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Aepilot_Jim



Last Updated: 5/12/2008

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Gender: Male
Status: Single
Age: 44
Sign: Gemini

State: Oklahoma
Country: US

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Sunday, May 11, 2008 

Category: Blogging

This is a cross post from my blogger account.  Nothing new really, just trying to keep both sites up to date.

I've been asked before and I've blogged about it before. Why do I carry. What am I compensating for. Usually I answer that I'm compensating for being old and slow. That's the easy answer.



This past week, two people were shot in my apartment complex. That's the second shooting and, I've lost count of the number of home invasions and violent crimes in my complex. Now I'm not saying that my carrying would have stopped me from being a victim of one of these types of crimes, but it does give me an opportunity to not be. I'm sorry if that's confusing. Let me try to explain. Without a defensive arm, and by that I mean a gun, a knife, a kubota, something, I have no other choice then to meekly pray that the goblins at my heels don't just kill me for whatever reason. I'm not saying that that's what will necessarily happen. But do you want to depend on mercy or compassion from someone that just looks at you as some sort commodity to be used for money or drugs? Without a means of self defense I've already decided to be the victim, with no ability to mitigate how much of a victim I become.


Also, Lawdog had a excellent post on not just our right, but our duty to defend ourselves. By being a sheep and laying down to be slaughtered, we're telling the bad guys out there that there is very little risk to what they've chosen to do. And since they see reward outweighing risk, they continue to do it. If the risk outweighed the reward, they'd turn to something else, that just basic human nature. It's sort of like house breaking a dog. Reward him for good behavior and punish him for bad. And unfortunately much like a dog, the reward or punishment has to be immediate for it to be connected to the activity. So, defenseless, high reward, low risk, happy thief, continued behavior. Defended, high risk, lower reward, unhappy thief, modifying behavior. Lawdog does a much better job of explaining it.

Why do I carry? Why don't you?

Sunday, May 11, 2008 

Category: Blogging

I've decide to move my bloging over to my blogger site.  I'll still keep this account active, and I may cross post when I get a chance, but I decided I like the blogger's bells and whistles better.  It's located over at:

http://aepilotjim.blogspot.com/

for anyone who cares.

Sunday, May 04, 2008 

Category: Jobs, Work, Careers

Okay, just a couple of quick thoughts.

Remember when it used to be hard to spend more money on ammo than candy at a gun show and have the candy weigh more?  Just weird that.  That and nobody, I mean nobody had any .308 Winchester.  I got there just after noon on the first day and it'd already been snapped up.  It's not any sort of hunting season, is it?

Okay, that was my "morning".  I got back around 4.

My evening consisted of a planned short flight out to Atlanta to pick up a couple of passengers and bring them home.  Plan was to leave around 8:45, get there an hour before the passengers were supposed to show and then hop back, about an hour and a half flight out and 1:45 back.  Them jet streams are a bear.  It was all supposed to put me back home in bed by 2-2:30 a.m.  Not a particularly late night.  But the big hairy hand of Murphy decided to get involved and tweak that.  Oh, the flying went fine.  The tweaking happened on the ground.  Apparently someone forgot to tell the trip scheduler that Atlanta is EASTERN not Central time.  So, instead of  being in position one hour prior, we were there 2 hours prior.  Then the passengers proceeded to be a bit more than 2 hours late.  That's their prerogative I guess, they pay for the convenience.  So, as 3 a.m. Central fast approached we finally got off the ground headed home.  Of course to stay alert through the dog watch hours, I had to sux the coffee, which meant when I finally hit my pillow at 5:30 I got to watch the clock till 6:30.  Them numbers is slow.

I didn't wake up till 1 p.m.  It's gonna take a few days to get back onto a human time schedule.  On a side note, someone did a study and found night pilots tend to live an average of 5 years shorter than other pilots, they said one of the contributing causes was the night flying schedule. Out of sync with the regular circadian rhythm or something.  I wonder what having no regular circadian rhythm does?

Sunday, April 27, 2008 

Category: Blogging

Goodday,

I wish to inform that I have dropwed your ATM MASTER CARD worth $800,000 USD with FedEx Delivery Services. Insurance and delivery charges have been paid for, but the only fee remaining is the security safe keeping fee of $193 USD which you will be required to pay before delivery.

However, this was not paid for because of demurrage. Well, I did forward them your delivery address, but a re-confirmation is important and when contacting, I advise you quote the parcel and shipment code to them for onward delivery to your re-confirmed address. The ATM MASTER CARD has pin number 1387 which is been noted by you alone.

Forward the following when contacting FedEx Delivery Services:

Your Name, Your Delivery Address, Your Phone Number and this code {Shipment Code: CPEL/OWN/9876 Parcel Number:EG2272-NIG}

Find FedEx Contact Information Below:
E-mail: info@fedexonline-ng.net
Tel: +234 705 547 1120
Shipment Code: CPEL/OWN/9876
Parcel Number: EG2272-NIG

Regards,
Mr. John Walter

d00d I'm effin' rich!! {snerk}

Friday, April 25, 2008 

Category: Blogging

I got tagged with a meme.  A book meme to make matters worse.  The closest book to me at the time is Steven Erikson's The Bonehunters: A Tale of the Malazon Book of the Fallen.

And I quote:

'Tell me, do the Tyrant's children still rule Darujhistan?'
Cutter shook his head.
'You looked crazed, mortal, what ails you?'

It's a great series that I got hooked on when I was living in England.  The hard part is each book runs close to 1000 pages.  And I get so caught up that I can't put them down.  Sleeplessness will kill me, eventually, but I'll enjoy it while I can.  I'm not actually reading bone hunter yet.  It just happens to be on the top of my 'to get to' stack.  The stack I'm reading sits by my bed and I'm, I think, 2 books in the series away from The Bonehuters yet

Meme rules:

Pick up the nearest book of 123 pages or more. No cheating!
Find page 123.
Find the first five sentences.
Post the next three sentences.
Tag five people.

If you just read this, consider yourself tagged.

Tuesday, April 22, 2008 

Category: Blogging

Easy day for me today.  We're down 2 airplanes due to maintenance and stuff, so I've been having a lot of down time.  Anyway, I was up at OPS shootin' the breeze and buyin plinkin ammo when a customer walked in that really got me thinking.

You see, he was in a wheelchair and obviously had atrophied upper body strength as well.  He'd come in because his primary means of self-defense, his dog, was getting on and he needed something to replace him.  Which in itself is sort of heart string tugging material.  This man's problem, was he didn't have the upper body strength to rack a slide and barely had the finger strength to pull a light trigger.  A nice SA trigger would have solved the finger strength problem, but he couldn't load or unload one.  A revolver would solve the loading problem, but they usually have tough triggers.

His situation got me thinking.  Here's a guy who has a right to self-defense as much or more so than the next person.  I say more so, because he's the type that your basic bad guy is looking for.  The goblins out there tend to look for the easy target.  The distracted mother, the old lady in the walker, the guy in the wheelchair.  So, I firmly believe that this guy needs to have the means to self-defense close at hand.  He's a rolling target to the goblins eyes.  If he gets targeted, the presentation of a gun makes this guy not such an easy target and would be enough to make the goblin think twice and hopefully move on.

Looking at his situation, I've got to think.  A taser won't work.  He's too weak to allow a mugger or worse get that close.  Pepper spray is iffy for the same reason.  A defensive pistol is the best option in a bad situation, but the number of handguns that would fit this man's circumstances can be counted on one hand with several fingers to spare.

He left without a satisfactory solution, and I sincerely hope that he finds one.  Our society and this country have been set up with one of it's tenets the protection and care for the weaker.  It's sickens me to think that there are those out there that seek them out as prey.

Sunday, April 06, 2008 

Category: Blogging

Today, another great man has passed into that great beyond.  Charleton Heston has left.  From his Civil Rights activism in the 50’s and 60’s, his fight against McCarthyism, defense of our second amendment rights, and just plain guts to stand up for what he believed, we have lost a great man.

Below is a reprint of a speech by Mr. Heston to the Harvard Law School Forum on Feb. 16th 1999.

Charlton Heston, speaking on ’Winning the Cultural War,’ Tuesday, February 16, 1999, 7:30 pm, Ames Courtroom, Austin Hall. Sponsored by the Harvard Law School Forum

[Audio Link]

I remember my son when he was five, explaining to his kindergarten class what his father did for a living.

"My Daddy," he said, "pretends to be people."

There have been quite a few of them.

Prophets from the Old and New Testaments, a couple of Christian saints, generals of various nationalities and different centuries, several kings, three American presidents, a French cardinal and two geniuses, including Michelangelo.

If you want the ceiling re-painted I’ll do my best.

It’s just that there always seems to be a lot of different fellows up here. I’m never sure which one of them gets to talk. Right now, I guess I’m the guy.

As I pondered our visit tonight it struck me: If my Creator gave me the gift to connect you with the hearts and minds of those great men, then I want to use that same gift now to re-connect you with your own sense of liberty ... your own freedom of tho ught ... your own compass for what is right.

Dedicating the memorial at Gettysburg, Abraham Lincoln said of America, "We are now engaged in a great Civil War, testing whether this nation or any nation so conceived and so dedicated can long endure." Those words are true again. . . I believe that we are again engaged in a great civil war, a cultural war that’s about to hijack your birthright to think and say what lives in your heart.

I fear you no longer trust the pulsing lifeblood of liberty inside you . . . the stuff that made this country rise from wilderness into the miracle that it is.

Let me back up a little. About a year ago I became president of the National Rifle Association, which protects the right to keep and bear arms. I ran for office, I was elected, and now I serve ... I serve as a moving target for the media who’ve called me everything from "ridiculous" and "duped" to a " brain-injured, senile, crazy old man." I know, I’m pretty old ... but I sure Lord ain’t senile.

As I have stood in the crosshairs of those who target Second Amendment freedoms, I’ve realized that firearms are not the only issue.

No, it’s much, much bigger than that.

I’ve come to understand that a cultural war is raging across our land, in which, with Orwellian fervor, certain acceptable thoughts and speech are mandated.

For example, I marched for civil rights with Dr. King in 1963 - long before Hollywood found it fashionable. But when I told an audience last year that white pride is just as valid as black pride or red pride or anyone else’s pride, they called me a racist.

I’ve worked with brilliantly talented homosexuals all my life. But when I told an audience that gay rights should extend no further than your rights or my rights, I was called a homophobe.

I served in World War II against the Axis powers. But during a speech, when I drew an analogy between singling out innocent Jews and singling out innocent gun owners, I was called an anti-Semite.

Everyone I know knows I would never raise a closed fist against my country.

But when I asked an audience to oppose this cultural persecution, I was compared to Timothy McVeigh.

From Time magazine to friends and colleagues, they’re essentially saying, "Chuck, how dare you speak your mind like that? You are using language not authorized for public consumption!"

But I am not afraid. If Americans believed in political correctness, we’d still be King George’s boys - subjects bound to the British crown.

In his book, "The End of Sanity," Martin Gross writes that "blatantly irrational behavior is rapidly being established as the norm in almost every area of human endeavor. There seem to be new customs, new rules,

new anti-intellectual theories regularly foisted on us from every direction.

Underneath, the nation is roiling. Americans know something without a name is undermining the country, turning the mind mushy when it comes to separating truth from falsehood and right from wrong. And they don’t like it."

Let me read a few examples.

At Antioch college in Ohio, young men seeking intimacy with a coed must get verbal permission at each step of the process from kissing to petting to final copulation ... all clearly spelled out in a printed college directive.

In New Jersey, despite the death of several patients nationwide who had been infected by dentists who had concealed their AIDs - the state commissioner announced that health providers who are HIV-positive need not….need not. . . .tell their patients th at they are infected.

At William and Mary, students tried to change the name of the school team "The Tribe" because it was supposedly insulting to local Indians, only to learn that authentic Virginia chiefs truly like the name.

In San Francisco, city fathers passed an ordinance protecting the rights of transvestites to cross-dress on the job, and for transsexuals to have separate toilet facilities while undergoing sex change surgery.

In New York City, kids who don’t speak a word of Spanish have been placed in bilingual classes to learn their three R’s in Spanish solely because their last names sound Hispanic.

At the University of Pennsylvania, in a state where thousands died at Gettysburg opposing slavery, the president of that college officially set up segregated dormitory space for black students.

Yeah, I know . . . that’s out of bounds now. Dr. King said "Negroes."

Jimmy Baldwin and most of us on the March said "black." But it’s a no-no now.

For me, hyphenated identities are awkward . . . particularly "Native-American. " I’m a Native American, for God’s sake. I also happen to be a blood-initiated brother of the Miniconjou Sioux.

On my wife’s side, my grandson is a thirteenth generation native American . . . with the capital letter on "American."

Finally, just last month . . . David Howard, head of the Washington D.C. Office of Public Advocate, used the word "niggardly" while talking to colleagues about budgetary matters. Of course, "niggardly" means stingy or scanty. But within days Howard was forced to publicly apologize and resign.

As columnist Tony Snow wrote: "David Howard got fired because some people in public employ were morons who (a) didn’t know the meaning of niggardly,’ (b) didn’t know how to use a dictionary to discover the meaning, and (c) actually demanded that he apo logize for their ignorance. "

What does all this mean? It means that telling us what to think has evolved into telling us what

to say, so telling us what to do can’t be far behind.

Before you claim to be a champion of free thought, tell me: Why did political correctness originate on America’s campuses? And why do you continue to tolerate it?

Why do you, who’re supposed to debate ideas, surrender to their suppression?

Let’s be honest. Who here thinks your professors can say what they really believe?

That scares me to death. It should scare you too, that the superstition of political correctness rules the halls of reason.

You are the best and the brightest. You, here in the fertile cradle of American academia, here in the castle of learning on the Charles River, you are the cream. But I submit that you, and your counterparts across the land, are the most socially conformed and politically silenced generation since Concord Bridge. And as long as you validate that ... and abide it ... you are - by your grandfathers’ standards - cowards.

Here’s another example. Right now at more than one major university, Second Amendment scholars and researchers are being told to shut up about their findings or they’ll lose their jobs. Why? Because their research findings would undermi ne big-city mayor’s pending lawsuits that seek to extort hundreds of millions of dollars from firearm manufacturers.

I don’t care what you think about guns. But if you are not shocked at that, I am shocked at you. Who will guard the raw material of unfettered ideas, if not you? Democracy is dialogue!

Who will defend the core value of academia, if you supposed soldiers of free thought and expression lay down your arms and plead, "Don’t shoot me."

If you talk about race, it does not make you a racist.

If you see distinctions between the genders, it does not make you sexist.

If you think critically about a denomination, it does not make you anti-religion.

If you accept but don’t celebrate homosexuality, it does not make you a homophobe.

Don’t let America’s universities continue to serve as incubators for this rampant epidemic of new McCarthyism.

But what can you do? How can anyone prevail against such pervasive social subjugation? The answer’s been here all along.

I learned it 36 years ago, on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in Washington D.C., standing with Dr. Martin Luther King and two hundred thousand people.

You simply ... disobey.

Peaceably, yes. Respectfully, of course. Nonviolently, absolutely.

But when told how to think or what to say or how to behave, we don’t. We disobey social protocol that stifles and stigmatizes personal freedom.

I learned the awesome power of disobedience from Dr. King . . . who learned it from Gandhi, and Thoreau, and Jesus, and every other great man who led those in the right against those with the might.

Disobedience is in our DNA. We feel innate kinship with that disobedient spirit that tossed tea into Boston Harbor, that sent Thoreau to jail, that refused to sit in the back of the bus, that protested a war in Viet Nam.

In that same spirit, I am asking you to disavow cultural correctness with massive disobedience of rogue authority, social directives and onerous laws that weaken personal freedom.

But be careful ... it hurts. Disobedience demands that you put yourself at risk. Dr. King stood on lots of balconies.

You must be willing to be humiliated ... to endure the modern-day equivalent of the police dogs at Montgomery and the water cannons at Selma.

You must be willing to experience discomfort. I’m not complaining, but my own decades of social activism have left their mark on me.

Let me tell you a story. A few years back I heard about a rapper named Ice-T who was selling a CD called "Cop Killer" celebrating ambushing and murdering police officers. It was being marketed by none other than Time/Warner, the biggest entertainment conglomerate in the world. Police across the country were outraged. Rightfully so - at least one had been murdered. But Time/Warner was stonewalling because the CD was a cash cow for them, and the media were tiptoeing around it because the rapper was black.

I heard Time/Warner had a stockholders meeting scheduled in Beverly Hills. I owned some shares at the time, so I decided to attend. What I did there was against the advice of my family and colleagues. I asked for the floor. To a hushed room of a thousand average American stockholders, I simply read the full lyrics of "Cop Killer" - every vicious, vulgar, instructional word.

"I GOT MY 12 GAUGE SAWED OFF I GOT MY HEADLIGHTS TURNED OFF I’M ABOUT TO BUST SOME SHOTS OFF I’M ABOUT TO DUST SOME COPS OFF..." It got worse, a lot worse. I won’t read the rest of it to you. But trust me, the room was a sea of shocked, frozen, blanched faces. The Time/Warner executives squirmed in their chairs and stared at their shoes. They hated me for that.

Then I delivered another volley of sick lyric brimming with racist filth, where Ice-T fantasizes about sodomizing two 12-year old nieces of Al and Tipper Gore.

"SHE PUSHED HER BUTT AGAINST MY ...."

Well, I won’t do to you here what I did to them. Let’s just say I left the room in echoing silence. When I read the lyrics to the waiting press corps, one of them said "We can’t print that." ’’I know," I replied, "but Time/Warner’s sell ing it.

Two months later, Time/Warner terminated Ice-T’s contract. I’ll never be offered another film by Warners, or get a good review from Time magazine. But disobedience means you must be willing to act, not just talk. When a mugger sues his elderly victim for defending herself... jam the switchboard of the district attorney’s office.

When your university is pressured to lower standards until 80% of the students graduate with honors . . . choke the halls of the board of regents.

When an 8-year-old boy pecks a girl’s cheek on the playground and gets hauled into court for sexual harassment . . . march on that school and block its doorways. When someone you elected is seduced by political power and betrays you . . . petition them, oust them, banish them. When Time magazine’s cover portrays millennium nuts as deranged, crazy Christians holding a cross as it did last month . . . boycott their magazine and the products it advertises.

So that this nation may long endure, I urge you to follow in the hallowed footsteps of the great disobediences of history that freed exiles, founded religions, defeated tyrants, and yes, in the hands of an aroused rabble in arms and a f ew great men, by God’s grace, built this country.

If Dr. King were here, I think he would agree.

Thank you.

Sunday, April 06, 2008 

Category: Blogging

I went to Wanenmachers today.  Got there at 9am and managed to see it all by 4pm.  With a stop at noon to meet up with fellow OK Shooters, and a 15 minute collapse in a chair thoughtfully provided by the guys at the OPS table (Thanks guys).  I made sure I wore my good walking shoes this time.  My legs still hurt.  Next time I’ll:

Pack water.  3 bucks for a small bottle is ree-dik-u-las!

Bring a dolly.  Or a wagon.  It’ll be for carrying what I buy or wheeling me to my car after I collapse.

Carry a map.  Seriously, no really.

On a related note, don’t steal those electric chairs.  They may be sitting there with no one around, but the owners really can move pretty quick when motivated.

And finally, I was only rapped in the head by a muzzle 7 times.  The trend is down.  Oh, and one nose picking by a .22, don’t ask.

Saturday, April 05, 2008 

Category: Blogging

Tomorrow is Wannamacher.  Of course I’m already broke for the month, so, it’s just gonna be a sight seeing tour for me.

 

Thursday, April 03, 2008 

Category: Jobs, Work, Careers
So, last night, at about 9:30 I get a call.  We did a crew swap on an air ambulance trip.  The original crew timed out and couldn’t finish the trip.  This little jaunt started in Brownsville, TX and ended... Yeap, you guessed it, Thompson, Manitoba... Canada.  Go ahead, I’ll wait while you try to find it on the map.  It’s there, due north from Winnepeg.  Okay, draw a line north along the Minnesota, North Dakota border.  You’ll pass over Winnepeg, inbetween a couple of long lakes and there it is, Thompson.  Very very very much in the middle of nowhere.  Or about 400 miles north of Winnepeg.  It was one of those deals where if we’d landed "off airport" they wouldn’t have found our bodies till summer if at all.  Of course we had bupkiss for survival gear.  I got home this morning around 9am and woke up around 6pm.  Of course I’m gonna be awake all night.