"Mistakes were made, the Devil played, and two arrows touched nose to nose."

Last week, flying home from Halifax, I read an excellent piece of journalism in Vanity Fair (which, truth be told, I picked up mainly to ogle Tina Fey). I must admit a certain lack of awareness of my surroundings when reading it, though: a jet in mid-flight is not the place to read a story about a catastrophic plane crash. Not because I’m superstitious, but because each page had the words ‘Air Crash’ in bold letters at the top, and that’s the kind of shit that makes other passengers jumpy. Anyway, the article is called “The Devil At 37,000 Feet” and I highly recommend you visit Vanity Fair to read the entire thing.

The core of the article was the time line of minor mistakes and small missteps that compounded until eventually a private jet collided with a passenger 737 over Brazil; the former managed to land safely, but the latter plummeted to the ground, killing all aboard. The story was tragic and frustrating, but it was also incredibly informative because of how author William Langewiesche told it, and revealed a key secondary theme: the accuracy of two arrows.

As it happened, these two flights were aimed directly at each other. The private jet should have been a thousand feet below the 737, but for a multitude of reasons it was not, and so they were on the same path. The problem was that they were on precisely the same path. At that altitude jets fly themselves, and with jets as new as these they flew at exactly 37,000 feet, exactly in the middle of flight corridors, with precision only an autopilot (working with high-tech GPS and altimeters) could achieve. As Langewiesche described it:

“Until recently, head-on airplanes mistakenly assigned the same altitude and route by Air Traffic Control would almost certainly have passed some distance apart, due to the navigation slop inherent in their systems. But this is no longer true. The problem for the [private jet] was that the [737] coming at them on the same assigned flight path had equipment that was every bit as precise.”

In the past, even if two pilots tried to hit each other it would be almost impossible, due to the hugeness of the sky. Langewiesche relates this here:

“In the United States a controller doing simulation research once mentioned to me the difficulty of directing two airplanes into each other even if you try. I answered that I was not surprised. Even the largest airplanes are small, and the starting point of collision avoidance has traditionally been a reality known as the theory of ‘the big sky.'”

And so, the systems designed to make flights safer (as they almost invariably do) in this case remove the possibility for luck to play a part in avoiding a collision.

At the end of the article Langewiesche explains this to some Caiapo Indians — on whose Amazonian land the plane crashed — using arrows as the analogy:

I asked the Caiapós to consider that in all the sky above the forest only these two airplanes had been in flight. It was as if in a space the size of the Caiapó village—no, all the way out to the road—you had shot two arrows in opposing directions, and they had collided. What were the odds? In the past it never would have happened. Even if you had assigned them identical flight paths, the arrows would have passed some distance apart because of the inherent inaccuracies of flight. But now better feathers have been invented, and have become required equipment for the high-speed designs. As a result, the new arrows are extraordinarily accurate, which allows more of them to be shot around, but with increasing reliance on tightly coupled systems of control. The sky is just as big as it ever was, but the margin for error has shrunk. And when the systems fail? That is what happened over the Caiapós’ land. The paradox was precision. Mistakes were made, the Devil played, and two arrows touched nose to nose.

Again, I strongly encourage you to read the full article. Don’t worry, it won’t make you scared to fly…though it may give you pause before booking any flight that crosses Brazilian airspace. The website also contains an interview with Langewiesche, and downloadable audio files of both planes’ cockpit recordings.

Movies with hyphens

Forgot to blog about two movies I watched recently:

WALL-E (imdb | rotten tomatoes) was a marvel…that they could wring so much emotion and empathy out of a robotic main character who doesn’t speak is a testament not just to Pixar’s technical wizardry, but to their storytelling prowess as well. Some people railed about the anti-consumerism message in the film, but I think it’s just Pixar reading the zeitgeist. For example, two weeks ago I heard my nine-year-old nephew wondering aloud about sales/marketing tactics at Wendy’s…”I wonder if they call it a Frosty because that makes kids think about Frosty the Snowman?”, “Did they ask you to biggie-size it? Because they’ll always ask you to biggie-size it!”, and so on. Apparently my nephew has read No Logo.

Stop-loss (imdb | rotten tomatoes) was…well, something less than a marvel. It wasn’t terrible by any means, but I don’t think it revealed anything new about the Iraq war, or war in general. It was about some great-looking soldiers and their girlfriends (it was an MTV production, after all) dealing with war in the way that lets them look as cool as possible while still looking dramatically tortured. Because of that I found it difficult to take the movie too seriously.

As is customary

As is customary we spent New Year’s Day in a movie theatre. We watched Slumdog Millionaire (imdb | rotten tomatoes), even though I’d seen it at the festival, because I promised Nellie I would, and anyway I loved it so I hardly minded watching it again. We also saw Milk (imdb | rotten tomatoes), which was excellent. Everything you’ve heard about Sean Penn’s performance is true, and every other actor with a major role — James Franco, Josh Brolin and Emile Hirsch — was great as well. Just once, though, I would like to see Diego Luna in a film where I didn’t want to punch him in the face.

As is customary I will not publish any lists of my favourite films, music or songs until later in 2009. I never see all the big films or listen to all the big albums before the end of the year, so it’s usually March before I weigh in. Not that any of you really care, but I enjoy deluding myself like this.

2008 annual report: lassitude

Perhaps it’s just that I’m in fuzzy-headed vacation mode, but I can’t really think of anything very big that happened to me in 2008. No moves. No job changes. No adjustment to marital status. No new kids, or even nephews or nieces. No accomplishments to speak of, except maybe finishing the MBA, but that was more of a four-year event that just happened to conclude in October. Likewise the 5th wedding anniversary; cool, but it wasn’t like we accomplished it all in 2008.

Even our trips weren’t that exciting this year. Our trip to BC was just as spectacular this time as it was two years ago, but a lot of it was familiar territory. Four (!) trips to Nova Scotia for various reasons were fun, but not exactly new adventures.

Sure, I watched 108 new movies. I got 17 books, 18 DVDs and 22 albums. I wrote 410 blog posts (including this one) and lord knows how many tweets. But I’m pretty sure none of that adds to up to actually doing anything. Wait, hang on, that’s not true…I did do something: I gained ten pounds. Oh, and I gave up on vegetarianism. So I have that going for me.

I’m pretty sure that every year of my life — the ones I can remember, at least — has been better than the last.  2008 was no different; my life in 2008 was better than in 2007, and I continually feel lucky at having the luxury to be troubled by the petty details of an easy and enjoyable life. However, it doesn’t feel like I had much to do with any forward momentum my life is enjoying, and I don’t like that feeling. I’ve had a sense of ennui for the last few weeks; I think now I know why.

Fare thee well, 2008. I won’t miss you, but I will love you.

First person to mention Bryan Adams gets a kicking

Ooh, fun. The CBC has given us a task:

Starting next week, Canadians will collect some choice homegrown songs for the new president to groove to as he takes office Jan. 20.

CBC Radio 2 is calling on the public to take care of business, tune-wise – to help select 49 songs from north of the 49th parallel that best represent the northern nation.

I didn’t bother reading all the comments. I’m sure the songs widely believed to define Canada were mentioned…”Helpless” by Neil Young, “The Canadian Railroad Trilogy” by Gordon Lightfoot and (Lord help us) “The Hockey Song” by Stompin’ Tom Connors, to name a few.

I’d suggest something less obvious but spectacularly Canadian: “Queer” by The Rheostatics. It mentions hockey and Kodiaks and family strife and gayness and a prototypically Canadian town (Salmon Arm)…how much more Canadian can you get?

Anyone else have any suggestions?

My Dad's top 50 songs

A little over a week ago I blogged about my 50 favourite songs of all time. A few days later my brother Tim did the same. When I showed my father our lists he immediately felt a compulsion to make his own list, to the point where he’d wake up in the middle of the night thinking about a song, and have to write it down before he forgot. He’s finally managed to narrow it down to a clean 50, which I’ve posted here in alphabetical order. Observations about the three lists follow below.

  1. Band . “The Weight”
  2. Barra Macneils . “Cool Town Road”
  3. Big Sugar . “Wild Ox Moan”
  4. Bill Bourne . “Bluebird”
  5. Bill Justis . “Raunchy”
  6. Bob Dylan . “Desolation Row”
  7. Bob Dylan . “High Water”
  8. Bob Dylan . “Highlands”
  9. Bobbie Gentry . “Ode to Billy Joe”
  10. Browns . “The Thee Bells”
  11. Buddy Knox . “Rock Your Little Baby to Sleep”
  12. Carole King . “Smackwater Jack”
  13. Creedence Clearwater Revival . “Feeling Blue”
  14. Crosby Stills Nash and Young . “Teach Your Children”
  15. Dire Straits . “Walk of Life”
  16. Doc Watson . “Tennessee Stud”
  17. Doors . “Riders on the Storm”
  18. Eagles . “Heartache Tonight”
  19. Eagles . “Witchy Woman”
  20. Elvis Presley . “That’s All Right”
  21. Emmylou Harris . “Calling My Children Home”
  22. George Thorogood . “Bad to the Bone”
  23. Gillian Welch . “By the Mark”
  24. Gillian Welch . “Elvis Presley Blues”
  25. Gillian Welch . “Red Clay Halo”
  26. Gordon Lightfoot . “Sundown”
  27. Ian & Sylvia . “Old Blue”
  28. Jeff Buckley . “Hallelujah”
  29. Jennifer Warnes . “Ballad of the Runaway Horse”
  30. Jennifer Warnes . “Bird on a Wire”
  31. Jennifer Warnes . “Joan of Arc”
  32. Jimie Rodgers . “Blue Yodel #1 (T For Texas)”
  33. Joan Baez . “Farewell Angelina”
  34. Johnny Cash . “I Walk the Line”
  35. Johnny Cash . “Tennessee Flat Top Box”
  36. Kingston Trio . “Patriot Game”
  37. Levon Helm . “When I Get My Rewards”
  38. Natalie Merchant . “Diver Boy”
  39. Norman Greenbaum . “Spirit in the Sky”
  40. Rita MacNeil . “Working Man”
  41. Robert Johnson . “Crossroad Blues”
  42. Roy Orbison . “Candy Man”
  43. Roy Orbison . “Dream Baby”
  44. Stan Rogers . “Giant”
  45. Stan Rogers . “Make and Break Harbour”
  46. Stevie Ray Vaughan . “Crossfire”
  47. Tennessee Ernie Ford . “Sixteen Tons”
  48. Tracy Chapman . “Give Me One Reason”
  49. Wilson Pickett . “Mustang Sally”
  50. Woody Guthrie . “Vigilante Man”

What I see by looking at all three lists:

Artists

  • Only four artists were on all three of our lists: Big Sugar, Bob Dylan, The Doors and Robert Johnson.
  • Three other artists were on my list and Tim’s, but not Dad’s: Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd and The Rolling Stones.
  • Two other artists were on Tim’s list and Dad’s, but not mine: Creedence Clearwater Revival and Johnny Cash.
  • Two other artists were on my list and Dad’s, but not Tim’s: Jeff Buckley and Norman Greenbaum.

Songs

  • Only one song was on all three of our lists: “Wild Ox Moan” by Big Sugar.
  • Four other songs were on my list and Tim’s, but not Dad’s: “Break On Through” by The Doors, “When The Levee Breaks” by Led Zeppelin, “Wish You Were Here” by Pink Floyd and “Sympathy For The Devil” by The Rolling Stones.
  • One other song was on Tim’s list and Dad’s, but not mine: “I Walk The Line” by Johnny Cash.
  • Three other songs were on my list and Dad’s, but not Tim’s: “Desolation Row” by Bob Dylan, “Hallelujah” by Jeff Buckley and “Spirit In The Sky” by Norman Greenbaum.

Three clear messages emerge:

  1. If you have not yet heard “Wild Ox Moan” by Big Sugar, please arrange to do so with all possible speed
  2. My father has pretty goddamn good taste in music for a 65-year-old man
  3. My brother and I were obviously influenced heavily by our father’s love of music, good music more specifically, so all you parents out there should think twice before buying that Miley Cyrus CD

Five years later…

So…yesterday was our anniversary. Our fifth, thanks for asking. We celebrated (after our little shopping excursion to HMV and Duggers) by meeting up with my brother for some drinks at Seven Wine Bar, then enjoying a quiet, delicious dinner for two at Fid Cuisine. Fid’s been there since 2000 but we’d never tried it, and until recently I’d never even heard of it. Not surprising; it certainly wasn’t the sort of place a student would try. Here’s the lineup (some of it is from the website’s outdated menu, some is from memory):

  • Amuse-Bouches: green curry mussels. I don’t particularly care for mussels, so I tried one and donated the other to my lovely wife. Happy anniversary, darling.
  • Appetizers: Nellie had the caramelized scallops (which included some other bits of meat that I thought were quail) while I had the goat cheese.
  • Mains: Nellie had the beef tenderloin with kale (maybe?) & artichoke. I had the pork belly with choy sum and a pureed sweet potato that we both agreed was amazing. This was my first time having pork belly; it was tender and very tasty, but really fatty and rich. I’m glad I spaced it out with the rest of my food. We had this with a powerful New Zealand Pinot Noir (can’t remember which, but it was strong enough to keep up with Nellie’s beef while not overpowering my pork) and cleansed our palates with a tea-flavoured sorbet.
  • Dessert: ginger creme brulee for Nellie, outstanding molten moelleux au chocolat for me. Nellie had a ten-year-old port, I had a local Muscat dessert wine.

Sated, we stumbled out into the miserable night. The earlier snow had degenerated (as it so often does in Halifax) into freezing rain, made worse by biting wind and slippery sidewalks (and us in our fancy shoes!). We got all the way back to the hotel when Nellie realized she was missing an earring…one of the pair I’d given her for Christmas two days earlier. This wouldn’t do. We put on some shoes more befitting the Canadian winter and set back out, knowing it would be nearly impossible to spot a silver earring on the snow-and-ice-covered sidewalk, but we had to try. We retraced our steps all the way to the restaurant with no luck, double-checked the entryway, and left again for the hotel. Happily, I spotted the rogue earring about twenty steps from the restaurant’s entrance, and the evening was saved. We slid back to the hotel to warm up, dry off and digest in agony.

This morning we woke up early to have breakfast with our friend Karen and her new fiance, then made for the airport. Cab ride: no problem. Check-in: no problem. Security: bigger line than usual for Halifax, but no problem. Boarding: no problem. Flight: no problem, save some bumps at the end and a supremely annoying Newfoundland mother sitting right behind us. Luggage collection: no problem. Cab ride home: no problem. All in all, a pretty painless winter travel experience, and a far cry from last week’s fiasco.

Now we’re home, surrounded by presents, being abused by bitchy cats, completely lacking in the grocery department and overall a little wiped. But good. All’s well that ends well.

Can’t wait for the next five years.

Goin' back to Hali

For the third time (or fourth, if you count flying into the airport for a family reunion) in four months, I’m back in Halifax. This is the traditional final phase of the Christmas vacation, where we end up for our anniversary and to chill a little bit before flying back to Toronto.

Christmas eve was a gentle mix of cleaning up, beating my dad at crib, wrapping gifts and lying about. Christmas day was lots of fun, hauling away lots of booty (many DVDs & Wii games, as well as some other cool stuff…IP-enabled camera, Star Wars trivia book, etc.), having a delicious extended-family dinner at my brother’s house across the yard, and finishing off the day playing the Wii with Nellie, the nephew, the nieces, the brother and the sister-in-law.

Boxing Day started off well — driving to my aunt’s house where just about all of the extended family on my father’s side gathered for yearly reunion & feast — but took a bad turn when I realized I’d left my bag (including my wallet, ID, Blackberry, Zen, camera, etc.) back on the farm. That discovery corresponded with one of the worst headaches I’ve ever had. So Nellie did some championship rally-driving back to the farm where I grabbed the bag, swallowed a bunch of advil and gassed up the car, then we hightailed it toward Halifax. Three extra hours in the car wasn’t how I wanted to spend the day, but there you go. We visited Nellie’s cousin and her family for a bit, then drove to our hotel in Halifax. A huge late-night dinner later, we retired to the comfy, quiet room. Ahhhhhhhh.

It’s been an awesome, relaxing morning…in-sleeping, breakfast-eating, paper-reading, price-checking. Now we’re heading out for a stroll and to see if we can locate any particular deals, and to feed Nellie’s craving for fish & chips at the Rogue’s Roost. Cheers, internet. Hope you’re feeling as groovy as we are.

Ah, vacation

It’s been a long two days. Since my last post we spent six hours waiting in the airport, took a bumpy ride into Halifax and thought hard about making the drive to the farm but were thwarted by the oncoming storm. Had the flight left on time, or even close to it, we could have made it to the farm ahead of the severe weather, but with half an inch of snow on the ground already I wasn’t risking it. We ended up spending the night at Nellie’s cousin’s place — which was an adventure in itself — and making the mildly treacherous drive to the farm yesterday. When we left the cousin’s place the power was out; when we reached the farm the power was out there as well. Awesome.

It wasn’t a problem not having power during the day — we were happy just to arrive, finally and in one piece — but as it turned dark and the temperature outside fell, the house began to cool off. A LOT. We also discovered that we were the only two houses around without power, so with tens of thousands of people around the province without power that night we figured we weren’t high on the fix-it list. My parents called the info line and left messages, but we decided the best place for us was in the car, so we took a trip into town, ostensibly for dinner and groceries, but also to keep warm. Good thing, too; the temperature outside had fallen to numbing levels. Returning home, we crossed our fingers as we got close to the farm, but no dice. Or, rather: no lights.

A few hours later, wrapped up in blankets, we saw a power truck pull up. They told us it was a blown transformer and predicted we’d have to wait at least another day for a replacement to be put in, so we went to bed early, wrapped in swaddling comfiness, hoping to sleep through the coldest of it. Happily the workers — who had been going for 36 straight hours, in what must have been -30 windchill — found a plan B and our power came on. I’ve never been so happy to hear the smoke detector chirp.

Today I woke up, stood on the hot-air register downstairs, microwaved myself a croissant and luxuriated in the feeling of my first shower in two days. I luxuriated in the flush toilets as well, but nobody needs to hear about that. Suffice it to say modern living was a big hit this morning when everyone got up.

No time to waste, though. My father still hadn’t done his Christmas shopping, so off we all went to Moncton. Some five hours later we’d braved malls and power centers, and eaten Festive Specials ’til we burst, and returned home to relax, at last. We inspected my brother’s newly-renovated house next door, during which time I was humiliated at foosball by my nine-year-old nephew, but quickly learned how to play and beat him in the next two games. Pwned. Then Nellie wrapped presents while Dad and I did battle at cribbage, and now we’re all just laying about stuffing our faces with bonbons* until we fall asleep. Now THIS is what I flew back to Nova Scotia for.

Tomorrow I’ll have to wrap presents and help my mother make apple pies, but if those are my chores I’ll happily struggle through. If I don’t have time to blog again before tomorrow night, then Merry Christmas everybody!

* To date: chocolate-covered peanut butter balls, chocolate macaroons, peanut butter chocolate drop cookies, three kinds of fudge and Lindt chocolates. Up next: my father’s homemade strawberry ice cream. Then sweet, sweet cardiac failure.