Microsoft Flight Simulator — for Pilots?

Realistic? Are they kidding?

Yesterday, I received a flurry of packages delivered by USPS, FedEx Ground, and FedEx — all within 30 minutes of each other. Inside were Christmas presents from my family.

The Benefit of Having an Amazon.com Wish List

I maintain an Amazon.com Wish List. I use it primarily to store the items I’d like to buy but don’t want to buy right now. But it also makes a handy way for family members to send me gifts at Christmas time. There are items there ranging in price from about $10 up to $200 or more, and ranging in type from books and music to movies and electronics and housewares. So whether someone is shopping by price or by type of item, they can find me something I really want.

This year, my mother, sister, and brother decided to dip into the list. And because I told them not to pay extra for shipping if free shipping was available, most of my Christmas gifts arrived after Christmas.

Yesterday, in fact.

My First Computer Game in 10 or More Years

Product ImageAmong the items on my list was Microsoft Flight Simulator X Deluxe. On the surface, that may seem like a pretty average gift for a pilot. But I’m a helicopter pilot and I normally use Mac OS computers. FSX (as it’s apparently nicknamed by its cult of users) runs on a Windows PC.

I’d asked for this to help me with my instrument rating, which I’m working on this winter. A flight instructor had suggested it to help me with my “scan.” The scan is an important part of instrument flying — it involves scanning a certain group of instruments in a certain order or frequency to maintain situational awareness and keep the aircraft from doing aerobatics in the clouds with you on board.

Although I’m a Mac user, I do have a PC. Each year for the past 10 years, I’ve written a book about Quicken for Windows. [Greetings Google Alert scanners at Intuit!] I did a Mac version for a few years, too, but sales weren’t impressive enough for the publisher to keep doing it. I’ve also used PCs when writing about Microsoft Office products. In fact, I did two Microsoft Office Excel 2007 for Windows books in 2007. So although I don’t really like using PCs, I have one — a Dell laptop everyone who knows about PCs seems to be impressed by — and I do know how to use it. And since it’s sufficiently loaded to run Vista in all of its questionable glory, I didn’t think it would have any trouble with FSX.

My brother and his wife got the software for me. This makes sense. My brother is a big Windows PC gamer and spends hours fighting wars on the Internet. (Ah, if only that were enough to satisfy world powers!) He’d asked for a bunch of components to load up his PC, but I was a more practical gift giver this year and sent him and his wife Home Depot gift certificates to help them fix up their kitchen, which really needs work. Oddly enough, I’ll probably give him this game when I’m finished with it.

I mentioned in the subhead that this is my first computer game in 10 years. I’m estimating. My first computer game was Myst, which I found interesting, if not a little spooky. I followed that up with the sequel, which I don’t recall actually playing. That’s the extent of my game experience. I’m not a gamer; I don’t believe in spending hours in front of a computer entertaining myself. I’d rather read a book or do something more constructive with my time.

The Flight Simulator

Product ImageI installed FSX last night. It took nearly an hour to copy the 15GB of data from two DVDs to the Dell. While it installed, I perused another gift from my Wish List, Microsoft Flight Simulator X For Pilots Real World Training. My mom sent me that one and it arrived yesterday, too.

This book is a big, fat, extremely well thought out volume that explains how to fly, using FSX as a training tool. It assumes you know nothing about flight but want to learn. It then teaches you from the ground up (pun intended), using accurate descriptions, illustrations, and features within FSX. It has chapters that take you through all the ratings you might want: sport pilot, private pilot, and instrument rating. It’s the instrument rating chapters that interest me and they look very complete.

The only problem is, the book — and the software, for that matter — assumes you want to fly airplanes.

I don’t fly airplanes and I don’t want to learn.

FSX comes with two helicopters: a Robinson R22 Beta II (which I’ve already customized with the N-number of my old helicopter) and a Bell 206B JetRanger. So rather than mess around with the airplanes, I went right for the R22.

And crashed it numerous times.

I have to mention here that when you’re a 2,000-hour pilot and you’re manipulating the controls of a virtual aircraft and can’t keep it in control, you can get pretty freaked out.

The problem is, the controls are not sufficiently realistic. In a helicopter, when you move the cyclic, you get immediate feedback. Push it forward, the nose immediately dips. Push it to the right and the aircraft immediately starts to bank. And you don’t have to push very much, either — a little dab will do ya (with apologies to Brylcreem). Although there might be delays of a fraction of a second in different helicopters depending on hydraulics or rigging, a pilot can get the “feel” for these minor differences within a few minutes and be able to fly.

But these delays were not fractions of a second. The delays between control input and aircraft reaction had to be at least two or three seconds. While a non-pilot might think that two or three seconds delay isn’t such a big deal, it really is — when it’s not what you’re accustomed to. I’d make a control input and, when nothing happened right away, I’d make a bigger input. By that time, the first input was just starting to take effect and the second would send the aircraft careening out of control. Too much correction and it would be headed the other way.

If I climbed into the cockpit of a real-life helicopter today and it had lag time like FSX’s R22, I’d crash it, too.

R22 PanelThe details inside the cockpit, on the other hand, are amazingly accurate, from the vertical card compass (not shown here) on the split cockpit bubble to the instrument panel — although this particular configuration is not one you’re likely to find on a real R22. (The instrument in the bottom center is normally found on Instrument trainers, which have a larger panel with more instruments.) The realism of the scenery, airports, etc. is also pretty good. This screenshot has everything set to low quality graphics — I’m trying to realistic performance — but when you crank it up a few notches it looks pretty darn good. (Of course, there aren’t any houses near the runway at Phoenix Sky Harbor.)

As I type this, I’m downloading a 213MB update to the software. I’m hoping that the update, as well as finding the power cord for the Microsoft Force Feedback Joystick we have (from Mike’s old Flight Simulator days) will work together to make these aircraft fly more realistically.

I’m simply not willing to re-learn how to fly just to get practice on a computer — when I can go out and fly the real thing for a lot more benefit.

New Year’s Eve Reminisces

Tales of New Year’s Eves gone by.

I remember when I was a kid, thinking about the turn of the century, which would also usher in a new millennium. I remember calculating how old I’d be when that day came: 39. Wow! That was old! But here it is, eight years later, and I’m well past that. Yes, 40-something — you do the math — is old to an 8-year-old, but it isn’t very old when you’re 40-something.

Back in those days, we spent our New Year’s Eves at our neighbor’s house. The Merrifields were a family of 8 who lived in a big house on the hill across the street. Their 2+ acres was surrounded by trees and shrubs, making their house impossible to see from ours during the summer months. But in the winter, when the trees were bare, you could see it through the gray branches: a huge wooden structure with a big front porch, with white paint in desperate need of refreshing.

Mr. Merrifield was not a handyman. He was a scientist. I didn’t know where he worked or exactly what he did. But I do know that years later, after we’d moved away, he won the Nobel Prize for chemistry. So you really can’t fault him if his house needed a paint job.

Mrs. Merrifield was heavily involved in a number of activities with her five girls and one boy. Like my mother, she was a Girl Scout leader. And every year, she’d host a New Year’s Eve party for all the neighborhood kids. We go over there in the evening and hang out in the back room — a sun porch that had been converted into a good-sized TV room. The TV would be on with various New Year’s Eve programming for us. Maybe a movie early in the evening. But always Dick Clark as midnight neared.

Then, at the golden hour, after counting down together, we’d take pots and pans and wooden spoons and run outside in the cold. We’d bang the pots and scream out “Happy New Year” for the next ten or fifteen minutes, making quite a racket in the neighborhood. No one seemed to mind in those days. It was just something people did. Afterwards, we’d go home to bed.

One year, my sister or I — I honestly can’t remember which — ruined one of my mother’s pots by banging dents into it.

Another year, my sister and I had a fight before the party. I grabbed something to throw at her, which just happened to be a glass of grape juice sitting on my night table. I missed her and hit her brand new bedspread. Boy, did I get into trouble for that one. My mother never got the stain out. We didn’t go to the party that year.

There’s a gap in my memory of New Year’s Eves after that. My parents split and we moved away to Long Island. No more neighborhood parties.

It wasn’t until I started dating that New Year’s Eve started getting special again. Then it was getting some kind of New Year’s “package” at a catering hall offering those kinds of things. Usually a buffet meal, cash bar, and warm, flat champagne (poured hours before) at midnight. Always a dress-up affair, sometimes involving a limo with another couple to and from the festivities. It was a big deal in those days, but it may have started my distaste for packaged and programmed entertainment.

Over the years, it’s been more of the same. Nothing very memorable — perhaps because of over-consumption of alcohol. (Can someone explain why you people to get shitfaced to ring in the new year?) The years rolled by.

As we matured, we switched to a New Year’s Eve routine that included a nice dinner out followed by an evening at home with a bottle of champagne. Television fell of the equation, replaced by conversation. I recall a particularly nice New Year’s Eve when we lived in New Jersey: dinner at our favorite Japanese restaurant where the staff somehow made its few customers feel special. And the champagne at home is always high-quality and ice cold.

When we moved to Wickenburg, we started having New Year’s Eve dinner at home. There simply wasn’t anything better in town to do, and, with all the animals we have, going down to Phoenix for an overnight was not an easy option.

Last year, we managed to get reservations at a local guest ranch. The food was good, but they placed us in a room with a party of 15 or 20 that included kids. Not exactly the quiet evening we’d envisioned, but the food was good and the service was quite acceptable.

This year, we returned to the ranch for New Year’s Eve dinner on the house. I’d done some work for the ranch, flying the manager and a photographer over the ranch to take photos from the air. Rather than get paid, I agreed to a trade — my flight time for New Year’s Eve dinner. The arrangements were made months ago, in the spring. Since then, the ranch manager moved on to other things. But I reminded the ranch owner a few months ago and, on Sunday, when I called to make reservations, learned that we’d already been put on the reservations list.

Although I do appreciate a free meal, I admit that I was deeply disappointed this year. Although the ranch is normally the best restaurant in town, they set up a buffet with a limited number of choices: a prime rib carving table, poached salmon, and a shrimp and chicken pasta dish. The place was full of people of all ages, walking back and forth from table to buffet line to get each course. Some of the folks were very old and needed help getting their plates back. And some of the kids were a bit rambunctious. It was loud, but not because of music — it was sheer voices. If you needed something that wasn’t at your table or on the buffet tables — like butter — you had to flag down a waiter or waitress. Certainly not the meal I was expecting.

I shouldn’t be so critical of the atmosphere. It’s supposed to be a party, a celebration of the new year. But I prefer to let the old year die quietly and the new year slip in to take its place. Each new year is another year gone. There are only a limited number of years in a person’s life.

Perhaps that’s why I think back to the days on Mezzine Drive — now Merrifield Way — in Cresskill, NJ and the New Year’s Eves banging pots out in the cold. Back then, each new year was a step closer to maturity and independence, a step closer to the day when I could step out into life on my own. Why not celebrate?

Three Things

A calendar-based journal.

Product ImageToday is the day I start the 2008 edition of my handwritten journal. Why today? It’s the first day on my Arizona Highways 2008 Engagement Calendar.

Back in the old days, before I started blogging, I used to use a week-at-a-glance calendar like this one to record a few notes about things going on in my life. I usually started off the project in earnest. Sometime during the year, I’d forget to make entries or lose the book or just get plain old lazy. But I still have copies of some of the books. Paging through them is a fascinating look at my life. Well, fascinating for me, anyway.

Two years ago, I abandoned the project after only two weeks. How embarrassing. Last year, I didn’t try at all.

But this year, I’ll do it — with a new approach. Each day, I’ll write down three things I did or thought or saw that day. Easy enough, right? Let’s see how I do.

Say Goodbye to Land Lines

We decide to drop all of our “regular” telephone lines except one.

This past week, after much nagging from me, we finally agreed to get rid of most of our telephone land lines. There just doesn’t seem to be a need for them.

But it wasn’t always like that.

Our History with Telephone Lines

There was a time when there were six telephone lines coming into our house.

it was right after we moved here. Both Mike and I had offices in the house. He had an office number (1011) and so did I (1233). We shared a fax (3965), which he mostly used for his work. And I needed high-speed, reliable Internet with a fixed IP address. Ten years ago, that meant ISDN, which required two telephone lines (with Phoenix phone numbers to save money).

Are you counting? That’s five so far.

And, of course, we needed a “house” phone number (3537) to make and receive non-work calls.

When we bought our house, it wasn’t wired for six phone lines. (Do you know any house that is?) It was wired for two. And because the phone lines (and electricity, for that matter) run underground in a conduit from a telephone pole at the edge of our property, the phone company couldn’t simply run four more lines with them.

Instead, they sent a crew of Mexican workers with shovels and a ditch digging machine. These guys worked out in the hot sun and dug a trench from the telephone pole across my neighbor’s driveway (on our property; long story), across the wash, and up alongside our driveway. When they got to the top of our driveway, they used a concrete cutter to put a thin slot in the concrete between their trench to the telephone box on the side of our house.

Then they ran the wire — a six-pair — through the trench and connected it at either end. Because running the wires inside the walls to my office on the other side of the house was impossible, they ran the wires over the roof of the garage, down the corner of the house, and through a hole they drilled in my outer wall. If I remember right, they did the same for Mike’s office in the other spare bedroom.

They connected it all up and we had service.

The work crew buried the wires.

The wires didn’t stay buried. The first time they were unearthed and cut was when my neighbor was playing with a backhoe in the wash. He’d rented the thing to do some work around his property — we don’t just use shovels around here — and he was smoothing out an area in the wash for his wife to ride her horses when he cut through the wire. He didn’t even notice. The only way we noticed was when we were trying to use the phone. I distinctly remember going into Mike’s office, which faces the road to our homes, and asking him if his phone was dead. We both looked up to see Danny driving that backhoe up the road to return it to the rental place.

We didn’t call the phone company for that repair. We were worried that either we or Danny would have to pay for it. So we got some wire and some soldering stuff, and some shrink wrap wire stuff and did it ourselves. Twelve wires needing a patch between them equals 24 separate solders.

It took a long time.

The second time, Mike did it with a backhoe. You’d think he would have remembered the first time.

Another time, a flood in the wash took out the wires. That time, we called the phone company to complain that they hadn’t buried them deep enough. They sent another Mexican work crew to replace the wires.

Meanwhile, Mike and I moved our offices out of the house. I own a condo in town and got seriously tired of tenants trashing the place. So I moved us into it. The ISDN and our three office lines (two voice, one fax) went with us.

That left one phone line at home.

It didn’t take long before we realized that we needed a fax line at home. So we added one (2015) — heck, we already had all the wires in place.

Last year, we moved our offices back into the house. By that time, I’d replaced the ISDN with 5-6 Mbps DSL at my office and wireless “cable” at home. No DSL or even regular cable at home, so I’m stuck with 512 Kbps wireless cable. (It could be worse; I could have dial-up.) So that was two less phone lines. Mike was doing less and less work with his office phone — in fact, he’d forwarded that number to his cell phone — and I talked him into dropping that number. We also dropped the home fax number.

So when we moved the offices back to the house, we had only three phone numbers: the house (3537), my office (1233), and the office fax (3965).

And that’s where things stand now.

But Why Have Land Lines at All?

I got my first cell phone in 2001. Back in those days, I never expected my cell phone to take the place of a land line. Cell phones rates were too costly. Roaming charges were outrageous. But over time, I got the right plan to make it a bit more affordable. And with the purchase of my Treo last summer, I realized that a cell phone can be far more than a tool to make phone calls. It connects me to the Internet when I’m off-the-grid. It collects messages, it enables me to send voice or text messages to other cell phone users. And since it’s a “smart phone,” it’s also a mini computer, holding information about my contacts, calendar events, and more.

I find that I’m using it more and more as my primary verbal communication tool. In fact, more often than not, my office phone line is forwarded to my cell phone so I don’t miss any calls while I’m out and about.

Last year, I began putting only my cell phone number on printed advertising materials for Flying M Air. I was starting to think about getting rid of my office line.

Meanwhile, about six months ago, I started noticing that incoming calls from Mike’s family were going to his cell phone. His family simply didn’t call the house very much at all. And my family tended to call my office line. It got to the point where 90% of the phone calls coming to 3537 were telemarketers — despite our inclusion on various no-call lists.

I started thinking about the cost-benefit of having a house phone number. Cost is $30 to $50 per month, depending on how many long distance calls we make. Since our cell phones don’t charge by the minute until we reach our quotas and off peak/weekend calls and calls to other Verizon customers are free, we make most of our long-distance calls from our cell phones.

Benefit was tough to figure out. Sure, it was a “local” number for our friends and local businesses, but most of our local friends used cell phones. Since Verizon works so good around here, they’re all on Verizon, no matter where their number is based. Besides, my cell phone number was local. (Mike’s is a Phoenix number.)

But the number and type of calls we get on that line tells the true story: 90% telemarketers. And the phone can go for days without ringing.

The Decision Finally Made

Unfortunately, all this logic was still a hard sell to Mike. It had been hard to get him to turn off his office number, too.

So I began asking other people what they thought whenever I was with Mike. Friday was the turning point. We were in Macy’s, ordering a chair with the furniture sales lady. She asked for phone numbers and we rattled off a bunch of them for her. Then I said, “We have too many phone numbers. I’m thinking we should get rid of our land lines.”

“I did it a year ago,” she said. “Best thing I ever did. The only calls I got on my land line were from telemarketers.”

This was coming from a woman roughly our age — not some trendy kid bouncing through the early stages of life. Someone who lived in the same place for a long time and grew up with land lines, like we did.

Later, at dinner, the phone rang and Mike got up to answer it. It was a telemarketer.

A while later, as we sat watching a movie on television, the phone rang and Mike got up to answer it. It was a telemarketer.

I told Mike I wasn’t going to answer that phone anymore. It was always telemarketers.

Later, I came up with a plan and talked Mike into it. We’d use a two-step process to get rid of two of our three land lines.

First, we’d remove the house line (3537). We’d wire the fax line (3965) to the phone jacks where the house phone currently is but turn off the phones’ ringers and the kitchen phone’s answering machine. Result: we’d have a handy local phone number throughout the house to make outgoing calls. But the fax machine would still receive faxes, since none of the handsets would ring or answer. The phone company would play a recording on 3537 saying the number has been changed to my cell phone number.

Meanwhile, I’d continue to remove my land line from advertising materials, Web sites, business cards, etc. I’d also start informing people of the upcoming change. Then, in phase two of our land line removal project, I’d turn off my office phone number (1233). This would probably happen in September 2008. We’d wire the fax line to my office handset so I had a handy land line to make outgoing calls. (Actually, it’s already wired to my handset as line 2 and to my computer for outgoing faxes.) The phone company would play a recording on 1233 saying the number has been changed to my cell phone number.

That would bring us down to just one land line, which we’d use for incoming faxes and outgoing voice calls and faxes.

I estimate that this will save us an average of $70 per month. That’s $840 per year. I can use that savings to increase the number of minutes on my cell phone calling plan (if I need to) or spring for faster Internet service. Or just save it.

The Death of Land Line Business?

I heard a story on NPR recently that a big phone company — my brain is telling me it’s AT&T but I can’t confirm that — is getting out of the long distance land line business. They’re losing customers and want to concentrate on wireless services.

So the idea of dropping land lines isn’t anything new. It’s just a bit new to us.

It’s ironic that the overuse of land lines by a phone company’s biggest customers — telemarketers — is a big part of what’s driving other customers away from land lines. While my cell phone isn’t completely free of telemarketing calls — after all, the phone number is listed in so many places, including the Yellow pages — I get far fewer. And since I’m usually wearing the phone, it isn’t a big bother to answer it. And it’s just as easy to hang up.

Although I don’t think land lines will completely disappear any time soon, as a generation of telephone users grows up with cell phones, I’m willing to bet that most of them won’t see any point in getting a telephone line in their dorm rooms, apartments, or homes.

Frankly, if we didn’t need a reliable way to receive faxes, we wouldn’t have any land lines either.

What Do You Think?

Do you still have a land line? Why?

Or have you also gone completely wireless for telephone communications?

Share your thoughts with me and other readers. Use the Comments link or form for this post.

eBay: The Buyer from Hell

When pickiness goes too far.

Macworld Expo ProgramI recently put a bunch of Macworld Expo programs and guides up for auction on eBay. These items, which have been sitting in various boxes and drawers for over 10 years were in very good — or even mint — condition, perfect for a collector.

I got immediate interest from a Twitter user who wanted to buy the lot of them at a fixed price. I’d already listed a few of them on eBay and I thought I might do better at auction.

Apparently, he wasn’t interested in bidding on them. No one was. Except the buyer from hell.

The buyer from hell bought one program for 99¢ and another for $1.99. Although I’d listed each with Priority Mail Flat Rate Envelope shipping at $6.95 (to cover shipping, handling, eBay listing, and PayPal costs), I figured I’d cut him a deal and send the two programs together in the same envelope. So I invoiced him a total of $8.95 for shipping — a savings of $4.95. I figured he’d be happy that I’d just saved him some money without him even asking.

What I got, however, was a long-winded request to package the two programs in a large box with a lot of padding around them. I was to ship this box by parcel post to save him even more money.

So here’s a guy who spent less than $3 on two items that he wants me to treat as if they’re worth thousands.

I tweeted about this on Twitter. I got a few responses that confirmed I wasn’t crazy to be thinking that this guy was asking too much.

I was not prepared to find an appropriately sized box and lightweight padding to ship $3 worth of paper. I reminded him that the auction specified Flat Rate Envelope as the shipping method. (I personally think this is the best way to ship a document like this as it holds it flat and it can’t shift around in the envelope.)

He wrote back with another long-winded, whining message to say that I could use a flat rate box. The post office provides them for free. I can then use newspaper to pad around the programs.

So now he was suggesting an extra trip to the post office — unless he supposed that I’d go to the post office with all my packing material and prepare the package there.

For $3 worth of paper.

Like I didn’t have better things to do with my time.

I ignored his message until after the holiday. He wrote again and copied the message to me. I wrote back to say that I wasn’t going to do any special packaging. That it would be either flat rate envelope as specified in the auction description or we’d cancel the sale. I also reminded him that he had not contacted me before the auction close to ask if I’d do special handling for these items. I told him we could have prevented this misunderstanding if he’d communicated with me in advance.

He wrote back, now indignantly, to say that he didn’t understand why I wouldn’t do this for him, that many other people have, and that he didn’t want the programs damaged in shipping. I didn’t say what I was thinking: that putting two programs in a box with a bunch of dirty newspaper was far more likely to destroy them than shipping them in a nice, tight cardboard envelope. Instead, I wrote what I was beginning to think:

Is this some kind of joke? Did someone put you up to this? I’ve spoken to several experienced eBay sellers and they all think you’re over the top with your shipping concerns. I’ve sold quite a few things on eBay — ALL of them more valuable than this — and NO ONE has ever bothered me about shipping like you have.

I am not completing this sale. I don’t want to deal with you any longer. You are wasting my time.

My advice is to forget this auction and get on with your life. That’s what I plan to do.

He wrote back with some more of the same whining crap, finishing up to say that he’d never bid on any of my auctions again. Well, that’s a relief.

I went online at eBay and reported the auction as unpaid because of a disagreement over terms.

If he gives me negative feedback, I’ll hit him with some of the same, marring his perfect record.

Maybe there are people out there who have nothing better to do than cater to the requests of cheap collectors. I have much better things to do with my time.

As for the programs — they all go back on ice for another 5 to 10 years.