When my son and I ran into a commercial advertising James Cameron’s new movie Sanctum he wondered why it was stressed that this movie was “inspired by true events.”
The only answer I could come up with was that people put more significance or importance on a story if it is ‘true’. But for the movie in question the choice of the phrase ‘inspired by’ could mean as little as “I saw a dog fall into a pond and had the idea to make a movie about cave scuba diving.” Surely, there is a true event – dog falling into pond – and that inspired the making of that movie.
I have learned a long time ago that ‘true’ is a very elastic term. When I had the experience that two people, with no agenda to sway me one way or the other, told me about the same event and I could not recognize the event as one and the same, I learned that ‘Truth’ is a relative term – a fact that detectives and investigators understand.
With this said, the following story had the label ‘true’ but I do not really care – it’s a good story with something to learn from. It came in a viral email with the typical ending, that I had to send it to at least three people to have my wishes come true at some point in time and to 126 people if I want them to come true right away. I leave this part of the email out and concentrate on the story itself.
Here we go…
I am a mother of three (ages 14, 12, 3) and have recently completed my college degree.
The last class I had to take was Sociology.
The teacher was absolutely inspiring with the qualities that I wish every human being had been graced with.
Her last project of the term was called, ‘Smile.’
The class was asked to go out and smile at three people and document their reactions.
I am a very friendly person and always smile at everyone and say hello anyway. So, I thought this would be a piece of cake – literally.
Soon after we were assigned the project, my husband, youngest son, and I went out to McDonald’s one a crisp March morning.
It was just our way of sharing special playtime with our son.
We were standing in line, waiting to be served, when all of a sudden everyone around us began to back away, and then even my husband did.
I did not move an inch – an overwhelming feeling of panic welled up inside of me as I turned to see why they had moved.
As I turned around I smelled a horrible ‘dirty body’ smell, and there, standing behind me, were two poor homeless men.
As I looked down at the short gentleman, close to me, he was ‘smiling.’ His beautiful sky blue eyes were full of God’s Light as he searched for acceptance.
He said, ‘Good day’ as he counted the few coins he had been clutching.
The second man fumbled with his hands as he stood behind his friend. I realized the second man was mentally challenged and the blue-eyed gentleman was his salvation.
I held my tears as I stood there with them.
The young lady at the counter asked him what they wanted.
He said, ‘Coffee is all Miss’ because that was all they could afford. (If they wanted to sit in the restaurant and warm up, they had to buy something. He just wanted to be warm.)
Then I really felt it – the compulsion was so great I almost reached out and embraced the little man with the blue eyes. That is when I noticed all eyes in the Restaurant were set on me, judging my every action.
I smiled and asked the young lady behind the counter to give me two more breakfast meals on a separate tray. I then walked around the corner to the table that the men had chosen as a resting spot. I put the tray on the table and laid my hand on the blue-eyed gentleman’s cold hand. He looked up at me, with tears in his eyes, and said, ‘Thank you.’
I leaned over, began to pat his hand and said, ‘I did not do this for you.. God is here working through me to give you hope.’
I started to cry as I walked away to join my husband and son. When I sat down my husband smiled at me and said, ‘That is why God gave you to me, Honey, to give me hope.’
We held hands for a moment and at that time, we knew that only because of the Grace that we had been given were we able to give.
We are not church goers, but we are believers. That day showed me the pure Light of God’s sweet love.
I returned to college, on the last evening of class, with this story in hand. I turned in ‘my project’ and the instructor read it. Then she looked up at me and said, ‘Can I share this?’ I slowly nodded as she got the attention of the class. She began to read and that is when I knew that we as human beings and being part of God share this need to heal people and to be healed.
In my own way I had touched the people at McDonald’s, my son, the instructor, and every soul that shared the classroom on the last night I spent as a college student.
I graduated with one of the biggest lessons I would ever learn:
This is the story of a special bonus question during a college chemistry test which most of the students answered with a varying degree of humor and fantasy. The story is just that – a story. I have no means of deciding of it was an actual professor with a sense of humor or just a creative writer – but whatever it is, it’s a good story.
Here is the question and the answer of the student who got an A+.
Bonus Question: Is Hell exothermic (gives off heat) or endothermic (absorbs heat)?
Answer: First, we need to know how the mass of Hell is changing in time. So we need to know the rate at which souls are moving into Hell and the rate at which they are leaving, which is unlikely. I think that we can safely assume that once a soul gets to Hell, it will not leave. Therefore, no souls are leaving. As for how many souls are entering Hell, let’s look at the different religions that exist in the world today.
Most of these religions state that if you are not a member of their religion, you will go to Hell. Since there is more than one of these religions and since people do not belong to more than one religion, we can project that all souls go to Hell. With birth and death rates as they are, we can expect the number of souls in Hell to increase exponentially. Now, we look at the rate of change of the volume in Hell because Boyle’s Law states that in order for the temperature and pressure in Hell to stay the same, the volume of Hell has to expand proportionately as souls are added.
This gives two possibilities:
1. If Hell is expanding at a slower rate than the rate at which souls enter Hell, then the temperature and pressure in Hell will increase until all Hell breaks loose.
2. If Hell is expanding at a rate faster than the increase of souls in Hell, then the temperature and pressure will drop until Hell freezes over.
So which is it?
If we accept the postulate given to me by Teresa during my Freshman year that, ‘It will be a cold day in Hell before I sleep with you,’ and take into account the fact that I slept with her last night, then number two must be true, and thus I am sure that Hell is exothermic and has already frozen over. The corollary of this theory is that since Hell has frozen over, it follows that it is not accepting any more souls and is therefore, extinct…..
…leaving only Heaven, thereby proving the existence of a divine being which explains why, last night, Teresa kept shouting ‘Oh my God.’
Last year I took my son out to Death Valley for a day – and night – he loves to be in hotels! We stopped in Stovepipe Wells for the night and continued on to Furnace Creek the next day. This trip was done on the ground but it still reminded me immensely of a research mission the custodian of the Logs of JD Flora and I conducted many years ago. I reported about that mission on the web in something that today would be called a blog. The pages are still there but hidden in the deep crevices of the internet, so that I though I dig this all out and present it here again – on a real blog.
Here we go…
What!? You don’t know who J.D. Flora is? I would say that you better find out. Otherwise this story will not make very much sense. I will wait here until you are back …….
……
……
So, now you know our hero. You also know or will find out that Dr. Joachim Steingrubner, the lucky person who found the logs of J.D. Flora and I went onto a mission to follow the tracks of our hero.
From the logs we learned about J.D.’s one flight to Tehachapi, Mountain Valley. There, on his heading of 10 degrees at a distance of 12 miles he encountered the unexplainable – at least for us. Will we ever find out what happened?
On another flight J.D. Flora, or Jetty, how he is now sometimes called by his fans, made a flight to Stovepipe Wells and Furnace Creek, again with unexplainable but steamy events happening.
Dr. Steingrubner as the historian and chronist as well as the researcher of the J.D. Flora logs decided that a mission was in order to follow the trails of the subject of his research. I was to participate in this project as the pilot in command. The interested reader can follow the trail on a World Aeronautical Chart.
World Aeronautical Chart
On a fine sunny morning we met at the Pilot’s Co-Op at Burbank airport, ready to follow the trails of J.D. Flora.
Dr. Steingrubner had the appropriate excerpts from The Logs so that we could review it for our first leg. From the IRC communication between SFYNX Remate Agent 3 and J.D. we learned:
SFYNX-RA3> From your recent e-mail I conclude that you want to SFYNX-RA3> go flying today or tomorrow morning. How about going to SFYNX-RA3> Tehachapi for a snack ? JDF> It's quite a humble, but healthy cuisine they got there, but I'll JDF> consider this. Any reason for this ? SFYNX-RA3> Of course. SFYNX-RA3> From Tehachapi, if you fly heading zero-one-zero SFYNX-RA3> degrees for 12.5 nautical miles, you'll see a small SFYNX-RA3> landing strip in the desert between two small hills. SFYNX-RA3> Cross the runway East to West abeam and fly SFYNX-RA3> an approach of one-seven-zero degrees, land and SFYNX-RA3> taste the space over there for some time.... JDF> Will see... so, but what's the purpose ??
That should be not a big problem. The only unusual aspect is that the charts really do not show any landing strip in the area in question. We know that J.D. in fact found and landed on the indicated airstrip, but unfortunately no progress has been done in decoding the time lock so that we still don’t know what really happened and how J.D. returned. We only know that he survived, so we were in good spirits.
Preflight, engine start, clearance (Golden State Departure like usual), and off we were into the blue yonder. Climbing up to 4000 first to get over the mountains just East of the Newhall pass. Getting the nose up some more lining up for Agua Dulce, giving a mental wave to one of my very first ‘other’ airports during primary training.
East of Newhall Pass
Climbing out more towards the north east to clear those peaks and catch a nice glance at the San Gabriel Mountains to our right. After we clear those mountains we see the huge Palmdale Airport off to our right.
San Gabriel Mountains
Palmdale Airport
Big, but mostly useless for me because it’s an Airforce installation. But only ‘mostly’ useless because during my instrument training that was a good place to practice approaches.
I guess these guys in the tower and on approach were pretty bored and probably glad for any Angelino pilot who came by and needed their help. My instructor at this time, Wyn Selwyn – wonder what he is doing now – answered my question of what would happen if I would actually touch down there with: They would nicely invite you in, offer you a cup of coffee and then give you this half foot stack of forms to fill out. He should know – he was a pilot in the army.
Then turning north getting into the real desert that can be really green if it gets some water as for example from the California Aquaeduct. After that a straight loran course to Tehachapi, Mountain Valley.
Real Desert
California Aquaeduct
Our plan was leave out the landing in Mountain Valley and to cross it and head straight to the mystery target 12.5 miles zero-one-zero. But it was late enough to justify an early lunch so we dropped down and had some chili and banana bread watching some gliders being helped up into the sky by these sky tractors – boy, do they really look like tough tractors.
Mountain Valley
Then looking north into the area where there should be this mysterious air strip.
Looking North
Taxi down to the end of the runway, full power and a practice for soft field takeoff. It’s not really soft, but more oiled gravel – still, you don’t really like to do this for long if you are the one who has to pay for the maintenance. Liftoff, and a quick rocking of the wings abeam the glider flight school to say thanks.
We set the loran to all zero on leaving the airport and head zero-one-zero. When the readout shown 12.5 miles the view confirms what the maps had told us. Still, we circled in bigger and bigger circles but could not make out anything that is or might have been an air strip.
Somebody really has to decode this googledigoog in the logs one of these days.
So it was off then to our second target. Stovepipe Wells. We passed California City and did not have to maneuver too hard through this narrow corridor because we got a clearance to enter the MOA and could fly straight towards our goal. Closing in on Death Valley we passed something that surely looked like salt lakes but we were not sure if they really were and we also did not want to stop there to taste.
Salt Lakes
Soon we enter Death Valley, fly up the western valley north hound and then around the bend crossing Stovepipe Wells to take a look at the place of JD’s steamy adventure. Nothing really to see down there except a few parked planes. And as it’s better to get some fuel for the flight back we turn south heading for Furnace Creek.
Soon we make out the Death Valley airport and soon are on base turning final.
Base Turning Final
Shortly after that we turn final and ten minutes later trusty 08L is tied down in the strong wind and we are picked up by a courtesy van and taken to the resort where we hope to find a trace of JD Flora.
Final Furnace Creek
Tied Down at Furnace Creek
In the lobby we talk to an old woman who remembers this nice man who gave her such a generous tip and she also recalls the cabin where he stayed and she kept particularly neat for him. She wants to know what happened to this real gentleman, but we have to tell her that we actually are the ones looking for information.
Furnace Creek Lobby
Cabin where JD stayed at Furnace Creek
She asks us to say hi to him when we find him and keep his promise to stay longer the next day and she wonders if the nice lady, who had missed him by just one hour, ever managed to meet him. There! Now we know something that JD did not – hmm…
08L has the biggest trouble climbing in this hot weather even though – and this was a first – her altimeter was well below zero before takeoff. But we manage to get over these ranges south of Death Valley and as soon as we can reach what’s now Joshua Approach we ask for and get a clearance through the MOA and head straight back towards Burbank. We cross Rosamont Airport and shortly thereafter admire the big runways and markings at Edwards Air Force Base – the alternate for the space shuttles to land when the weather is not good enough for them in Florida.
Rosamont Airport
Markings at Edwards Air Force Base
Things start to look very familiar again now and soon we start to let down and are in our close home territory.
“Burbank Approach, Cherokee 08L, over Agua Dulce, eight thousand five hundred, landing Burbank with Information Zulu.”
Work is currently being done finalizing the third volume of the JD Flora trilogy. In working my way through the third volume I just enjoyed the logs where JD in his different manifestation on various time lines actually meets the author (the real on – even though ‘real’ might be a bit far-fetched) remarking on his even worse bad breath.
Should you have no clue what I am talking about then it’s about time that you remedy the situation. Volume I and II are available on Amazon and the ‘Look inside’ feature there will jump start your appetite.
In order to make things a bit more real you can get a glimpse of some real footage of the author, Joachim Steingrubner, on the trails of JD in Cambodia, more particularly at Angkor Wat…
Countless times retold, but every time worth listening to and contemplating about is …
The story of of the farmer whose only horse ran away. On that evening the neighbours gathered to sympathize with him, for surely this was such bad luck. Now your farm will suffer and you will not be able to plow, the neighbours warned the farmer. Such a terrible thing to have happened to you, they said.
The farmer said, “maybe yes, maybe no.”
The next day the horse returned and brought him six wild horses, and the neighbours came to congratulate him and celebrate his good fortune. Now you are richer than before, they said. Surely now this has turned out to be such a very good thing, for you, after all.
The farmer said, “maybe yes, maybe no.”
The following day, the son saddled and rode one of the wild horses. He was thrown off the horse and broke his leg. Now the son could not work on the farm. Again the neighbours came to offer their sympathy for such an inconvenient truth. They noted that there was more work than the farmer could handle and surely now he would become poor. Such bad luck, indeed.
The farmer said, “maybe yes, maybe no.”
The day after that, conscription officers came to the village to take all the young men for the army, but because of his broken leg, the farmer’s son was disallowed. When the neigbours arrived again, they said how very fortunate the farmer was, as things had worked out after all. Knowing well that most young men never return from the war alive, this was the best fortune yet.
And the old farmer said, “maybe yes, maybe no.”
the story of the farmer whose only horse ran away. On that evening the neighbours gathered to sympathize with him, for surely this was such bad luck. Now your farm will suffer and you will not be able to plow, the neighbours warned the farmer. Such a terrible thing to have happened to you, they said.
The farmer said, “maybe yes, maybe no.”
The next day the horse returned and brought him six wild horses, and the neighbours came to congratulate him and celebrate his good fortune. Now you are richer than before, they said. Surely now this has turned out to be such a very good thing, for you, after all.
The farmer said, “maybe yes, maybe no.”
The following day, the son saddled and rode one of the wild horses. He was thrown off the horse and broke his leg. Now the son could not work on the farm. Again the neighbours came to offer their sympathy for such an inconvenient truth. They noted that there was more work than the farmer could handle and surely now he would become poor. Such bad luck, indeed.
The farmer said, “maybe yes, maybe no.”
The day after that, conscription officers came to the village to take all the young men for the army, but because of his broken leg, the farmer’s son was disallowed. When the neigbours arrived again, they said how very fortunate the farmer was, as things had worked out after all. Knowing well that most young men never return from the war alive, this was the best fortune yet.
Digging through ‘things’ I have collected over the year, asking myself which should be thrown out because I have not touched or needed them in years, I ran into some papers that certainly meet the characteristic of not being touched, but which I nevertheless don’t want to toss out. Just scanning and keeping for later is certainly a way out of that dilemma, but with these artifacts, I want to go one step further and put it out on the web because I can imagine that there are others besides me who might enjoy this.
So, here it is…
The following advertisement appeared in several aviation publications in 1987
The only reason I have this ad is, that Lucy, mentioned in this ad, gave it to me personally. In other words, I can answer the question “Who’s Lucy?”
Together with this ad, Lucy also gave me an excerpt from the advertised book. These are the pages that I did not want to discard…
Not all of the dealings at Luscombe Airplane Corporation in 1939 were of a serious business nature. July saw the culmination in marriage of a romance that had started nearly a year before. Lucy Rago, a local girl from the West Trenton area, was an office girl hired in 1935. In September of 1938, a young male customer flew into West Trenton with his distributor to take delivery of a new “50” only to find that his plane was still under construction. Because he was low on money from the trip and couldn’t afford to just wait, Jerry Coigny was hired to work on his own airplane. The office area was off-limits to the factory floor staff, but Jerry was more than just an employee; he was a customer, thus allowed to wander through the office area at will. This afforded Jerry and Lucy much contact with one another; enough to fall in love during the two weeks Jerry worked on his aircraft.
After Jerry left the West Trenton area, he and Lucy corresponded daily. As Jerry was racing and barnstorming in his little Luscombe, much of the news his letters contained concerned the performance of his airplane. When Lucy thought something pertinent to the further development of Model 50s, she would carefully cover the personal messages with masking tape and take the letter to higher management. Almost before her back was turned to leave the room, the tape would be off and the personal sections read.
Occasionally, Jerry would write a letter to Don Luscombe himself, who at this time was still president, always adding, “Tell Lucy hello”. Don used copies of some of these letters in sales literature. Occasionally when a customer wrote the company concerning this literature, the P.S. “Who’s Lucy?” would be included.
The Christmas following their meeting, December 25, 1938, Keith Funk, another Luscombe employee, knocked on the door of the Rago household bearing a gift. Jerry had sent Lucy’s Christmas present to the factory, an engagement ring. Lucy later said that the gift made Funk the “greatest Santa Claus in the world as far as I was concerned!”
More letters carried the young lovers through June when Jerry sent news of the sale of his first, well-used Luscombe. The official telegram arrived on June 9, 1939, Jerry Coigny’s deposit and order for a new Luscombe Model 8A was confirmed. The little plane became known as the “Honeymoon Special”, which was stamped on the firewall. When the order was written, Lucy was jestingly listed as extra equipment. After that, customers would jokingly request an “extra” like companion, wife, or girlfriend.
Jerry arrived on July 1, bearing gifts for Lucy’s family. Because of conflict between the families of the couple concerning their wedding ceremony, Jerry and Lucy decided to elope. The other girls at the office helped Lucy smuggle her personal belongings into the factory where they were stashed until the proper moment.
July 12 finally arrived. The little Luscombe 65 horsepower airplane was loaded with Lucy’s belongings and decorated with signs, crepe paper, and old shoes.
J. H. Torrens, current President of Luscombe, gave a farewell speech and presented the couple with a Lear Radio. Lucy’s co-workers provided her with the necessary “something old, something borrowed, something blue”, and off they flew.
A short flight took them to Doylestown, Pennsylvania where they were married in a short civil ceremony. Another flight took them to Wings Field in Ambler, Pennsylvania where Don Luscombe and his wife picked them up and drove them to their estate at Gwynedd Valley. The honeymooners stayed the night with the Luscombes’ and left the next morning for Grants Pass, Oregon, where Jerry had established a fixed-base operation and flying school.
Thus far the story of Jerry and Lucy (all images from the Jerry and Lucy Coigny collection). Maybe the book is still available and if you are interested in the Luscombe story, try the address in the above ad.
Just as a little glance into the past, here are the prices and the equipment list for these aircraft types as in the story above. This was mailed out to dealers and prospective customers shortly after Lucy and Jerry got married:
FLY-AWAY FACTORY, TRENTON, NEW JERSEY AUGUST 1, 1939 LUSCOMBE “50” (Continental A-50 Engine) — $1895.00 LUSCOMBE “65” (Continental A-65 Engine) — $1975.00 LUSCOMBE “65” SEAPLANE (F.A.w.) — $3170.00
STANDARD EQUIPMENT INCLUDES
Wood Propeller
Single Ignition Engine
17 1/2 Inch Tires
Fully Enclosed Tunnel Type Cowling
Carburetor Heater with Hot and Cold Air Control
Two Full Size Doors
Dual Controls (Stick)
Oleo Landing Gear
Altimeter
Airspeed Indicator
Tachometer
Oil Pressure Gauge
Oil Temperature Gauge
Imitation Leather Upholstery (Seat Cushions)
Pushout Window
Individual Quick Fastening Safety Belts
First Aid Kit
Quart Pyrene Fire Extinguisher
Logbooks
Service Manual
Five Cubic Foot Baggage Compartment
Upholstery, in attractive leatherette, on both doors, with pocket in each door
Upholstery in same material on forward cabin walls
Rubber heel mats on cabin floor
Door Stops
Now, you might wonder, how do I, your friendly author, fit into this story. Here is what happened:
A few years after the book in the above ad had been published I started my flight training. During a visit to a friend who had a little motel in Badger, close to the southern part of the Sequoia National Park, I met a local who took interest in me and my flying because he had been a pilot during the war. He took me on a visiting spree around the area to meet local pilots.
One of them had the most amazing private airstrip: Hangar on top of a hill, the short 1000 foot steep runway down the hill. Gravity helped to gain enough speed to get to minimum take-off speed at the bottom of the hill. On landing – the other way around – gravity helped again, this time to slow the plane touching down at the base of the hill, racing up the hill and coming to a stop in front of the hangar. Until now I have no idea what would happen if a plane would run out of momentum during the climb up the hill because the hill was definitely too steep for an airplane under propeller power only.
Another local pilot was Jerry Coigny – yes, the same as in the story above. He had a more traditional airstrip if you can call it that – It started at the edge of a bluff and ended in his backyard. The similarity was that again, independent of wind, you took off in the opposite direction as you landed. The backyard was just big enough to turn a small airplane around. No, not just one turn. You pulled into a tight 90 degree left turn a little bit up an incline, pulled back power and gave full right rudder, and let the plane roll backward in a right turn (you know that light aircraft don’t have reverse, do you?) Then full power and left rudder to complete the 180. On my first visit, I did not really know all that, but Jerry taught me later. He was a retired airline pilot and was still flying his 49 Bonanza (with a wooden propeller!) in and out of his airstrip located at about 4000 feet elevation. He showed us around his estate and was very fond of his restored antique cars.
I finished my flight training a few months later, started to collect flight hours and experience, and ended up buying a 1983 Piper warrior. A sales brochure of the warrior was one other item that I could have thrown out but fortunately not, so I can share it here.
At about 4 or 5 hundred hours, I felt able enough to take on bush-flying. I got in touch with Jerry, he gave me the exact coordinates of his property which I could plug into my Loran (GPS had been too expensive for me then) and I got on the way. I buzzed my friend’s motel first so they could drive up to Jerry and Lucy’s house (the very Lucy that eloped with Jerry decades ago) to pick me up and then pressed on to find that bush pilot’s dream runway. I was used to runways like Burbank so, a strip consisting of only two narrow rungs in the grass just wide enough for my wheels was quite a change.
This is also where I learned how to turn around at the end of the runway – in Jerry’s backyard.
Over the years I flew into Jerry and Lucy’s airstrip a few times and it was always a different restored antique car that we or I were picked up in from the tie-down area in the middle of the strip. The last time I was there, Jerry had unfortunately passed away. This is when Lucy gave me the story I told above. Now I don’t know how the story ends – if the airstrip is still there and even if Lucy is still wandering amongst us – probably not because it’s way more than 10 years ago that I was up there last and Lucy was already old then.
Often, when a couple is together so long and happy, the partner left behind often follows rather soon so that they can have new adventures together. If they are together again in the everlasting hunting grounds then I am sure that they fly around in a Luscombe, Bonanza, or maybe in some cute little white space yacht.
OK, may be not the whole thing, but they had a good start.
This might be one of the very few down-sides of living in the woods. In my case it was not a big deal but I heard that others had much worse experiences.
Here’s what went down: I noticed my windows were pretty dirty, last time I was down in the valley, and, lazy as I am, I just used the windshield washer to remedy the situation – or wanted to. No water leaving the nozzles in the hood. First thought that I just ran out water in the system. But, next time when I parked, I opened the door and operated the washer, I heard the motor whirring – which was a good thing – but I also saw water running out from under the car. That certainly meant that I did not run out of water, but that most likely the water line had popped off somewhere.
So, I did something which I had not done for a while – I opened the hood to look where the line had come loose with the idea to just put it back on.
To my surprise I found nestled between the part of the exhaust manifold – a nest – and in that nest a piece of the water line that was supposed to connect the reservoir with the nozzles on the hood. Funny enough, the car manufacturer had also provided softer part of the nest material – from the sound proofing material clued on the inside of the hood. My suspicion that the culprit was a squirrel is based on the fact that there were still a few acorns in the nest – just for colder winter times to come.
I can only imagine the terror of the poor inhabitants when I had gotten into the car last time and started the engine!
The car was due for a tune-up, so I requested that this little damage was fixed as well and learned at that time that I was one of the lucky ones. the auto shop had customers with thousands of dollars of damage. The mechanic and proprietor told me that so many remedies had been tried and failed. Ultra-sonic pest repeller – no go. Cleaning the engine and spraying with oil – no effect.
He had heard of only one trick that worked – give them something better. This creative car owner had, when he needed to leave his car alone for a few days, put some cat food in the close vicinity of the car parts that had been previously served as dinner. This way the visitors feasted on better digestible food and left the unhealthy plastic and rubber do the things they were intended for. A win-win situation: less cost for the car owner and healthier rodents.
Beautiful cars, beautiful women, molto macho! Combine that with being in power as a police man, and you will get excess.
The excess I am referring to here is a police car for about quarter of a million (Dollar or Euro does not really matter here, does it?) All this, so that the rich boy who also has a Lamborghini Gallardo or better can be brought to justice should he be speeding. And if this speeding rich boy turns out to be a beautiful rich girl – just the better, then the police officer is at least on level flirting grounds – at least car-wise.
The reason there is a police officerette in the first picture is probably just a mistake or needed for PR reasons.
Now, without further ado, let me introduce the newest (and short lived) Italian police car and leave you with the remark that if they had only invested a fraction of the cost of the car in some driver training…
The following true (?) story can probably be found many times on the internet, but I just have to record it here so that I can find it again when my son gets to that age and I need to jug my memory.
A father passing by his son’s bedroom was astonished to see that his bed was nicely made and everything was picked up. Then he saw an envelope, propped up prominently on the pillow that was addressed to ‘Dad.’
With the worst premonition he opened the envelope with trembling hands and read the letter.
Dear Dad,
It is with great regret and sorrow that I’m writing you. I had to elope with my new girlfriend because I wanted to avoid a scene with Mom and you.
I have been finding real passion with Stacy and she is so nice.
But I knew you would not approve of her because of all her piercing, tattoos, tight motorcycle clothes and the fact that she is much older than I am. But it’ s not only the passion… Dad, she’s pregnant.
Stacy said that we will be very happy.
She owns a trailer in the woods and has a stack of firewood for the whole winter. We share a dream of having many more children.
Stacy has opened my eyes to the fact that marijuana doesn’t really hurt anyone. We’ll be growing it for ourselves and trading it with the other people that live nearby for cocaine and ecstasy.
In the meantime we will pray that science will find a cure for AIDS so Stacy can get better. She deserves it.
Don’t worry Dad. I’m 15 and I know how to take care of myself.
Someday I’m sure that we will be back to visit so that you can get to know your grandchildren.
Love,
Your Son John
PS. Dad, none of the above is true. I’m over at Tommy’s house.
I Just wanted to remind you that there are worse things in life than a Report card that’s in my center desk drawer.
I love you. – Call me when it’s safe to come home.
Our language only becomes possible through its non-precision. Think of the Eskimos who, evidently, have hundreds of words for the different kinds of snow they deal with every day. That is possible for them as they probably have only one word for all the green stuff that you eat – vegetable.
Now, imagine that beside these hundreds of words for snow they would have hundreds of words in other specialized areas like screws, auto parts, fruits, colors, etc. These poor Eskimos would have to have a vocabulary of hundreds of thousands of words and would spend their whole life learning them all and never get anything meaningful done.
This is why we need abstraction in our vocabulary. If I go into a hardware store I can ask for the department were I can find screws. Once there I can inquire for a more specific screw and actually look and see what I need. In comparison, imagine if I would have to ask at the front desk for the ardangwut, which is a metal bolt with a core diameter of 3.65mm, a thread depth of 0.43mm and a thread angle of 3.1 degrees (kidding, there is no ardangwut) – without having the word screw I would be screwed.
And now we to look at the other side of the coin in regards to abstraction – hilarious (which has not really anything to do with Hillary – or does it?) mix-ups! Especially in the area of sexuality and genitalia so much abstraction has been introduced that things that look only remotely – very remotely – similar, are called the same. Think of wiener, nuts and balls, and, yes, screwing.
Following some dramatic stories demonstrating, that too much abstraction in this arena may seriously backfire…
I walked into a hair salon with my husband and three kids in tow and asked loudly, ‘How much do you charge for a shampoo and a blow job?’ I turned around and walked back out and never went back My husband didn’t say a word… he knew better.
Or this story about a female golf player…
I was at the golf store comparing different kinds of golf balls. I was unhappy with the women’s type I had been using.
After browsing for several minutes, I was approached by one of the good-looking gentlemen who works at the store.
He asked if he could help me. Without thinking, I looked at him and said, ‘I think I like playing with men’s balls.’
A tale from the candy store…
My sister and I were at the mall and passed by a store that sold a variety of candy and nuts. As we were looking at the display case, the boy behind the counter asked if we needed any help. I replied, ‘No, I’m just looking at your nuts.’ My sister started to laugh hysterically. The boy grinned, and I turned beat-red and walked away. To this day, my sister has never let me forget.
It even happens on TV to the anchor woman and weatherman…
What happens when you predict snow but don’t get any! We had a female news anchor that, the day after it was supposed to have snowed and didn’t, turned to the weatherman and asked: ‘So Bob, where’s that 8 inches you promised me last night?’ Not only did HE have to leave the set, but half the crew did too – they were laughing so hard!