Journal entries for June, 2007

Wow, flying at night is actually quite pleasant. It feels a lot more relaxed and peaceful than flying during the day. I think a big factor that contributes towards that is the fact that the wind is a lot calmer at night, but it also had to do with the fact that you can't see most of the world below you, so it feels like flying over nothingness. Kind of like at the end of the Langoliers, except you don't have to fly through a time warp while asleep to get back home.

Landing wasn't too hard either. You do have less visual reference with which to judge your altitude, so you have to be careful not to flare too high from the runway, but really I never felt uncomfortable or out of control while landing. The runway lighting actually makes the dimensions of the runway easier to see than during the day.

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I just turned the TV on, and it was tuned to BBC America. They were interviewing a guy who was talking about how the F-4 Phantom is his favorite fighter jet, and how he is an avid photographer. I said, "Hell yeah, dude, I'm right there with you." And then he started talking about how he hasn't ever had a girlfriend, and his RealDolls are his best friends, and I checked the show info, and it was a special on sex dolls.

Then they interviewed the next guy, and he's got a Metallica poster on the wall, and he's showing them his electric guitar and his collection of two-handed broadswords. Dammit. What is this, the Ghost of Christmas Yet-To-Come?

Today Mike and I flew down over the lake to the New Orleans airport, MSY (or Moisant Field, as apparently every other pilot knows it — apparently the name was changed in 2001 and most people still use the old one), to give me a taste of flying into a Class B airport (the busiest classification). I had the option of flying to Baton Rouge instead, but I wanted to try flying into an airport that I had actually arrived at as a commercial passenger. It went surprisingly well. And when I checked my logbook later, it turned out this was my 50th landing. Hey, look at that.

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Today I set off with Mike on my first cross-country flight. We flew from Hammond to Gulfport, Mississippi, and then back again. Of course, it didn't start there. There's actually a lot more involved in planning a flight than I would have thought.

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Woo, I soloed today. When the lesson began, I did a few touch-and-gos with Mike, my instructor, just like we'd been doing for the last few lessons. When I landed the third time, Mike told me to pull off the runway and let him out. Hehehe. He signed the section of my logbook that says I'm endorsed to fly solo, grabbed a handheld radio to keep in contact with me, and off I went. I didn't expect it to happen so soon — I only had 9.1 hours of flight experience at that point, and I'd always heard that your first solo usually happens around 12-15 hours. But, surprisingly, when I was off on my own, I felt very ready and in control, and didn't feel frightened or anything.

Heh, and the fates didn't wait long to throw a little test in my way.

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Well, in the two weeks or so that I had the AdSense ads on the site, my income averaged about $0.18 per day. In all, I raked in a monstrous $2.73. They don't even send you a check until you reach $100, so at this rate, I'd have to wait a year and a half to actually receive any money from this. Yeah, so the ads are gone. I guess I made some invalid assumptions when estimating the number of ad impressions I'd get. Ah well, it's good to know I won't ever again have to struggle with the moral dilemma regarding whether or not it's worth putting ads on the site. Now it is answered definitively in the negative.

Long ago Jenn gave me a copy of the Dashboard Confessional album, "The Places You Have Come To Fear The Most," and I've slowly gotten into it — putting it on once every few months and each time realizing, "Hey, that's right, I like this. I should listen to it more often." Of course, it's terribly, ridiculously emo — a whiny voice complaining about how sad he is that his girlfriend broke up with him. "As for now, I'm gonna hear the saddest songs, and sit around and wonder how you're making out. But as for me, I wish that I was anywhere, with anyone, making out." Oh gawd.

But that's OK. I've got lots of experience liking lame music (New Kids On The Block? Remember?), so I'm totally OK with the fact that I like them. But today I suddenly realized that I actually identify with some of this stuff. When he sings about the girl he likes who doesn't know he's alive, I caught myself thinking, "Yeah, man, I totally know how you feel." And that's embarrassing. It's a good thing I'm already out of high school, or I might have to fight the temptation to put some of these lyrics on my senior page.