Tag Archives: fat

Flying for Food

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Mike tries to arrange a group outing for lunch.

We were at Stan’s house on Saturday afternoon when Mike said, “Let’s go fly together somewhere tomorrow.”

Stan’s wife, Rosemarie, and Dave, another local pilot, were there. Stan flies a Cessna 182 and Dave just got a second plane, an RV-4, that he needed to build time in before he could take up passengers. Mike is half owner of a Grumman Tiger.

What followed was a discussion of various responsibilities the next day. We finally decided to meet at the airport at 1 PM and fly somewhere for lunch. The “somewhere” wasn’t decided.

On Sunday morning, during breakfast, Mike and I started to discuss where we could fly. We brainstormed and came up with a list of airports within flying distance that had restaurants nearby:

Restaurants on Field:
– Prescott
– Falcon Field (2!)
– Payson
– Kingman
– Deer Valley
– Glendale
– Scottsdale
– Chandler
– Winslow (weird hours)

Restaurants within walking distance:
– Seligman
– Valle
– Chiriaco Summit (CA)

Restaurants within free shuttle distance:
– Parker (restaurant at the casino)
– Bullhead City (restaurants across river in Laughlin)

Quite a selection. (Note that Wickenburg isn’t on this list. Why someone with a few bucks doesn’t build a restaurant on the field is beyond me. I know why I don’t do it: I’ve already been through the employer nightmare in Wickenburg and have learned my lesson.)

Sunday morning progressed. We had chores to do around the house. We even cleaned a small part of the garage! Then Mike made the fatal error of attacking the mistletoe that had begun killing some of our mesquite trees. (Mistletoe is a parasitic plant and, if not periodically cut out of the trees it infests, it’ll kill the trees.) It was hard work that required him to stand in awkward positions with a heavy saw over his head. After 45 minutes of that, he was too tired to do anything. Including fly.

That didn’t bother me. I wanted to fly anyway. I felt pretty confident that I could get to the destination around the same time as the two planes. Zero-Mike-Lima cruises at 110 knots, but I could easily push it to 120 knots with only two people on board. I’d already called Jim to invite him to join us with his Hughes 500c. Although he wasn’t sure he would, it would be nice to have two helicopters with the two airplanes. I was hoping we’d go to Falcon Field; I really love the Italian restaurant, Anzio’s Landing, on the southeast end of the runway. And there’s plenty of parking right out front.

By the time we got to the airport at 12:40 PM, the wind had kicked up a bit. It was blowing across the runway at about 8 to 10 knots. Airplane pilots don’t like crosswinds. When no one had arrived by 12:55, I got the feeling that Mike’s plan wasn’t going to become a reality.

Jim was already there, working on his Beech 18. He bought the Beech a few months ago in Florida and managed to leak 10 gallons of oil from one of its engines on the ferry flight back to Arizona. Since then, he’d been working on finding and fixing the leaks. He thought he had it taken care of when he flew out to Blythe for some touch-and-goes the other day, but the left engine was still oozing. A bad O-ring on one of the cylinders. He has to pull the cylinder to fix it. In the meantime, he’s begun pulling just about everything else. Last month, he pulled out the floor and replaced it. He’s now waiting for new runners on which to mount the rear seats. Yesterday, when we arrived, he was pulling instruments out of the panel and rearranging them in more logical positions. His helicopter was not at the airport. His wife, Judith, had already said she didn’t want to come with us, so Jim had decided to work on the Beech — something he could probably do for the rest of his life if he wanted to.

Stan and Rosemarie drove up right around 1 PM. I was talking to Jim when they pulled up, so I missed the beginning of their conversation with Mike. But the end result was that they’d come with us in the helicopter. Dave wasn’t coming. So a flight that started with potentially four aircraft ended up with just one.

Of course, with the helicopter, the list of dining opportunities increases. Helicopters don’t need no stinkin’ runway. There were at least five more places we could eat:
– The Wayside Inn, near Alamo Lake, is the destination for Flying M Air‘s “Hamburger in the Middle of Nowhere.”
– Robson’s Mining World, in Aguila, has a nice little cafe.
– Wild Horse West, near Lake Pleasant, has great burgers.
– The Kofa Cafe, out in Vicksburg Junction, used to be very good, but I haven’t been back since my first experience with the new owner.
– A truckstop on I-10 south of Vicksburg has a dirt strip out back where you can land and not dust the truckers.

Mike wanted to go to the Wayside Inn, so that’s where we went. You can read all about it in another blog entry. The food ain’t bad and the atmosphere is definitely different, especially if you live in a big city and don’t have much exposure to an off-the-grid lifestyle.

We flew by way of Robson’s, which was pretty quiet that afternoon. Robson’s big anniversary celebration is coming up on the first Saturday in January, and I think they get more visitors in that one day than they get all year long. I do helicopter rides out there during the event and it’s always a lot of fun. Then we followed Ballard Wash (I think) from its narrow start almost all the way to Alamo Lake. I circled the Wayside once, trying to find a flag to judge the wind, then realized there wasn’t much wind there and just set down in my usual spot near the intersection of two dirt roads and the old, unmaintained dirt strip. (If you ever fly out there in a small plane, I recommend landing on the road rather than the strip; it’s a lot smoother and better maintained.) I kicked up a huge cloud of dust that drifted to the east as I cooled down the engine and shut down.

We crossed the road and went into the restaurant. Everyone at the bar looked at us. “I knew it was you,” the waitress said.

“Yeah, well…” I said. Everyone laughed.

We had lunch among the fish photos and trophies. The place was relatively quiet. The last time we’d been in there with helicopters, a crowd had gathered and the restaurant was completely full. I guess having four helicopters and a plane parked outside is a bit of a draw to the locals. But that day it was just us and a man eating at the bar. A few people came and went.

We paid up and left. As I started up, a few people in ATVs parked at the end of the dirt strip, facing us, ready for a show. They were not rocket scientists. Not only had they parked right in front of me, forcing me to depart in a different direction so as not to overfly them, but they were close enough to get seriously dusted when I took off. I took off to the northwest, along the road to Alamo Lake.

We did a tour of Alamo Lake, then the Santa Maria River, and then Date Creek before heading into Wickenburg. It had been a nice little outing — even if we were the only aircraft to participate.

Shopping on eBay

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I try — and fail — to get a few good bargains. But I’m not giving up.

I talked to my brother the other day. He lives back east, in the NY/NJ metro area, with his wife and dog. They live in suburbia, on a curving, tree-lined street where the houses don’t all look like each other. The first time I visited him, he had maple trees growing in his gutter. He’d just bought the house, which needed some work, and he hadn’t gotten around to cleaning the gutters yet. The trees were only a few inches tall. When we lived in New Jersey, we had a 4-foot maple growing on our roof for a while.

Anyway, my brother buys just about all of his electronic equipment on eBay. The other day, he’d just bought himself a new cell phone and was waiting for it to arrive. He already had the hands-free, bluetooth headset that would work with it and was trying it out with his wife’s phone. It seems like every time I talk to him he’s telling me about some new gadget he bought on eBay.

I’m in the market for a few electronic devices myself. So I blew the dust off my eBay account and logged in. What I discovered is that eBay is no longer the garage sale of the Internet. It’s now the flea market of the Internet.

Why the difference? Well, a garage sale is usually full of used stuff — much of it junk — that the owner no longer wants. A flea market has much of the same junk, but it also has brand new, still in the box (abbreviated NIB for “new in box” on eBay) items. Call me spoiled, but when I buy a piece of computer hardware that I need to depend on, I want it brand new.

The first thing I needed was a portable external hard disk that I could use with my PowerBook. Experimentation the other day with iMovie and my video camera ate up the remaining 5 GB of unused space on that computer’s disk. I’m not replacing the hard disk — Mike went through that with a local computer consultant a few months ago and it was a 2-month nightmare. Instead, I’ll get a portable FireWire hard disk I can use to store big, fat media files. Like video. (Although it wouldn’t hurt to pare down my iTunes library on that computer; 12 GB of music is a bit much when I carry around the same songs and video on my iPod.)

So I hunted around on reputable sites — including the Apple Web site — and found a name brand and model I liked. Then I searched on eBay. I had literally dozens of matches, many of them NIB. Wow.

At the same time, I decided I needed some more RAM for my G4, which will soon be upgraded to Mac OS X 10.4 Tiger Server. The machine, which is currently doing server duty with the dreaded WebSTAR, has 384 MB of RAM. That was quite generous when the machine was new 4 or 5 years ago, but nowadays, it just doesn’t cut it. Especially with the Webcam and audio streaming software running on it. Near as I can figure (without opening the box), one of its 3 RAM slots should be free. I figure I’d put 512 MB in there to pump up the RAM. And, if I could get the RAM cheap enough, I’d buy 2 512 MB “sticks” (apparently the RAM lingo) and throw away (or eBay) the 128 MB one I pull out. I did a search and found dozens of compatible RAM sticks. Whew.

I started bidding. And after two days, I noticed a pattern that I had noticed once before. You can be the winning bidder right up until about 10 minutes before bidding ends. Then someone comes along and outbids you. If you’re paying attention, you can bid back. That results in a bidding war and, if you’re not careful, you’ll wind up paying more than you really wanted to.

I’m careful. And I know how much these items are worth at their cheapest (or cheapest I can find) retail source. So someone outbids me and I start the process all over again with another item.

I have a theory about this. I believe that some vendors who sell the same thing over and over — dealers, in a way — have buddies who help them out near the end of an auction. Their buddies come along and bid to get the price up. They’ll bid right up to the amount the dealer really wants and step back. The bidder that crosses that line pays more than the dealer’s bottom line. And if there is no other bidder, the dealer pays the listing fee on the price his buddy “paid” and re-lists the item. This is how so many items can be sold without reserve. (A reserve is a minimum price the seller will accept. It costs more to list with a reserve and lots of buyers won’t bid on products that have reserve prices.)

The long and the short of it is that I’ll probably be ordering that RAM from an online retailer today. I can’t seem to get it on eBay any cheaper than I could get it from a retailer, so why risk a private seller on eBay?

I haven’t given up on the FireWire hard disk yet. And I’ve started looking into another iSight camera for a portable Webcam. And you know, I can really use a FireWire hub…

7.1 Piglets!

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I buy a new digital camera.

I was at the Apple Store in Tucson last week. I did a presentation on their 30-inch monitor for a small group of Mac OS X users. It was probably the best presentation I did because the audience was involved, which kept me animated, and they shared some of their tips with me, so I learned something, too.

Like many Apple stores, Tucson’s 30-inch monitor is set up close to the digital cameras. So close, in fact, that I fiddled around with the cameras on display while talking to a shopper before I began. I began admiring a Canon model that would take 5.0 megapixel images (or 5.0 piglet images, as my stepfather would say) and still fit in my purse. That sure beat the 2.1 piglet model I was carrying around. Except I wasn’t carrying it around. I’d left it home. Tucson was our first stop on a trip to Maine. We would leave the following morning, straight from our Tucson hotel to Phoenix Sky Harbor Airport and beyond. When I was packing, I couldn’t find the battery charger for the 2.1 piglet Canon, so I’d left it home. No sense bringing a camera if you can’t charge the battery. I have another Canon camera, a 5.0 piglet G5, which I’d bought for aerial photography work. It wouldn’t fit in my purse, but it took great pictures.

Now here I was at the Apple Store, looking at a camera that would do the same thing and still fit in my purse.

Did I mention I got a royalty check last week? It arrived the day before we went to Tucson. It was a very nice check. The kind of check that makes you want to buy a round of drinks in the local bar. Or buy yourself a new toy.

It didn’t take much convincing. Mike, to his credit, tried to remain neutral throughout. But somehow I convinced myself to buy it. And it was kind of nice that the Apple Store offers discounts to Pearson authors. It wasn’t a big discount, but a small discount is better than no discount.

The sales guy at the counter went into the back and returned with two boxes that looked identical.”I only want one,” I said cheerfully.”Yes,” he said, “but I thought you might like to see this model. It’s basically the same camera, but it has 7.1 megapixels. That means you can make bigger enlargements.”He began a discussion of why more piglets is better than less. I already knew so I gently cut him short. Mike and I discussed it. The price difference wasn’t major. And that royalty check had been quite impressive. I talked myself into the upgrade.

So now I have a 7.1 piglet camera in my purse.

Photo
I took some photos in Maine. My favorite is above.

And I didn’t even take the G5 out of its camera bag.

Ugly Fat Americans

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I hear a startling bit of information on the radio.

I listen to NPR. For those of you who favor reality TV over reality, NPR stands for National Public Radio. It’s PBS (Public Broadcasting System) for the radio waves. Funded by “listeners like me,” charitable foundations, and corporations looking for tax breaks, it’s primarily talk radio with news and information shows that go far beyond what you can find on regular television and radio. News shows focus on politics, foreign affairs, literature, science, and other topics that people who think actually think about.

My friend Jim says that NPR is for liberals. But Jim worships Rush Limbaugh, so I can’t take anything Jim says very seriously anyway.

The other day, on my way to work, the discussion on Talk of the Nation or the Diane Reems Show — I can’t remember which one I was listening to — they can be very much alike at times — focused on the problems with Social Security and Medicare. As you may (or may not) know, both services are in financial trouble, although Medicare is in much bigger trouble than Social Security. Why? Well, the government is paying out more in benefits than it’s collecting and it isn’t earning enough on the balance of funds to sustain it. (I think financial mismanagement is partly to blame for that, but that’s not the point here so I won’t pursue it.)

The man being interviewed — and forgive me if I can’t recall his name or the position that gives him his expertise — presented a shocking piece of information. For the first time in decades, the average life expectancy of Americans is going down. Yes, down. That means that today’s Americans are not expected to live as long as Americans a few years back.

The cause of this sorry statistic: obesity.

The phrase “ugly fat American” takes on new meaning. Not only are we spoiled rotten and accustomed to having our way with the world (thus making us “ugly” in the eyes of the people who really don’t like us), but we are literally fat. And those fat tissues are starting to eat away at our life expectancy.

If you’ve got eyes and you use them to look around yourself in public places, you must have noticed it by now. There are a lot of fat people. But worse yet, there are a lot of very fat people.

Look at yourself. Honestly. How many extra pounds are you carrying around?

Heck, I’m overweight. I’m 5’8″ and weigh about 30 pounds more than I should. Anyone looking a me would likely say to himself, “Now that’s a big girl.” He might not use the word fat, but that’s only because (lucky for him) he hasn’t seen me in a bikini. My height helps camouflage my extra pounds. Those 30 pounds are 20% more pounds than I should be carrying around. And I can feel that extra weigh. Last spring, when I weighed 20 pounds less (can you believe it?) I felt better. Healthier. And my clothes fit a heck of a lot better, too.

I was lucky enough to have a high metabolism until I was about 30. That meant I could eat as much as I wanted and never put on a pound. In fact, for a while, I had trouble keeping weight on. In college, my weight dropped down to 105 lbs. I looked terrible, like a walking skeleton. I began to have digestive problems. I wasn’t anorexic — it wasn’t like I was trying to keep the weight off. I was just too darn busy. Working two jobs, commuting 30 miles each way to school, shouldering an 18-credit course load. I had trouble finding time to fit meals in. Then I moved on campus and got on the meal plan. That fixed me up. They made these warm rolls….

As time ticked on, my metabolism adjusted. Now I have to watch what I eat to prevent myself from getting any heavier. And I have to diet to take off the pounds. I’m on a slow diet now. I’d like to drop 20 pounds over the next few months. Maybe by the end of June. We’ll see how I do. I’ve been at it for a week and have lost 3 pounds. Big deal. But if I can keep that up, I’ll do okay.

Obesity runs in my family. (Yes, it has been linked to genes.) At 5’1″, my mother weighs more than I do. Her brother (my uncle), who died last year, was at least 100 pounds overweight. He did a lot of sitting in front of the television in the last few years of his life, and pretty much ignored the doctor’s recommendations about diet. He developed diabetes (which also runs in my family) and heart problems. We weren’t surprised when he died at age 69. Instead, we were surprised that he lasted that long. Fortunately, I have a good helping of my father’s genes. He’s always been tall (6’4″) and thin as a rail. So was his mom. I think that spared me from a fat fate.

But my 30 pounds of extra weight is nothing compared to some of the people I see when I get out and about. I’ve seen many people who are 50, 75, or 100 pounds overweight. There are people who can easily be described as round. People who, if you tipped them over on their side, would roll down a hill with arms and legs sticking out, just like in a cartoon. People who are so fat, they have difficulty walking, so they wedge themselves into one of those motorized carts at the supermarket when it’s time to do their grocery shopping. And around the house, when they’re not hiding the La-Z-Boy from view with their bulk, they use wheelchairs.

Don’t these people understand what’s happening to them? Don’t they care? Don’t they want to be healthy and active, to live life to the fullest — and longest — possible? Why won’t they get help?

And what of the millions of Americans like me who are “just a little” overweight? How many of them don’t make a conscious effort to stop their weight gains and start to reverse them? They’re 30 pounds overweight one year and 40 pounds the next. Then 50 and 60 and before you know it, they’re spending more time on the sofa in front of the television than moving about — simply because that’s the only thing they can do.

I don’t want to live forever, but I also don’t want my life cut short by obesity — something I can prevent.

How long before the rest of this country wakes up to what’s quickly becoming a leading contributor to early death?

People – What are they thinking?

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I try to understand how some people think.

The other day, I was up in Prescott, taking care of some business for Flying M Air. Since it had been three or more years since my last eye exam and my vision was starting to fail again, I made an appointment for an eye exam at the Sears Optical department. (I could go into a long story here about why I don’t get my eyes checked in Wickenburg, but I’ll keep it simple: inconvenient hours, bad service, and/or questionable business practices, depending on which eye care practitioner you visit.)

I arrived early, and while I was waiting, I did a little shopping in the mall. I needed a new purse. I’d been looking for a while, but finally found just the right one at Dillards. (Nothing like that feeling of success when you’re been trying hard to find something and finally hit paydirt.) Outside of Dillards was a kitchen store. I needed a box of those little gas canisters for my whip cream machine. I always forget to buy them when I’m in those stores because they keep them behind the counter. (Apparently, kids inhale the gas to get high, so they commonly steal them from the stores.) I don’t see them so I don’t remember to buy them. I remembered that day and I took care of it then.

The woman behind the counter noticed the Flying M Air logo on my shirt. “Do you fly helicopters?” she asked.

I admitted that I did.

“Do you want to hear a great story about a helicopter?”

“Sure.” I always like hearing great stories.

She then proceeded to tell me about her boss’s father, who had been killed in Buckeye in a gyroplane accident. She managed to mangle the information about the cause of the accident just enough to assure me that she had no idea what she was talking about. The story was not great — nothing good happened in it at all. The guy got himself killed because he apparently lost control of the aircraft. (Stupid pilot tricks.) And the story wasn’t even about helicopters.

I don’t recall how I reacted to the story. I must have said appropriately polite things. But in my mind, I was trying to figure out why she had told me the story at all. That’s what I was still thinking about when I left the store and went to my eye exam.

So why did she tell me the story? And why are some people so consumed by the misfortune of others? Why do people watch news stories that report bad things? What’s with people?