Airplanes!

Did you know that an Airbus A-380 has a maximum takeoff weight of 1,200,000 pounds?  

A friggin' Million Pounds?

Did you know that it features more than 4,000 square feet of usable space?  Three levels?  

Even though I flew for a living back in the 1970's, as in more than 1,000,000 miles in the air, with certificate, I still can't quite comprehend how they do it.  An aluminum tube made by pissed of union members, flitting across the sky at 550 miles per hour.  At 42,000,000 feet.  On their way to a Riyahd.  Filled with people.  With two dozen more crew members and 5 pilots.  Really?

Did you know that same A-380's wings can bend more than 6 feet up or down before they come unglued?  I do.  

I should insert about here than I am terribly acrophobic.  That means I'm afraid of heights.  I actually wish I wasn't so tall.  5' 4" would have been just fine with me.  I need somebody to climb a stepladder to change light bulbs.  I once crawled on my hands and knees to the edge of the Grand Canyon for a peak over the side.  Just to say I'd done so.  Even though I didn't want to do so.

I actually studied the subject so intently at one time I could tell you how many rivets there were in a 707.  And a 727, and 737 and 747.  and L-1011 and DC-10.  Doing my own due diligence to make sure they're airworthy, doncha' know.

So flying is antithetical.  It goes against reason.  And common sense.  Why would anyone step into an airplane and hand their lives over to somebody they've never met?  I mean, did that guy or gal (or other) get laid last night?  Did he just get handed his divorce papers?  Was his Corvette just stolen?  We all know about 3% of the population is batshit crazy, is the pilot among that 3%?  How do I know for sure that he's in shape to fly my butt around the globe?

Remember that pilot who intentionally flew into a mountain in Switzerland a few years back?  Yeah, I remember that.  Here's the statistics:  There are about 1,200,000 commercial flights each year.  With a major accident, meaning loss of life, occurring about a dozen times.  Those odds against it being you is about 0.0015%  Or, you're three times more likely to be struck by lighting.

But you see, I don't care!  They wiggle, they wobble, they jump up and down, unannounced!  They shake, they roll, they sway back and forth!  And the pilot will come on the comm and say, "Slight clear-air turbulence there, folks!  Nothing to worry about."  

Easy for him to say!  He likes this stuff!  

Nope, flying used to be great.  No longer.  Now you have to sit for hours next to some hippie with a comfort chicken on his lap.  Or some sweaty 300 pounder who hogs the armrest.  Or one of those nervous nellies who wants to talk for the whole flight.

BTW, I discovered a way to choke off all conversation.  When your seatmate asked you what you do for a living, simply say:  "I'm a retired shepperd."  Or perhaps, "I majored in animal husbandry until they caught me at it."  Trust me, no more questions.  

When I was flying on a daily basis the plane was half full.  And the half who filled it were all wearing suits and carrying briefcases.  Now the planes are elevated versions of Greyhound Buses.  Packed from stem to stern with angry souls in seats half the size of those we enjoyed way back when.

Yes, it was expensive before the Gubmint stuck its nose into the mix.  Back when we faced fixed, non-competitive fares.  But the stewardesses (what they called themselves) were all 25 and lovely, the planes were all new and clean, and we felt like we were part of a club.  Now?  

Cattle. 

So I swore off.  No more flying commercial.  You have to go through screening, get felt-up by some 400 pound TSA agent, take off your shoes and put them on again, then fight for a seat slightly smaller than your seat.  

And then pray you arrive.  And if so, with your luggage.  I decided if I can't get there by train or by car, I don't need to go.  Just think:  a nice, leisurely drive to Mama's house.  No matter if it's 500 miles away.  You'll enjoy both the scenery and the freedom from being mistreated.  From being nudged, and bumped, and having your personal space violated.  You'll be in charge.  You can stop and stretch your legs, get a burger and take a pee.  Whether the seat belt sign's on or not.  And trust me, you'll see that pothole coming, so the bump won't be a surprise.  

I've been everywhere anyway, so it really won't matter.  

BTW, have you noticed there's been about a dozen airplane accidents in the past week or so?  Yeah, me too... 

"Life"

I think I've got this whole "Life" thing figured out.

You're born either by a Grand Plan or by a complete accident.  Depending upon with whom you speak.  

To either a poor or a rich family, living in 95% of the world not named "America," or even in America itself.

And then you're free to grow up or not, get educated or not, work 'til you drop or laize away, abide by the rules or treat them with disdain.  And then grow old and die, whether rich or not.  Whether you're young or old.  You're going to die.  

Period.

Don't you find it interesting that the uber-rich among us spend a lifetime accumulating "stuff," only to see it taken away with their last breath.  Gigondo yachts.  And private jets.  And multi-million dollar palatial mansions.  Several of them.  And watches made by people whose name you can't pronounce.  

And then the time comes when those pricey baubles will be owned by someone else.  Because the previous owners had learned they only got to use those things until they died.  At which point they'll be getting a box in the ground.  And a fast trip to their just reward.  Whatever their reward might be.

And then it will be somebody elses turn to use those mansions and watches and yachts and expensive items.   

And on that topic, in fact, I believe "Life" is a long-form Final Exam.  And we won't know whether we passed until we die.

If you're religious, you expect an afterlife.  And if you aren't, you don't.  As for me, I plan on passing that Exam, and then having an eternity worth of laughs hanging out with dead Jewish comedians.  Who still believe that we're in Year 5750, or something.  Maybe they're right.  Maybe they're wrong.  But we're all going to die.  And then find out what's on the other side of that veil.

I'm also going to try and find out why a flock of hunter/gatherers and subsistence survivalists all chose, simulfriggentaneously, to stop hunting and gathering and start building gigondo megalithic stone edifices.  On every continent.  At approximately the same time.  From about 12,000 bce to 6,000 bce they started building pyramids.  And stone temples.  Lots of them.  Egypt has 103 discovered, so far.  Sudan has 300.  And Peru.  One was just discovered in Indonesia that's 3 x bigger than the Great Pyramid of Giza.  There are more pyramids in Central America than in Egypt. 

There are  2,600,000 stone blocks, each weighing 5 tons, in the Great Pyramid.  Stacked up to 481 feet high.  I want to know how they did that.  SINCE WE CAN'T DO IT TODAY!

Do you think those, ummm, UFO aliens built those pyramids?  Or at least taught the ancient folks how to build them?  Well, I'm gonna' find out.  I'll get back to you if I can.  I've been watching Ghost Adventures on the Discovery channel so I know it's possible.

In the meantime, it's like being in the Celestial DMV.  You've checked in, shown them your information, and been told to take a seat.  "Just watch the TV screen for your name, sir," we've been told.  And so we are.  

It used to be that "those who die with the most toys, wins."  I think I've disabused us all of that notion.  Now it's "he who dies with the least pain" is the goal...  

Those "Other" Aliens...

There was this guy named Kenneth Arnold.  He's sort of famous.  You can read all about him in any book about UFO's.  For he's the guy most often credited with kicking off the Nationwide awareness of UFO's after WW2.  

Kenneth Arnold was working as a cartographer for the Army Air Force back on June 24, 1947 in and around Mount Ranier in Washington State.  While flying in his Piper Cub one day he saw 9 disc-shaped objects flitting across the sky in a "V" formation.  As he knew the distance between the two mountain peaks in the area, he was able to compute their speed at well over 1,600 mph.  Three times faster then a P-51 Mustang, at 430 mph our fastest fighter at the time.  That got people's attention.

The authorities he reported this to later recomputed their speed to be some 3,600 mph.  

He was later interviewed and said they looked just like "saucers skipping across the sky."  The "saucer" thing stuck, and we still use it until today.

I'm reporting on all this as Kenny was married to my 1st cousin.  He married my Mom's sister's daughter Carole.  He went on to law school and got rich.  He even built his own airplane in his Kansas City, Missouri basement.*

Anyway, probably because of Kenny, and the stories he used to tell me, I've been a student of the subject of UFO's and extraterrestrials and aliens and Area 51 and stuff like that my whole life.  And I have an opinion or two about the subject.  

First, I don't believe they flit back and forth from the Crab Nebula or somewhere like it to visit Earth.  I believe most of them are already here, they've been here for eons, they're seen all over the place every day, and they plan to stay. 

They most likely have bases in Antarctica and on the other side of Catalina and in volcanoes and all sorts of hidden places.  And maybe on every continent, also.  I think they've been here for thousands of years, BTW.  Perhaps tens, or maybe even hundreds of thousands of years.  Zecharia Sitchen's book, "The Twelfth Planet" is a good read if you're up for more on the subject.  

I think we're their science project.  Their "zoo."  They probably bring tourists from their planet to visit us via the "Einstein-Rosen Bridge."  That's a fancy way of saying "wormhole."  Like we visit Zimbabwe on a camera safari.  

BTW, on the subject, I saw a cute cartoon the other day.  It said, "I'll bet UFO's roll up their windows as they pass Earth."

Our Gubmint began lying to us with Roswell.  They didn't know what to say after they'd already said they'd found a crashed UFO.  So they circled the wagons and said the wrong thing.  They lied and said it was a "weather balloon."  And being naiive at the time, our citizens were dumb enough to believe it.  And they've been saying it ever since.  

They only stopped when they got cornered by a Congressional order and had to fess up.  They were forced to come clean about what they knew.  And what they know is that UFO's are real.  They've been real, and they're still real.  There are "Little Green Men" flitting around out airspaces, doing pretty much any dayummm thing they wish.  And some of us are scared about it.  The lily-livered weenies!

Oh yeah, they're really gray.

I don't think we have anything to worry about.  If they intended to do us harm they would've already done so.  Or they may do so in the future. And there's nothing we can do or say about it.  

In fact, I'm of the belief we enterered into an agreement with them back in the 1950's.  Kenny was still in touch with those in power at the time, and they told him it was between the "Grays" and President Dwight Eisenhower.  He actually went "dark" for almost 24 hours on January 24, 1953.  Google it if you need proof.  He was on a golfing vacation in Palm Springs and somehow disappeared.  For an entire day.  The Press went nuts trying to find him.  They found him the next morning in Las Vegas.  His press representative said he'd had a "toothache" and went to a dentist in Las Vegas.  Even though there are bunches of fine dentists in Palm Springs.  Except there are no dental records to prove such a visit.

Eisenhower's grandaughter has recently confirmed that he met with extraterrestrial aliens that day in a hanger at Edwards Air Force Base.  They forged a treaty, she said.  That's why our fighters don't try and shoot them down.  Assuming that they could. 

The deal was simple, as Kenny understood it: we got their technology, they got to kidnap some of us every now and again and run diagnostic tests.  And perform surgery on a few thousand of our cattle.  And taunt our fighters.  Don't be mad.  We were playing the game with a pair of deuces against their Royal Flush.  And apparently they showed Ike their cards.  And he wisely folded.

But I'm betting he'd ask us to remember this:  We went from that P-51 in 1947 to men on the moon in 1969.  That should tell you all you need to know.  

The video from our F-18's back in 2008 proved that they can not only go from 80,000 feet to a foot above the ocean waves in less than a second.  And that they can also travel at more than 30,000 mph, then stop on a dime.  Which would generate "G" forces enough to turn one of us humans into jelly.  Simply stated, it wasn't "us."  

Asking for mercy shouldn't be out of the question.

In fact, there's a theory that they are us, just from the future.  Coming back to take a look, like we look would for Neanderthals.  Like I said earlier, think camera safari...

So what's easier?  Pretending that they aren't real and it doesn't happen, or simply coming clean and telling the us the truth?  Transparency.  Even though the Constitution guarantees it, the Gubmint has been doing their best to avoid it.  It can no longer do so.  Their gargantuan ego has prevented our "Military/Industrial Complex" from admitting it can't compete.  After all, what are they going to say and not indict themselves as a bunch of paunchy, feckless weenies?  Spending our tax dollars by the bushel basket to protect us from...them?  Gales of laughter...  

So I say chill.  Lose the anxiety.  I'm guessing when they believe we're suitably advanced enough to welcome their visit, they'll land on the White House lawn.  Remember that old saying, "Take me to your leader?"  Well, now that we'll have one, in just a couple of weeks, maybe that day will come sooner, rather than later.

*    BTW, Kenny learned his plane was too big to remove from his basement.  I'm thinking he should have figured that out sooner.  He had to take it apart again to get it outside.  Proving once again you can be really smart about some thingsa, and yet be dumber than a stump about others...