Monthly Archives: September 2007

Let New Orleans die

It was a dump and a tourist trap to begin with. Now, despite a large drop in population since Hurricane Katrina, people still there are killing each other at a forty percent greater rate than they did before. So convenient to blame racism, the feds, Bush the Younger, etc. But local and state corruption prevented adequate flood protection in the first place, and an adequate response after nature sent the storm. The feds have spent $127 billion of our money on the Gulf Region. It’s time to let the alligators have sin city.

Shaky flyer

An OC-504-68 colleague recent sent to our email group this Sports Illustrated piece about flying in the backseat of the Navy’s retired F-14 Tomcat fighter bomber. It reminded me of my own, less than macho encounter with the Air Force’s retired F-4 Phantom fighter bomber.

I flew backseat in the Phantom (which I had called in for air support a time or two in Vietnam) in 1980, as part of a series of newspaper reports on the Texas guard. I was very lucky to have an old hillbilly, a regular Air Force lieutenant colonel from West Virginia, as my pilot in the front-seat. He was impressed that I had been in the infantry, for whom he had flown close air support. But he probably shouldn’t have been impressed. Take-off was okay, even exciting. But I soon found that my body couldn’t stand the 2-3 Gs of the normal turns, as we flew out of the traffic pattern at Kelly Air Force Base in San Antonio.

We were headed to a bombing range in South Texas for some practice bombing runs. The thought of that–which included a 4-5 G rapid climb called a "pop-up," the top of which added an inverted roll before a swoop back down to see if the bomb had hit the big target–added to the sweat that was pouring down my back and chest and the panic in my brain each time we jinked a little, to the right or left, at 400 mph.

To shorten an excruciating story, the LTC graciously agreed to skip the bombing run and take me back to Kelly. He only–jokingly I think–asked me promise not to write anything bad about him. I swore. Anything to get back on the ground. I didn’t puke, but only by a supreme effort. Just the memory of that day still makes me nauseated. When we landed and the crew chief had climbed up to unhook me so I could get out, he surpressed a grin while assuring me that even pilots hated riding in the claustrophobic back seat.

Sex offender locator

I was pleased to see there are no registered sex offenders living within twenty blocks of the rancho. And now that I’ve seen the pictures of some of the ones beyond that point–all sexual abusers of children–I’ll know who to watch for. Try Vision 20/20’s system for yourself. Just enter your street, city, state and zipcode at the first link. The system is in beta. May not be the last word, of course.

Via Techcrunch.com