Best Paint Scheme Ever

Finally. An airline with a sense of humor!

When is an airline’s livery more than just a bunch of paint? When it makes a buzz on the internet which goes far beyond the likes of aviation geeks like me.

I’d never heard of South African carrier Kulula Airlines until today. And odds are, you hadn’t either. Given the chance, though, I’d fly with them in a heartbeat just based on what’s in these pictures. Typical male response, eh? Only concerned with exterior appearances!

Seriously though, it speaks volumes about Kulula that they set aside the laws of corporate branding long enough to acknowledge the oddity of the aviation lexicon. To the average passenger, it’s undoubtedly an off-putting jumble of terms, acronyms, and abbreviations. They acknowledge this, and do it with a sense of humor which will bring a smile to neophytes and veterans alike.

Most American carriers wouldn’t have the chutzpah to green light this sort of thing. They tend see the exterior spaces of an airliner fuselage as a place to sell advertising to the highest bidder. I’ve seen theme parks, NBA basketball franchises, states, magazines, and other entities advertised. Perhaps it’s part of the financial equation and simply a necessity to keep the airline profitable.

Whatever the reason, I salute Kulula. Perhaps there’s a moral here: putting the fun and enjoyment back into aviation can help the bottom line, too. Here’s hoping “Flying 101″ is viral enough to bring some of that thinking up to our hemisphere.

Flying 101, indeed!

Look, it's a flying aviation dictionary...

Junk In, Junk Out

The introduction of computerized displays (also known as “glass panels”, or in the FAA’s parlance, Technologically Advanced Aircraft or “TAA”) into general aviation cockpits can mean serious consequences for those unprepared to deal with the complexities involved.

Sure, there’s a lot of power and capability present in those computers. They can provide you with wind speed and direction, beautiful color moving maps, an entire continent worth of aeronautical data, and so much more. Terrain databases, traffic alerts, sophisticated autopilots, GPS roll steering, highway-in-the-sky, and so much more. Things we probably haven’t even though of yet.

Amazing stuff. Of course, it can be a bit daunting for those who haven’t reached a particular skill level with the glass. Information overload is common, even in experienced pilots. I see this a lot in the latest generation of G1000 panels; there is so much information on the Primary Flight Display that it can get overwhelming.

As always, the weakest link in the cockpit is usually the guy flying the plane. One thing pilots of all experience levels have to watch for is what I call the “junk in, junk out” syndrome. The computers will do exactly what you tell them to do. If, for example, you input SLI as a waypoint and aren’t careful, you can end up going to South American instead of Seal Beach, because there is an identically named navaid on that continent. All it takes is a wrong button push and poof!, you’re on your way.

This kind of thing is common with intersections because they use five letters. Key in DRIFT instead of DRIFY and you’ll end up east of Philadelphia instead of south of Long Beach, CA.

I’ve done this several times myself. The only way to prevent it is to double check that the courses and distances make sense.

Computers have the ability to smooth and simplify our lives. They also have the ability to cause major problems. Anyone who has ever cc:’d an email to the wrong person(s) can tell you about that.

In aviation, they can cause funny things to happen even outside the cockpit. Here’s one such example: a friend of mine runs a well-known aviation weather site, and his system choked on an odd identifier. Turns out someone at the FAA cut-and-paste into the wrong window, and his laundry list of personal tasks ended up in the FAA’s international NOTAM system.

You’ve gotta see this NOTAM that popped up a couple of weeks ago, and it just tripped up our decoder today…

This is for ICAO identifier “MIKE” — which as far as I can tell is just a guy named Mike!! :-)

Wish this was just a joke, but it’s actually in the FAA’s international NOTAM system!!!!!

0014/09 – 0014 NOTAMR 0009 0013 A) MIKE PART 1 OF 2 B) WIE C) UFN E)

THINGS TO DO LIST IN NOVEMBER 2009 AT:
1607 JAMES ISLAND AVE., N.M.B.
BRING: MESUREMENTS OF: OUR BEDROOM SET, ETC.
TURN ON THE HEAT VICE A/C.
MASTER BATHROOM/KITCHEN PAINT: CLOSET/WINDOW MOULDING.

I OWE JOE/JOE FOR PALM FERTILIZER/TRIMMING, IF DONE??
BUY: GRILL, PRESSURE WASHER AT LOWE’S (NMB), NEXT SPRING (2010).
10 AZALEAS, OR FLOWERS (NMB), NEXT SPRING (2010).
CURTAIN ROD FOR UP-STAIRS BATHROOM??

TO DO: ME, HANDY-ANDY, PAINTER??
STAIN/OR WAX BANNISTER?
SPARE BEDROOM: PAINT INSIDE TRIM IN CLOSET.
CLEAN UP THE PLANT IN THE GARAGE, NEXT SPRING (2010).
FERTILIZE LAWN/PLANTS, NEXT SPRING (2010).
HANDY ANDY, NEXT SPRING (2010).

(ED) CAULK/PAINT OUTSIDE WHERE NEEDED.
INSTALL SHELVING IN ALL UPSTAIRS CLOSETS.
RE-HANG BALCONY DOOR LIGHT FIXTURES.
LAUNDRY ROOM: INSTALL CABINET/SHELF ABOVE.
CLEAN OUT THE GARAGE DOORS: BRAD/BRADY, CHRIS DOORMAN.

(AUGUST 09)
CALL EXTERMINATOR FOR APPMT: 843-365-5120 (CONWAY PEST CONTROL)
CALL A/C TECHNICAN FOR SEPT. CK ON HEAT PUMPS, NEXT SPRING (2010).

You’ve gotta admire the guy’s level of organization. His home sounds lovely. Now if he could just do something about those “fat fingers”…

The Clue Phone

Reason #438 to avoid the iPhone: that smug Applesque feeling of superiority you get from owning one could backfire.

We push back from the gate and get advised of a ground stop in MEM due to storms in the area. My Captain informs the passengers over the PA. Not one minute later, we get chimed from the flight attendant. “Some guy with an IPhone says the weather is good, and wants to know what the REAL reason is for the delay. Is something wrong with the plane?”

Read the rest. Apparently Mr. iPhone doesn’t realize that he flies on that aircraft at the behest of the very person whose judgment and/or integrity he’s questioning.

I wish I knew which company employed that pilot! I’d like to give them some business next time I’m forced to subject myself to the depraved masquerade of modern airline travel.

Airline Pilot or CFI?

This brilliant sketch manages to encapsulate my daily life as a CFI in the wilting summer heat. At 8 a.m. I’m Dean Martin. By 8 p.m., I’m Foster Brooks.

Yes, it has quite a familiar ring to it, right down to the part about running an an hour and forty three minutes late for the next flight.

Ground Control, New York Style

FAA Administrator Marion Blakey is fond of reiterating how controller staffing levels are sufficient.  Yet something tells me this guy might disagree with her.

It seems to me that anytime a controller tells a bunch of pilots “you guys really should come up here and see this”, things can’t be going too well.  Viva la JFK!

Going Around

I see go-arounds all the time at John Wayne Airport.  And not just with general aviation aircraft. 

The big runway is only 5700 feet long, so there’s not much room for error, especially with some of the larger transport airplanes that fly into the airport.  For example, FedEx sends a fully loaded Airbus A300 jumbo into Orange County each day.  As far as I know, that is the largest airplane to land at SNA.

Anyway, the Southern California geography gives us a semi-permanent inversion layer, and it’s typically accompanied by a slight windshear at that altitude.

Of course, sometimes that shear is stronger than others, and a few days ago I watched 6 airliners go around in the space of 30 minutes.  One of them was a Southwest 737 which turned final about 1.5 miles out with what was probably a 50-55 degree bank.  He did his best to drop down to the runway, but was fighting a strong tailwind that didn’t abate until around 600′ AGL.

Those of us in the area were razzing him pretty badly.  Someone said “$5 he doesn’t make it”.  Another chimed in with “I’ll put ten on it” and I piled on with “count me in for fifteen bucks”.  Eventually he started the go-around, and I keyed the mike with one final shot:  “If he was a tailwheel pilot I’m sure he would have made it…”.

It was all in good fun.  I think Southwest got the final laugh, though.  A few minutes after his aborted landing, a different Southwest jet was slow to cross 19L and I had to do a go-around of my own.

That’s Entertainment

Most corporate aircraft have no identifying marks on them at all because the company doesn’t want competitors knowing where their executives are going.  They even go so far as to have their N-number blocked from sites like FlightAware.

But not all companies are like that.  KFC, for example, used to have a corporate airplane at SNA.  I’m not sure if it was based here or just came into Orange County frequently, but it always seemed to be on the field.  This thing was a beauty, a Challenger 604 painted in red and white striping.

Unfortunately, the clean lines were marred by a giant Colonel Sanders logo on the tail.  Also, the 604 fuselage has a wide diameter, but it’s not very long.  So between the paint scheme and the logo on the tail, the airplane was essentially a giant KFC chicken bucket turned on its side.

One day, just for kicks, I walked up the airstair door, knocked on the side of the plane, and with the straightest possible face asked the pilot if I could get an bucket of Cajun chicken “to go”.

He got a kick out of that, laughing heartily for about 5 seconds before pointing at the airstair and telling me to get the hell off his airplane.  I descended toward the tarmac while uttering my parting shot:  “They warned me that the Colonel made a mean bird…”

Adios, Muchachos

I’m off to Mexico with the Club Zeta crew for a much needed vacation.

But I will leave you with this not-safe-for-work video clip.  Let it never be said that Pitts pilots aren’t proud of their equipment.  “Nice helmet”.  Yeah, that’s the ticket.

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Like The Man Said…

Perhaps whoever designed this sign lost sight of the, uh, “larger picture” — if you catch my meaning.  It doesn’t help that the pilot is sporting what appears to be a bicentennial porno mustache, circa 1976.

I’ve been trying to think of a good caption for this photo.  Suggestions?

Sorry, Teddy

So would I.

CafePress has a few gems.  But this one is my favorite.

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Freaky Friday

Did you know there’s a name for those who fear Friday the 13th?

Paraskevidekatriaphobics.

Try saying that three times fast.

Some sources say it may be the most widespread superstition in the United States. Some people won’t go to work on Friday the 13th; some won’t eat in restaurants; many wouldn’t think of setting a wedding on the date.

Just how many Americans at the turn of the millennium still suffer from this condition? According to Dr. Donald Dossey, a psychotherapist specializing in the treatment of phobias (and coiner of the term “paraskevidekatriaphobia”), the figure may be as high as 21 million. If he’s right, eight percent of Americans are still in the grips of a very old superstition.

Statistically, only about 3.3% of the population has a birthday on the 13th of a month.  I wonder what’s eating the other 4.7%.

I’m not sure why Friday the 13th is supposed to be such a bad day.  Everyone ooohs and ahhs about it as though they’re performing a cold reading of some B-movie script that even Hollywood couldn’t bring itself to embrace.  Society obviously takes this pretty seriously, because there are a lot of high-rise buildings out there with inaccurately numbered floors.  Or do they build the 13th floor and just leave it vacant?

Hmmmm.  Note to self:  try the stairwell next time.

Here’s another tidbit about this ”unlucky” day:

With the aim of mapping “the relation between health, behaviour, and superstition surrounding Friday 13th in the United Kingdom,” the authors [of a British Medical Journal study] compared the ratio of traffic volume to the number of automobile accidents on two different days, Friday the 6th and Friday the 13th, over a period of years.

Incredibly, they found that in the region sampled, while consistently fewer people chose to drive their cars on Friday the 13th, the number of hospital admissions due to vehicular accidents was significantly higher than on “normal” Fridays. Their conclusion:

“Friday 13th is unlucky for some. The risk of hospital admission as a result of a transport accident may be increased by as much as 52 percent. Staying at home is recommended.”  

It’s enough to make you wonder if we’re talking about Friday the 13th or April 1st!

Anyway, this particular Friday the 13th happens to be my birthday. 

Perhaps I should be waiting for a disaster to befall me, but I’m not.  2005 wasn’t a perfect year, but it could have been a lot worse.  One needn’t look far to see that.  In the past year I lost friends to cancer, accidents, and saw still more of them lose their job, health, and/or home.  I could easily be in their shoes.  And who knows, I could be in that very place a year from now.

For today however, life is good.  No — make that great.  And no paraskevidekatriaphobic is gonna bring me down.

Go Sell Crazy Somewhere Else

I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried.

I was on my way to work a few days ago – cruising down Alton Boulevard at about 45 mph – when a small geriatric Asian woman suddenly jumped out in front of my car.  Her left hand went up, palm out, making the universal symbol for “stop” as though she was a traffic cop managing a busy intersection during a power outage.

It was an interesting choice.  My car is a 14 year old Mitsubishi Eclipse with nearly 200,000 miles on it.  No disc brakes, just drums.  No anti-lock system.  No crumple zones, airbags, or sneeze guards.

Suffice it to say I left skid marks on the ground… and in less mentionable places.  This crazy woman avoided an ambulance ride by mere inches.

Did she take a moment to reflect on this fact?  Nope.  Instead, she rushed around to the passenger side window and started pounding on it while yelling something incomprehensible.  I could only pick out bits and pieces, but the words “high school” stuck out.

I’m not sure if it was idle curiosity or the urge to yell back at her, but whatever the reason, I reached over to roll down the passenger side window.  This was clearly a mistake, because before I could even get it halfway down, she reached into my car and unlocked the door.  In an instant, the door was open and she was sitting in the right seat, all the while jabbering on about highschoolhighschoolhighschool.  Naturally, my laptop computer was under her ass.  A meaningess factoid, apparently, because she continued screeching about “highschoohighschool!”.

There was a high school just down the road.  Hmmm.  Was there some sort of emergency going on over there?  A crazed student with a gun, perhaps?  A gas leak?  Or perhaps it was something really important, like the football team getting a critical two point conversion in the fourth quarter?

I began driving toward the school, thinking it might be wise to dial 911.  If nothing was happening on campus, there was always the hijacker in my car for the authorities to work on.

It was about this time that I hear the word “bus” interspersed with the gibberish and it all started to fall into place.  Our intrepid nut case had missed her bus.  Apparently wherever she’s from, if you miss the public transportation, you forcibly stop the next automobile and they give you a ride to the farthest reaches of town.

Still shocked at having an uninvited total stranger in my vehicle, it took a good 30 seconds before I threw her out.  I spat, “Confucious say: get the hell out of my car before I go postal, you crazy loon!”

OK, not really.  It was more like, “Um, I’m headed to the airport.  This is as far as I can take you.”

A blank stare.  Time passes.  I gesture to the sidewalk.  She opened the door, hopped out, and happily walked away without so much as a goodbye or thank you.  After all we’d been through together!

The nerve.

A Stitch in Time Saves Nine

I’m not even sure what to say about this, except it seems clear now why the Rams moved out of Los Angeles. It wasn’t the crumbling Colesium, the antics of owner Georgia Frontiere, or a lack of support from the community. It was the Ghost of Needlepoints Past:

Rosie knows needlepoint

I kid because I love. God bless Grier for being mature enough to not only stick with the name ‘Rosie’ but to also publish a book on needlepoint. He’s was a bigger guy than I am. And at 300 lbs, I do mean that literally.

Speaking of 300 lb. linebackers, that probably explains why few people gave him a hard time about this avocation. His other love was beating the pulp out of an offensive line. Makes me wonder how many people ended up attending the Rosie Grier School of Embroidery more out of a healthy sense of respect for his reputation on the gridiron than out of a, shall we say, ‘love of the game’.

Smooch

Alcohol impairs jugementAlcohol impairs judgement. Since when??

Lesley and I found this and several other humorous trash cans at the Dana Point Harbor today.

(Did I just use the phrase “humorous trash cans”? That’s a first.)

A Modest Proposal

I hope Ken Lay, Dennis Kozlowski, Bernie Ebbers, and others of their ilk are reading this.

BEIJING (Reuters) – China executed four people, including employees of two of its Big Four state-owned banks, for fraud totaling $15 million, the state Xinhua news agency said Tuesday. The executions occurred in the midst a high-profile government campaign against financial crime. They followed a string of arrests in white-collar crime as China prepares to sell shares publicly in its big banks.

The story goes on to detail the method of execution: a gunshot to the back of the head. Now, if this is the punishment for $15 million in fraud, what kind of penalty would Kenneth Lay — who saw more than $1 billion worth of securities and wire fraud on his watch — be facing in China? It would clearly have to be a fate worse than death. Something really inhumane, like forcing him to watch Judge Judy or Homeboys from Outer Space for all eternity.

A CEO gets tens of millions of dollars each year to helm a company and claims all the glory when times are good. When the firm goes belly up, however, they are the first to claim they had no idea what was going on and bear no responsibility. Well, I know we don’t want to be more like China. But there are times when it’s awfully tempting. For example, when you think about the millions in taxpayer funds that are being spent to put these guys on trial.

So here’s a modest proposal: let’s take a page out of their playbook. Since our CEOs tend to favor outsourcing if it saves money, let’s outsource our high-dollar white collar criminal justice proceedings to China. Something tells me it might be more effective than Sarbanes-Oxley at curbing those annoying cases of multi-billion dollar fraud.

High Jumping the Olympic Shark

In honor of this weekend’s closing ceremonies (and sponsored in part by Rich’s Top Five List-o-Rama), I give you the Top Ten Signs the Olympics Have Jumped the Shark:

10. The Parthenon was built faster than the Olympic stadium

9. Synchronized swimming?

8. Not a single riot during Olympic soccer

7. Forty percent of tickets unsold

6. U.S. women’s basketball team referred to as The Dream Queens

5. Carly Patterson’s eyebrows

4. Bob Costas

3. What’s with all the falafel?

2. Seventy-five pound gymnast declared obese due to incorrect starting value

… and the number one sign the Olympics have jumped the shark:

1. Race walking (aka hitting rock bottom)

The Crazy Jackson

When I refer to the “crazy Jackson”, you’d think I’m talking about Michael. And up until now, you’d be right.

But from out of nowhere comes sister Janet to claim that title by suggesting that her “wardrobe malfunction” at the Superbowl is actually President Bush’s fault. According to Janet, the President engineered the whole fracas in order to divert attention from the situation in Iraq.

As if this wasn’t enough, she offered Michael Moore’s Fahrenheit 9/11 as some sort of confirmation of the fact.

I guess the only question she didn’t have the answer for was: is koo-koo one word or two?

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A Modest Proposal for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame

My pal Rich Manning has some serious concerns about who is–and isn’t–being inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. After looking at this year’s list of honorees (George Harrison, ZZ Top, Prince, Jackson Browne, and Bob Seger), your humble host joins him in weeping for the future.

I hate to bring up the obvious, but shouldn’t there be a “freak factor” limit for inductees? For example, even if Michael Jackson were the undisputed hands-down greatest musician of all time, should he be inducted if he’s convicted of molesting 50 children?

What would happen to the list of eligible artists if some common sense were injected into the process of selecting inductees? Let’s take a look.

In Prince’s case, he would fall victim to the “your name must be pronounceable without using a complex series of clicks and whistles” requirement. Any artist whose name cannot be uttered without mastering the conjugation of verbs in Esperanto should not be in the Hall of Fame until they’ve bought the world a Coke–and a set of Hooked on Phonics tapes.

Both Prince and Jackson would be eliminated from consideration by virtue of the “cannot have tried to change your skin color from black to white” rule.

And can I get an “amen” on some limit to plastic surgery? The artist being inducted to the Hall of Fame should at least bear a slight resemblance to the person who recorded the music. If you’ve intentionally turned yourself into the Elephant Man or obliterated any clues as to your gender, you’re out. See ya, Jacko.

Of course, this sort of genuine-draft-cold-filtering process could get ugly. The Hall of Fame shouldn’t be burdened with such politically explosive decisions. Therefore, prudence dictates that they let me make the call. If I hate the artist in question, they’re out (see ya Jacko, redux). If I like them, they might have a chance (again sayeth the Lord: see ya, Jacko).

“It’s gold, Jerry. Gold!

Seger, Browne, and certainly George Harrison are ok. But ZZ Top? Please. If it was my call, they’d be out on their banjo strumming butts. They belong in the Confederate Moonshine Drinkers Hall of Fame, not the Rock Hall. Anyone who hasn’t shaved since Nixon was in China doesn’t need to be in the Hall of Fame. What they need is to undergo a “Queer Eye for the Straight Guy” makeover by the Fab 5.

Perhaps the real problem is that the Hall of Fame is like Movieland Wax Museum, only less relevant. And it doesn’t even have an integrated Starbucks coffee shop like Movieland. Let’s face it, wax gets a lot more interesting when you add coffee to the mix. If only it was that easy to fix the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame…

Camera For Sale

Anyone need a cool digital camera, cheap? A friend sent me this message:

“I’m selling a friend’s digital camera. He’s in the hospital now, and will probably be there for a while. He needs the money to pay for medical bills – it’s a great camera, see the attached last picture he took to see the amazing photo resolution & quality.”

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Halloween, Irvine Style

My friend Jon Lagerquist and I have been discussing Halloween. Via e-mail, we’ve been trying to figure out what Halloween in Irvine actually means. Does it really exist? I’m not sure. I have been living here for about 5 years and have yet to have a single trick-or-treater come to my door. I don’t even buy candy anymore.

We determined that Halloween was an approved Irvine event, but the stack of forms that one is required to fill out is daunting. There’s the costume approval, route approval with alternates and time frame, candy bag qualifaction, candy check procedure, process for pre-approving houses to stop at, wavers for early and late start times, trick auditions (and approved conditions to perform tricks), parent guardian or chaparone approval, requests to trick or treat without same, and so on.

And then, of course, if someone were to actually deny you candy and you wanted to “trick” them, you’d have to fill out a whole other set of forms, pay for additional insurance, and the list of tricks you’re allowed is pretty pathetic. I think the scariest tricks they allow in Irvine are:

  • leaving the homeowners property by cutting across the grass instead of walking carefully on the OSHA-approved lighted pathway
  • not saying “thank you” or “good night” when you leave
  • using such foul verbiage as “darn” or maybe even “shucks”
  • adding unapproved accessories to your costume without the proper permits, filled out in triplicate and notarized
  • crossing the street without holding hands and carefully looking both ways
  • derogatory comments about the homeowners association
  • and, for the truly daring trickster, making comments like “gee, I think that El Toro airport is gonna be a SWELL thing!”

By way of contrast, the list of approved tricks for Santa Ana reads a wee bit differently. Some popular Halloween tricks there include:

  • poppin’ a cap in someone’s ass
  • placing a lit M-1000 firecracker into or under the gas tank of someone’s 1976 Ford Pinto
  • the use of an any explosive device with a yield of one kiloton or less, especially when obtained from Mexico; this usually generates a friendly chuckle and response of “ay, gitano!”
  • lighting the offenders house, hair, car, grass, or small defenseless pet on fire

As you can see, here in Irvine we’re a daring bunch of rebels who know how to get down an play dirty if you don’t give us candy. So watch out.

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