The Brotherhood of the Weed

I don’t smoke.  Not cigarettes and not weed.  The idea of lighting something on fire and then sucking the byproduct into your lungs seems so…I don’t know…insane.

If you do not smoke weed and you are friends with someone who does, you will find that your friendship with them is limited.  Because no matter how close you think you are, you’ll always be an outsider.

Potheads gravitate to other potheads.  Getting high is an important way of socializing.  Guys get together to hang out and smoke.  It’s a bonding ritual that brings guys much closer than they might otherwise get.

Full disclosure: I used to smoke weed, back in the day.  But not anymore.  And by “back in the day” I mean when I was in high school which was forty-five years ago.  But I knew that my future was in aviation, so by my senior year I had sworn off all drugs with the exception of alcohol of which I partook aplenty!

Nowadays, smoking weed is becoming more socially acceptable.  The states of Washington and Colorado have decriminalized personal use and allow it to be sold openly in sanctioned stores.  Other states will surely follow.  But back in 1970 pot was totally illegal, and there was more of a stigma associated with smoking pot than there is now.

Let me add here: Do I think weed is harmless?  Oh hell no, of course not.  I can run down the long list of negatives, just as you can.  Just as with alcohol.  But as I opined in this post, I think weed is far less harmful to society than alcohol.  And if you’re going to allow the use of one intoxicant, it might as well be the less harmful one.  Yes, yes, I know that in a perfect world people would not have a need for any intoxicants.  But I don’t live in that perfect world and neither do you.  People drink.  People smoke.  Get over it.

I remember back when I was a teenager.  We smokers would get together in some clandestine place to get high.  It was like being a member of a secret club.  Those who did not smoke were shut out.  If you weren’t part of the in-crowd (i.e. a smoker) you didn’t belong, simple as that.  We didn’t want non-smokers around because they were “buzz-kills.”  And they might rat us out.  The fear of arrest was strong.  As I got older I came to really dislike “clique-y” things like that.  I don’t like them in flying or motorcycling or any activity.  But you find them all over.

Many adult potheads still act the same as when they were teenagers.  They prefer to get high when they’re not doing anything else, and in general they prefer to be in the company of other potheads.  They go off together to get high and do things while they’re getting high.  Non-smokers need not apply.  They don’t want us around.

Gee, Bob, jealous much?  It does sound that way, doesn’t it?  And in a way, yeah, I guess I am.  But maybe “insulted” is a better word.  Because I want friendships to be about people, not a particular activity.  Now me, I don’t have friends that I only hang out with when and because I’m drinking.  If I hang out with someone it’s because I enjoy their company; and hopefully they enjoy mine.  And I don’t exclude people who don’t drink.

But every serious pothead I know always acts as if they have someplace else to be when we’re together.  They’re always checking their watch, trying to calculate when was the last time they got high or how long until they’ll be able to get with their other friends and light up.  When you’re with a pothead, you always feel like you’re intruding on their little world, a world you’re not part of.  It’s weird.  And it’s hurtful. 

They will of course deny it.  They will insist it’s not true.  But they’ll squirm as they say the words, knowing how unconvincing they’re sounding (maybe they’re trying to convince themselves?).  But it is true. 

I mentioned all of this to a friend of mine recently, a married guy in his 40’s who does not smoke cigarettes or weed and who hardly drinks.  I brought it up because I was feeling hurt at the time, snubbed by someone I thought was a good friend.  I bounced these ideas off him to see if I was just in one of my pissy, little-girl moods.  To my surprise he said that not only had he noticed it, he agreed whole-heartedly. 

A little surprised, I mentioned it to some of my other non-pot-smoking friends.  Indeed, they too related similar stories about being excluded from certain group activities because everyone else in the group smoked weed.  They too had felt slighted by people they considered friends.  So it wasn't just me.

As a non-pot-smoker I’m just not a member of The Brotherhood of the Weed. 

And I guess I never will be.

From Air-Taxi Driver To Ground Taxi Driver

You might think that driving a taxi would be something of a let-down or come-down after a career flying helicopters.  After all, flying for a living seems so glamorous and exciting!  But at the end of the day (and at the end of a career) getting paid to fly is no more glamorous than doing anything else.  It is just a job.  A fun job, to be sure – but there are a whole lot of other considerations too.  

For instance there is always that risk of death.  We pilots don’t like to speak about it.  But it’s there.  Prior to each take-off we must pledge to ourselves that we’ll do our best to avoid making any dumb/fatal mistakes.  But yet every year many pilots do just that.  I know that I am not immune.  Luckily the mistakes that I have made so far haven't resulted in any crashes.  That’s not to say I haven't come very, very close. 

I truly hated my last flying job.  I worked for a rich entrepreneur who bought a helicopter to get around in his local business world.  But he also used it personally as well, and I became a sort of glorified chauffeur.  The pay was…okay, but just “okay”…for Pensacola, Florida but it was not by any means on a par with what pilots of similar experience in similar jobs flying similar equipment were getting elsewhere.  He felt that he was paying me a king’s ransom for doing very little though. 

And so he dreamed up non-flying “stuff” to do when I wasn’t needed to fly the helicopter.  Thirty years as a professional pilot and I was tasked with waxing his boat,  going grocery shopping for his hunting camp and running general errands.  Yeaaahhhh.  It was messing with my self-respect.

Neither were the perks all that great.  I had no health insurance coverage while I worked for him.  It would unreasonably raise the total premium that he paid for the whole company, he said.  So he gave me his word and handshake that he’d cover any medical expenses limited to injuries that happened on the job.  He thought that was pretty generous.

The kicker came when I had a minor motorcycle accident in which I broke my left arm.  The Boss had never liked the fact that I rode motorcycles, and he’d made it abundantly clear.  Right after the accident he called me up and told me he couldn’t have his only pilot taking these kinds of risks.  He threatened that if I didn’t sell the motorcycle he would have to “…make other plans.”  That’s when I quit.  Who needs that kind of crap?

So now I only fly part-time, doing that cherry-drying thing up in Washington State in the summertime.  That gig almost pays enough to carry me through the whole year, but I need something to keep me occupied for the other nine months.  Here at home, employers aren’t really keen on hiring some old guy who says he can’t work summers.  So I drive a taxi.  And it’s great.  I make my own schedule and don’t answer to anyone now.  The pay isn't quite what I was making as a pilot, but the demands on me are far fewer.  And I like myself a whole lot more.

Ironically, thirty-plus years of taking people from here and dropping them off there in helicopters has prepared me well for this line of work.  Not so ironically, I enjoy it immensely.

More TV Commercial Fun - 2014

Regular readers of this irregularly published blog know that I love television...

...Commercials.

I'm constantly on the lookout for the various ways manufacturers have of grabbing our attention and getting us interested in their product. One of my favorite ad campaigns was Mazda's "Zoom-Zoom" series which they used forever. Even in one of their recent commmercials (which is awesome and uses the song "Safe and Sound" by Capital Cities), right at the very end as the Mazda logo comes up you see...ever so briefly...the words "Zoom-Zoom" materialize and then shoot offscreen to the right- a "callback" to their earlier ads.  It happens so fast that it's easy to miss. I like that. 

Zoom-Zoom, Mazda, I'm impressed!

And of course I love the "Most Interesting Man In The World" campaign for Dos Equis beer.  There's even a new version of the commercial.  I love that they keep coming up with new angles on this guy!

In the latest spot, along with the hilarious narration we see the tuxedo-clad MIMITW arriving at a swanky dinner party via dogsled.  Then they cut to archival TV news footage of a much-younger MIMITW saving a fireman from a burning building.  In his other hand is a goldfish bowl (still full of water) which he casually hands to the displaced tenant.  Back to present-day, from his seat in the stands of an operating room theater he advises the surgeon on which scalpel to use.  Finally, switching again back to archival footage we see him diving for pearls - of course he brings up an entire necklace!

I imagine that the producers of this campaign must have a grand time thinking up new things for TMIMITW to do.  It must be incredibly fun working on that team.

And then we come to those ads for Progressive Insurance.  You know, the ones with that perky, "Flo" character.  Say what you will about the ads (and a lot of people dislike them), but the unique campaign just works.  Even the people who don't like the spots remember them and the name of the insurance company.

Over the years, "Flo," played by acress/comedienne Stephanie Courtney has found herself in various situations.  In the new series of spots that began airing around Thanksgiving we got to meet her extremely, uhh, quirky family.  There is her crazy mom Diane ("No dear, we say 'creative,' not crazy, right?"), her mean sister Janice (who has a fashion blog and who is always on her phone), and her brother Todd (who has a child but whose wife is always mysteriously "on vacation").  There is also Flo's nutcase dad Richard, and her grandfather.  All of the parts are brilliantly played by Ms. Courtney.

In this hilarious two-minute spot, we are treated to Flo's family as they get ready to eat Thanksgiving dinner.  Mom has decided to do "Thanksgiving Tapas," meaning that all food is cubed and served on toothpicks (yes, even the Jello).  As preparations go on in the kitchen, Todd walks in and snidely says, "Can we please just go sit in front of the TV and eat like a normal family?"  In the living room, Grandpa is not impressed with the tiny portion of food on his plate.  "What is this, the Great Depression?" he barks before yelling, "Nurse!"  Flo corrects him, "Grandpa, I'm not a nurse."

The beauty of this ad campaign is that they don't beat you up over the head with the product info.  The producers just assume that we're already familiar with Flo and Progressive Insurance.  So while their logo is always visible (especially on Flo's uniform) it is not prominent in any of the spots.

Commercial ad campaigns like the three mentioned above are what keep me watching TV.  I can't wait to see what the ad agencies come up with for the Super Bowl!

Our Skeptical Society

We’ve become a cynical, skeptical, suspicious culture. We question everything now; we believe little of what we are told, especially if it’s being told by someone in government. Some people actually believe nothing, assuming that every official spokesperson is only engaging in cover-your-ass double-speak in which the Truth is twisted, mangled and camouflaged to the point that it is unrecognizable.

Why is this? I suppose we could trace it back to the suspicions of what the government knew about the impending attack in 1941 by the Japanese on Pearl Harbor that got us (finally!) into World War II. Lingering questions remain: Did President Roosevelt have intelligence that such an attack was planned and he just let it happen? That’s a horrible thought.

Or maybe it’s the result of the revelation about the vastly exaggerated if not fabricated Gulf of Tonkin Incident that got us fully involved in the Viet Nam War. This was the supposed attack on U.S. warships by the “North Vietnamese Navy.” We know now that President Johnson basically lied to the American people and Congress so that he could ramp up the war. And so the country went right along into that unwinnable fiasco. Hey, we seem to love war! (We’ve been denied, and as a nation we seem to want another “good, clear, decisive win” like WWII was. And apparently we won’t stop until we get one!)

Or maybe it was the whole “9/11” thing that got us into this never-ending and equally-unwinnable “WAR ON TERROR!!!!” We were told a certain story by the government about how a dozen or so “Muslim extremist” terrorists commandeered four airliners that fateful day in 2001 and used them for their evil purpose. Anyone who doubts the official story is derogatorily labeled a kook or “conspiracy theorist” nutjob. But many do doubt it…or aspects of it. Were we told the full and complete, truthful story? Personally I do not think so.

And so we come to Ferguson, Missouri, a suburb of St. Louis. There on August 9 of this year, an unarmed black kid named Michael Brown was fatally shot by a white policeman. (Although, calling Brown a “kid” is deceptive; he was 6’4” and 300 pounds.) The exact details of the shooting are disputed and controversial. The incident sparked some serious demonstrations and unrest on a scale unseen since the civil rights riots of the 1960’s and ‘70s.

The Ferguson Police Department’s handling of the protests and demonstrations has been controversial and, some would say disproportionate. One of the things the Ferguson P.D. did was to ask the FAA to declare a so-called “no-fly zone” around the city. There is a mechanism in the Federal Aviation Regulations (FAR’s) which allows this. It is called a “TFR” or Temporary Flight Restriction.

TFR’s are put in place over disasters, natural or man-made. Generally, they exist to keep sight-seers out, which could create an unsafe situation in the air. But restricting access also allows the safe, unimpeded transit and operation of fire-fighting, air ambulance, National Guard or other disaster-relief aircraft. In most cases, a TFR will not exclude aircraft carrying properly accredited members of the news media (the public has a First Amendment right to know, you see). But sometimes even news and media helicopters are kept out. This was the case with the Ferguson TFR.

We learn from a story in today’s Washington Post that the Ferguson P.D. specifically wanted to keep the news copters out…to prevent the media from covering the demonstrations and the P.D.’s handling of them. The TFR that was issued under the specific FAR normally would have kept all aircraft away from Ferguson. But the wording was carefully crafted by the FAA and the Ferguson P.D. to allow other, normal aircraft operation through the area but at the same time keep the pesky news reporters with their cameras out.

Read the story HERE.

The day the TFR was issued, the St. Louis County P.D. said it was not to keep the media out but for “safety” because people were shooting at police helicopters.

There were no incident reports of anyone shooting at police helicopters. (Having said that, it is true that a bullet from a rifle fired into the air might endangered a low-flying helicopter.)

The P.D. announcement was bullshit. The cops merely wanted to keep the news helicopters away. So they lied.

And so we have yet another instance in which it is reported to the American people that public officials lied. Whether or not what they did was justified is beside the point: They lied.

Politicians of the future need not wonder why we don’t believe a word they say.

The Real Gateway Drug

Now that I’m back in Pensacola and playing Mr. Cab Driver again, I am reminded and astonished anew at how many cab drivers smoke weed. One driver candidly admitted to me that it was rare that he wasn’t stoned when he drove.

I’m not sure this phenomenon is limited to my town. The late, great singer/songwriter, Harry Chapin sang about it in his hit song, “Taxi,” back in 1972. It’s about a guy who wanted to be a pilot – even joined the Air Force – but it didn’t happen for him. So he ends up driving a cab in San Francisco. One rainy night he coincidentally picks up an old high school sweetheart who had wanted to be an actress but married into money and had her plans change as well. The song ends…

And here, she's acting happy
Inside her handsome home
And me, I'm flying in my taxi
Taking tips, and getting stoned
I go flying so high, when I'm stoned.

I think that most pilots do not realize how pervasive weed is in the general population. Being conservative, rule-abiding types, we might drink alcohol but we view illegal drugs with disdain, which is also how we feel about the people who partake of them. So we tend to gravitate toward people like ourselves. Thus, we are often shocked when we learn that a non-aviator acquaintance gets high…regularly gets high.

It’s enlightening to look back and see just how marijuana got lumped in under the category of “Drugs.” It it not synthetic; it grows naturally on the planet. Unlike most other drugs (including most forms of alcohol), nothing further needs to be done to weed: Plant it; pick it; dry it out; smoke it. Just like tobacco. Wacky tabacky. But many countries felt it was such a threat in the 1920s and ‘30s that they decided to make it illegal. The theory was (and still is) that marijuana is a so-called “gateway drug” because it leads users into trying something stronger. No hard empirical data exists to support this, but nowadays it is generally accepted as fact.

So for all intents and purposes marijuana is a narcotic.

But so is alcohol, and so is caffeine and so are hundred of other products we routinely and legally take to make us "feel better."

But let’s not get into the politics of pot. The states of Washington and Colorado have legalized the personal use and sale of marijuana. The tide is turning and more states are surely to follow, like it or not.

Many people misunderstand the effect that weed has on you. It does not put you into a euphoric, catatonic state (like heroin or LSD). Contrary to some claims, weed does not impair your motor skills like alcohol does. Neither does it make you aggressive like alcohol. You never hear about a person going out, getting stoned and then crashing his car on the way home. You never hear of a guy going out, getting stoned and then going home and beating his wife. …Or getting into a fight in a bar. You never hear of Jamaica attacking or invading any other country ("Tomorrow, mon!"). You cannot ingest a fatal overdose of weed in one sitting while listening to your favorite Pink Floyd album.

By itself, weed is “fairly” harmless. (But combined with other intoxicants…that’s another story.) By now, I think most young people understand that weed is not the same as “harder” drugs like crack and meth and coke.

I know more than a few people who smoke but self-regulate their intake. They don’t smoke until they’re zonked-out and unconscious. They merely take a hit or two off a joint to just “take the edge off.” This allows them to go about their day normally. You probably wouldn’t even know they were stoned unless you knew the specific signs to look for – and they vary slightly from person to person. (But if you’re in a taxi in almost any city in this country, chances are good that your driver has smoked weed within the last twenty-four…uhhh, make that twelve hours.)

I am often offered weed. Smoking weed is a social thing…a group-bonding activity. But I always refuse. Here’s why: It’s not that I have any strict aversion to marijuana, or that I think it’s akin to mainlining heroin. It’s simply that I don’t smoke cigarettes – I never have. So smoking weed is incredibly harsh for me. To me, the high you get from pot is not worth the discomfort necessary to ingest it. “Oh, you get used to it,” my pot-smoking friends say. Well…yeah…except that I don’t want to. I’ll take my Rum and Coke, thank you.

Which is why I don’t think that marijuana is a “gateway drug.” But you know what the real gateway drug is? Cigarettes. I’m telling you, it’s a small step from a cigarette to a joint. If you see a teenager who smokes cigarettes, I’d bet you real money that he/she also smokes weed. Anectdotally, everybody I know who smokes weed also smokes cigarettes. Coincidence? I don’t think so.

Bad Facebooker...Facebookie?

As I’m sure all of us do, I get a lot of Facebook friend-requests. Usually they’re from people who’ve read something I’ve posted in a helicopter forum or on someone else’s wall. Trouble is, many of these requests are from people whose profiles are set to Private. This means that when I click on their name to see who they are I am met with the digital equivalent of a stony silence. Oh sure, we can look at “some” of their pictures, but anything meaningful that might tell you about them is hidden. Yet they want to know all about me. These requests always get ignored.

I do not automatically approve friend-requests – either from strangers or even from people I know. I’m kind of selective in that regard. Then again, even my own brother, Patrick has not approved my friend-request to him, so it works both ways. And I don’t blame him; we’re not close. But it sometimes ticks people off…people who think that because they have met me it entitles them to be friends with me online. It does not. I have 128 Facebook “friends.” I think that is quite enough…maybe too many.

When you “friend” someone on Facebook you are letting them into your world. They can learn things about you that perhaps they should not. And vice-versa. I keep my profile set to Public, mostly because I don’t have anything to hide and I don’t post anything really controversial on Facebook. But still… You’re opening yourself up.

Anyone who is curious about me can click on my name and see whatever they want. But that doesn’t mean I want all my posts and pics and “likes” and tags automatically showing up on their news feeds. On the other hand, I do not want everyone’s random burps and farts cluttering up my news feed. And some people do post waaaaaaaay too much trivial bullshit.

I got a couple of friend-requests the other day and I ignored them as usual. But it got me wondering: How many pending friend-requests did I have? Turns out the number is 107. It may be more, as I’ve actually clicked “Ignore” on some which makes them disappear off the list (I think).

I like Facebook…like the whole worldwide social aspect of it. I like how it can bring people of so many different cultures and locations together. I cannot imagine doing without Facebook just as I cannot imagine doing without a telephone.

But I limit the number of people I call “friends.” I like to meet and get to know people, but I don’t want them all in my house at the same time. So I guess that makes me a bad Facebooker.

The 2014 Cherry Drying Wrap-up

As many of you know, I live in Florida but spend my summers up in Washington State where I do the odd job of drying cherries by helicopter after it rains.  Thing is, it doesn’t rain much in the interior of Washington State, which makes it a good place to grow cherries.  But when it does rain, the farmers freak-out because too much rain is bad for their crop. (They can always add moisture if needed via irrigation.)   Cherries absorb moisture, and if they absorb too much they’ll split open and be rejected by the packing plant.  We helicopter pilots (and there are dozens of us from Oregon north to the Canadian border) sit around on “stand-by” waiting for it to rain so we can go out and do our thing.

Some years it rains a lot.  This past summer was particularly dry; we hardly flew at all.  Plus it was blisteringly hot – over 100 degrees nearly every day in July.  So we sat around…inside mostly, trying to keep cool.  There was not any relief in the evenings – most days it wouldn’t get below 90 until after nine p.m.!  So much for lazy, evening barbecues.

The season started early, and for some reason it caught us by surprise although it shouldn’t have.  Normally the growers want their stand-by charges to start in mid- to late-June.  This year the spring was unseasonably warm which accelerated the cherry growth.  Thus, when we got some rain in early June the farmers all hit the Panic! button.  It nearly caught us with our pants down.

After that initial spate of flying, the probability of precipitation dropped to zero and stayed that way in the forecast through Christmas.  Oh occasionally a little stray shower would make it’s way across the Cascades and into our orchards.  I flew a little in the middle of June, a little at the 24^th of June, and then not again until July 27^th.  Can you say, “boring?”  I knew you could.

Then there was The Fire.  Officially it is called The Carlton Complex Fire.  It started on Monday, June 14^th near the little town of Carlton which is northwest of us in Brewster.  So far it has consumed over 250,000 acres and more than 300 structures.  It is being called the biggest fire in the history of Washington State!  Although it is pretty much contained (98%), it still burns today, August 20^th. Some say that it won't be completely out until the first snowfall.

By Wednesday we knew the fire was serious – the smoke was really heavy.  And since the smoke was right over us, we knew that we were downwind of the fire – not a good place to be.  By Thursday it was approaching the towns of Pateros and Brewster.  We went out to eat at the local Mexican restaurant, and watched the fire come over the hill and down into town.  People were racing around, evacuating the hospital, trying to save homes in its path while we calmly (blithely?) munched on burritos and drank Dos Equis (although I don’t always drink beer, but when I do…).  It was kind of surprising to see.  The area around Brewster is mostly sagebrush and fruit orchards, so we didn’t think it would get as bad as it did.  But it did!

Brewster was spared, but Pateros got hit hard.  Many homes were burned to the ground, including the topless mayor’s.  Power was out because the fire burned the wooden power poles which took down the lines as they fell.  All in all it was pretty hairy.

Fortunately our beloved SweetRiver Bakery was spared.  But the whole town was out of commission for about a week due to the smoke/ash damage and no power.

The Washinton DNR’s (Department of Natural Resources) response to the fire had been…uhh…“late and inadequate” are the only terms that can be kindly used.  They really could have put the fire out while it was still small (all fires start small).  But they did not; their efforts were apparently directed more at containing it, which they could not do because the weather started getting really windy.  One morning we awoke to find that the management of the fire had been taken over by crews from California.  Suddenly we were seeing many more aircraft of all type fighting the fire as well as a more concerted effort on the ground.

The fire threatened the three locations at which we keep our aircraft, but thankfully it never came too close although we did move aircraft out of harm’s way a couple of times just to be safe.  I am assigned to a job at a remote orchard north of Brewster up near the town of Okanogan.  With my helicopter moved to a safer location, I sat in my RV one night watching the fire approaching…cresting and then descending a nearby hill as it made its way down toward “my” orchards.  I stayed up, ready to leave at a moment’s notice.  But by morning we saw that the fire stopped at the edge of the orchard, as it usually does.  There’s lots of moisture in those cherry and apple trees.

Then the fire just…sort of…went away.  The winds shifted/died, everything burnable around us had already burned, and we got a little rain.  Suddenly we were out of danger.  But the fire had put a damper on everything, stifled our ability to have “fun” when so many people had lost so much.  You’d be in a restaurant and overhear people talking about their house had burned to the ground and they’d lost everything.  It was heartbreaking. It was not enjoyable. Usually I stick around after the cherries are all picked, but this year as soon as my contract was over I left.

It’s still summer down here in Florida, with daily temperatures in the mid-90s.  I walked out of my house the other day and was suddenly hit by the heavy, humid air.  So different than the dry 100-degree heat of interior Washington.  Different, but…I don’t know…comfortable in an inexplicable way. Familiar, maybe.   And I thought to myself, “Gee, it’s good to be home!” I've done four summers up in Washington; I'm not sure whether there will be a fifth season for me.

Above is a shot of downtown Brewster on July 17th, 2014 as we'd just come out of the restaurant. The fire is coming down the hills just north of town. We're starting to think, "Hmm, maybe this fire is more serious than we thought?" How or why it didn't burn right into the town is beyond me.

The shot above is of the fuel truck at my LZ (landing zone) near Okanogan. The fire had come down the hill in the background and is right at the edge of the orchard (covered in the white bird netting). With the naked eye you could clearly see flames in the sagebrush but they did not show up in the shot.

Fire is a curious thing. See here how it burned the sagebrush right up to one post of the sign for the Alta Lake Campground near Pateros. But if that leg of the sign happened to be part of your house...the house would probably be gone.