Tuesday, June 22, 2004
Waist not want not!
Some years ago, Britany Spears did something that would effect the earth in ways that could not be foreseen at the time. An act, so diabolical, that we now find ourselves completely blind-sided by it's controversial reprocussions. No I'm not talking about dating Justin Timberlake. Although that was pretty awful...She wore a shirt that was just a bit too small. I know what you're thinking...So what.
I whole-heartedly admit that I was entirely in favor of the shirt. This simple twist of stylistic fate revealed the barest slice of skin and, within that, one of the most perfect navels known to man since the day the navel was invented. I think it was on the eighth day that God created the navel...And he saw the navel and it was good! And is it any wonder that young girls worldwide have taken to immitating this element of expression. And again I say bravo! I mean who doesn't like a nice navel? After a while you couldn't swing a deat cat without hitten' a gal with an exposed navel. Not since Normandy have we seen such a navel invasion!(Oh, that was bad but I just couldn't resist)
Now, I'm as willing as the next guy to allow people the freedom of expression. I had the earrings, I had the long hair, I had the blond streak, I had the ripped jeans, I used to say the word "boss". So, I have no problem with the "belly-button-gone-wild" trend. However! Somewhere along the line, the origin of this trend was forgotten. Somehow, without my knowledge or consent, the idea got out that one need not take into consideration ones weight or skin tone prior to exercizing ones right to run with a bare midrift. And, when you are sitting at an airport, and up walks a 46 year old, 175 pound, tattooed divorcee' with a four inch roll of flabby cellulite hanging out the bottom of a size 6 tee shirt emblazon with the words "I'm What You Been Lookin' For", you know something has gone horribly wrong. And there is no...navel...in...sight! I mean, she's either a clone, or that poor navel is buried way under there.
The people I really feel sorry for (no, not the guy sitten' next to her on the plane...Although that would be pretty bad) are the Indonesians. I mean, they're the ones making the shirts. They work their poor hands to the nub trying to make that 23 cent shirt fit perfectly so that Walmart can charge that fat divorcee' $24 for it. That would really burn me up. I think it is time for the maddness to stop. Perhaps I should start doing it. Then, when some tubby gal walks up and says "your hairy belly sticking out of that shirt is making me sick". I could look her in the eye and say..."Ditto!"
Some years ago, Britany Spears did something that would effect the earth in ways that could not be foreseen at the time. An act, so diabolical, that we now find ourselves completely blind-sided by it's controversial reprocussions. No I'm not talking about dating Justin Timberlake. Although that was pretty awful...She wore a shirt that was just a bit too small. I know what you're thinking...So what.
I whole-heartedly admit that I was entirely in favor of the shirt. This simple twist of stylistic fate revealed the barest slice of skin and, within that, one of the most perfect navels known to man since the day the navel was invented. I think it was on the eighth day that God created the navel...And he saw the navel and it was good! And is it any wonder that young girls worldwide have taken to immitating this element of expression. And again I say bravo! I mean who doesn't like a nice navel? After a while you couldn't swing a deat cat without hitten' a gal with an exposed navel. Not since Normandy have we seen such a navel invasion!(Oh, that was bad but I just couldn't resist)
Now, I'm as willing as the next guy to allow people the freedom of expression. I had the earrings, I had the long hair, I had the blond streak, I had the ripped jeans, I used to say the word "boss". So, I have no problem with the "belly-button-gone-wild" trend. However! Somewhere along the line, the origin of this trend was forgotten. Somehow, without my knowledge or consent, the idea got out that one need not take into consideration ones weight or skin tone prior to exercizing ones right to run with a bare midrift. And, when you are sitting at an airport, and up walks a 46 year old, 175 pound, tattooed divorcee' with a four inch roll of flabby cellulite hanging out the bottom of a size 6 tee shirt emblazon with the words "I'm What You Been Lookin' For", you know something has gone horribly wrong. And there is no...navel...in...sight! I mean, she's either a clone, or that poor navel is buried way under there.
The people I really feel sorry for (no, not the guy sitten' next to her on the plane...Although that would be pretty bad) are the Indonesians. I mean, they're the ones making the shirts. They work their poor hands to the nub trying to make that 23 cent shirt fit perfectly so that Walmart can charge that fat divorcee' $24 for it. That would really burn me up. I think it is time for the maddness to stop. Perhaps I should start doing it. Then, when some tubby gal walks up and says "your hairy belly sticking out of that shirt is making me sick". I could look her in the eye and say..."Ditto!"
// posted by Chris @ Tuesday, June 22, 2004
Wednesday, June 16, 2004
This is the website for Burt Rutan's company. If you had known that the Wright Bros. were going to fly, would you have gone to kitty hawk to see it? This year we are likely to see the same thing. The first private astronaut will go into space in a space craft built with private funds. I would be there if I didn't have to work. Scaled Composites
// posted by Chris @ Wednesday, June 16, 2004
Monday, June 14, 2004
The view from my paraglider. That is our airport and our house is to the upper right.
// posted by Chris @ Monday, June 14, 2004
Oh How The The Mighty Have Fallen...
My father has been here for the last week. He has been helping me wire our new garage and replace siding on the old shop. Because of that, I didn't paraglide all week until last night. I think it was a conspiracy between he and Lorna. Every time I wanted to fly, they would say "I think we should go to dinner now". Last night I got everything hooked up and right before I started my motor, my cell phone rang. It was my mom. I had sent her some photos and they still hadn't shown up at her e-mail. I told her I was going flying and that I would call her back when I got back. I flew for about 30-40 min. and when I landed, my dad walked across to the airport to meet me. I figured he was going to congratulate me for the flawless landing. He said "We have a problem...the neighbors just called" (at this point I'm thinking that my neighbors called about the noise I was making with the Paraglider) "Mom fell!", he said.
As you can imagine, I was concerned. All I could think of is some old lady in a moo moo laying on the bathroom floor with a broken hip yelling "Help! I've fallen and I can't get up". In the end, it wasn't quite so bad. She simply stumbled coming out the sliding glass door and landed on her left knee. She cracked the kneecap and managed to twist the right ankle pretty bad as well. She'll need surgery for the knee and for now she's in a brace and occasionally a wheelchair.
The whole thing has had me thinking, today, about getting older. Now, my mom isn't that old, (I'm not going to tell you her exact age but, let's just say when the Japanese were dropping bombs on Pearl Harbor, my mom was dropping bombs in her diapers) but she has never been that active in life. Girls raised in her generation weren't supposed to play sports. They were supposed to stand on the sidelines and cheer on their men while they played sports. And, as my father played high school baseball, basketball and football, my mom dutifully waited outside the locker room for him to finish cleaning up.
In fact, I can't really remember my mom ever getting seriously injured. There was the time she clobbered her own foot while playing croquet and trying to do one of those cool 'foot-on-the-ball' shots(now you see why she never played sports) and there was the time a Portuguese Man-of-war stung her while swimming in Florida (she was probably trying to club it with a croquet mallet). But that's about it. Which leads me to believe that this was an age related accident. Not in the sense that I couldn't stumble coming out of a door but, in the sense that age robs us of the reflexes that allow us to re-group and handle the fall without injury. As I reach 40 yrs. old, I have noticed many physical abilities that have wained (insert your Viagra joke here). I can't run four miles in 27 Min's any more, I can't jump from a roof and land on my feet without pain. I can't balance on the ladder with the stability I once had. And while none of these are record breaking feats, I do miss them. And while I could train back to four miles in 27 Min's, I choose, instead, to run across fields with 80 pounds of metal on my back dragging a parachute. Different challenge, different reward. I know there will come a day when I can no longer fly my Paraglider. Eventually, I won't be able to fly at all. When that day comes, I hope I will have enough memories to be content to watch those younger than me take to the air.(but I seriously I doubt it.)
Those of you who have known me the longest know that I have always had a penchant for the band RUSH. I still think, to this day, that they have some of the finest lyrics ever set to music. Even if you hate their music, the insight in the words cannot be denied. The events of the last 24 hours have me recalling a song titled "Losing It" from the "Signals" album. It deal with the frustration of loosing what we once had:
The dancer slows her frantic pace
In pain and desperation
Her aching limbs and down cast face
Aglow with perspiration
Stiff as wire, Her lungs on fire
With just the briefest pause
Then flooding through her memory
The echos of old applause
She limps across the floor...
And closes the bedroom door
The writer stares with glassy eyes
Defies the empty page
His beard is white, his face is lined
And streaked with tears of rage
Thirty years ago, how the words would flow
With passion and precision
But now his mind is dark and dulled
By sickness and indecision
And he stares out the kitchen door
Where the sun will rise no more
Some are born to move the world
To live their fantasies
But most of us just dream about
The things we'd like to be
Sadder still to watch it die
Than never to have known it
For you - the blind who once could see -
The bell tolls for thee.
My mom will be just fine. As will I. We just won't be the Croquet, man-o-war, Paragliding studs we once were. Maybe that's a good thing. Hey I just got an idea...Paraglider Polo! If I could just get a really long...and maybe an inflatable...I'll be back in a while...
My father has been here for the last week. He has been helping me wire our new garage and replace siding on the old shop. Because of that, I didn't paraglide all week until last night. I think it was a conspiracy between he and Lorna. Every time I wanted to fly, they would say "I think we should go to dinner now". Last night I got everything hooked up and right before I started my motor, my cell phone rang. It was my mom. I had sent her some photos and they still hadn't shown up at her e-mail. I told her I was going flying and that I would call her back when I got back. I flew for about 30-40 min. and when I landed, my dad walked across to the airport to meet me. I figured he was going to congratulate me for the flawless landing. He said "We have a problem...the neighbors just called" (at this point I'm thinking that my neighbors called about the noise I was making with the Paraglider) "Mom fell!", he said.
As you can imagine, I was concerned. All I could think of is some old lady in a moo moo laying on the bathroom floor with a broken hip yelling "Help! I've fallen and I can't get up". In the end, it wasn't quite so bad. She simply stumbled coming out the sliding glass door and landed on her left knee. She cracked the kneecap and managed to twist the right ankle pretty bad as well. She'll need surgery for the knee and for now she's in a brace and occasionally a wheelchair.
The whole thing has had me thinking, today, about getting older. Now, my mom isn't that old, (I'm not going to tell you her exact age but, let's just say when the Japanese were dropping bombs on Pearl Harbor, my mom was dropping bombs in her diapers) but she has never been that active in life. Girls raised in her generation weren't supposed to play sports. They were supposed to stand on the sidelines and cheer on their men while they played sports. And, as my father played high school baseball, basketball and football, my mom dutifully waited outside the locker room for him to finish cleaning up.
In fact, I can't really remember my mom ever getting seriously injured. There was the time she clobbered her own foot while playing croquet and trying to do one of those cool 'foot-on-the-ball' shots(now you see why she never played sports) and there was the time a Portuguese Man-of-war stung her while swimming in Florida (she was probably trying to club it with a croquet mallet). But that's about it. Which leads me to believe that this was an age related accident. Not in the sense that I couldn't stumble coming out of a door but, in the sense that age robs us of the reflexes that allow us to re-group and handle the fall without injury. As I reach 40 yrs. old, I have noticed many physical abilities that have wained (insert your Viagra joke here). I can't run four miles in 27 Min's any more, I can't jump from a roof and land on my feet without pain. I can't balance on the ladder with the stability I once had. And while none of these are record breaking feats, I do miss them. And while I could train back to four miles in 27 Min's, I choose, instead, to run across fields with 80 pounds of metal on my back dragging a parachute. Different challenge, different reward. I know there will come a day when I can no longer fly my Paraglider. Eventually, I won't be able to fly at all. When that day comes, I hope I will have enough memories to be content to watch those younger than me take to the air.(but I seriously I doubt it.)
Those of you who have known me the longest know that I have always had a penchant for the band RUSH. I still think, to this day, that they have some of the finest lyrics ever set to music. Even if you hate their music, the insight in the words cannot be denied. The events of the last 24 hours have me recalling a song titled "Losing It" from the "Signals" album. It deal with the frustration of loosing what we once had:
The dancer slows her frantic pace
In pain and desperation
Her aching limbs and down cast face
Aglow with perspiration
Stiff as wire, Her lungs on fire
With just the briefest pause
Then flooding through her memory
The echos of old applause
She limps across the floor...
And closes the bedroom door
The writer stares with glassy eyes
Defies the empty page
His beard is white, his face is lined
And streaked with tears of rage
Thirty years ago, how the words would flow
With passion and precision
But now his mind is dark and dulled
By sickness and indecision
And he stares out the kitchen door
Where the sun will rise no more
Some are born to move the world
To live their fantasies
But most of us just dream about
The things we'd like to be
Sadder still to watch it die
Than never to have known it
For you - the blind who once could see -
The bell tolls for thee.
My mom will be just fine. As will I. We just won't be the Croquet, man-o-war, Paragliding studs we once were. Maybe that's a good thing. Hey I just got an idea...Paraglider Polo! If I could just get a really long...and maybe an inflatable...I'll be back in a while...
// posted by Chris @ Monday, June 14, 2004
Thursday, June 03, 2004
Imagine, if you will, a day in the mid to late 1970's. Two 'out of work' stoners are sitting on a couch watching 'The Electric Company' having just finished off their third bowl of Mendocino's finest recreational herb. As they wait for the bong to cool, one of them says "Dude...I just got a totally bitchen' idea. What if we bolt a propeller to the lawn mower and then you strap it to my back?" After a brief pause, his friend responds, "Dude...That's insane. You could really get hurt. You better put on a parachute just in case." The rest is history.
When I first saw a Powered Paraglider,(see www.ParaToys.com.)that's how I imagined it all started. I have learned differently since then. Those of you who we speak to on a regular basis already know that Lorna and I have started Powered Paragliding. While it may look a bit insane, it is remarkably safe (I'm going to regret saying that later).
Now, having said that I would like to relate to you one of our recent adventures. We brought our Paragliders home from L.A. about three or four weeks ago. I had to break-in the engines for about two hours each. That consisted of tying them to a strong tree and running them at various RPM's for two hours. I can't tell you how much I wanted to toss something like cantaloupe into that spinning prop. It would have been so cool! Once that was accomplished, (the break-in, not the cantaloupe) it was time to fly. The first flights were at our airport across the street. Just circling around within gliding distance of the field. We didn't want to get too far away, just in case. Even if the engine dies, there's not much of a problem. I had two engines quit during training due to a carburetor that wouldn't idle properly. You just float down and land.
Now, before I go on, I would just like you to know that the following tail does not reflect on my performance as an airline pilot and I would like you to all feel comfortable on any airliner...well, except when Troy's flyin'. Anyway.
We decide to fly off-airport one day. I took off from the ultralight field and headed for the state trust land to the east. Lorna was going to take off from the land across the street from our house and meet me. I flew back and fourth waiting for her to take off, occasionally checking my fuel with the mirror in my harness. (the fuel tank is under your seat so you can't see it directly.) She had laid out her glider and looked ready to go but she wasn't taking off. I finally realized she was on her cell phone. Figures!
After some minutes she took to the air and climbed steeply against the blue sky like a Valkyrie heading for Valhalla. (Sorry, I always wanted to use the word Valkyrie in a sentence...you'll have to forgive me.) As she passed to my left, I banked around to fall in behind her. We wandered around in formation like two giant butterflies. Passing low over the desert. Sometimes close enough to touch a tree with our toes. The sun was setting and it was so peaceful and beautiful.
A moment later I turned to see Lorna descending. She was out of her seat with her legs extended for landing and her engine was stopped! So much for peaceful and beautiful. She touched down on the sand and slipped, ending up on her rear-end. I circled overhead with the concern of a husband until she gave me the OK sign. I was now torn between the desire to land and make sure everything was all right and the wiser decision to head for the car and drive back to pick her up. I saw that she was fine so, as she motioned me away, I banked around and climbed into the sun with the winged feet of Mercury. (OK, too much! I guess I let that Valkyrie thing go to my head. Sorry.) As I put the coals to my motor, I was rewarded with an odd sucking sound and a complete cessation of noise. Holy Crap, my engine quit! (Thanks a lot Mercury! No wonder it is one of the heavier elements.) Quickly scanning the desert floor, I found a spot and touched down. It was actually a very good landing for being two miles from where I would have liked to have landed.
I pulled myself from my harness and began looking over my motor to see what could have gone wrong. Some bit or peace that was out of place that could have caused the failure. I started from the top and moved down examining the magneto, the carb., the throttle, the spark plug, the fuel ta...Shit! I'm out of gas! I have to be honest, I actually laughed. I pulled out my cell phone and called Lorna who was 100 yards away. We met in a clearing. I adjusted her carburetor (It was too rich. We were supposed to run the engines with a rich fuel mixture for the first 10 hours. I guess I got carried away.) and her motor fired right up. She wanted me to fly her motor to get the car but I had her do it because she needs less room for take-off than I do. So, there I sat in the middle of the desert with the sun was going down. By the time she got to me it was almost dark.
We have since dialed in the engines and they have run like watches...Oh well, live and learn. (Emphasis on live!) Feel free to come out and watch us fly. We could always use someone to come and pick us up in the desert.
When I first saw a Powered Paraglider,(see www.ParaToys.com.)that's how I imagined it all started. I have learned differently since then. Those of you who we speak to on a regular basis already know that Lorna and I have started Powered Paragliding. While it may look a bit insane, it is remarkably safe (I'm going to regret saying that later).
Now, having said that I would like to relate to you one of our recent adventures. We brought our Paragliders home from L.A. about three or four weeks ago. I had to break-in the engines for about two hours each. That consisted of tying them to a strong tree and running them at various RPM's for two hours. I can't tell you how much I wanted to toss something like cantaloupe into that spinning prop. It would have been so cool! Once that was accomplished, (the break-in, not the cantaloupe) it was time to fly. The first flights were at our airport across the street. Just circling around within gliding distance of the field. We didn't want to get too far away, just in case. Even if the engine dies, there's not much of a problem. I had two engines quit during training due to a carburetor that wouldn't idle properly. You just float down and land.
Now, before I go on, I would just like you to know that the following tail does not reflect on my performance as an airline pilot and I would like you to all feel comfortable on any airliner...well, except when Troy's flyin'. Anyway.
We decide to fly off-airport one day. I took off from the ultralight field and headed for the state trust land to the east. Lorna was going to take off from the land across the street from our house and meet me. I flew back and fourth waiting for her to take off, occasionally checking my fuel with the mirror in my harness. (the fuel tank is under your seat so you can't see it directly.) She had laid out her glider and looked ready to go but she wasn't taking off. I finally realized she was on her cell phone. Figures!
After some minutes she took to the air and climbed steeply against the blue sky like a Valkyrie heading for Valhalla. (Sorry, I always wanted to use the word Valkyrie in a sentence...you'll have to forgive me.) As she passed to my left, I banked around to fall in behind her. We wandered around in formation like two giant butterflies. Passing low over the desert. Sometimes close enough to touch a tree with our toes. The sun was setting and it was so peaceful and beautiful.
A moment later I turned to see Lorna descending. She was out of her seat with her legs extended for landing and her engine was stopped! So much for peaceful and beautiful. She touched down on the sand and slipped, ending up on her rear-end. I circled overhead with the concern of a husband until she gave me the OK sign. I was now torn between the desire to land and make sure everything was all right and the wiser decision to head for the car and drive back to pick her up. I saw that she was fine so, as she motioned me away, I banked around and climbed into the sun with the winged feet of Mercury. (OK, too much! I guess I let that Valkyrie thing go to my head. Sorry.) As I put the coals to my motor, I was rewarded with an odd sucking sound and a complete cessation of noise. Holy Crap, my engine quit! (Thanks a lot Mercury! No wonder it is one of the heavier elements.) Quickly scanning the desert floor, I found a spot and touched down. It was actually a very good landing for being two miles from where I would have liked to have landed.
I pulled myself from my harness and began looking over my motor to see what could have gone wrong. Some bit or peace that was out of place that could have caused the failure. I started from the top and moved down examining the magneto, the carb., the throttle, the spark plug, the fuel ta...Shit! I'm out of gas! I have to be honest, I actually laughed. I pulled out my cell phone and called Lorna who was 100 yards away. We met in a clearing. I adjusted her carburetor (It was too rich. We were supposed to run the engines with a rich fuel mixture for the first 10 hours. I guess I got carried away.) and her motor fired right up. She wanted me to fly her motor to get the car but I had her do it because she needs less room for take-off than I do. So, there I sat in the middle of the desert with the sun was going down. By the time she got to me it was almost dark.
We have since dialed in the engines and they have run like watches...Oh well, live and learn. (Emphasis on live!) Feel free to come out and watch us fly. We could always use someone to come and pick us up in the desert.
// posted by Chris @ Thursday, June 03, 2004
I have a retraction to make! I have wrongly smeared the female population of Hartford, CT. My trip had us flying to Windsor Locks, CT which serves Hartford. But we arrived at midnight and I just poured myself into the hotel van. I didn't pay attention to where we were going and as it turns out. It was the women of Springfield, MA I had intended to ridicule. So, to the ladies of Hartford (whom I'm sure are quite lovely) I say sorry. You have my deepest apoligies...But if you're a bunch of fat cows, I take it all back!
// posted by Chris @ Thursday, June 03, 2004
Last week we started building the carport into a garage. This was the first day. I'm not exactly Bob Villa. More like his cousin Irving from Hoboken. By the way, I just got the capability of posting photos to my blog. This is an experiment.
// posted by Chris @ Thursday, June 03, 2004
