Wow. It occurs to me that a lot of shit has happened to me, and I have been remiss to post it here. I was going to go back and post it in the proper place, but LtL told me that that would be stupid, and I should just post it here as a new post and be done with it.

Ok, so here goes:

It all started back in August *screen ripples*

From August 23 – September 4, I was in the city of Denver, the Mile High City, in the state of Colorado, The Centennial State. From August 22 – 24, NASA had an exhibit, the Vision for Space Exploration Experience at the Rocky Mountain Balloon Festival in Chatfield State Park. I was invited to staff the exhibit, and as my boss was in a particularly good mood when I asked if I could go (oh, and as another office paid for my travel), I got to go out to Denver. What I wasn’t told, however, was that I had to be at the exhibit ass-early everyday. I had to be there at 6:30 in the morning. This wouldn’t be too bad, but some brainiac decided that it would be best if we stayed on the other side of town.

We stayed at the Embassy Suites, which was a great hotel. They had just finished renovating it, and everything was fancy and clean and working. Each morning, they provide guests with complimentary issues of USA Today and breakfast. At least that is what I was told…I left the hotel each morning long before I had a chance to partake in such frivolous luxuries. I was, fortunately, able to participate in the Manager’s Happy Hour in the evening where the liquor flowed free (as did the mixer to water it down). Ne’ertheless, I still had to get up at the ridiculous time of 4:30, and what with being so far above sea level, it was bone-chillingly cold at the crack of dawn. This would have been OK had I thought to ask about the temps—instead, I only packed summer attire. Likewise, I failed to recognize that a mile above the ocean the mosquitoes would be even fiercer. They have vampire skeeters there, and I was bitten up like a mofo!

The Rocky Mountain Balloon Festival was pretty cool. The closest I’d ever been to a hot air balloon before that was the “hot air balloon” my mom made for me to “ride” in when I played the Wizard in The Wizard of Oz in first grade. That was a laundry basket that she had cut the bottom out of and attached suspenders (à la the cartoons where the dude is naked and wearing a barrel). She also attached balloons on strings to simulate the sandbags, and somehow (my memory is foggy this many years removed) she hitched an oversized umbrella to make the balloon. (My mother is much more creative and resourceful than she has ever given herself credit for.) So, imagine my surprise when I learned a) they don’t use sandbags, b) balloons are really fucking big, and c) the baskets don’t have holes in the bottom!

Of course I wanted to go in one. I had just come off the rush of hang gliding (read all about it here: What I did on Saturday), and I wanted to tick off another thing on my Things to Do Before I Die list. I had no idea how to do this. Did one just walk up and ask? Did I have to pay? Was there any chance at all? I mean, what’s the insurance liability on that, and besides I was there to work. Well, the Hombre (our truck driver) has a special way with people, and he had befriended the organizer’s husband. Said husband had offered Hombre a ride, and his response was, “No Fucking Way!” He suggested that I go in his place, and the husband said that shouldn’t be a problem. I was a little concerned to ask my supervisor (and I use that term VERY loosely) if I could go, but it turned out that she had also scammed her way into a ride. Suddenly, the trip was worth the 4:30 wake-up calls and the killer skeeters…I was going to go for a ride in a balloon.

So, I get to the pilots’ tent around 6:00 the next morning, just like the dude told me to, and he looked around and randomly selected a pilot for me to go with. I have to be honest, I was a little apprehensive, not that he didn’t look like he was competent, but he didn’t look all that interested. Just as I finished shaking hands with the Captain who I would be trusting with my life, the morning announcements began, and as I didn’t want to lose site of the Captain, I stayed by his side. As the announcements were being made, they said something I didn’t understand. I must have made a face, for the Captain leaned in and explained. He seemed to have an air about him now that he was excited about having a ballooning virgin to take under his wing. After the announcements, we headed out to where his balloon was, and I ventured a few more questions. I had been mistaken. What I took for nonchalance now seemed more like lack of coffee or that he still needed to wake up a bit, for as we walked across the field, he became more animated and excited to fill me in on the goings-on of the ballooning world.

We finally arrived at his trailer, and I learned the name of the balloon that would be taking my virginity from me (it’s always nice to know her name as you never forget your first). I also met the rest of his crew. It never occurred to me that there would be so many people involved. Our balloon (yes, I said “Our”—I already was beginning to feel a sense of kinship) was a relatively small one, and the basket only held 3 people. But, there were still 6 crew. It took several people just to get the basket out of the trailer. Then you needed someone to drive the chase van, for you never really knew where you were going to land. In an ideal world, I learned, you land as close as possible to where you took off, but the winds don’t always cooperate, so you need to be prepared. Also, the envelope (balloon-speak for the balloon itself) weighs a freaking ton, so it, too, takes several people to haul it out of the truck or to stow it back in its place. The crew was busy pulling out the balloon and laying it out, situating the fan (another thing I learned…they “cold inflate” the “envelope” first with a large, high-powered fan before using hot air), and generally getting everything ready to go. We all had to sign a waver, of course, and I dutifully complied. I also took a ton of pictures of the balloon being inflated and getting ready to go.

Once the balloon was cold inflated, the person who assigns lift-offs walked around and did whatever needed to be done. Once we were ready, we could take off at our leisure. The Captain had just tipped the basket upright, and in so doing got the envelope to stand up, when the crew told me to jump in. Seconds before taking off, someone stuck a baseball cap on my head…it was a good thing. It gets freaking hot when the burner blows.

So, the question that is on everyone’s mind who has yet to go in a hot air balloon is, “how was it?” I’m not really sure how to answer it. Anticlimactic is the best I can do. Sure it was fun and I had a great time, but honestly, there was something missing. I think it didn’t have that adrenaline rush feel that you would think would come with being suspended in the air by nothing but a few ropes attached to a large balloon. By the time you get into the basket, the balloon is already filled with hot air and ready to go. As such, all that was needed once we were cleared for take-off was another blast. I was so busy looking around, I didn’t notice that the ground was receding. That, I think, was the problem: you don’t feel anything. It’s so incredibly gentle. Because balloons glide with the wind, you don’t feel the air. In fact, they say that you can light a match, and it won’t go out because there is no wind in the basket. The Captain’s wife (who was the third person in the basket with us) said that she loves to go flying because it is so calm, gentle, and serene. She is absolutely right. We were just sort of floating there in the air 1,000 feet above the ground, and at 7:30 in the morning, the world was calm, peaceful, and beautiful. Then, in an effort to keep that moment, the Captain switched the burners on.

Now, you need to understand that the Captain is firing the burners regularly. I didn’t realize that you have more control over the balloon than one might think. You use the wind and shifts in the wind to help you go up and stay aloft, but you also use the burners to get you up and down to find the wind currents. But you also use that to keep the air hot. Don’t forget that at 1,000 feet above the ground (and don’t forget the ground was already over 2,000 feet above sea level), the air gets cold, so it takes a lot of heat to keep the air inside the envelope hot enough to keep you in the air. So, as I said, the burner is going regularly. The upside is that you get to stay in the air. The downside is that it’s really f’ing loud, and you can’t really anything when they’re firing. Also, it’s crazy hot…and when you have a really bad sunburn on your face and arms…yea, not so pleasant.

We flew about a ½ hour to 45 minutes, and we climbed to about 1,200 feet but averaged about 1,000 feet.

We settled gently down in a field about 3ish miles from where we took off. We hung out in the basket waiting for the chase crew to come pick us up. Once they arrived, we laid the basket on its side, dropped the balloon, and started to pack it up. At this point, they put me to work to earn my ride. I was eager to help, and after they snapped a few pics of me “working,” they pushed me out of the way and got to work in earnest. We folded the balloon and put it back in its bag. In an effort to pack it in, we all grabbed a piece of the bag and lifted the outer edges, then we did it again, then we started to do it a 3rd time, and as we began to lift, everyone let go…everyone but the uninitiated, and that would be me. S’all good, though.

After getting back to the show site, I was informed by the crew that I needed to head back for initiation and breakfast (yes, don’t forget that the clock hadn’t even struck 9 am at this point). I was a little concerned because I still hadn’t reported for work, but neither had my friend (excuse me, my Supervisor). She reported to her balloon, and was told that it didn’t look like she was going to make it, but at the last minute, she was able to climb aboard and got to go as well.

I hung out at the exhibit for a few minutes, and then the Captain came to get me. We headed back over to where the balloonists’ trailers were now situated for tailgating, and I hung out while everyone got things ready for breakfast. Breakfast consisted of omelettes made in Ziploc® bags. They were pretty awesome. But before we could eat the omelettes, there was the matter of initiation. As I mentioned, I was a ballooning virgin, and as with most specialized communities, there are initiations for the neophyte.

I think that tradition and ritual are extremely important, and if you are going to do them, you really ought to do them right. As I said, the actual flight in the balloon was great, but was less thrilling than I had expected. I am so incredibly grateful that I had the captain and crew that I did because while I can talk about the actual flight as an independent experience, I really feel that the whole time I spent with the group is all part and parcel. As such, because they welcomed me to fly with them, because they took me in and invited me to their tailgating, and because they took the traditions so seriously, the overall experience was an incredible one, and I won’t soon forget it. After comparing notes with the Supervisor, I definitely had a better overall experience.

So, as most initiations are supposed to be a surprise to the initiate, I will not go into details. All I will say is that it included the history of ballooning, an explanation of why champagne is important to the hobby, and, of course, a champagne toast. If you want to know more, go in a hot air balloon, and you will get initiated. The initiation, like this post, ended with the Balloonists prayer:

CNN did a piece on some old geezer who asked a corner grocer to make change for his $1,000,000 bill. Needless to say, the old dude was arrested, and the bill was not real.

For some reason, this news item didn't surprise me. What I did love, however, was how the reporter stated it, "He tried to change a fake $1,000,000 bill" (emphasis added). Like there is a real $1,000,000 that he could have used.

(Lest you should think that Jo Cose has not done his home work, I point you to this link as well as to this link.)

I find it fascinating the way our culture bestows the presumption of intelligence on certain people. As far as I can tell, anyone with a medical degree is at the top of the list. Now, I’m sure you will say, “wait a minute, Jo Cose, I don’t think that that is necessarily true.” Well, think about it before you go on. How many people do you know who say, “Well the doctor said so,” or “I read about it and they quoted a doctor,” or even the oh so witty retort, “where did you get your M.D. from?” So, yes, I think that most Americans take it for granted that their doctors are at the top of the intellectual food chain.

Second on that list is, of course, the non-medical doctors. It’s true; if you have a Ph.D. after your name, you are automatically considered a brilliant person. Surely, having spent that much time and money in and on school, you must be smarter than the average bear. Working at America’s premiere space agency, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard people say that so-and-so must have the right answer because he/she has a Ph.D.

I spent 3 years in an M.A. program, where I met a lot of Ph.D.s, Ph.D. students, and Ph.D. candidates. I must admit that a few of them were worthy of the epithet “brilliant”; however, most of them were not. What the average Joe/Jane doesn’t realize is that all a Ph.D. means is that you are a (if not the) leading expert IN YOUR FIELD, not necessarily (or usually) in ALL fields. No, it is actually my experience that most Ph.D.s are anything but brilliant, and extremely few of them have as much knowledge outside of their topic as they do in their specific topic.

All this is merely a build-up to share with you an email I was cc:ed on that was written by someone who feels the need to add “, Ph.D.” after her name in her email signature block.

Thank you very much--it was the introductions that are of utmost concern. I understand that adding the Chairman was a last-minute thing, it was as you said, however, that we had to adjust the remarks once for the change, and we were fine with doing it because it would be appropriate for S---- to introduce him. What is of concern re: appropriateness is S---- having to re-take the stage to introduce Dr. W-----. She greatly respects Dr. W----- but it just isn't appropriate at her level to have to keep getting up to the podium to do introductions when she is not even the host of the event.

While I must admit that if you read it two or three times, it becomes quite clear, it really is offensive to me as someone who has spent so much time in school to see a “, Ph.D.” after the name of the person who wrote this crap.

My favorite episode of Magnum, P.I. is an episode called “Home From the Sea,” which happens to be episode 64 from season 4 if anyone cares. In this episode, Thomas is knocked off his kayak and must tread water until he is (of course) eventually rescued. I can’t exactly tell you why I like this episode best, but I do. It’s all about him using memories to help him forget that he is in the middle of the ocean caught in a current that is taking him from Hawaii to Southeast Asia. The recurring memory is of his father “training” him to tread water. At one point, you see young Thomas Magnum saluting in a John John pose as he looks on at his father’s funeral. On his wrist is his father’s watch, which is entirely too large for young Thomas’ preteen wrist. This image fades into adult Thomas’s adult wrist wearing the same watch. As the camera pulls back, we see the adult Thomas looking at the watch while he continues to tread water. After checking his watch, he says that now every second is a record for treading water.

All of this is to say that at 7 months, I am now officially at a point where every day is a new record!

How exciting…I never really thought I’d make it this far…but I have.

I bought a ½ pint carton of milk at work this morning to put into my cereal. As I rode the elevator up to the 9th floor, I read the labels on the carton. Here’s what one of the panels read:

INGREDIENTS: FAT FREE MILK, VITAMIN A PALMITATE, VITAMIN D3.
CONTAINS: MILK

Uh, yea. But it seems to me that it should at the very least say “Contains: Cow’s milk.” How do I know that I’m not drinking dog’s milk, or dingo’s milk, or even worse, pig’s milk? If they are going to be kind enough to tell me that there is milk in my milk (sorry for sounding like W.C. Fields here—“Who put pineapple juice in my pineapple juice?”), I would appreciate knowing what kind of milk is in my milk.

Sailor Boy and I had an adventure Saturday. It was pretty awesome! It was the first time in a very long time that I did something exciting and was able to cross off something on my list of Things to Do before I Die.

We went hang gliding.

So, I headed down to his place in Alexandria, which seemed kind of odd to me as he had to come rather near my apartment…but he was driving, so I couldn’t complain. I got there, and we were off to run some errands he had to do at the last minute. Whatev, no worries. Finally, we were off and on our way.

I was navigator, which is not always a good thing. I had MapQuest directions in hand, and all was good until we were supposed to get off at a road that didn’t seem to exist. Whatev, no worries. We just turned around and tried again. Nope, no good. We seemed to have missed this phantom exit again. So, we end up taking the way long way round to get to Route 50. OK, so we’re finally on the right road, and all is well. We get to the Bay Bridge and traffic begins to slow, but it’s OK because we still have plenty of time. The email we received said that we had a noon fly time, and the small print, which we didn’t read until much later, said we needed to be there a ½ hour early for ground school (i.e., training).

So, I start to get a little worried because traffic is slowing, and as a born and inbred Baltimoron, I should have known that what with it being a beautiful day, there was going to be tons of traffic heading “downy shore.” (That’s “going to the beach at Ocean City” in Baltimorese.) Sure enough, traffic grinds to a halt. I start to get really nervous. After all, I sunk $175 into this venture. So, I called the place and told them, and the guy was very friendly and told me that he had received several calls from other people saying they, too, were stuck in traffic and that it was no problem…just get there when we could. Besides, he said, the cloud deck was very low, and they were waiting for it clear. I looked out the window, and he was right.

After what felt like hours (but not really more than ½ of one), we pulled into the parking lot at Highland Aerosports. It was kind of a strange name, really, because we were close to the ocean, which means that everything is very flat—not even an anthill, let alone anything that could be misconstrued as highlands…not even a wee bonny lass to be seen. We walked around a bit and saw people learning the moves they would need once they hurled themselves from the safe confines of a plane. We passed other folks lounging around, and we finally found the group who, like us, had come here based on an email we received from Things To Do (more on them anon). We filled out the obligatory paperwork that said that if we died we couldn’t sue Highland Aerosports, and then the wait began.

As I mentioned, we were supposed to be there at 11:30. I’d say we got there about 12:30. Had everything filled out by 12:35, so we were ready to go. The Sailor tried to make friends with this group of 5 girls, but they were clearly more interested in the sleazy frat boys (who, by the by, if they weren’t as old as me, they were way older). That was really no problem as Sara, the leader of the pack, was one of those people who talks incessantly and says absolutely nothing. (I recognize that what I’m about to say is cliché, but sometimes there’s a reason something is cliché.) She had a voice like nails on a chalkboard. After 15 minutes of listening to her saying absolutely nothing, I was desperately looking for a gun to shoot myself or at least a shovel to whack myself over the head. While I was looking for the aforementioned weapons of opportunity, the frat boys were surely looking at her and her girlfriends’ tits.

Then there was the Executive Assistant who had a chip on her shoulder because she was an executive assistant and she did a lot more than that and didn’t get the pay. Fortunately, she explained, she was going to an MBA program in the fall, and there she knew she wouldn’t have to work hard because those programs aren’t about work, they’re about networking, and while she knows that she’s going to ace the GMAT, she knew that she was going to do well. Oh, and even though she didn’t actually seem to know the word legacy, she knew that she was one for some school where her dad went so that was her fallback school because she was going to get in there. Oh, did I mention that she was ½ French (and had the passport) but didn’t speak any French. Oh, and did I mention that she does a whole lot more than a typical executive assistant at a Fortune 500 company does (after all, those executive assistants do nothing but get coffee, while she does everything at her company).

Then there was the rep from Things To Do. He, too, looked like a frat boy, but at least he was the right age. He was extremely unprofessional and annoying, but at least he was friendly. He arrived late as well—also due to the traffic. I came to find out later that there was another reason (more below). He brought pizza and soda as promised in the email. He also brought a girl. (more below). The Sailor and I had conflicting attitudes about his role. I felt that as the rep for Things To Do, he should have been there early, he should have been around to entertain us, and he should have ensured that we all got a turn. Here’s how it played out:

As I mentioned, he came late. Officially, it was because of traffic. As I mentioned, he brought a girl. It turns out that the girl was not his girlfriend, but some chick he was trying to bang. What better way to impress a chick than take her hang gliding. So, he arrived at her house bright and early, and apparently she had no desire to go (with him?) hang gliding, so she wasn’t ready. He apparently wouldn’t take no for an answer and waited for her to get ready—thus making him late. As I mentioned, due to the low cloud deck, we had to wait a ridiculously long time. So, instead of ensuring that we were all happy and satisfied, he walks over to his jeep, takes off his shirt, gets into the jeep, and reclines the seat. He came back about 5 minutes later to talk to the chick he brought and convince her to get in the jeep as well—where, he announced to her so all could hear, that it was much more comfortable.

Finally, we are told to head down to the flight line so we can get ground school training. We all wander down there, and again we wait for about 10 minutes (but this time there is no shade, but it’s also about 3:30 at this point). Ground school consists of the “instructor” saying that if we shift our weight to the left, we go left, if we shift right, we go right. Forward speeds us up and back slows us down. We needed a ½ hour for that?

So, then he says who’s first? Sara, of course, pipes up and say she will go. The Sailor says that he will go first on the other glider. Because we had planned to buy a roll of film to get our pics taken in flight, I was to go after him. One of the dudes in our group (not the frat boy, but still a dude macking on the annoying chicks) asks the Sailor if he get jump ahead of us because he has somewhere to be far away—like we don’t. Being the gentleman, the Sailor agrees. Once that dude is in the air, the rep comes by and asks if his “girlfriend” can jump ahead of us as well because he wants her to get a chance to go and he needs to leave early because he has another event he needs to attend in DC. Sara, in the meantime, is airborne, and we can actually hear her; yup, you guessed right, she still hasn’t shut her mouth. Once Sara lands, she is out of her harness and gapping away about her flight. One of her girlfriends is getting into the harness, and the guys that work there are trying to help her, but Sara is barking orders and instructing her friend how to do it this way and do it that way. I give the workers a lot of credit, I would have told her to shut the fuck up, but they just laughed it off.

Next thing I know, the rep is gearing up to go next. WTF? He’s the worker bee, and he has now muscled not only his girlfriend in before a bunch of others (paying others, I might add), but he has now gotten himself ahead of the crowd. Once he landed, the two of them were gone. Good riddance as far as I’m concerned.

Finally, it was our turn, and going on 5 pm. The Sailor went first, and it was so cool to watch him go up and work his way down. I was waiting for some crazy acrobatics, but none came. When he landed I asked if he had pussyed out. No, it turns out that he was too heavy, and they really shouldn’t have taken him. This was another bone of contention for me. If Things To Do had handled this professionally, they would have told us before we paid the $175 each to go. No matter, he was able to go up and come down safely, so he at least got the experience.

I need to stress at this point that I have no issues with Highland Aerosports, and I felt that they were competent and professional throughout. It was only this Things To Do and their questionable choice of letting an inexperienced, immature child be the responsible party. I say this because it is now my turn to go hang gliding, and it was so totally worth the wait!

I get harnessed up. We went tandem, so the instructor was below me. As I was squirming into the harness, he was explaining to me again how to control the glider, and where to keep my hands on the ascent. We were snuggled in, and the tow line was in place. The instructor looked up and behind him at me and asked if I was ready. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” I replied. With that, he gave the signal to the tow plane, and away we went.

The glider we were on had 3 wheels, 2 in the front, and 1 in the back. They were like the wheels on a shopping cart: wobbly. To make it worse, we were taking off on a dirt runway, which means there were lots of rocks around to make for a bumpy ride. At least, that was what I was ready for…a bone-jarring ride down a runway that resembled something you’d see the Escobar Cartel using. No, that wasn’t it at all. Immediately after he gave the go signal, I felt us accelerating, accelerating fast. Within 30 feet the glider was airborne, and we were now skimming over the dirt and pebbles, gliding smoothly through the air. Before 30 seconds we were at least 100 feet in the air. The instructor asked how I was doing. I had to take a moment to collect my thoughts. My first thought was why is every muscle in my body so taut? So, I relaxed, took a deep breath and said that I was doing great. I looked down and it was like looking out of a plane window, except I could feel the wind on my face. It was so beautiful to be so high in the air and looking down over God’s Green Earth. The clouds were gone and visibility had to have been several miles. I asked the instructor how fast we were going. He said we were going about 35 miles an hour. I remember saying that I was surprised that he and I could have a conversation…that it was so much quieter than I would have expected. He told me to wait until the plane released us.

He was right. To say that it was majestic just doesn’t do justice to the experience of soaring through the air. Humanity has fought with gravity since time immemorial, da Vinci and his prototype of the helicopter, hot air balloons, and the airplane. And here I was, one insignificant mortal looking physics in the face and laughing, defying nature, defying laws, flying. The ability to reflect like this and to witness the Earth sprawling out before you while being suspended by nylon 2,100 feet in the air is testament to what hang gliding was for me. There was something so peaceful and cathartic about soaring like the birds, living above the clouds.

I was startled back to reality when the instructor asked if I wanted to take the helm. Hell yea, I did. He told me to turn right. I leaned in, and the serene moment was shattered. I managed to get the glider to turn, but suddenly it felt like we were going to flip, or worse yet, that we were pointing downward too much and that we were going to crash. I felt like I was about to panic, when I heard the instructor’s voice, calm and clear, say, “good, now, level us off to trim.” What the fuck is “trim”? They didn’t teach us that in “ground school.” So, a little scared that I was going to flip to the right, I moved my body weight back to left, and we began to level off in the new course. I leaned back and the nose came up a little. We were flying straight. The instructor looked up at me and said, “that was really good. Most people over compensate and get out of the turn too soon.” Really? You mean my sudden almost panic attack was for naught? COOL! I think I can get the hang of this.

Then he told me to turn left. Feeling a little more confident that the feeling of flipping was normal and I shouldn’t worry, I put my weight into turning left and straightening out again to trim (which I figured out was when you are flying straight with the horizon). He told me I was swinging my weight wrong…don’t pull my body to the left, but pull the glider down to my left hip (or right as the case might be). I tried that going into a right turn, and amazingly, it was almost effortless. I was smiling, amazed that I hadn’t panicked. I was so proud of myself. Then he asked if I wanted to stall? “Hell no,” I replied. And in that same confident and calm tone, he said, “OK, no problem.”

Then I realized that I was pussying out, so I asked if we could do a few acrobatics. He said sure, and I removed my hands from the bars, and held on tight. The first thing we needed to do, he explained was stall. He pushed all of our weight back and brought the nose straight up. You could feel all the wind stop for a second. It was like the cartoons where you are just suspended in air, then, like coming off the acme of a rollercoaster, we dropped, but my stomach didn’t. He immediately put us into a turn, first to the right, then to the left. Apparently, the tandem gliders can’t do a full 360, so he had to come out of the role so we wouldn’t plummet to the ground. We did about 2 or 3 of these, and then we were too low, and he set us up for landing.

Landing was actually the scariest part. We were coming in hot and fast. I understand better how the Space Shuttle works, for we did basically the same thing. We needed to bleed off speed, so we banked right, then we banked left as we approached ground. Because you don’t want to fall to the ground, you actually need to increase speed a little before landing. So, as we skimmed the ground, inches from touching down, if felt that we were going pretty fast, and I was waiting for the teeth-rattling landing that I was sure would be the end of this amazing adventure. It didn’t come, the instructor landed us as gently as placing a Ming vase on its pedestal.

And 10 minutes after taking off it was over. After waiting for over 4 hours, it was all worth it! It was one of the most exhilarating experiences of my short life. The Sailor said that he had a great time, and he was glad that he had the experience, but he wasn’t sure he needed to do it again. Me, I’m not so sure. We had to join the United States Hang Gliding and Paragliding Association, and the membership is good for 30 days. You need so many flights before you can be certified to go it alone, and this one will count if I do it again within the 30 days. I’m sure I won’t, but I’m seriously thinking of going again and seeing if I like it as much the second time around. Also, going directly to Highland Aerosports, it only costs about $130.

Stay tuned, there might be more stories about me hang gliding, and I will try to get the pic developed soon!

I posted this picture on the photography forums I subscribe to with the following comment, "now you know where to shop for all your transgendered needs.":

Another member responded with this post:

Why would transgenders need such a store? They could buy their clothes in any ordinary clothing store. I find it rather disgusting.

There is a store in the beach area where I live, called "Leathers and Lace." It caters mostly to gays, selling porn and sex toys as well as kinky leather outfits. They had a sign outside (now changed): "If you don't like our sign, don't look at it." I guess they must have had some complaints. I did take a picture of it but didn't keep it because the whole thing is so repulsive.

My response:

I'm not quite sure why you need to be digusted at the idea that transexuals would want their own stores, but just to alleviate your fears, Trani is a store I saw in Boston in June, which happens to be an ice cream parlor. While I'm sure that they would not discriminate against the LGBT community, I don't think they actually cater to them.

His response:

I thought you were serious about the store being for transsexuals. I'm not disgusted with the store even if it really was for that purpose, although my words might have made it seem that way. I'm disgusted with the phenomenon of transsexuality. And I have no "fears" which need to be alleviated because I'm not afraid of transsexuals.

At this point, I felt we needed to take this offline, so I sent him a private message:

I'm sorry, I should not have challenged you in the public forum, and I'll be happy to remove my posts if you'd like, but I am a little curious why you would find transexuals so disgusting

He sent me this long email that just blew my mind. People really think like this? I make jokes, but this truly makes me feel so sad.

Greetings, Jocose:

The person, I have no problem with, nor do I judge them. As with homosexuality I am naturally repulsed by the actual act. I do discern between the person and the offense and do not condemn the person because of the offense

I am a Christian (please forgive me for throwing that at you) and I see that God also condemns such acts as cross-dressing and homosexual sex but he does not condemn the persons. It breaks my heart to see people having sex change operations, just as it also breaks God's heart. It suggests that God made a mistake when He created them, but that is not so.

Long before I became a Christian and even as a long-time atheist, I was repulsed by these things. I first learned of them when I was about eleven years old and felt sick to my stomach when other boys described the details to me. At first I did not believe them yet still felt great repulsion. I hasten to add that I have not been abused by such persons but I have been approached for homosexual sex, as an adult. It is hard to describe the feeling when homosexuals do that.

Transexuality and and homosexuality go hand in hand, that is why I am including homosexuals in this matter.

Now, as a minister, for the past eight years I have been helping such people, among others. This is something I do six nights a week after I come home from work. It involves exorcisms because both transsexuality and homosexuality are spiritual problems, not mental, nor natural. I deal with human pain night after night, caused by sexual, physical and mental abuse. Sexual abuse is one of the world's biggest problems.

Many of the homosexuals and transsexuals who come to me have been sexually abused as children. Some became that way from sexual experimentation. Either way, tremendous hurt is caused. It leads to broken families, severe depression, suicide or suicidal thoughts, voices in the head, visions of apparitions etc. All of these things are considered to be "mental illness" but it is not so.

In the eight years I have done this, I have often gone to bed and wept over the pain that people endure. I see what pornography does to people and it is condemned by God but supported by the U.S. Supreme Court who say it is protected by the Constitution. So the people who indulge deeply in their Constitutional porn, later end up facing a judge at their trial for rape or other sexual abuse. It is porn which leads a person to become a pedophile, rapist or a murderer. The help given to children is a joke because the depth of sexual abuse is not understood by those committed to helping the kids. And even if they did understand, there is little they can do about it.

The bright side of all this is, the homosexuals and transsexuals who come to me become heterosexual, just as they were when they were first born. Nobody is born homosexual, despite their beliefs that they were. And nobody was born with the wrong body. God does not create such beings and then condemn their sex lives.

Now imagine what a transsexual must feel when they have been delivered of the spiritual side of their problem but is still in the body that they changed. Imagine a man who became a woman but now realizes that he really is a man. It is much harder to change back to his original form than it was to change his gender for the first time.

One person with a similar problem came to me just a couple of months ago. This person said he was a man in a woman's body. "He" was in his thirties when we spoke. I knew right from the start that this was really a woman who believed she was a man in a woman's body. By time that evening was over, the woman was free in her spirit and rejoicing, hardly able to believe what had happened to her. The cause? Sexual abuse when she was a child. She was actually in the midst of talks with her surgeon about a sex change operation.She had been evaluated by a psychiatrist and was preparing for the change.

God calls homosexuality a "perversion" and "an abomination." It is the perverse part of a person's nature which repulses me. The actual person, my heart grieves for even if they are happy for a while in their new form.

he suicide rate among homosexuals is higher than that of heterosexuals. I know I keep talking about homosexuals but that is what transsexuals also are. A man becomes a woman and begins a sexual relationship with a man. The transsexual's spirit is still the male spirit which he was given at conception, therefore it results in two men having sex.

There is more which I could describe but I think I have said enough. Perhaps I am overly sensitive to these problems but until you listen to the person's terrible story, it is hard to imagine such grief caused by one human to another. Of course, not all homosexuals or transsexuals remember what happened to them as children. They just feel they were born that way.

I apologize for my hasty remarks in the forum. I do not mind if you remove them but please do not remove your picture. I now understand the humourous side of it.

Today marks 6 months. 180 days. 4,320 hours. 259,200 minutes. 15,552,000 seconds.

Not too shabby, eh?

oh how i love to write
more than i do to fight
but for a girl
and a chance to score
you know there's a chance that i might

Little Miss Muffet

Dairy she loved to eat
The spider he took a seat
She turned with a whirl
She screamed like a girl
And beat a hasty retreat