Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Monday, September 21, 2009
Last nights dinner
I got to make dinner last night on the stove.
Here is what I made: pesto pasta with artichoke hearts, onions, fresh pesto, tomatoes and mozzarella.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Day One: I Save Hundreds of Lives
Plane Savior
When no one else reacted, I knew I was our last chance. “If I don’t act now, everyone on this plane is going to die,” my brain determined. My individual screen was the only was turned on, because I wanted to see the map and diagnostic information right away. That’s when I saw it. As we taxied down the runway, our altitude read 93 meters. That’s not a small error, that’s gross negligence.
If the pilot was flying at night thinking, “Hey, we have another 279 feet before we touch wheels, let’s push the nose down harder.” I would hope his ignorant life would be the only one lost in the plane-crushing fireball. Maybe I should let the flight attendant know the controls may be “slightly malfunctioning,” I would suggest. Perhaps she would tell the pilots, who upon learning of the errant machinery would acknowledge my quick catch with a humble, stoic announcement over the intercom.
“Attention ladies and gentlemen, this is Captain Jacobs speaking, for what was almost certainly nearly the last time, had it not been for the quick eye and sharp observational skills of the man in 33J.”
My fellow coachmates would turn slowly as they played battleship in their mind as they searched for their flight’s hero while the voice continued. “Had it not been for Mr. Hardwicke’s fast thinking, we could have scraped the bottom of the plane clean off, bursting us all into flames. This young man has saved your family the agony of picking through the charred remains of your bodies.”
A few passengers’ eyes would turn to me, first in a brief moment of horror, but then relief as they spotted my gracious, slow nod with exaggerated delayed blinks. Their wild-eyed panic would met into teary-eyed gratitude, tilting their heads significantly to the side. “I owe you everything. Please take my first class seat; it is the least I could do.” The applause would be deafening.
“If only he had been working for N.A.S.A. when they lost a satellite miscalculated its altitude and crashed into Mars.” Would they even give a 1% compensation as a “project savior” fee. I think it cost several hundred million dollars to build and launch. I would of course, use that money to fly around the world; in the off chance I could save another 300 lives due to the difference of 297 feet.
However, there was no fanfair, no fuss. I didn't speak up, fearing I would be considered a nutcase and removed from my place of honor, cast down into back row, near the toilets... where everyone waits in line for the loo, frontal areas or booty uncomfortably close to your face.
When no one else reacted, I knew I was our last chance. “If I don’t act now, everyone on this plane is going to die,” my brain determined. My individual screen was the only was turned on, because I wanted to see the map and diagnostic information right away. That’s when I saw it. As we taxied down the runway, our altitude read 93 meters. That’s not a small error, that’s gross negligence.
If the pilot was flying at night thinking, “Hey, we have another 279 feet before we touch wheels, let’s push the nose down harder.” I would hope his ignorant life would be the only one lost in the plane-crushing fireball. Maybe I should let the flight attendant know the controls may be “slightly malfunctioning,” I would suggest. Perhaps she would tell the pilots, who upon learning of the errant machinery would acknowledge my quick catch with a humble, stoic announcement over the intercom.
“Attention ladies and gentlemen, this is Captain Jacobs speaking, for what was almost certainly nearly the last time, had it not been for the quick eye and sharp observational skills of the man in 33J.”
My fellow coachmates would turn slowly as they played battleship in their mind as they searched for their flight’s hero while the voice continued. “Had it not been for Mr. Hardwicke’s fast thinking, we could have scraped the bottom of the plane clean off, bursting us all into flames. This young man has saved your family the agony of picking through the charred remains of your bodies.”
A few passengers’ eyes would turn to me, first in a brief moment of horror, but then relief as they spotted my gracious, slow nod with exaggerated delayed blinks. Their wild-eyed panic would met into teary-eyed gratitude, tilting their heads significantly to the side. “I owe you everything. Please take my first class seat; it is the least I could do.” The applause would be deafening.
“If only he had been working for N.A.S.A. when they lost a satellite miscalculated its altitude and crashed into Mars.” Would they even give a 1% compensation as a “project savior” fee. I think it cost several hundred million dollars to build and launch. I would of course, use that money to fly around the world; in the off chance I could save another 300 lives due to the difference of 297 feet.
However, there was no fanfair, no fuss. I didn't speak up, fearing I would be considered a nutcase and removed from my place of honor, cast down into back row, near the toilets... where everyone waits in line for the loo, frontal areas or booty uncomfortably close to your face.
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