Back in the "City"

For what would be my longest amount of time off for the entire month of March, I double-legged it from Seattle over to Newark by way of Minneapolis, my old stomping grounds. Doing it that way allowed me to arrive at a reasonable hour instead of 6am after a red-eye. Thanks in part to loud refrigerators in my hotel rooms and faulty climate control, I didn't sleep well for the previous few nights, so sleep was a priority.

I touched down in Newark, where the pilots said the temperature was 70 degrees, albeit very windy. It didn't last. The following day was in the 30s and then 20s. I can't seem to find decent weather anywhere. My first day in New Jersey was spent relaxing. But my main purpose for being on the wrong side of the country was thanks to my girlfriend's parents buying us tickets to see Billy Joel at Madison Square Garden.

He does performances at the Garden once a month and plans to do so until people stop coming. By the looks of things, it may be a while before this happens It was notably an older crowd, and very very white.

I had recently watched a documentary about Billy Joel going to the Soviet Union as one of the first American artists to be welcomed in under Gorbachev. In it, they kept remarking on how the Soviet party leaders were holding their ears and walking out of the performance because it was not a sound they had heard before.

The documentary credits him for bringing rock to the Soviet Union, but it's just odd for me to think of Billy Joel as a "rocker." To me, he's mostly a piano player who gets played on easy listening radio stations. One of his band mates from the Soviet Union tour was the guy in this picture who has aged markedly better than Billy Joel himself. Let that be a lesson kids -- don't turn to a life of alcoholism. It turns you into a humpty dumpty potato face.

At one point, Billy got up from his piano to "rock" out to We Didn't Start the Fire while holding a guitar. Not playing, holding. I'm not sure why he was given the guitar if he wasn't going to play. He had the appearance of an old drunk uncle at a wedding, playing an inflatable instrument. At other points, other musical relics of the past made brief appearances to perform with Billy. The Young Rascals came on stage to perform Good Lovin' and John Mellencamp also showed up to do a song. (Not to be confused with John Cougar Mellencamp).

Needless to say, the mostly older crowd, reached for their knee braces and pacemakers to sway slowly back and forth to these nostalgic reminders of what once was. I exaggerate only slightly. As much as I poke fun of it all, he really is an impressive performer. When back at the piano, he was in his element, playing the keys aggressively and with purpose. No sheet music whatsoever. After performing for almost 2 and a half hours straight, he performed a few more of his hits and called it a night. He slowly got up from the piano and made his way off the stage to standing ovation. The years have not been good to Billy Joel.

We set out into the cold Manhattan night and back to beautiful New Jersey. For the rest of March I will not really have any downtime. I will be working for most of the month, with just two days off in a row at any given time. It's not ideal. Who works five days in a row and only gets two days off? That's just craziness. I'm not sure how anyone can live like that.

It's Up to You, Newark, New York.

Yes, I'm still here. The fact of the matter is that I can count on one hand how many overnights I have had over the last two months. Two. I was in Fresno once and ate at Quizno's twice. This fact is perhaps not worthy of a blog post. And last week I was overnight in Leon/Guanajuato where I took this picture during my preflight. I have not turned into a "Slam-Clicker," the term for crew members who arrive at the hotel, latch their door, and don't emerge until their next report time. My last trip to Mexico didn't arrive until close to 9 pm after some delays, and I had an early morning report, so I simply went to bed.


For the last few days, I was in beautiful New Jersey, an expression I use with just a hint of sarcasm. One day, Nicole and I went into "the city" as folks around here refer to New York. As Nicole's birthday was coming up, we prepared for a crazy night in New York  the city to celebrate. After driving through the Lincoln Tunnel, we emerged into a land of bad drivers, aggressive taxis, slow tour buses, and millions of angry New Yorkers city people. Horns were blaring everywhere. Every man for themselves! It was clear this was not Japan, where people are respectful -- even in crowds.

Our first order of business was to find B&H Photo, a major online camera retail store whose flagship store is in New York the city. Over the years, I have ordered many products from B&H, so I was eager to see this mythical land. Having recently visited Yodobashi Camera in Japan, B&H was a surprising letdown. Whereas the Kyoto Yodobashi I visited had seemingly every camera product available for sale, B&H displayed only the most expensive camera products from each major brand, but you had to ask to take a look at lenses or other options by lining up at a counter. Not nearly as fun.

We didn't leave empty-handed, because Nicole was mesmerized by a speaker system that had water and lights that bounced to match the music. While Nicole was sucked into the vortex of the hypnotic lights and water, I purchased said speakers for her birthday. Then we had dinner and went to see my very first broadway musical. I have seen broadway shows in Milwaukee, Chicago, London's West End, and even Green Bay, but never physically on Broadway. Nor have I ever seen Cats, so this was a day of firsts. Meeeow!

At intermission, I was a bit confused. I was trying to figure out the story until I realized there wasn't one until meow. It was like a roll call of different cat characters, and what I could only conclude was an expose on sexism in the cat world because nobody wanted to befriend the older lady cat (played by British pop star Leona Lewis), but had no problem befriending the older men cats. Meow why is that? The dancing was impressive, particularly toward the end of the show and meow that I had accepted that there was no story, I could appreciate it for what it was.

Cats at one time was the longest running Broadway musical of all time, but disappeared for a while and is now coming back. I was always wondering what all the fuss was about and meow I know. After the show, we fought off the crowds and began heading out of New York the city. We drove through Times Square, an area I had not seen since I visited back in 2001, prior to 9/11. I felt fortunate to be in the safety of a car. Everything just seems so chaotic and overrun by tourists. This part of the city is simply not my scene. New York is over-romanticized on TV.

Nicole suggests a spinoff of the show Friends that centers around a cast of characters who also frequent the Central Perk coffee shop, but are angry New Yorkers who can't believe how this one group of oblivious friends keep taking over the nice couches and chairs. I have lived in many a city over the years and there's just something about New York that brings out the worst in me. It's like I want to fight everyone. Of course, this is evidently how everyone else feels and every one goes about their day with a chip on their shoulder and a clenched fist.

The following day I watched in horror as my flight from Newark to LA went from 18 available seats to Minus 40. Something happened in the morning where dozens of passengers kept getting rolled down to the following flight, which grew exponentially over the course of the day. I couldn't risk doing standby on a day like this when I had to work the following day. I could see from the standby lists that multiple people were already asking for the jumpseat, a prospect that I did not find appealing for a six hour flight anyway. With few options, but lots of unused airline miles, I secured a seat in first class. Chocolate sundae, yum!

Ah, the Stress of Holiday Travel

We find our heroes in Michigan's upper peninsula. After a significant delay due to low visibility, we finally acquired the aircraft, flew it to Detroit, turned around, and did an approach to minimums in Escanaba, Michigan. The following morning, we all woke up at 5am in an attempt to take the first flight to Detroit and go home, or in my case -- New Jersey. Then the problems began. The weather automation system at the airport was broken, and since the airport is not towered, there was no one there to either fix it or create their own weather report. Thus I was stranded in Escanaba indefinitely. I seriously contemplated getting a rental car and driving to Green Bay or Appleton just to get out. The problem with this plan was the lack of a car rental company that was open. Eventually by sheer luck, or "prayers," as an elderly passenger claimed, the weather automation was back on line and the 11 of us that remained at the airport boarded a nearly empty plane and were off to Detroit.

Once in Detroit, I had to exit through security, take a bus to another terminal, reenter security, and run to my gate (which of course was at the farthest end of the terminal). It was Christmas eve and the airports were crowded and oversold on flights. Knowing I had basically no chance of getting a seat in the back, I asked for the jumpseat up front. It was a short flight over to Newark, where it was . . . 72 degrees on December 24th.

At any opportunity, I tried to get outside. Each day in New Jersey got a little bit colder. By the end, the temperature had dropped to the 50s (still unusual mind you). Nicole and I visited numerous parks, such as the one you see here in Verona. Nicole practiced her beam routine and was thankful the French judge was not there to deduct 4/10 of a point for that small bounce at the dismount. After that we went to a mansion in Montclair called the VanVleck House. It would normally have lush gardens and look very elegant. It is evidently popular as a wedding venue, but when we arrived, it looked haunted and spooky. I guess this is to be expected when it is December and everything is dead.









The next day, I was on six different flights. One to go from Newark to Minneapolis, and then five more flights that made up my work schedule for the day. This was the most I've ever done in one day. It was not too stressful, though, because I got to land at Appleton International, an airport that I have not landed at since 2001 when I was flying a Cessna 152. There was something poetic about returning to the place where I had my first solo. A lot has changed since then. A new terminal building was built, two of the airlines that used to fly there (Midwest and Northwest) no longer exist, and despite all my flight training being grounded after 9/11, going to school in D.C. for a degree unrelated to flight, attending graduate school in California for a degree unrelated to flight, and almost 15 years after that first solo, I had returned to the airport that started it all. It took a while, but it was worth it.

Fall in Jersey

Two days off. Where should I go? Well, across the country of course. Nicole was keen to return to her motherland in order to shake hands and fist pump with a new arrival to her family, so I tagged along. My disdain for the garden state and the majority of its residents is rarely disguised, though I do admit a peculiar small town quaintness to much of the state. Having left triple digit temperatures in Los Angeles, it was also good, in some ways, to be reminded that it is actually October. The trees were changing color and there was a crispness to the air that I haven't felt in years. Exhaling into the air gave way to smoke -- a novelty to me as a child...and now. Nicole and I embarked on a walk through Grover Cleveland Park in Caldwell, NJ. Yes. Grover Cleveland: a president you think so little about you may not have known he was even a president. But he was not just any president. Nay, he was the only president to have been elected twice in two non-consecutive terms! Ooooh. Aaaah. His first lady was also his sister. And obviously, with a park named after him, he was born in Caldwell, NJ. And now you know. 

The trails around the park were filled with walkers and joggers, all dressed as if it was the middle of July. The joggers had to be careful not to run too close to people in the midst of a conversation lest they get smacked by a rogue hand gesture. (There's a lot of hands when talking in New Jersey) That evening we partook in a typical New Jersey meal of salad, pizza, eggplant parm, and pasta with vodka sauce. I think there was something else there too, but I digest...   I can't stop myself. I established bad precedent some years ago when I had flown in to New Jersey on a redeye for a wedding and was very tired and hungry and proceeded to eat my rehearsal dinner steak and that of three others around me...as well as a plate full of desserts. From that moment on, I was labeled as the eater. No turning back now. 

The following day, we headed to Wightman's Farm in Morristown, New Jersey for another example of old school Americana and quaintness. Children were picking out pumpkins, and also walking into my knees. People were making hand gestures to describe the shape of pumpkin they wanted...or possibly just asking one another how many is too many meatballs. It is unclear. We looked at gourds and pumpkins and cider and all kinds of autumnal produce. Freshly made cinnamon donuts were purchased. Donuts were eaten. After bloating once again, I rolled back to LA and then on to Fresno to report for another week of west coast flying.