A Note To Those Who Comment Anonymously

While, like most bloggers, I really appreciate it when people take the time to post comments on my posts, it does tend to bother me a little when people choose not to identify themselves in said comments. Though not normally a problem for me, this did happen recently, and I found it troubling mostly in that I think I know the individual's identity (the writing style was extremely similar to someone I used to know) but I have no real way to be certain. Please don't do that; just put your name on it or identify yourself in some other equally clear way. I promise, unless you're unnecessarily mean or vulgar, that I won't delete your comment. Deal?

Monkey Wrench

The other day I posted a sort of break-down of my plan for the remainder of my education here in Arizona. Naturally, one day after I wrote the post my circumstances changed, forcing me to reevaluate that plan. For me to obtain each of my pilot certificates and ratings, I have to take a ground training class as well as go through the necessary flight training. I was supposed to take flight instructor ground training last semester, but it was cancelled due to lack of interest (my interest unfortunately wasn't sufficient to keep the class on the fall schedule). I was assured before Christmas break, though, that ground training would definitely happen this spring. I would finish ground training this spring and work on the flight training this fall, thus enabling me to begin my maintenance training next spring. Here's the wrinkle in that plan: flight instructor ground training just got cancelled again because, just like last semester, I was the only person who registered for it. So now I have a decision to pray about and eventually make. I can either take flight instructor ground training next semester (because, once again, I've been assured they'll definitely run it next semester) along with the requisite flight training. The other option is to just forget about my flight instructor certificate for now, finish instrument and commercial this semester, and start on maintenance next semester, with the possibility of picking up my instructor cert when I'm done becoming a mechanic. The bottom line is that MAF only requires me to have my instrument and commercial. They recommend the flight instructor certificate, but they don't require it. I know which way I'd like to go with this decision, but I don't want to be hasty in making it. I want to really take some time to seek God's will. My plans just don't ever seem to work, and His always do. Anyway, that's the newest update from this tired, dusty corner of the world.

In reply...

Since a Norwegian brother recently posted a comment asking me where I was at in my training, I decided to write a short post about it, for him and for whomever else might be interested. Before I can apply to Mission Aviation Fellowship, I need both pilot certification and maintenance (or mechanic) certification. Cochise College does offer both programs of study, so I'll be able to sort of kill two birds with one stone, but I've been warned that trying to tackle both areas at once can lead to some disastrous consequences. That being the case, I decided to work on my pilot certificates first. As of right now, I've earned my private pilot certificate and I'm working on both my commercial certificate and my instrument rating. The college breaks the commercial certificate into 3 phases. I've already finished phase 1, and will likely finish phases 2 and 3 before summer. I have one instrument cross-country flight and two oral/flight exams to finish, and I'll have my instrument rating. Next fall, I'll be working on my flight instructor certificate. If all goes well, I'll have it by next Christmas, and then I'll start working on the maintenance program, which lasts 15 months. All together, that seems like a really long time to be a student, but I've already been more or less assured that I can be a part-time flight instructor for the college while I work on my maintenance certification. That will enable me to make some money and maybe pay some debt, and also log some addition flight hours before I apply to MAF. And that ain't too bad. So now you know, Anders (and whoever else didn't know but wanted to).

Back By Popular Demand

While we were in Michigan for Christmas, I heard from more than one person that I apparently don't update as often as they'd like. Since my long, miserable fall semester is finally over and done with, I suppose I'm out of excuses for my infrequent posts. So here we go.

Jen and I just got back from Michigan 2 days ago, after having spent 2 weeks with our families. Despite having really looked forward to our trip, I found myself a little disappointed by the experience. I couldn't reach any of my friends, except one, to see if they'd be in town and available for hanging out. I never got a chance to eat a delicious sub from Intermission Deli in Bay City (if you ever get there, try the #18). I spent the entire second week of our trip sick (which severely impaired my ability to sleep at night). I had a really bad eczema flare-up on my left hand while we were in Deckerville (though that did indirectly give me a chance to spend an afternoon with my dad, so it wasn't all bad). And we had a really interesting trip back home, but that really deserves its own paragraph, so...

Our original plan was to spend New Years Eve night in Saginaw with Kara, then leave for Detroit at about 3:00 in the morning to return our rental car and make our 6:50 flight to Chicago. That afternoon, however, we were informed that parts of Michigan, including Detroit, were forecast to get hit with near-blizzard conditions in the night. In order to make life as easy for us as possible, my parents drove with us to Detroit that evening and got us a hotel room a couple miles from the airport, which was a tremendous thing to do. The next morning, we took a shuttle from the hotel to the airport and everything went fine. We got to Chicago with no problems, enjoyed breakfast at McDonald's, and settled in to wait for our flight to Tucson. That's where things started to fall apart. The plane that departed our gate before us got stuck at the gate waiting to be de-iced, which led to our flight boarding about an hour after our original departure time. Then we had to sit on the plane and wait to be de-iced, ourselves. Then we taxied just about all the way to the runway, and our captain came on the comm to inform us we had to taxi back to the gate to let off one of our passengers. When we got back to the gate, two stern-looking older gentlemen boarded the plane and walked to the back. I was in the aisle seat, so I got to see their I.D.s; they were American Airlines officials. They got to the back of the plane and, a moment later, began leading some guy to the door. As the guy started walking, though, he apparently decided he had way too much freedom, so he said, quite loudly, "It's okay. I'm not a terrorist. You folks enjoy your flight. There's no terrorists on this flight." We found out later that the guy had passed out drunk right after boarding, and the flight attendants had been unable to wake him to put his seat back up for takeoff. Had he kept his mouth shut, he probably would have been A-okay. As it is, I'm sure he probably wound up having a spirited chat with the TSA or somebody for his comments. After that, the flight attendants were required by federal regulations to repeat the entire safety demonstration, since the cabin door had been opened. After that, we taxied back to the runway and finally took off-- about 2.5 hours after our original departure time. We made it to Tucson with no further episodes or incidents and the worst seemed to be behind us... until we got to the baggage claim. Two of our bags came through with no problem, and we were waiting for my duffel bag. Suddenly, it came around the corner, but it didn't look right. Jen figured it out before I did, and said, "Your bag's in a bucket." For those who don't know, if your bag is damaged or destroyed in transit, the handlers will helpfully put it in a sort of plastic tub before tossing it onto the conveyor belt, in order to keep your possessions from spilling out. When the tub finally got to where we were waiting, we discovered that the stitches on one end had completely given out, thus exposing the contents of my bag. Fortunately, I'd packed it so tightly that everything was holding together in a miniature wall of laundry and books. Also fortunately, that was the end of our problems on our trip home.

We took a bunch of pictures on our trip, which I'm sure Jen will post in some form before too long. Be sure to look for those. In the meantime, I hope everyone was satisfied by this unnecessarily long post. If I remember, I'll try to post again sometime before February.

Pulse

In 13 hours, I'll be sitting in a classrom, getting ready to take my last final of the semester. In 24 hours, Jen and I will be leaving AWANA to come home and try to sleep a little before our 3am drive to Tucson. In 34 hours, we'll be on a plane, getting ready to take off, bound for our connection at Dallas Fort Worth. Assuming no delays, in 40 hours, we'll be getting situated in our rental car, about to drive to Linwood by way of Saginaw. This time has arrived much too slow and much too fast.

Finally!

Jenny gets back from her conference today! I'm so excited to see her and hug her and kiss her and... well, I should go now.

Health is in the eye of the beholder.

It's Thursday today, one week exactly since Thanksgiving. However, it's also one week exactly since I last felt good physically. I started having sinus/cold-type symptoms last Friday, after our brief early-morning shopping venture (see Jenny's blog), which then mutated into the most bizarre progression of symptoms I've ever experienced. Friday was congestion and sniffles. When I woke up Saturday morning, I had one of the worst headaches of my life, but the sniffles were gone. I spent the entire day trying unsuccessfully to shake the headache. When I wok up Sunday morning, my headache was gone, but I was having stomach cramps. By Sunday evening, my stomach cramps had somehow multiplied and moved into my shoulders, so I was having alternating stomach and shoulder cramps. BAD shoulder cramps. When I woke up Monday morning, my shoulder cramps were gone but I started having really bad stomach problems. Tuesday morning found me feeling substantially better, but still aware something wasn't right with my insides. And, finally, yesterday I went to the doctor (well, nurse practitioner) and got my diagnosis and cure. Unfortunately, she opted not to try and figure out all the previous symptoms, and focused on simply finding a solution to my stomach troubles. I would've really liked to know how someone finds himself the victim of such a weird and seemingly-random list of maladies, especially when those maladies caused me to miss an entire week of flight training and all but one day of work. Today's Thursday, and while I'm starting to feel better again, my treatment regiment the FNP put me on has left me feeling exhausted and weak. In fact, I'm done typing now, because the concentration is too much for me.

Eye of the Storm

As I mentioned in my last post, I was starting to come apart under the stress that's recently entered my life. Well, in what I now know was a pretty wise act of self-preservation, I asked Sally (my sort-of boss) for some time off work, and she graciously gave it to me. I didn't work Wednesday or Thursday, and I certainly didn't help wash an airplane this morning. Instead, I've been spending the time alternately unwinding and studying, and it's worked wonders for my stress level. My original plan had me back at work on Monday, but Sally keeps telling me I'm more than welcome to take more time if I need it. We'll see where things are at on Monday morning before I make a definite decision. We can always use the extra bit of money my job brings in, but my instrument rating has to have top priority in my life right now. So, we'll see. Thanks, you guys, for praying for me. I'm feeling MUCH better mentally.

The Death of Me

Instrument is taking its toll on me in a very dramatic way. The stress I've been feeling is really starting to manifest itself in my daily life, and I don't know what to do about it. It seems like this is just going to loom over me until I've finally passed the Instrument practical test. I guess I'm asking for prayer, because I truly don't know how to keep going until this is over.

This here's a little something I like to call "Western Civilization the Cochise Way"

Today, class, my talk’s on the dawn of the world,
And the lifestyle of primitive man.
And I think, when I’m done, you’ll probably see
Just how full of bologna I am.

Now the topic, though based in historical fact,
Must be broached by my making a case
For the thought that our forebears were probably joined
By little grey people from space.

That’s right: guests from the cosmos most likely came down
And established Atlantis to serve
As a center of knowledge for primitive man.
You just have to admire my verve,

For I boldly assert that Atlantians taught
Our ancient ancestors to build
All the pyramids and wonders in history books,
Just before the Atlantians were killed

By a nuclear meltdown or maybe a bomb
That went off on their small continent.
‘Cause their alien science was better than ours.
It was meant for mankind’s betterment.

As the Epic of Gilgamesh so clearly states
The Mesopotamians had flown
In space-alien airplanes transparent and round
Unlike any today’s world has known.

But after the blast that wiped out their home,
The Atlantians prob’ly had traveled
To Egypt, along with their wondrous know-how.
Now the mysteries of time are unraveled.

Those pyramids out on the hot desert sands
Weren’t really the tombs of dead kings.
In fact, they were for fueling Atlantian ships
And some other incredible things.

So you see, class, our history lessons are much
Like the scripts from that show, The X-Files.
You’re dismissed now. Hey, wait! I’d just like to know
Why you’re wearing those cynical smiles.

Madness

Have you heard about this new movement to make Santa Claus be skinny in order to set kids a better example? Am I alone, or are you shaking your head at it, too? I can't speak for anyone else, but I'm fat. I'm a big fat guy. I jiggle when I walk. Heck, I jiggle when I breathe. I've been a fatty since I was in the third grade. Coincidentally, I also believed in Santa when I was in the third grade. I absolutely must make it clear, however, that Santa's weight had no bearing whatsoever on my choosing the lardy lifestyle. I never, ever said to myself, "Boy, oh boy, wouldn't it just be swell if I could be a big fat guy like Santa." In reality, there were three main factors that influenced my decision to be corpulent, and none of them was Santa. Rather, they were, in no particular order, pastry, fast food, and candy. Don't get me wrong; I always liked Santa, but only because he bought my affection. I was a big fan of his generosity, but I can't say I ever admired (or even cared about) his weight. If I ever wanted to be Santa, it was only so I could have unlimited access to that ultra-sweet toy factory. The fact that there are people out there who honestly believe Santa's weight is a factor in the obesity of the grade school crowd, is just a little bit beyond ridiculous. I'll even go one step further and point this out: When overweight folks see a bunch of lean, sexy, beautiful people in the media, we're not motivated to slim down; we're only encouraged to feel bad about ourselves. Those images are simply fuel for the already-brilliantly-blazing self-hatred deep within us. And when we see a skinny person who USED TO BE fat, it's so much worse. If the idiots spearheading this movement are successful, they're only going to give chubby kids one more reason to feel not-good-enough. That being the case, it can only be concluded that Santa already IS a positive example for kids, because he's jolly and bright and kind, despite being morbidly obese. Those who think he needs to shed some pounds have obviously been duped into believing looks are the most important thing in life. And so, I'm forced to say, "Shame on you, America. You just keep getting dumber and dumber."

How to Ruin an Afternoon

Step One: Be a hardcore perfectionist.

Step Two: Attempt to plan an IFR cross-country that's well beyond what you've been taught, because you're required to.

Step Three: Finish the planning to the best of your meager abilities, knowing it's not right.

Step Four: Let it really eat away at you that your planning isn't right and there's nothing you can do to improve it.

Step Five: Allow the thought that you purposely took a zero on a term paper, to seep into your already-troubled mind and bother you even more.

Step Six: Go upstairs, put on some old James Taylor music and silently fume, while your spouse and friends are eating cake (in honor of your birthday) and ice cream, and playing games downstairs.

It's been some kinda weekend so far. I was supposed to write two papers this weekend, one for Creative Writing and one for Western Civ. And this is where I had to start making some tough decisions. My priority here MUST be aviation. If that gets lost in the shuffle, then we really need to wonder why we're still here. My practical test for my Instrument Rating is coming up in the next month or so, and it includes a 3 1/2 hour oral exam, so I really need to be reading and studying. Writing 2 papers really eats up study time... you can see where this is going. After crunching some numbers Friday morning, I determined that if I took a zero on the Creative Writing paper, I would still have an 85% in the class, with 3 more units and a final project to boost that grade into an A. So I resigned myself to taking the zero. Unfortunately, the Civ paper is worth about 20% of my total grade for the class, so I had to write it. That's not to say, though, that I had to write an award-winning masterpiece. I sat down at my computer and, in less than 2 hours, hammered out a four-page clunker. Again, I don't need 100% on the paper; my current grade is good enough that it can easily survive any grade, other than a zero. And so, having dealt with my papers by early Friday afternoon, I spent a big chunk of yesterday reading the instrument procedures section of the AIM (Aeronautical Information Manual). That's not to say I finished the section (it's pretty involved reading), but I'm a lot closer to the end than I was before the weekend started. After church today, I have to plan an IFR (Instrument Flight Rules) cross-country to Casa Grande, so Belinda can be sure I know how to do it. I have 3 cross-countries to fly before I take my practical, so it's important that I get the planning skills down ASAP. And now I have to go get ready for church.

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.