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Lighted, Lighted, Lovely Room
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Saturday, 06 March 2004
 Just got back from Aventis. I oversaw about twenty withdrawals today. Beau came in looking simply terrible—I told him I'd just give him the ten bucks, that he shouldn't be selling his plasma now, especially since they've got the regional managers in today and they'd be suspicious if they saw me sticking a needle in him, the poor sick junkie. But I was far more decorous than that about the whole thing, and he took my money without seeming too shaken, even though it was quite a major shift from his routine, and he'll probably get in a fight or something ridiculous as a result. I can read these people like books.
When I was heading back I discovered to my dismay that my right windshield wiper has stopped working. "Come on! Fuck!" I thought at the time. Actually, it's only a bitch when I'm at intersections and trying to see if there's traffic coming from the right. So I need to call Delco. Another thing I'll manage to think of and quickly dismiss while I'm staring at the ceiling over my bed and gaining weight.
So I got back about 45 minutes ago, been relaxin ever since—that is, had a few cigarettes underneath the overhang so I wouldn't get wet, checked my e-mail a few times (yes, within a half an hour, that's pathetic), did a few landings on x-plane and replayed them from several angles. (Now I can reasonably claim that I can fly and land any Boeing aircraft currently in service.)
On a related note: today I came across a crappy human-interest story in the ABJ about a guy who flies somewhere around here in one of those powered gliders. (probably entirely fabricated, anyway, since the photo looked like it was from Corbis. I think I saw a bit of a sand dune they tried to crop out, and they "identified" the guy in the caption, even though it EXPLICITLY SAID in the article that he has yet to travel anywhere exotic with it.) Anyway, it made me think of when I was ten and had a reasonable understanding of Lift and tried to build my own aircraft. Had it not been for my parents' exasperation, I think I'd still be running up and down the empty street trying to get it off the ground.
I didn't read the whole piece but I gathered from it that the dork bought the thing. Like a true dilettante. If I ever were to do it, I'd want to build it myself, and from the cheapest, flimsiest materials available. Just a few steps above the plastic Fisher-Price scooter and styrofoam wings and duct tape I used in my last attempt. The only obstacles I can see are my troubling corpulence (I'm up to 205) and finding a sufficiently light and powerful injun. More on this as it develops.Only registered users can write comments.
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Mickey Jefferson - Eatin' Donuts and the Like 
