There's a mantra among pilots that you learn from day one, and that is to "fly the plane". Those three words are often repeated throughout your career as a pilot, whether you are a recreational pilot or a commercial airline pilot. To many people this may seem like an obvious or trite statement. Of course you fly the plane! What the fuck else are you doing up in the air in that aluminum contraption? 

I started to learn to fly back in October of 2008. The first few flights are always pretty easy. My CFI would perform the take-offs and landings, and when we were over practice area, he'd demonstrate some basic maneuvers and have me attempt to perform them. And actually, maneuvering an airplane is about as easy as you might imagine. You pull back or push forward on the yoke, the plane noses up or down accordingly. Turn it left or right, and your airplane banks and turns. Naturally, there is some additional finessing of other controls (rudder, throttle, trim) to really be in control, but you get the basic idea. So, there you are! You are flying the plane! Simple, right?

Hang on there, scooter. While you're jockeying that Cessna 172 around like Chuck Yeager, your CFI in that co-pilot seat is looking out the window for other traffic, working the radio, monitoring the gauges, keeping you from flying into a goddamn mountain, keeping note of where you are, maintaining the correct air/fuel mixture, AND instructing your ignorant ass. Never mind all the prep work he did for your lesson, as well as pre-flighting the airplane. In terms of your job as a pilot, flying the plane is about 20% of the work. And most of that percentage is just landing!

My point is, being a pilot-in-command of an aircraft is complicated business, and it was my CFI's job to cram all that seemingly peripheral knowledge into my head, so that I could one day perform all those tasks as well as "fly the plane". I had to learn to about basic aerodynamics, the mechanical and electrical intricacies of the particular aircraft I was flying, emergency procedures for just about EVERY GODDAMN possible thing that could happen, how to talk to the tower without sounding like a gibbering idiot, flight planning, monitoring and interpreting your gauges, finding your way when you get lost, how not to bust airspace, and so on and so forth. Now you are expected to go up in the air with that knowledge and APPLY IT. Cripes! I remember doing "lost procedure" with my CFI. He puts an IFR training visor on me and flies somewhere and tells me, ok, find your way back. I remove the visor, bust out my sectional chart, tune some VORs to triangulate my position, and put the plane into a slow circle to maintain position while I figure out where I am. And while I'm doing this for a bit, I get a nudge from my CFI and he points out the window. Our Cessna is nose down, doing a slow spiral into the earth.

I forgot to fly the fucking plane!

I quickly correct the situation and get the airplane back up to a sensible altitude. Had I been flying solo at this point, I would have ridden that plane down into the ground with my nose buried in a chart -- and a grassy field.

Being a functional pilot requires that 80% that isn't technically flying. But you do need to keep doing that other 20% otherwise it all falls apart in a bad way.

It's like remembering to breathe. In times of stress, we often forget that most basic of functions. How many times have you found yourself intently concentrating on something only to gasp and gulp a big breath of air? We have to remind ourselves to "breathe". And when we find ourselves distracted by the madness that is our lives, it is often helpful (and necessary) to pare it back down to the basics and refocus yourself on your most primary of tasks.

I spent a lot of time with my CFI on the ground and in that Cessna learning about flying. He's kept my ass out of trouble (i.e. crashing and horrible death) more times than I can remember. And he did it with an absurd amount of patience and a cool, collected presence. Once during crosswind landing practice, we got knocked to the side by a huge gust on touchdown. It weather-vaned the plane so badly, we were essentially landing sideways with the tires screeching in protest. We were both on the rudder and ailerons hard, trying to not flip over at 65 kts. We get it back in the air, and he turns to me and calmly says "We were competely out of control at that point. Do you want to go again?" I am wide eyed, white knuckled and giggling. It's at moments like that you can't give up; you have to keep flying the plane.

I learned a lot about flying and maybe just as much about life from him. 

Today, I visited him in the hospital. He's being treated for pancreatic cancer. He looks like hell. He still greets me the way he always did, though. He is in obvious pain, but he keeps his spirits up for visitors. He's low on fuel, no airport in sight, no radios, no navs, approaching shitty weather. But he's calm and collected, and he's remembered to fly the plane.

The highlight of my work day is playing Angry Birds in the shitter.  This is probably the only part of my day where I am truly alone, the white noise of the stank fan whirring above me isolating me from the din of chattering mingled with electro-squawking of our phone system.  Sometimes I pray to be constipated so that I can spend a few extra precious minutes in that excretory haven.

I hate tooting my own horn.  But sometimes you have to be your own fan club.  Now, I think I'm a pretty smart guy.  Above average at least.  I am that horribly mediocre animal called the "jack of all trades".  Granted my profession is currently Information Technology, but I've been around in other areas of technology.  I've done "stuff".  However, none of that has prepared me for:

READING YOUR MIND.

I can't read peoples' minds.  Really.  I will admit to having a slight inability to read the subtle cues that some other people are able to clue in on.  A slobbering, wet vagina in my face is necessary for me to surmise, "Oh, I think she likes me!"  Even then, I will require a second source of proof and an affidavit signed in triplicate.

As a service industry professional -- and that is what I.T. is, without a doubt -- I will often, without rolling my eyes, try to help people with their issues.  But they will need to tell me.  I, unlike Obi Wan Kenobi, will NOT feel a disturbance in the Force if Outlook 2007 blue screens their workstation.  Shit, if I were Obi Wan, I'd convince their weak ass mind that they had no problem, go get a sandwich and read Fark for an hour.

The deadliest form of this mis-communication (or lack thereof) is the inability to articulate their need.  It's deadly because people are convinced they are telling me want they need, but I end up delivering something other than what they expect.  They think I'm being an asshole and the whole thing blows up.

Even worse, is giving an answer they don't like, even if it is the the only choice.  And I'm not talking about ways of wording things -- just straight up facts:

"Ma'am, your cat is dead"
"DO SOMETHING!"
*fifteen minutes of CPR*
"Sorry, ma'am...still dead."
"YOU'RE HORRIBLE!"

You know what else I'm sad about?  I can't write a slicker blog.  Boo.

I don't know of anyone who started out in life thinking, "Gee, I want to be a system administrator when I grow up!"  Of course, I don't know of anyone who thought the same about being a gonorrhea ridden, herpes riddled whore.  I suppose if you are good at something, you fill the void.

Today is another one of those days that makes me try and recall the exact moment where I went wrong.  There's my folly.  It isn't any ONE particular moment; it is a series of correctable moments during your entire life that add up. 

Okay, fine...yes, I'm being a drama queen about this.  But right now, my situation is that I have no one to have a leisurely bitch session with over coffee.  It's a wonderful way of exorcising the demons that ride your back throughout a day.  And you can't just unload on any ol' person.  The process requires a peer; a kindred spirit.  The receptionist could give all heck about some esoteric technical mumbo-jumbo that you utter with aplomb.  I'd rather fire off into the deaf-ear that is the Internet.  And so...ta da!

For a year now, I've been the System Administrator, Network Administrator, IT Manager, Audio Visual Engineer...hell, they just call me a tech guy.  I wince at that.  When they hired me, I got a fancy title that made me feel all special.  Little did I know it meant that I would be doing anything that was remotely technical.  I submit to you this tale of woe: I was asked to do something about the rampant spread of the cold virus in the office.

Wait, what?

Well, sick people touch keyboards.  Therefore, keyboards are a disease vector.  Keyboards are technology.  So it is under my purview.  And off I went to the store to buy hand sanitizer and wipes.  Now I understand at my company, people are expected to pitch in.  But this is so far off the map for my job description, I still get a little miffed by it.

Today, there was at least a cluster that was within my range of technical skills.  Somebody borked a file on a webserver and needed it restored.  I had misgivings about giving this person access to a production webserver in the first place, but it was okayed by senior management.  While my inner child did the "I told you so" song and dance, it was a little annoying to have to do.  But it was simple enough to restore the file.  The really troublesome part is where I was instructed to continue to give this person access to the webserver, despite them making the rookiest of mistakes and even admitting to me that there would be some "trial and error". 

ZOMFG.

I offered up my concerns and was politely told to STFU.  I wish I could sit back and watch the mayhem ensue, but it is my job to keep it from happening.

Bleagh.