xxmikexx

I don't really have a need for a porn stage name -- a lot of people already refer to me as that f-word-ing Mike. :D However, I'll play along ... I get "Kitten LeRoy", which has a nice ring to it. Trouble is, I'd have to become a trans ... No, let's not go there. My article promised that my writings would be suitable for my nine year old granddaughter. So instead I'll simply cite a song title, Aerosmith's "Dude Looks Like A Lady". xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx (Can we say these things on TV? :))

I own the Dreamfleet 727 by Paul Golding. However, I rarely fly it ... What I fly instead is the fsOC (FS Open Components) 727-200 for FS2004, which I maintain. It's the Eric Cantu airframe with panel by Richard Probst and FDE by Charles Fox. Alejandro Hurtado has done several liveries for this aircraft, and there are 87 others available in the FlightSim.com file library. I haven't touched the airframe and I don't do paintjobs. However, I'm a C/C++/asm technical Windows programmer and have been maintaining Rich Probst's stunning panel, a true labor of love. I've also been tweaking the Charles Fox FDE for my own purposes which I'll explain later in this thread if you're interested. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx All of this is actually going somewhere ... The fsOC project is in suspended animation at the moment. However, I would like to get the aircraft released to the public via the FlightSim.com file library, but I don't want to do this till people other than me have flown it extensively so we can get the bugs shaken out of it. If you're interested in getting your hands on a beta copy, let me know and I'll tell you how to pull it down from the fsOC ftp site. Trust me, it's a really nice aircraft. The developers did a wonderful job, I've simply fixed some bugs (including some important ones) and made some tweaks.

Hi Sherm, Thanks for the kind words. Yes, I have more free time than you do. In fact, I'm very fortunate that my life can be as it is -- completely lacking in structure and direction. Which reminds me of a saying from the 70s, parodying the Civil Defense warning system tests of the time ... This life is a test. It is only a test. If this were an actual life you would have been given instructions on where to go and what to do. :) xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Writing is what I do for relaxation, Sherm, a break from heavy duty technical programming. Sometimes the breaks are only a couple of hours long. Sometimes they're a month long, as this one is turning out to be. (I'm working on AirBoss but only for a couple of hours each day.) However, what starts out as a short piece often goes on autopilot, taking over my life for a while till it lets me go. (And as you have learned, brevity is not my strong suit. :D) Writers of fiction and screenplays often report a similar phenomenon. They don't write the material, they transcribe it, and they're always wondering what new characters they're going to meet, what is going to happen to the characters, and what the characters are going to do as a result. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx It's interesting to have known readers. Now it's you as well as skylab.

Odd that you mention the QF-86 drone. What I wrote above is actually a subset of an "aircraft review" I did of the F-86 for Aviator Magazine. You can download the issue in question here ... http://www.theaviatormag.com/vol2/i3/v2i3.html The article begins on page 14 (Adobe Reader page 14.) It's lavishly illustrated with photos provided by Duncan Curtis, an F-86 history expert. The QF-86 is discussed toward the end of the piece.

Deadstick landing ... Did you know that John Travolta once had to deadstick a Gulfstream bizjet into DCA? Total electrical failure.

I too like being busy. The aircraft I fly most is a vintage 727 with steam gauges. I only use the altitude hold feature of the autopilot, and that only rarely. Like you I prefer hand flying so my next question is, How's the handling? Heavy on the controls?

I did a little research. There was at least one dive to the Edmund Fitzgeral twenty years ago by some people who were using early versions of what is apparently called "technical diving" gear specifically designed for extreme SCUBA depths. Here's a link to a writeup of that incident ... http://www-catalog.cpl.org/CLENIX/ACH-6444 I came across other links that hinted at additional dives but found nothing explicit. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Have you seen the movie "The Abyss"? What do you think about the realism of deep diving equipment of that kind of design? Frankly, it sounds plausible to me, though maybe not for the kind of depths they were showing in the movie.

I’m not mad about saffron Even on a chicken curr-y. I’m not mad about saffron. It’s yellow and it goes right through me. Yet I like yellow jello. (That’s right.) Yes, I like yellow jello. (That’s right.) I like yellow jello. (That's right.) Bop doit doit bop Doit bop bop bop We lick pickled bananas. They’re the bee’s knees to me. We lick pickled bananas. You know, they grow on green pickle trees Yet they are always yellow. (That’s right.) When fresh they're always yellow. (That’s right.) And you’re a lucky fellow (That's right.) When rotten, not in jello. (fade) Because black isn't yellow. (faint) You'd really hate the smell-o. (fainter) 'Twould be a crime to sell-o. (very faint) . . . (For heaven's sake, stop me before I compose again. :D)

People dive on that wreck. Isn't there a law now forbidding people from going inside the hull?

Somehow I never got into go-carts, and today the expense to be competetive would be horrendous, as you pointed out. But I would say that if you were able to win go-cart races in the old days then yes indeedly-doo you are a race car driver. From my never-done-it viewpoint go-carts are very much like Forumula 1, just a lot slower, with sophisticated suspensions, and with way way way less torque. So it's really among the most challenging kind of driving because it's got all the elements of the McCoy, and the issues are the same as in Formula 1, to wit ... ... To wit, finding the line, driving the machine to the limit of traction, doing this the same way every lap, knowing how to get through traffic, and knowing how to steer through multi-car collisions. I regret that I never tried it. If we ever get some free spending money I will because I'd really like to see what I can do, even at my age. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx That was Mario Andretti's strength. He rarely finished because he never met an engine he couldn't wreck on the track, but my goodness could he pick his way through multi-car wrecks. Nice guy, too. Just as he was beginning to make a name for himself I started going to super modified races to see what all the noise (Andretti) was about. I was then privileged to watch his first championship car race, and after the race I held back till he had signed all the autographs, and I had a nice discussion with him about his brand new Lola. I hadn't intended to keep him for more than a minute -- I just wanted to say hello, really -- but he was happy to talk and I think it was a good ten minutes before he needed to walk away to decompress, clean up and get some much needed rest. (It had been a hundred mile race on a 2.5 mile track, as I recall.)

As I recall, Volvo was the first seller of cars in America to offer seat belts as a factory option. We bought a 63-and-a-half Mustang when it came out. I think that Corvettes came with seat belts by then but I think the Mustang came next. You will know better than I. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx I used to get stopped all the time because I'd had the car painted bright yellow with wide black racing stripes, mine being the first car I'd ever seen painted like that. So the cops used to pull me over all the time and look for equipment violations. (Or warrants? Did they do warrants checks back then? I don't recall.) Anyway, I felt I had earned the stripes out at Vineland Raceway (South Jersey, oval track racing on a closed sub-course marked by cones, against other sedans, some of them full race) and at the brand new Englishtown Speedway (Central Jersey Pine Barrens), of which I was a "plank owner" so to speak. (J-Stock, and I pulled consistent seconds and thirds with zero modifications versus cars that had a lot of expensive stuff hung on them, because I knew how to pull hole shots.) xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx I only ran three times at Vineland but I spent almost the whole of Englishtown's first season out at the track. My race preparations consisted of tightening the hydraulic lifters about a half turn to stave off floating, and of wrapping the fuel line in aluminum foil, and of removing my air filter. That was about it. I never expected to win, I just wanted third place for sure, second place hopefully, and to keep gradually bettering my times on average. Oh yes, the car wasn't completely stock. I had a Hurst racing shifter, a tach, and glass packs. But everybody had that stuff. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx So the driver is just as important as the equipment, and I said so through my yellowjacket paint scheme, which I believe was the inspiration for many others. :D At Vineland, I showed 'em that even an understeering Mustang could beat an oversteering Corvair (remember those?), if you know how to break the back end loose, after which you can steer with throttle just like the actual racing machines. So the Vineland races usually consisted of several Corvairs, a Jag or two, sometimes a Corvette. On days when the Corvette wasn't running I cleaned everybody's clocks because I was much more willing to take the car to the edge than anybody else was -- and I learned where the edge was by exceeding it in practice. (So what if the car spins out? You just regain steering control wait for the car to complete a 360, steer out of the spin, and off you go again with minimal loss of time.) P.S. ... Can you say "car crazy"? I had never owned a car till I was 20 -- never needed one. But I researched affordable cars, we bought the Mustang, and I was hooked. I did all my own lightweight maintenance, and I installed a set of custom gauges all by myself, and I installed the shifter all by myself. In fact, I got so interested that I bought the Mustang service manual, and while mine was stick shift, I was fascinated to learn how automatic transmissions worked. (Manual transmissions are interesting tool)

It brings tears to my eyes too. Lightfoot penned perhaps the two most powerful lyrics lines I have ever heard ... Does anyone know where the love of God goes When the waves turn the minutes to hours. How did you come to be an investor? Was it like an oil and gas partnership?

Gordon Lightfoot's "Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" is one of my favorite recordings. You say you owned a piece of the ship. You were an investor?

Beautiful screenshots. How's the panel?

I completely forgot ... While I was in high school in Manhattan, the first entry in the White Pages was "A Answering Service" , and the last one was "Zzyzzy Zdamp Zdudios". :D (Truth.)

Did you get seasick? (Serious question.)

Now you probably think I’m digressing again but really, folks, I’m not. The court date was set for six weeks later. “Can’t I pay by mail?" No, because it’s Wheat Ridge. "I understand that, but WHY won’t Wheat Ridge let people pay by mail?” Because. So I went to court on the appointed day, arriving an hour early because ... well … when faced with the majesty of the law, one should arrive early just in case. For that same reason I wore a jacket and tie. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Another aside: I was probably the only person in the entire municipal bulding with a tie. This is suburban Denver, folks. I know a billionaire (truth) (well, maybe he's just your garden variety gazillionaire) who, when he comes to town, wears a T shirt and a fanny pack. You would never guess that he's richer than ... well ... Let's just say that this guy likes to offer million dollar no-strings-attached grants to people and projects that he has stumbled across and likes. (Truth.) But then he's from <city in Canada>, and a software development nerd to boot. What else would you expect from a beany-wearing propellerhead from north of the border? (But he approaches his beneficiaries and not the other way 'round. Nobody comes to him first because a) he maintains a low profile so that b) hardly anybody knows he exists, and anyway c) he doesn't take requests.) ... Ahem ... xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx A bailiff approached me after I had sat down in the waiting room. “Are you Mister McCarthy?” he asked. Yes. “Officer Ramirez couldn’t reach your agent. So you’re going to have to produce the proof of insurance in Judge Cochran’s courtroom.” This was a real problem because, folks, I had well and truly lost the paperwork, and Bill Alexander wasn’t returning my calls either, much less those of the winsome Officer Ramirez. And as if that wasn’t enough ... “Judge Cocharan won’t even call your case without the paperwork. Instead you’ll be cited for contempt of court.” “Really.” I said. “If that happens I’ll appeal, all the way up to the U.S. Supreme Court if necessary. There’s nothing in the law that says I have to provide proof of insurance in order to be tried for failing to have proof of insurance, or for any other traffic offense.” “Fine” said the bailiff. “That’s your right as a citizen. But it will save you a lot of trouble if you can get those papers right now. The judge will allow them to be faxed in but they’ll have to come from your agent or your insurance company.” xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx I’ll spare you the details of my agony. No I won’t. Thanks to my cell phone I was finally able to establish that Bill Alexander not only didn’t have any suitable paperwork regarding my auto insurance, he had exited the automobile insurance business altogether to concentrate on commercial fire/theft. Still, after much begging and pleading, he got on the horn with Hartford, who faxed the papers to Bill, who faxed them to Cochran’s clerk. So I was allowed to face the judge after all. Having been admitted to the courtroom, I joined about twenty other people, all waiting to be tried by Cochran, a magistrate, Wheat Ridge having passed a municipal ordinance like the one in Denver depriving citizens of their right to a jury trial in traffic court. (Truth.) Cochran swept in and got right to work. “Everybody here is going to pay a fine” he said. “I mean only if you’re convicted, of course. The minimum fine is ninety dollars. There is no maximum fine. Everything depends on the severity of the accident, and on your driving record.” Eventually my case was called. I told the judge that I wanted to accept whatever plea bargain the city attorney was offering, since everybody else had been offered deals. “Not so fast” he said. “I haven’t seen your driving record because my clerk couldn’t find it. Now, where is it? Oh yes, here it is.” He read the record. “I don’t believe this” he said. “Except for the Vehicle Turning Left you don’t have anything on your record. It’s completely clean. You must be a really good driver.” “Thank you, Your Honor, I am a good driver. In fact, this particular intersection is an accident waiting to happen, and it happened. I was actually the victim of the guy who was speeding.” “Tough” the judge said. “There’s no excuse for a Vehicle Turning Left. Now ... Given everything I've just said, and knowing what might happen, do you want the deal or not?” “May I learn the fine before pleading?” “No, you may not.” So I pled guilty without really even understanding what the charge had been reduced to, and without knowing what the fine would be. Whereupon the judge informed me that it would be a one-point violation, that mine would be the minimum fine, and that had the city counsel not tied his hands he wouldn’t have fined me even that much. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx And that’s how you write about the White Pages, my fellow authors. I didn't make this stuff up. If I had you would have sensed it. Only real life can result in stories like these. And so, Dear Readers, you might be bored to tears right now but trust me, Tom Clancy could not have done as well as I just did here. He is paid to lie and he knows no other way. I don't invent things unless its parody song lyrics -- I don't know how. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx P.S. ... After sentencing I told the judge in no uncertain terms that I thought the intersection in question needed a traffic light, because there was a primary school on the corner, and my grandson's junior high was further up the street. (I had come to take him home.) In fact, I told the judge that if the city didn't do anything about that intersection it was only a matter of time till somebody got killed, quite possibly a little kid. "Look" he said. "If you really feel that way you should get in touch with the office of the Traffic Engineer. They will definitely take your call." And they did. "Thanks for calling" they said. "We've been watching this intersection for years, pleading with the city council for a light. They keep saying no and we keep coming back with current traffic surveys showing that they need to say yes. So now we can add your call to the pile of complaints that we'll submit next time." xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx And that's Wheat Ridge, folks. A nice place to work but I wouldn't want to live there. In fact, from an earlier computer software consulting job I got to know their taxation manager, a woman named Jacque Wedding. (Pronounced like "Jackie".) In typical Wheat Ridge fashion she enforced the collection of Girl Scout cookie sales taxes.

Earlier today I asserted that anybody can write well enough to make any subject interesting simply by coming at it from an angle that would interest the author himself, his enthusiasm in turn affecting the rest of us. Here’s the promised example, me rising to the challenge of making the Telephone Book interesting … xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx The telephone book known as the “White Pages” has many uses. For example, if I wanted to generate a name for a character in a novel I might open the phone book at random, poke my finger at an entry and come up with a first name, in this case “Chet” (truth). By the same procedure I might come up with a last name of “Webster” and, finally, a middle initial of “O.” And there we have him, folks - - Chester O. Webster, a/k/a “Chet”. What do we know about the mythical Chet? Well, for one thing we know he lives in Wheat Ridge, a suburb of Denver. How do we know this? Because the cover of the (local) book says Lakewood, Golden, Wheat Ridge, but he doesn’t strike me as a resident of Lakewood (where my wife and I live) or Golden (where my daughter and her family live). No, Chet Webster lives in Wheat Ridge, Colorado, a pleasant looking community that has some unpleasant surprises in store for non-residents, see later in this post. But for the moment let’s look at something other than using the White Pages as a name generator for Great American Novels ... xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Believe it or not the White Pages, or indeed any thick edition of any phone book, is often used by people who want to investigate or demonstrate the stopping power of a handgun or rifle. As when Bill Whoever fired a Winchester 30-30 into the Manhattan phone book in the confines of his bedroom in his parents’ apartment in the same Queens apartment building where I and my parents lived. (Truth. And I say “Whoever” because that’s the way I like to represent a name that my failing memory refuses to retrieve.) My ears were in agony even though I had pressed the flaps closed with my index fingertips. Bill and I were 15 at the time and he had -- are you ready for this? -- a carry permit for firearms and ammunition valid anywhere within the five boroughs of NYC. (Truth.) You see, Bill shot competitively, or at least that’s what the carry permit said. So it would make perfect sense for him to be walking around one of the most crime-ridden cities in the USA, carrying a Winchester Model 95 in a case. Aw c’mon, Bill. How does a 15 year old kid living in Forest Hills get to be a championship shooter? I mean, I can see a kid from 110-45 Queens Boulevard maybe being a tennis star, but a crack pistol shot? And anyway, who ever heard of competition shooting matches on Staten Island using deer rifles? It simply doesn’t happen, right? So how’d you get the permit, Bill? xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx (I mentioned the possibility of Bill's being a tennis star because he and I, along with several other friends, used to play stickball in a vacant lot right next to the world famous Forest Hills Tennis Stadium. We never had to buy any balls, they were hit out of the stadium to us with sufficient frequency that all of us had large supplies of them. We would defuzz them on the cooking rings of gas stoves, which most apartments had back then. I was a pitcher, and while hardball did and does terrify me, I was a very good and very aggressive stickball player. I had a sidearm slider/sinker pitch that was difficult to hit, and a knuckler that would travel to up close to the batter and then drop like the Space Shuttle on final. You see, defuzzed tennis balls offer a pitcher incredible control. But I digress, so let’s ask him again ...) xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Bill, is that permit real? Yes. Not forged? No. Will it stand inspection by members of New York’s Finest? Yes, it has done so a dozen times. Where’d you get it, Bill? From the office of the Chief of Police. They handle this stuff. Well, Bill, who do you know? I mean you must have some kind of pull, right? I only know my mother. Okay, Bill, I’ll come out and play. Who does your MOTHER know? Well, she knows Judge FamousName. She knows him because she’s his mistress, and he comes to visit a couple of times a week. One day I asked him if he could get me a carry permit and he said “Yes, of course. Have your mom call this guy <gave the name> and tell him I said to issue the permit, and to call me if he has any questions.” xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx And so it came to pass that Bill and I were sitting around in his bedroom that very interesting day. The conversation had somehow turned to guns, whereupon Bill said I have an idea. Would you like to see my 30-30? Well, sure. You mean you have an actual deer rifle right here in this room? Yes, it’s in the closet ... <Rummages around.> ... Here. Want to hold it? Well, yes. <Handles the rifle expertly.> It’s not loaded is it? No, but we’ll fix that. Give it over. <Feeds a single round in the chamber.> What are you going to do, Bill? You’re not going to shoot me are you? No, I’m going to shoot the Manhattan telephone book. Only the rifle is so powerful that the shot is probably going to go right through it. So let’s put the Manhattan Yellow Pages behind it. And some pillows behind that. And that’s what we did, folks. We got a bunch of pillows and lined them up at the head of his bed. Then we leaned the Yellow Pages against the frontmost pillow. Then the White Pages against that one. Now ... These are not your ordinary phone books. They are each six inches thick even though they cover only Manhattan. (Yes, everybody got the books for their own borough. I can’t recall whether people had to buy the Manhattan books as opposed to getting them for free, but everybody had them.) So between them the books provided a foot of heavy-duty stopping power, more impenetrable than an equivalent thickness of wood because of the many layers. I sat alongside the bed and held my fingers to my ears. Bill went to the foot of the bed, levered the action to cock the rifle, took aim, and fired ... ... And the round went all the way through the White Pages. And all the way through the Yellow Pages. And all the way through something like two pillows before stopping in a third, ruining all three of them. Isn’t your mom going to mind? No. And she didn’t. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx But let’s get back to Chet Arnold or whatever his name is. I promised to tell you about his hometown of Wheat Ridge, and so I shall. Two years ago I got my first traffic ticket in fifteen years, and I got it at the intersection of Something and 44 th by virtue of a badly planned hasty left turn out of a T, resulting in my tapping the side a truck that had been speeding through the top of the T from left to right. I had to wait around for the police to arrive, my bladder rapidly filling. It took them an hour. At one point the admittedly lovely Officer Ramirez said “Let me see your proof of insurance.” I couldn’t find the paperwork. “Look” I said to her. “Please just call the Bill Alexander agency. They’ll confirm that I have coverage.” She did but there was no answer. She then wrote me two citations, for Vehicle Turning Left and for Uninsured Motorist, promised to call the agency again later and then let me go, whereupon I ducked into the adjacent ... ... beauty salon, the only building immediately at hand, and asked to use the men’s room. (Just kidding, folks. There was no men’s room, only the one used by the women. They agreed simply because I told them what was inevitably going to happen to the salon floor if they didn’t agree.)

We're potentially getting into inner rhymes and repetition, always Good Things in songs. Here's what I mean ... Blah blah blah blah blah ock your ears. Blah blah blah blah blah ock your ears. Blah blah blah blah blah ock your ears. Blah blah blah blah blah ock your ears. Where ears could be Ears Steers Beers Leers Fears Smears Careers Tears etc etc etc and ock could be Rock (as you wanted) Sock (as you wanted) Block Hock Clock Stock Knock etc etc etc Just thinking aloud here. We've got all the time in the world to get it right. Does any of this suggest anything to you?

No, I'm not sure. A TV program from a few months back showed a Lightning on the ground and had an interview with the pilot, as I recall. Perhaps it's a distorted memory of the pilot saying that he had purchased it from the Australian Air Force. I just did a short search via Google but couldn't find anything recent so I'll consider this to be an Elvis Sighting.

sky (if I may get familiar :D), You and I will certainly cover the aviation stuff, but we've been there before. What I would really like to hear about today is your long trip on the containership. After all, once you had counted the containers a few times, what was there to do other than to take your beloved sunset pictures? What was the port of origin? The destination? Were you aboard when they loaded? Unloaded? Did you make any intermediate stops? Did they let you take the helm? Did you encounter any storms? Did you get to know any of the crew really well? (What were their life stories like?) Did you get down to the engine room? Where was the ship registered? Did the crew speak English? Etc etc etc. If you provide some answers we'll branch the conversation out from there.

I think that the Aussie Air Force operated Lightnings until very recently.

FOJ, it might work if all four lines were to end with "ears". Go for it and let's see what happens. :) And if it doesn't work we'll try something else. Collaboration! If Lennon and McCartney were able to do it, we can too. :D (Where is Weird Al when we need him?)

Anybody who calls himself MaxLegroom has my kind of sense of humor. (Of course maybe you meant M axLe Groom, or even Max LeGroom (Flemish) in which case I can't help you.) Now ... There should never be any shortage of interesting things to write about as long as you deal with things that interest YOU, as you did above. For example, I could get myself interested in writing about the white pages telephone book and get people to go with the flow of my enthusiasm. In fact, I think I’ll blog about that very subject tonight. (Serous artists must take risks, after all. :D) I remember Noble Air though at that time I had no interest in virtual airlines. Maybe you’ll be kind enough to tell the rest of us what Noble was like and why you enjoyed belong to it. Are there other VAs today that you’re interested in? Do you fly online these days? Inquiring minds want to know, or at least I do. (… … Hm-m-m-m-m. In the immortal words of Gilda Radner, “Never mind.” You answered my questions later on, at least some of them.) Yes, I’ll be happy to beta test your Lockheed SST when you get to it. In the meantime you have found a fellow panel freak (me) and a fellow fan of Dave Maltby’s work. Are you familiar with Paul Golding’s stuff? Lonny Payne? Eric Ernst? Lou Betti? xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Okay ... The first time I flew supersonic in FS was in the the seminal Graham Waterfield SR-71. Being a lazy guy I took off from Denver and turned to a dead reckoning heading of 215, my goal being to see how close I would come to LAX. Well, I accelerated to Mach 3+? and came in somewhere around 40? miles north (Point Mugu?), not bad. However ... I figured I'd better start my slowdown and descent somewhere around Las Vegas, which I was able to identify from the air, Vegas being about 250 miles from Los Angeles, which I knew from various road trips. Trouble was, 250 miles wasn't enough. By the time I got the aircraft slowed down for descent I was deity-knows-where, and when I crossed the coastline I was still at perhaps 15,000 feet and 500 knots. Still, it was fun. I did a U-turn out over the ocean and I think it only took me 80 miles offshore. :D But what kinds of aids to navigation will you include in the SST?

Instead of "puddle jumper" I should have said "island hopping". Obviously there must have been a long leg before that began. And by "your DC-6" I should have said "DC-6 such as you had flown". Yes, it was a charter. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Xavier Cugat ... I didn't know he was from PR, thanks for that. Cugat might have been played on her favorite station, I simply don't recall. And anyway it was really Afro-Cuban and Brazilian that she and I liked. So Sergio Mendez would have been more up our alley, except that I don't remember "Sergio Mendez and Brazil 55" :D. There used to be a Sunday morning program of Brazilian music out here on one of the NPR stations (we have two). These days we instead get unknown Mariachi, Salsa and Tejano, much of it produced locally and all of it very good. During the period when my wife and I were based in NYC, one of the regular NPR programs showcased Egyptian pop music. Just as 4/4 is our national rhythm, so do they have one, theirs in 8/4... Kon (rest) Kon Ko (rest) KonKonKonKonKon Ko (rest) Gotta love it. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Thanks for that Mae West line. Another was "Is that a rod <gun> in your pocket? Or are you just glad to see me?" I vividly remember her being on the Ed Sullivan show when she was in her late 70s. She looked amazingly good. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Boarding school was from age 10 to age 13.5. I can't really say what grades that consisted of because it was a progressive school -- no formal education to speak of. When I got to high school I was completely at sea at first because I had forgotten how to study and had never really been challenged before. That first term in prep school was truly terrifying for me. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx