We Love The Stars Too Fondly

When confronted with the Red Queen’s Race, where one must run into the wind as fast as one can just to stay in the same place and to get anywhere one must run twice as fast, perhaps the response is to remember the lesson of the sticks and strings.

Instead of running, go flying.

It’s an SNJ-5, a WWII era trainer. The SNJ designation was for Navy aircraft, but the exact same plane used by the Army Air Corp was called a Texan, and if the exact same plane was used by the English or Australians or Canadians it was a Harvard.

Where the magic happens! It’s a fully functional trainer, with a matching set of controls and instruments in the back and in the front. This is the back seat. We use it for training in addition to offering rides in it. With luck (and a little bit of available free time) I’ll be training in it in a year or so so that I can fly it myself. We’ll see.

The view forward from the back seat is somewhat restricted.

The back seat is reserved for grinning idiots who are inordinately pleased to be in a plane again, even if I’m not the PIC.

The truth is that at least once a month I get offered a ride by one or another of our pilots, all of whom know that I’m cranky if I spend all day sitting at my desk doing “financial shit.” (That’s a technical, accounting term. Don’t use it at home.) And every time, because I’m always being buried under work and deadlines, I always politely decline.

Today I had just written something in the last twelve hours about not having fun. And I was “strongly encouraged” to find something fun to do this weekend, even if I was being buried. So I went!

Waiting to take off, there was a hawk sitting on the wind sock. In fact, there were a LOT of hawks out there today. There was one point where we were waiting to taxi after landing and I was watching at least seven or eight of them at once off to the side of the runway, chasing each other. (Which, now that I think of it, may well be a euphemism for why there are so many hawks…)

Here’s Camarillo from about 900 feet on final approach.

All we were doing was “pattern work” – taking off and doing a series of left turns in a long, squarish oval which ended up with us making a landing at the other end of the runway we took off from. Four trips around the pattern, one a “touch & go” which is always fun.

On the downwind leg, here’s my weekend office. The CAF ramp and four hangars in an “L” shape are where I’ve taken a few hundred of the pictures you’ve seen here over the years.

It was a really nice day for flying, but a little warm in the cockpit. As you can see, it’s a very nice little greenhouse.

Back in the hangar at the end of the day. I was staying late because I still had to get all of my “financial shit” done, but it was so much worth it! Thanks for the ride, Matt!!

I’ll have you know you’re getting this only because the entire day, and especially this evening, has TOTALLY gotten away from me. I’ve spent the day in a whirlwind like a juggler with one too many balls in the air and tonight I’ve been on a “mission from God” to get something reconciled for my work at the CAF hangar. Suddenly it’s 23:48…

This is the fourth time I’ve been to a Chiefs vs. Chargers game in the last few years. Twice we went down to San Diego to see them, and now both this year and last year I’ve seen them here. One thing that fascinates me (and not necessarily in the way you might assume) is the cheerleaders at these pro football games.

Yes, they’re not wearing much, and while I’m sure that many of these young ladies are bright and motivated and well educated and so on – that’s obviously not what’s on display here.

Isn’t this something that’s just a tad outdated, and in a sort of hideous way?

On television you see a few closeups going into and coming out of commercial breaks – when you’re at the game you see the cheerleaders trying to entertain (or at least distract) during those long, boring pauses when the television networks are selling beer, or cars, or credit card services. And they’re forced to be constantly moving, jiggling their pom poms (literally, not a euphemism), posing, strutting, smiling…

It’s all so forced and artificial and sad!

But best of all when you see it live are the handlers, coaches, or whatever the hell their titles are. See the woman here in the blue dress? Each quarter of the whole squad, each team or subgroup of cheerleaders has one of these women following them around. I’m sure they’re all radioed up so that they can coordinate with someone to make sure that they all get to where their next performance is at the next commercial, but during the interstitial periods when they’re all just lined up like robots, jiggling, posing, strutting, smiling, these women walk along behind them and whisper in their ears.

What are they saying?

“You’re not jiggling enough – pick up the pace.”

“Smile more.”

“Throw out that chest a bit more.”

“Straighten that leg, point that toe, toss your hair more…”

The more I watched the less entertained I got. I guess the “art” was just lost on me.