days off for the whole period. The airline isn't required, nor are they inclined, to give me time off for the training. I get no reward for the position and I even have to buy my own weapon from the government. Are you starting to get the idea that someone doesn't really give a shit about this program? Well, you're right. This program was developed in response to pressures from congress and the airline pilots association. Pres. Bush is adamantly against it (figures). So the burden is squarely on our shoulders. Why, then, do I do it? By the way, I hate guns! I see the attitudes and systems that are designed to protect our cockpit from the type of attacks that occurred on Sept. 11 and they are lacking. So until they are fixed, this is the last resort. I will be gone for a week or so. Adiós!

Friday, October 24th, 2003...A date that will live in infamy!

Lorna is in Michigan but we have been on the phone a lot today. It's been a busy and stressful day.

Pamela Anderson was on Dateline. I know she is the butt of countless jokes and a good portion of her wasn't there when she was born, but I still think she is one "smoken' good lookin' women". Especially for 36.

Friday Night Bonus Treks on Spike TV. You gotta love that.

I'm on "A" reserve (4am-4pm) tomorrow, so I have to go to bed early. Sleep well and don't forget to set your clocks back tomorrow night.

Oh, the joy of a Yankee defeat.

In other news: The Israelis attack, Hamas vows revenge...Hamas attacks, Israel vows revenge...Isreal attacks, Hamas vows revenge...Hamas attacks, Israel vows revenge...Isreal attacks, Hamas vows revenge...Hamas attacks, Israel vows revenge...Isreal attacks, Hamas vows revenge...Hamas attacks, Israel vows revenge...Isreal attacks, Hamas vows revenge...Hamas attacks, Israel vows revenge...Isreal attacks, Hamas vows revenge...Hamas attacks, Israel vows revenge...Isreal attacks, Hamas vows revenge...Hamas attacks, Israel vows revenge...Isreal attacks, Hamas vows revenge...Hamas attacks, Israel vows revenge...Isreal attacks, Hamas vows revenge...Hamas attacks, Israel vows revenge...Isreal attacks, Hamas vows revenge...Hamas attacks, Israel vows revenge...Isreal attacks, Hamas vows revenge...Hamas attacks, Israel vows revenge...Isreal attacks, Hamas vows revenge...Hamas attacks, Israel vows revenge...Isreal attacks, Hamas vows revenge...Hamas attacks, Israel vows revenge...Isreal attacks, Hamas vows revenge...Hamas attacks, Israel vows revenge...Isreal attacks, Hamas vows revenge...Hamas attacks, Israel vows revenge...Isreal attacks, Hamas vows revenge...After thousands of years, does anyone really think this is ever going to end?...What else is on.

I kid you not. As I was publishing my Blog, the phone rang. It was scheduling. They were in the middle of a "No Show". That's when a pilot doesn't show up. No call. No "I'll be a little late". Nothing. That panics the hell out of schedulers. That means that it is :45 min. to departure and they can't get a reserve pilot in for at least an hour. I was the one they called. Half way through my shower, Lorna said they called and said that the pilot finally showed up and that I was back on reserve. Now Lorna's phone is ringing...Crap.

It is eight in the morning and the windows are open. I love the mornings here. As far as I can tell, the skies are always blue and, except for "Los tres meses del Diablo"(the three months of the Devil as I like to call it), You can open up and cool off in the evenings and mornings. In the winter, you can open up all day long. And yes we do have a furnace and we do use it in the winter! I think we used it once last year to cook hot dogs when the BBQ broke. Just kidding. Like many west coast states, we're having and Indian Summer. Except that in Phoenix the Indians are really on the war path. They say this may be the hottest Oct. on record. We are 16+ degrees above normal most days. I think poor Lorna is giving up on ever wearing a sweater and long pants again. In the clothes stores, they are switching over to fall styles. In Phoenix that means that the bikinis and tank tops are available in darker colors!

Last week I was called into work twice at 4:30 AM for a total of six days of flying. I flew 33 hours in eight days. The legal limit is 30 in seven. This week they must feel sorry for me (yea right) I am on my third day of reserve and they sill haven't called. Oh crap...I bet I just jinxed it. My phone will probably ring any minute. Wait...what was that? Ah, never mind.

I love wireless networking. Right now I am laying in bed propped up on pillows with the laptop on, where else?, my lap. And lorna is snoozing beside me. Technology is great.

P.S. I think Daylight Savings is coming this weekend. Remember, we here in the state of Arizona do not shift our clocks so, in essence, we will be moving from Pacific Time to Mountain Time. So in exchange for you west coasters not calling me at 11:00 pm on a work night, I will not call you at 7:00 am on a weekend morning. Thank you for your co-operation.

Responding to several requests, I have added an e-mail link on the right side of the blog next to my links. This will go to my Sled_Driver email account. I check it quite often. Thanks.

P.S. Rain Delay

I am watching the World Series. As the years go by I grow less interested in baseball. Once again the Yankees are playing someone...anyone. It's like an annual echo. I heard today that the payroll for the Marlins was $50something million and the Yankees spend $160something. How can anyone even pretend that that makes sense? Getting older has a terrible catch-22 side to it. You are wiser so you see the unfairness and injustice in life more easily. On the other hand you also develop a greater understanding of how difficult it is to change these injustices.

Of course, the fact that I didn't have to work today and it was 101 degrees in the middle of October tends to keep a smile on my face;)

I sometimes go to www.wilwheaton.net. Wil Wheaton played Wesley Crusher on Star Trek: The Next Generation. He is into computers and writing. Below is a posting from his Blog. I think he writes well.

can't see useless
It's an oppressively hot October afternoon. I have the worst writer's block of my life. I can write a few words together, I can create one or two images, but I can't connect them. I want to tell the story of the young girl who sees the carnival come to her small town, the girl who is just 18, and aware of her power over men, the girl who tries to use this power on a young ride operator so she can escape her small town. The girl who has her power turned back on her and ends the story crying in an empty field surrounded by torn tickets and cigarette butts.

I want to tell the story of the powerless man who watches his wife cry herself to sleep at night. The man who can't provide for his family, the man who can't protect them from the Bogeyman. The man who wanders his empty house at night, looking for the joy he knows once lived there. The man who waits for exhaustion to claim him in the deep of night, and give him a brief reprieve from his sadness.

The stories sit cross a river of doubt and frustration, and the ferryman demands a payment I don't have. I decide to walk down the shore, in search of a bridge.

I find myself in Old Town Pasadena, in front of Hooters, where this whole journey began. Maybe my muse is inside.

I walk in and find the place filled with middle-aged businessmen who drink beer and leer at the young waitresses over fish sandwiches. A young girl with hair so bleached it looks like straw says, "Welcome to Hooters!"

"Can I get food at the bar?" I ask.

"Of course!"

"Thanks," I say, and take a seat.

The waitress working the bar appears to be about the same age as me, in stark contrast to the other girls who look like they're all in their early 20s. There are heavy bags beneath her tired and sad eyes.

"What can I get you?" she asks.

"A Guinness and a cheeseburger," I say.

She turns, and pours me a pint. It's still settling when she puts it in front of me.

"Not many people drink Guinness in the middle of the day," she says.

"Is that a fact?" I say. In my mind I'm Sam Spade or Phillip Marlowe, and I'm in a 1920s Hollywood speakeasy.

"It is," she says, "I think this is the only pint I've poured all day.

"Well, I don't like to drink beer I can see through," I say, as I lift the now-settled glass to my lips.

Her laugh doesn't make it to her eyes, but it's still friendly. I find a kindred spirit in her sadness. We're both in a place we didn't expect to be. I bet I'm the first guy she's waited on all day who hasn't stared at her skimpy outfit while talking to her.

"Hey, honey, can we get another pitcher of Bud over here?" calls a guy in a George Zimmer signature suit at the corner of the bar. His tie is loose and he bounces his leg on the rail. It shakes under my foot. I don't like that at all.

I look around the restaurant. I've never seen it this full during the day. John Fogarty tells me that there's a bad moon on the rise.

"Sure," she says, and walks down to the taps.

Two young girls turn heads as they walk in and sit at a table behind me. "Oh my god! Your eyebrows look so great!" the tall one says.

"Don't they? I totally had them tattooed on," she says.

I tune them out and count the rings down my glass: one . . . two . . . three.

Four.

I look down the bar and see Men's Wearhouse and his business partners putting their best midlife crisis moves on the waitress -- my waitress. Brown Suit stares at her chest while Blue Suit flashes a capped smile at her. She giggles and fusses with her hair, and fills their glasses.

"Hurry back!" Brown Suit says, as she walks back up the bar.

Five. I stare at the top of my beer. It looks like clouds over a black sky.

"So what do you do?" she asks.

" . . . I guess I'm a writer."

"You guess you are, or you are?"

"I am. I'm blocked today."

"By what?"

"The Bogeyman."

"What's that?"

"A convenient literary metaphor."

"You are a writer."

I laugh. "Yeah, I guess I am."

"Have you written anything I've read?" she asks. A loaded question.

"Probably not," I say, "I wrote one, and the people who read it seem to like it, and I'm working on another one."

"But you're blocked today," she says.

"Yeah. This place is sort of involved in my career choice, so I thought I'd come here and try to break the block."

"How's that working out for you?" she asks. A flicker of mirth passes her eyes.

"Well, at the very least, I'll get a Guinness out of the deal."

Man am I tired. I just finished a four day trip that took me back and fourth across the US. First night Boston, then LA, then Philly. Getting up every morning the equivalent of 4 AM Pacific (body clock). I am burned out. I have also had trouble rearranging my schedule for the FFDO program at the end of the month. The company is willing but they haven't done it yet. I have been calling around and the Chief Pilot just called to let me know that it is approved but now I can't get a hold of the girl who is going to do it for me. What a pain. Or maybe it's just that I turned 40 last month! That's right...Fourty. Thank god I still have my hair.