What follows is a true story, written for a creative writing exercise, posted at Jen's suggestion.

It was an otherwise-ordinary evening in the summer of 2001, when I learned a very important life lesson. My roommate, Josh, and I, along with our friend, Bobbi, had decided to go out for dinner. After an unnecessarily lengthy and, at times, heated discussion, we finally decided on Applebee’s. Josh and I were both craving their all-you-can-eat riblets. All through my teen years, I never tried drugs or did any of those other foolish activities normally associated with peer pressure. Short of those extremes, though, I’d never had a problem with doing something silly or weird at the urging of my friends. This night, though, my questionable standards would lead me to ruin.

Our trio arrived at Applebee’s and, as was expected, Josh and I both ordered the riblets, while Bobbi ordered chicken fingers. Josh tended to be a little bit competitive, which I knew well and which is normal for young men in their early twenties. However, I foolishly failed to take this fact into account when I placed my order. Our food soon arrived, and we began eating. After Josh and I had both finished our first platter of riblets, our waitress promptly brought us each a second helping. We finished these in due time and entered into a brief discussion on whether or not we felt up to having thirds. This was where Josh’s competitive nature reared its ugly head. Convinced we couldn’t wimp out at seconds, Josh talked me into one more round of riblets, though I admit I didn’t need much persuasion.

Our waitress arrived a few minutes later to take away our bone-laden plates, and inquired as to whether we’d be needing even more riblets. Josh decided he’d had enough. Unfortunately, he also decided I needed to keep eating. I looked to Bobbi to be the voice of reason but, having finished her chicken fingers, she was in the mood to be entertained and decided to argue Josh’s case, instead. The two of them convinced me I should try for five orders of riblets, to which I finally acquiesced, though I honestly wasn’t sure I could succeed. You know, looking back, there’s really something to be said for the human body’s capacity to ingest ridiculous quantities of meat. Thanks to the events of the evening in question, I now know that the whole thing eventually becomes almost exactly like shoving marshmallows into a tube sock. You can just keep shoving and shoving. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Our waitress reappeared and handed me serving number four. After finishing this plate of riblets, I was pretty sure I was ready to quit. My stomach was uncomfortably full, and I was just a little bit afraid of embarrassing myself by puking in the middle of a crowded restaurant. Once more consulting Josh and Bobbi, my so-called friends, I found myself grudgingly requesting a fifth helping of pork. A moment later, I found myself just as grudgingly eating said pork.

As I set down the final bone, thus marking my victory over five plates of sauce-laden riblets, relief welled up within me. I’d done it! I’d gotten the better of a disgusting amount of meat! Feeling like a hero in my own right, I turned to my friends with a smug smile. It’s to my eternal shame that I confess, now, my smile was short-lived. Unimpressed with my accomplishment, Josh and Bobbi decided that I needed to go for ten, and that they needed some dessert. Placing our respective orders with our long-suffering waitress, I silently promised myself I would stop after my sixth order of riblets.

It turns out I lied to myself in that moment, because our waitress soon brought out the seventh order. As she set the plate down, she said, “I told my manager about what you’re doing, and he says if you can eat ten orders of riblets, he’ll give you a free dessert. But you have to eat it in the restaurant.” Giving her the look such an idiotic suggestion deserved, I resignedly started in on the plate of meat.

It should be said that, by this point, I was painfully aware of how out-of-hand the situation had become, but that I felt powerless to stop it. It had started as a joke, an easy way of giving my friends something to laugh about. Then the management of the restaurant had gotten involved. All I could do now was push on to number ten, then go home and die from meat poisoning or some other fitting consequence of so absurd a prank.

When my tenth and final order of riblets arrived at our table, the aforementioned manager came with it. He shook my hand (I’m not kidding), then said, “I talked to our cook, and he tells me you’ll have eaten about 64 ounces of meat when you finish this order. Did your waitress tell you about my offer?”

“Yeah,” I replied. “But there’s no way I’m going to want dessert after this.”

Being a generous and good-natured fellow, he made a new offer. “Okay, if you finish this order of riblets, I’ll give your friends a free dessert to split.” It seemed a fine idea, except my friends had already each eaten a dessert of their own. I informed him of this and, after a moment’s careful consideration, he said, “Okay, I’ll take their desserts off the check if you finish this order.” As you can imagine, at this point my friends became even more persuasive in their urging. Watching their fat friend eat an almost supernatural amount of meat had been good enough for them, but now they were faced with the prospect of each saving five dollars on the check.

Suffice it to say, I finished that tenth order of riblets, and the manager was as good as his word: my friends did get their desserts taken off the check. As I squirmed in my seat on the drive home from Applebee’s, wishing unsuccessfully for a swift and merciful death, I was forced to acknowledge that I’d learned a very important life lesson: Giving in to peer pressure is always a bad idea.

Favorite

This is my favorite picture from our weekend away. Incidentally, it's also going to be my new profile picture. I'm just full of changes tonite.

"He met a pilgrim shadow..."

Does anyone else use Hotmail as their primary e-mail? If so, are you as annoyed as I am that Hotmail decided to turn itself into a sad Yahoo Mail clone? The thing I liked most about Hotmail was that it wasn't very much like Yahoo Mail at all. And now it looks exactly like Yahoo Mail. It's like when Meijer decided it needed to look just exactly like Super Wal-Mart. Can anyone suggest a really good e-mail service that ISN'T Yahoo or Hotmail? I've been feeling like it's time for a new e-mail address, anyway, and I may as well switch services while I'm at it. I'm expecting suggestions.

It's more effective if you hum the Star Wars theme while you read it.

Flight Program
Episode 4
A New Hope


It is a period of Southwestern
unrest. The sinister Federal Aviation
Administration, represented by the nefarious
examiner, Chuck Perry, has administered
one of its most awesome weapons,
the Part 141 Instrument Rating midstage
check, against the peace-loving
Douglas LaBos.

However, in a stunning display of
simulated pilotage, Josh LaBo, celebrated
hero of the Douglas LaBos,
has overcome the dreaded
midstage check. After seeking out
the legendary pilot master, Belinda,
Josh has been informed that
his training in the ways of
the Instrument could be completed
by Thanksgiving…

Half Finished With Fall

Erin is officially gone now. I was telling Jen earlier that it feels weird to look over at aviation now. For a year, I've associated the sight of the aviation building and ramp with flying with Erin. Now that she's gone, my brain is having a hard time finding something with which to associate the sight. As a result, the building seems all mysterious and unknown again, the way it felt when we first moved here. But I start flying with Belinda at 12:15 on Monday, so my brain will have something new to work with. If all goes well, I'll still be able to easily knock out my instrument rating and begin commercial stage 2 before Christmas break. Actually, this whole situation is probably a gift from God. I'm at a point in my training where things are getting a little more serious, and Belinda's got a whole lot more experience, both flying and instructing, than Erin, so she's probably going to be able to give me better insights into things than I'd been getting from Erin. That's not an insult to Erin; it's just a matter of experience. I'm looking forward to the experience.

I finished my midterms for my two online classes this morning. I got a 90% on one of them. I really phoned it in on the other one, though, so I have to wait and see what grade I wind up with. My classroom class midterm is Wednesday. This is the class in which I've repeatedly butted heads with the instructor. For some reason I can't comprehend, it's made the guy act like I'm his best friend in class. I'm expecting a high grade on the midterm, not because I think he'll fudge me some high marks, but because the fact that I'm butting heads with him means I know the information, both what he's taught us, as well as what the textbook says. I'm one of those sickos who takes Western Civilization classes because I think they're easy credits.

Jen and I will be celebrating three years of marriage on Tuesday. Weird, huh? It seems like we've been married forever, not in a bad way, but because it's hard to remember life before we were together. To celebrate, we're going to spend next weekend at the guest house on Lee Station Ranch, a local ranch owned by a couple we used to go to church with. They awarded me their son's memorial scholarship earlier this year and invited us to visit anytime, so we're finally taking them up on their offer. It would have been this weekend, but they're out of town until tomorrow afternoon. That's okay, though, because it looks like we might be going to Patagonia (the nearest body of water, unless I'm mistaken) with the Burkes tomorrow. To that end, I really need to go work on a writing exercise for my Creative Writing class.

Cracking...

After the tremendous outpouring of support and encouragement for my last post (yep, that's sarcasm), I've decided to talk more about the situation. I've been simming a lot lately, for various reasons. First and foremost, I have some sim time requirements I have to meet before I can do the mid-stage check. Unfortunately, simming isn't going too well for me, and I'm not totally sure why, but it's really beginning to frustrate me. It might be that I've been "flying" approaches that involve an NDB, and I'm really bad at NDB tracking. It might be that my upcoming instructor transition is always in the back of my mind now. It might be both, or it might be something else altogether. In any case, I think I'm starting to crack under the stress. I'm right on the verge of my mid-stage, but I'm also right on the verge of an instructor change. And I found out that the assistant chief flight instructor is going to be taking over my training. She's also been my pilot examiner for all of my stage checks up to this point, so I'm having a hard time seeing her as a flight instructor instead of a testing authority. I feel like all my forward momentum in my training this semester has petered out, and I'm dead in the water. I've been really listless and moody lately, but that's how my body always reacts to anxiety and stress. I just want to make it through this week, and I'm sure things will pick back up. Erin will be gone, I'll be working on getting used to Belinda and, hopefully, I'll start moving forward in my training again, under her tutelage.

Speaking of Erin, she's coming over for dinner tonight, so we can sort of say our goodbyes. She leaves for Wisconsin tomorrow, and she's only working a half day, so I have no idea when I'm flying or who I'm flying with. Maybe I just won't fly at all, and start fresh on Monday.

Changing of the Guard

Erin, my flight instructor, is taking a gig with a regional airline. She's moving to Wisconsin next Thursday. She was my seventh flight instructor, since God first put me on this path. Next week, I'll be assigned to number 8. I'm hoping against hope that #8 will be as high as the list gets before I finish at Cochise.