More Movie Reviews

Time for more movie reviews.

We actually WENT OUT to the theater this week…TWICE. Berck’s mom gave us some money with instructions to go do movie and a dinner. I discovered, when checking the movie times in the paper, that the dollar theater just down the street becomes the fifty cent theater on Tuesdays. It just so happened to be Tuesday, so we decided to do a practice run and went to see The Terminal. The movie was better than the theater. Berck broke his vow of never going to the dollar theater again, and his nose was punished as a result. (“It smells bad in here.”)

Terminal is a delightful movie. Not a great film, by any means, but quite entertaining. Everyone should see it. It was fun seeing it in a theater full of teenage rednecks, who laughed at EVERYTHING, or else pointed out the obvious audibly to whoever blind might be in the audience. (Tom Hanks glances at the restrooms, and someone whispers, “He has to go to the bathroom!”) All in all a safe film bet.

We went on our real date to the real theater last night (it’s across the street from the dollar theater) and paid real cash for Garden State. This was a wonderful movie that I think the only person in my family who would enjoy it is Ben. Everyone else who reads this and doesn’t share my bloodlines should go out and watch it at once. Or wait till it hits the dollar theater and take a clothespin. Natalie Portman actually acts in it, instead of just looking pretty, which delighted me but disappointed Berck. He wanted more ripped clothing and knee-high boots.

We’ve been wading our way through The Decalogue, a series of one-hour films made for Polish television in the late eighties. They were directed by the guy who did Trois Couleurs. They don’t follow the Ten Commandments exactly, but each one is about a different inhabitant of a Warsaw apartment complex and the circumstances that lead them to sin. They’re very well done but also very depressing. We’ve finished “Seven.” Three more to go.

To Lawton– or not.

After groundschool, I plotted a cross-country course to Lawton, 61 NM away. We can only fly to airports which are listed as “approved” in our syllabus. I picked Lawton since it was the only place listed at an appropriate distance which I hadn’t landed at before.

Unfortunately, when I got school, my instructor informed me that our plane had been taken for someone’s checkride.

So perhaps I’ll fly to Lawton tomorrow.

First Commercial Lesson

I finally got my first commercial flight lesson out of the way today. Nothing exciting or new, just a review of private maneuvers, mostly so my new instructor can see that I can, indeed, fly. Stalls, steep turns, slow flight, emergency procedures and a few landings.

Picking a spot to pretend to land in is the only hard part of a simulated engine-out. Once I pick one, it’s all easy. In many places of the world, the best choice is typically fairly obvious. In Oklahoma the problem isn’t finding a field, but deciding on a field. My instructor’s only complaint about my choice of field was that it “was too green” and had some fairly high vegetation. I will admit that the surface of the field didn’t enter into my decision at all.

(Joanna says that if I don’t put this sentence in herepeople will think that I actually landed in random fields. Now you know that’s not the case.)

My first landing was a very nice, normal landing. My second landing was supposed to be a soft field, but a gust of wind left me high and slow, and I bounced on the mains a little after dropping out of the sky a good six inches over the runway. Last landing was my first short field in ages, and I nailed it. Cleared my imaginary obstacle and touched down not 10 feet of my assigned touchdown point, and so stopping in the allotted space didn’t even require brakes.

It was weird looking outside the plane again. I’m so used to staring at the instruments now that I have to try hard not to look at them. Steep turns at 50 degrees of bank were pretty easy, I guess I’ve finally gotten over whatever issue I had with them before. Turn coordination still isn’t wonderfull. I’ll be able to feel it one day.

I’ve got a 50NM cross country to fly tomorrow.

Dale’s Ground School

I have time for things these days. I like having time. I don’t need to study just yet.

Commercial ground school is simply a re-hash of private ground school. By that, I mean that my flight school puts the commercial students in the same ground school as the privates. It’s generally referred to simply as “Dale’s Ground School”.

Anytime I ask about the setup, I get one of two answers. One is, “You forget it all in instrument training, anyway.” The other is, “At least the stories are good.” I enjoyed Dale’s ground school quite a bit more the first time around. I don’t mind it terribly much this time around, but it’s less exciting when I can tally the specific things I’ve learned after three days in three hours of class. Today, I learned that in spite of the fact that a Cessna 172P has “7 Quarts” printed on the dipstick, the capacity of the system is actually 8 quarts. This seems a little weird to me, since if you drain the system and put a new oil filter in, you ought to expect to be able to put the amount of oil printed on the dipstick in the engine. But, apparently, one quart is contained in the oil filter, and that just doesn’t count. Admittedly, I learned this because Dale said, “Oil capacity of the 172 is about 8 quarts.” So, I looked up the oil system in my operating handbook.

I also learned that Dale is under the impression that you cannot mix synthetic and conventional motor oils. Unless there’s something about aviation oil that’s significantly different than automotive oil, he’s wrong about this. I neglected to quiz him, since in general, he knows more than me about most things, which is an awfully nice change. I have to refrain from asking him to delve deeper into a subject that’s not really relevant and will probably annoy my classmates.

This group of people is substantially different than the last group. It’s nearly 20 people large, which is slightly larger than the “classroom” can comfortably accommodate. But the biggest difference is that this class has real, honest-to-god, actual girls in it. Two of them. Women may be a growing presence in aviation, but they’re pretty rare around this school. Prior to these two, the only other female student I encountered was leaving about the time I showed up.

These two girls amuse me for a couple of reasons. They’re both here because the Air Force sent them here. I was a bit surprised the Air Force outsources even pilot training. They only do their private training here, but they’ve got a pretty sweet deal. They get paid to go to learn to fly, unlike the rest of us who are spending obscene amounts of money. They don’t seem to much like Dale and complain about how long-winded he is, and how what he says could actually be compressed quite a bit.

They miss the point. The only reason this flight school operates a ground school class at all is because they have to in order to have their training certificated under part 141. The FAA allows “pilot schools” to condense training significantly over what you’d have to do outside of a pilot school. The school, in turn, has to submit an approved curriculum. The private course requires something like 40 hours of groundschool. It almost doesn’t matter what he talks about, the time is mandated more than the subject matter.

Dale follows along with a textbook, but he doesn’t pay much attention to it, using it only as an outline. Most of what he says is non-essential but helpful and colorful information that’s not in the textbook. This is good since anyone can read a textbook, a teacher who simply reads one for a class is hardly much of a teacher.

Dale asks questions continuously only pausing for an answer about half the time. Not wanting to look like the know-it-all I am, but still wanting to impress Dale (since he might be a significant factor in whether or not I can land a job at the school when I finish) is something of a delicate balance. Mostly, I only take the questions no one else can answer, or is willing to answer.

Every now and then he corners a student for an answer. Sometimes he goes around the room and polls, if it’s a particularly difficult question. He hasn’t done much of this in this class though since it’s much bigger.

When he asks, “What’s the fuel tank capacity of a 172?” there’s a chorus of answers, almost all simultaneous after a short pause. When he asks, “How much does a gallon of jet fuel weigh?” there’s only one respondant. I’m surprised, because it’s not me. Of the people who ever answer, we all play the game much the same way.

I haven’t flown yet, though I have been assigned a commercial instructor. The first part of commercial training is primarily cross-country solo flights. Now I get to worry about getting lost again.