Cumulus Intoxicatum

I never leave the ground these days without the theme song from "Spiderman 2" blasting across the cathedral of my cranium. Today it was that, then Staind's Funeral March as we entered the clouds reclined out of our minds, then Peter Tosh chimed in just in time for a bumpy ride through the lowest of clouds with Stepping Razor.

I'm bad, I know. But I'm also 99 percent sure that the music from my mp3 player is not going to scramble the radar or jam communications from the tower. That's a bucha hooey. And I simply must have blastoff accompaniment music. MUST. So, I get it all cued up - the player tucked beneath my thigh, discretely install the earpiece in my window-side ear, tuck the other in my coat for easy access and, as soon as the last flight attendant plops down in their jumpseat, install the other earpiece and unpause the song, just begun.

This is usually right when the pilot calls out about being cleared for takeoff and the plane rounds that last bend and for a split second you can see right down the pipe, the runway all black streaked and badass, right where you're going, your immediate future, 100 or so riveting seconds of mad torque as the pilot stomps on it and it's damn the torpedos away! The music builds quickly, and it is loud enough to be heard very well over the jets a-roaring. It was recorded right thru a friend's DVD player with the input frequency bars topped out, full intake, peak volume. So it's the right song for screaming down the runway and reaching for the sky.

God, I love liftoff. Takeoff, whatever. Maybe someday I'll be om my back grinning with 5 or 6 G's and it will indeed be a liftoff! Yeee-hah! Chuck Yeager, here I come. Totally doable in my lifetime, I figger.

Yes. Have to put that on my list of life goals. Or stick it in the cool genie bottle given me by Carolle Oldenburg upriver a ways: The Bottle of Dreams. Gotta dream, friends. Gotta. Or nothing ever happens. How can any dream come true if no expectations were ever given it to stand up to? Look out. I've got a magic bottle and I'm comin' for you.

Hey, that's right! Got another dream last night in Groundhog Town! And three other great ones from friends Mina, Jan & Dave (Jan "Corktruck" Elftmann's husband Dave). Man can that dude cook! What a fabulous Minnesota sendoff meal he served me up the other night: Alaskan Cod, corn on the cob fresh as butter taffy, and melt in your mouth mushroom strips to give the finest cut of a cow a run for its money. Yum!

Captain says, "1,149 miles to Tucson, and we'll be traveling at 40,000 feet." Wow. That's high. Of course, high is a relative term here in seat #22F. Being high inside and out of own's body is, well, a lot like swimming in a pool of body temp water. It's nice. It's just what the doctor ordered. And the good doc never let's me down when it comes time to fly. - RSM
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