Hurricane!

Every area of the country has its pluses and minuses. Californians have to deal with earthquakes, draughts, mudslides and wildfires. The central part of the country is called “tornado alley.” The northeast gets winter weather and the occasional “snowpocalypse.” Here on the gulf coast we get hurricanes.

The good thing, if there is one about hurricanes is that we usually know well in advance that they're coming. The various weather forecasting services have gotten fairly good in predicting where these storms are going and how strong they're going to be.

Right this very minute as I type this, the gulf coast is bracing for the arrival of Hurricane Michael. The center of the storm should happen somewhere near Panama City Beach, Florida (the red dot in the picture above), perhaps just to the east. 

Currently Michael is a Category 4 storm with sustained winds of 150 mph. Thankfully, that wind velocity doesn't usually extend out very far from the eye – 30 to 40 miles or so. As you move further from the eye, the wind diminishes. But still, even if you “only” see 100 mph winds, that can do some damage.

The threat from hurricanes is threefold.  First is the wind, with its attendant damage to roofs, trees and powerlines, etc.  Ahead of arrival of the eyewall, such high winds also push water ashore, generating devastating storm-surges along coastal zones. Finally, heavy rain bands can cause flash-flooding.

Big storms (e.g. tropical storms and hurricanes) have a counter-clockwise rotation. This means that when the storm is out over open water, the worst weather will be on the east and northeast side. When the storm hits the coast, the best place to be is on the west side. There, people will see winds out of the north and much less precipitation. So when we're watching the storm track on the Weather Channel, etc., we hope and pray that it will go off to our east. Such was the case when Hurricane Michael began seriously strengthening south of Cuba a couple of days ago.

Most of the time, big storms will bend around and track to the northeast. That's just the way the atmosphere works at these latitudes. But not always! You may remember a little event called Hurricane Katrina back in 2005. It crossed south Florida and came into the Gulf of Mexico, tracking mostly to the northwest before finally bending straight northward and into New Orleans. It didn't start heading to the northeast until it was well to the north of Lake Ponchartrain. And even though New Orleans got most of the publicity because of the direct hit of the storm, the real impact and effects occurred along the Mississippi Gulf Coast where the destruction was simply devastating. Sadly, this area got proportionately little news coverage.

In the case of this Hurricane Michael, the satellite and radar images broadcast on the media certainly looked terrible for the last couple of days. It would be easy to assume that the weather within that whole storm was uniformly bad. Not so.

Seeing this and being concerned for my safety, my sister Elizabeth in New York contacted me this morning. She simply could not believe that my weather in Pensacola was so benign. But all morning long, and approaching noon as I write this, we've had very little rain and virtually no wind. However, it is quite a different story just 80 miles to my southeast. In fact, when I pulled up the straight-line distance on one of my aviation apps, I was surprised to see that the distance was so short considering the drastic difference between our weather and theirs. But such is the nature of these storms. I would hate to be 80 miles east of Panama City right now.

The thing is, we here in Florida have gotten good at dealing with storms like this. A local television news reporter mentioned this morning that there were 600 trucks from various power companies all over the country, staged here in Pensacola, ready to spring into action once the storm passes, to get power restored as quickly as possible. The tractor-trailers with water and other supplies are also staged nearby and ready. Presumably (and hopefully!) they won't be needed here in this area.

The good news is that Hurricane Michael will pass through the area quickly. The bad news is that the effects of the storm will be drastic and long-lasting, especially in Panama City and to the east. The good news is that, east of Panama City, not many people live there. With the exception of Tallahassee which is fairly well inland, the gulf coast in that area is pretty swampy and sparsely populated. The bad news is that my friend Terry and I had planned a motorcycle trip down through that area soon – which will undoubtedly need to be rescheduled indefinitely.

But even with the occasional hurricane, I still prefer living here on the Gulf Coast.

Hypocrite!

I broke down and bought a Keurig. I know, I know...after all the whining I did previously (read it HERE) about the need for speed in our lives and how those single-cup coffeemakers were just...you know...silly...I went out and bought one.  It seems that along with drinking coffee, I like eating my words.

Why buy a Keurig? Simple. I make exactly one cup of coffee each day. To do that I boil water in a saucepan. Well one morning I made my coffee and it tasted suspiciously like the Progresso Vegetable Beef Soup I'd made the night before. Yes, I'd emptied the saucepan into bowls, and then apparently put it back on the stove (on an unused burner, fortunately). I'd obviously meant to wash it later but did not. Thus, my next morning's coffee tasted like soup.

Walmart sells the Keurig “Classic” for $99.00. Kind of steep. I didn't buy it, but went home to mull it over. Did I really want to spend a hundred bucks on a damn coffee maker? As luck would have it, as I was perusing Facebook Marketplace I came across a “brand-new” Keurig “Classic” for $25.00. I called the guy. He'd received it as a present but wasn't a coffee drinker and never used it – it was just taking up counter space. Thinking that I'd just stumbled on the Deal Of The Century! I agreed to be at his house in the morning. My friend Terry and I met for breakfast and he went with me on the errand.

Sure enough, the dang thing was brand-new. Looked and smelled like it had never been used. Even Terry (who has one of his own, of course) was impressed. Got it home, plugged it in and it works as advertised. Picked up a carton of K-cups from WM. $10.00 for 18.

As luck would have it, the very next day I was perusing Facebook Marketplace again, and whaddyaknow, there was a Keurig “Classic” for $10.00.  Ten bucks!  I felt like such a chump. I sent the link to Terry, who quipped, ”Tomorrow you'll see one that says, 'Free to a good home!'”

So now I'm expensively making coffee one cup at a time.  Cheaper than buying it at the convenience store, but still...  So yes, you can call me a hypocrite. At least my coffee doesn't taste like soup anymore.

A Ne'er-Do-Well Pilot/Motorcyclist Son

I come from a big Irish-Catholic family. We grew up in New York City. My parents had six kids. I'm somewhere in the middle. I've got an older brother and sister, plus a younger brother and two younger sisters. For better or worse, we're not a particularly close family. Most of us still live dispersed in New York State if not the City itself except for my oldest brother, Bill. My younger brother Patrick and I both live in Florida: He in the Miami area; me in Pensacola – about as far from each other as you can be in Florida.

As I said, we kids are not close. Years go by without seeing each other – or even communicating very much. The reasons for this are complex and not completely understood by this reporter. I hate to use the expression, but it is what it is. Facebook has helped that, but only slightly.

And yet this past weekend I was back up in New York as we all gathered together again. It occurred to me that the last time all six of us were under the same roof was back in 1998 on the occasion of my father's funeral. This time it was my mom's. (She was 94, and it was not unexpected.)

It was interesting to see my brothers and sisters again. We've all aged considerably as you'd expect, but yet we all look pretty much the same. Nobody's gone bald, although some of us (me included) have revealing holes in the hair on the back of our heads. All of my sibs are inexplicably as thin as starving supermodels. I, on the other hand, look like the “before” picture in a Weight-Watchers ad. My younger brother Pat looks and sounds so much like dad that it's spooky. I kept doing a double-take. The rest of us are a mix.

We got together a couple of times after the service. Naturally there was a lot of reminiscing: some good, some sad. My memory is so awful. It's fortunate that your brothers and sisters can fill in holes in your own recollections. I feel sorry for those who come from small families. It was also funny (to me, anyway) that a lot of my memories centered around the kind of cars we had at the time. ”Ohhhhh yeah, I remember now! That was when we had our second Volkswagen Bus.” And so on.

It was a sad occasion, obviously, but I was happy with a number of things:

One, although I refer to (and think of!) us as such, none of us are kids anymore. The eldest being 69 and the youngest is 57. Thank God we are all still in fairly good health. None of have turned into stereotypical grumpy old people. I didn't hear any bitching and moaning or anyone being crabby about anything. It was refreshing and gratifying.

Secondly, it's amazing to me to rediscover how naturally funny my brothers and sisters are. I thought I was “the funny one” in the family. Not so! Compared to my sibs I am a virtual sourpuss. They are hilarious, each with a keen sense of humor that must be genetic come to think of it.  I don't mean to imply that we were yucking and whooping it up on the weekend of mom's funeral. We were not. But neither were we morose and disconsolate. That is not the Irish way!

Finally, we all got along really well. You know that in any big family there's bound to be a certain amount of...tension or perhaps animosities among the siblings.  Mine is no exception.  But on this weekend nobody brought up any drama from the past. If there was any it was kept below the surface.

In a bar after the service (like I said we are Irish after all), one of my older sister's adult daughters asked me, ”Now that your mom is gone, do you think you and your brothers and sisters will become closer?” It was an interesting question and it kind of caught me off-guard. For I don't really know. Maybe. We'll see.

On Monday morning as the Delta MD-88 climbed out and away from Albany, headed back south, I reflected on the events of the past two days, as you're required to do when taking an airline trip. It was, all things considered a nice weekend. We all love our family, of course. But beyond that, I like my brothers and sisters too. I admire them. They're all highly intelligent, funny, well-adjusted people who grew up without drug or alcohol problems, and who have never seen the inside of a jail cell (to my knowledge anyway). My parents (may they rest in peace) can be proud that they raised five wonderful children.

...And one ne'er-do-well pilot/motorcyclist bum.

On Motorcycling

I've always owned motorcycles. Back in early 2016 I bought yet another Harley-Davidson Sportster (my third). This last one is a 1996 model which unfortunately had been sitting around unused for a long time. Outside. It looked great in the pictures, but the pictures were not current. Still, it was ride-able (at least to get it home), but...ugh...it was more of a challenge to get up and running than I'd hoped. I spent more than a year sourcing just the right parts to make it “mine.” Word of advice: Never buy a bike that's been sitting around for more than, oh, six months. I thought I'd gotten a good deal on this thing. I was wrong.

In the meantime while I was fussing and fighting with my Sportster, my friend Terry also bought a Sportster. He'd previously had one of those “dual-sport” bikes, one that you could ride on a dirt road as well as paved streets. Great bike! The trouble was that it was, well, tall. You just about needed a ladder to get on the thing. Younger riders are more limber and have the agility to swing their leg way up and over the saddle just to mount up; but 60-something year-old guys like Terry and I do not. End result: Terry did not ride the bike much.

Since he's heard me prattle on and on (and on), extolling the virtues of the Harley Sportster, he kind of casually started looking at them. And sure enough, he found one that was a really good deal over in Tallahassee, a three-hour drive to our east.

Sportsters come in two different engine sizes: 883cc and 1200cc. Externally they are identical; you cannot tell them apart.  There is no denying that the 883 has plenty of power. Back when the bike/engine combination was introduced in 1957! the Sportster was the original “super-bike.” That was then. Performance standards have changed a little with the advent of much more powerful machines. However the 883 Sportster has not changed much since its heyday. It is now considered weak and slow. Kind of like me.

However, the bigger, 1200cc engine makes the bike into something of a hotrod, and that's what most guys go for. Among the Harley cognoscenti, the smaller engine is the subject of almost universal disdain for its comparative lack of power and “oomph.” Even the stupid salesmen at the Harley dealer insinuate that the 883 is a great “starter bike,” or worse, a “girl's bike.” (Of course, they'd rather sell you a $20,000+ Super Glide than a $9,000 Sportster.) When I tell them that I'm on my third Sportster they look at me funny.

I ride alone, and I'm not inclined (anymore) to drag-racing other riders from stoplight to stoplight. So the 883 is perfectly fine for me. Would I like the extra power of the 1200? Sure, but the 883 has a significant gas mileage advantage over its bigger brother, which should be no surprise. And when your gas tank only holds 2.2 gallons, as mine does, gas mileage becomes uber-important.

The bike Terry and I went to look at in Tallahassee was a 1200, all done up in black and chrome. In pictures it looked great. In person, it really is beautiful, even I have to admit. The bike needed a little work, but it was well worth the agreed-upon price. We loaded it into the back of Terry's pickup truck and beat feet for Pensacola.

So now Terry and I both had Sportsters, and we wanted to do some riding! The one little problem was that mine wasn't exactly running. It took a while – longer than I'd anticipated. I wanted this Sportster to be “just so.” This meant undoing some of the work that the previous owner had done. People always think that the personal customizations/modifications they perform on their motorcycles add value. They do not. Often the next owner (ergo, me) has to come along and spend money replacing those parts. Which is why I got this bike so cheaply. (Not cheaply enough, it turned out.)

Anyway, my bike is finally done. It runs fine and drives great. It's ready for some nice road trips, for which Terry has been patiently waiting. Thankfully, there is plenty of riding season left – one of the advantages of living down south.

Here's Terry with his 2009 Sportster.  Not sure why the picture came out so lousy, but it's a gorgeous bike in person!

And here's my latest acquisition.  I know, it looks a lot like my last Sportster. But no, this one is completely different - it's got spoke wheels!

A Most Perplexing Situation

I have a bit of a conundrum. My friend, Terry and I hang out a lot. We're the same age. And he's a lot like me when it comes to dealing with people, especially people we don't know, like those we deal with in our daily rounds (convenience stores, banks, etc.). He's outgoing and caring, lighthearted and friendly (sometimes overly so). He looks people right in the eye and speaks to them with respect, like they're human. He jokes with people like I do.

I greatly admire this about him.

In this fast-paced day and age, we tend to overlook and forego the little human niceties that make life on this planet pleasant. You see it at fast-food joints all the time: The person in front of you gets to the head of the line, and they begin barking out their order without even acknowledging the employee...the human on the other side of the counter. Those in the service industry take it for granted now. It has become customary...the norm.

But not for Terry and me! Before doing anything else, both of us always take the time to greet the person we are dealing with. A simple, ”Good morning!” We smile. We act like we care about them. Because we do. But Terry will take the time to talk (as in “extended conversation”) with service people even when there are other customers waiting behind him for their turn. This can sometimes be annoying, even for me, I'll admit. I'm, like, ”Come onnnnn...get his/her life story later. Let's eat our goddamn subs before they get cold!”

My conundrum is that Terry is often on the receiving end of some very bad vibes. He routinely comes across people who are having a truly bad day and are just in a foul mood – and they take it out on him. He often relates tales of encounters he's had with really nasty, angry people. He even went into a Chick-Fil-A one day and got a surly attitude from the little old lady taking his order! At a Chick-Fil-A!

Me, I never run into unhappy people. Never. People are always nice to me. Every interaction I have with people is always positive. I always walk away happy, a little richer for the experience. And I hope they do too. In fact, I cannot remember the last time someone was short or even curt with me, much less in an overall bad mood. I don't know what it is – am I just lucky?

On the other hand, Terry just seems to attract those who need an outlet for their anger or bitterness. They home in on him like they're guided by a military-grade radar targeting system. It's very strange. And it weighs on him, I can tell. In the moment he doesn't let it affect his mood, but afterward he'll say how much it bothered him.

When we're hanging out...having lunch someplace, say...I watch him, and watch how he interacts with others. And there is nothing that I can put my finger on that's different from how I do it...no obvious “triggers” or anything. So it's not like he's causing it.

But if someone is having a bad day, they'll find Terry.  It is most perplexing.

Even More Uber Stuff

I know I'm kind of running on and on about this Uber thing, but I really love this “job.” It's fun! In fact, I surely thought driving my taxi was fun.  But this is better.  Much, much better. I feel like Howard Hughes at the end of the movie, “The Aviator.” Remember? His OCD took hold of him, and he kept going, “It's the way of the future...way of the future...way of the future...”  And so it is with Uber.

We're kind of still in a “honeymoon phase” with so-called "ride-sharing." Passengers still see it as something of a novelty. In reality Uber is exactly like conventional taxicabs. They've just managed to convince people that they're not...that Uber is something different.  Hey, people believe what they want to believe.

Sure, the method of dispatch and payment are different...and sure, you can see the cab...sorry, Uber car coming on your smartphone screen... But other than that, Uber cars are taxis. To think anything else is just not being honest. It's not “ride-sharing.” I'm not sharing anything with anyone – certainly not my car.  I wouldn't be "going that way anyway," and you're being charged!  It is Uber that shares with me the request from a customer who needs a ride.  That is all.

Nevertheless, the passengers think it's something special. Far be it from me to disabuse them of that notion.

“Honeymoon phase” or not, Uber passengers expect a different experience than that of riding in a taxi. Ubers are less formal...more friendly. People are more inclined to talk to me and...strangely...sometimes they act as if we're already friends. It's quite bizarre. My taxi passengers were never so familiar and open.

It was my friend, Terry who figured it out: People don't often aspire to be taxi drivers. In fact, most people would probably consider themselves something of a failure if they were ever to sink to the level of driving a cab for a living. On the other hand, many of our Uber passengers can see themselves doing this job – as a “side-hustle” to be sure, not necessarily a full-time thing.

And so they ask questions. They want to know all about Uber, and what it's like driving for them? I always answer honestly: It's a gas! I recommend to everyone that they try it. (And no, it's not for everyone, obviously.)

I hadn't planned on going back up to Washington State this past summer. But they offered me a boatload of money to go for six weeks and do basically nothing. I may do the same thing next year. In the meantime, I drive my Uber when the urge strikes. I'm glad I don't depend on it for full-time employment, but it's good to know that I could if I had to.

Minding Your Business

In a recent news story from here in Florida, we have yet another senseless shooting.  This one was the result of an argument over someone parking illegally in a handicap spot at a convenience store.

On July 19th of this year, security camera footage captured a car pulling up into a parking spot on the side of a convenience store in the city of Clearwater.  We learn that this is clearly-marked as a handicap spot.  A man (Man #1) exits the car from the passenger side.  A small child also gets out.  Man #1 and the child go inside the store. The driver remains in the car. 

Street view of handicap spot on side of convenience store

Shortly thereafter, an SUV pulls in and parks near the car in the handicap spot.  The driver of the SUV (Man #2) gets out.  He walks to the rear of the car and looks at something.  Then he walks to the front and looks.  We can deduce that he is checking to see if it had some sort of "handicapped" signage.  He then initiates an animated, extended discussion with the driver of the car.  The police report said it was a "pretty significant yelling match."  It lasted for over a minute.

Eventually, Man #1 comes out of the convenience store, without his child.  (Perhaps he'd been notified of the altercation happening outside.)  He walks briskly toward the car, apparently unnoticed by Man #2. Suddenly, Man #1 body-slams Man #2 violently enough to send him straight to the ground, hard. Man #2 then pulls out a pistol and shoots Man #1, who turns and stumbles back inside the convenience store.  Where he dies.  

Is this a "too many damn guns in this country" issue?  I don't believe so.  Let us acknowledge here that Man #2 was carrying his pistol legally.  Everyone should know by now - especially those who live here! - that Florida has rather generous rules on granting "concealed carry" gun permits.  And even if you "know" this little fact it's something of which people must be more cognizant.  You never really know who's carrying.  If you get into a fight with someone and they become fearful for their life, they just might pull out their gun and shoot you!  So maybe you should think twice before body-slamming someone to the ground, for whatever reason.  

In any event, the police have refused to charge Man #2 under Florida's famous and controversial, “Stand Your Ground” law.  Rest assured, this is not the end of this little story.  Even if there are no criminal charges pressed against Man #2, there will certainly be a civil wrongful-death suit brought by the family of Man #1.

Moving on...  Is there a racial component to this story?  Oh, but of course!  Isn't there always?  The woman in the car is black.  Man #1 is black.  Man #2 is white.  The media has already latched onto this.  Was Man #2's initial confrontation racially motivated?  

In fact, we may never know the specific motivations of any of the players for their actions in this horrible event.  But to a large degree, I think the racial element is irrelevant. What matters is this: A man confronted a woman over parking in a handicap spot. He got his ass kicked, and now another man is dead. Aside from the tragedy of Man #1's death, Man #2 will now have to live forever with the fact that he shot and killed someone for no good reason.

Wait...what? For no reason? Yep!

In telling me about this event (of which I was only vaguely aware), my friend Terry vociferously defended Man #2. "All he was doing was telling the woman not to park there!” Terry said, as if Man #2 was totally innocent and justified in his action.  (And perhaps Terry was implying that he might have done the same thing.)

I had a few questions. To wit:  Why was it important to Man #2 that the woman parked in that spot? What was his gripe?  Was he a cop? No. Was he handicapped and in need of parking there? Apparently not. Was he the neighborhood handicapped parking spot enforcer? No.

So I disagree with my friend, Terry.  My view is that Man #2 should've just stayed the hell out of it. By injecting into himself into a situation that was absolutely none of his concern, he initiated and provoked a confrontation that resulted in another man's death.  Man #2 precipitated the whole thing, and now he'll probably "get away with murder," so to speak. 

In the grand scheme of things, parking illegally in a handicap spot is not a heinous crime worth dying over.  There was no need for Man #2 to intervene. Had he simply not done anything...had he looked and walked the other way, the altercation between he and Man #1 would not have happened. Man #1 would still be alive.  Everyone would have gotten into their cars,  driven off, and lived happily ever after (we hope).

We all need to learn to MIND OUR OWN DAMN BUSINESS.

You can read the story and watch the video of the event HERE.