I flew in a B-17

One of the coolest things anyone can fly in is not a JetBlue flight, though I hear you get your own TV, but a B-17 bomber. Known as "The Flying Fortress," this is the Boeing machine that made the company and, hence, the Northwest.



Lee, a commercial pilot himself, was freaking out with excitement. This is one of five things he wants to do before he dies, and it's always great to knock something off that list. We had to drive up to Mt. Vernon in a loaner van — way the heck north in Skagit County — before being flown to the Tacoma Narrows Airport.

We were flying with a B-24 (flown by a young Swedish woman, one of five B-24 pilots who still fly B-24s) and there were two old B-24-flying vets on that flight. Tears!

But we had a special vet on our flight, too.



Lee is getting Lois's signature on his $500 goatskin real bomber jacket, where he has autographs of famous aviators. Lois was a WASP back in the day, and was a test pilot for bombers. Jackie Cochran was her boss and she's met Chuck Yeager, but she's pretty great, too.

The flight was pretty incredible.



Clear skies, lots of sun, warm air. Much nicer than the weather most of our boys had to endure when they were bombing ball bearing factories. We never flew high enough to need to use oxygen masks, for one thing. And let me tell you, the landing? I have never been on a smoother landing. Never will. The bumps I felt I thought were the landing gears deploying, and I had to ask Lee if we were on the ground (can't see out the itty bitty windows). His response? "They don't let just anyone fly this thing." No doubt.



I'm a little disappointed in Lee here, because the shot I envisioned was wider, horizontal and took the scope of the hatch from the two massive guns on either side (with faux 50 caliber ammo belts). That would have been a lot better, said the one who does not make a living from taking pictures. I didn't want the glamour shot.

Anyway, I can't imagine having to aim the Norton device behind me — a sight so accurate it was removed from the planes between missions and locked away and was the first thing destroyed when the plane was shot down — while the guns were blazing. It must have been crazy loud during combat. The bombadier's hatch was pretty roomy, but you have to crunch down to get in it. The rest of the plane, especially the bomb bay, was tight (the catwalk had a big metal V coming down to hold it up; it was the width of my hips plus a millimeter). Lois was the only passenger who got to sit on a seat (in the radio room, which had two walls full of radio transmission equipment) and the rest of us were on little mats strapped in on the floor, leaning against a little mat on the wall.

Being in the B-17 gave me a better appreciation for some of the stories I've written. I even wrote one story about three men who were officers in WWII who ran missions on bombers, were shot down, survived that, evaded the Nazis for as long as possible, got caught, were hauled off to the Stalag, survived that, survived being transferred between Nurenburg and Mooseburg in the dead of winter with very little warm clothes and less food ... I just got a little taste of what it was like to be part of that story. And no one was shooting at me, and I wasn't in the freaky ball turret (which sometimes got stuck and, if you were in it when that happened and the landing gear was shot out, you were pretty much dead), so all the better.

But before I disrupt any sentimentality over the warbird, I have to say, I ran my eyes over it and took in all the rivets. They were probably all put in there by women, real-life Rosie the Riviters. It was probably tested and delivered across country by WASPs. It is a living reminder of a time when everyone contributed to the war effort, when people held scrap metal drives to help churn these planes out, when everyone did what they could to serve the effort. It was a little depressing; I could head to Target, drop $50 on crap and only when the radio came on realized, oh, yeah, there's a war on. And I'm one of the tuned in people. But then, dropping $50 on crap is considered an act of patriotism by certain officials, which is also massively depressing. During WWII, the American people didn't know the outcome would be that we would split the atom and become the world power, turning Europe on its ear. They had no idea they'd change the world. Crazy. So the B-17 is also an expression of naivete, it's the half-galumphing, half-astonishingly graceful act of an adolescent who is cocksure but totally clueless at the same time.

Maybe I'm reading too much into the B-17. And that being said:



Doesn't this look like the head of a big anime robot?

I've got a new habit

Salad.

But not just any salad. Salad with Marie's Bleu Cheese Vinaigrette salad dressing (sorry, it's a flash site so I can't link directly to it). It must have some sort of crack additive the way I'm craving it. I ate a big salad last night and thirty minutes later got another craving and ate more salad. Today I had another salad and since I'm out of greens am worried I'm unprepared.

It's hard finding this dressing, too! People must be buying it up or something.

At any rate, it's creamy, it's tangy, it's a little sweet — it's the ultimate salad dressing. Get it and all you need is a bag of lettuce. Forget the vegetables with flavor, you will want a pure hit of Bleu Cheese Vinaigrette. I'm thinking about slurping the stuff up straight from the bottle. My yearning for this stuff is stronger than for doughnuts, even Boston Cream, and that's pretty powerful if you know me.

Well, if Pee-Wee can marry a fruit salad, I don't see why I can't marry a salad dressing. It's only the next logical step in the way this country is going if some commentators are to be believed. And heaven knows I'd rather marry salad dressing than one of them!

Laissez les bon temps rouler

Well, there's a relatively new homeless guy in my neighborhood I've been telling stories on and maybe it's time to blog about him.

The first time I met the new guy, I was walking to the library to return some books and, of course, that route runs right past the Pierce County Alliance. Being a social services co-op, it's something of a magnet for the downtrodden, with their lumberjack plaid (men), acid wash (women) and dirty ponytails (both sexes), but even so this man stood out for his out-and-out goofy expression, with eyes sheltered beneath a veritable gable of a forehead. And his head, with a large chunk of it either shaved or permanently hair-free over his left ear from some sort of brain injury or operation.

As I was walking by, the new guy greeted me with a cheerful, "You're tall for a white girl!" He seemed to want to continue the conversation, even though we were walking in opposite directions, but eventually realized I was not stopping and said, "Well, I see you have to go ..." from a half block away.

At the time, I did not realize he was a new addition to the neighborhood, but I started seeing him often. At the bus stop, by the deli, the guy was around, often talking to himself or anyone who wandered within fifty feet.

It was about a week ago when my new neighbor took things to a level worth blogging about. It was a peaceful evening when I heard a booming, gravelly voice screaming, "I will arrest you, mother------! You are under arrest! That is right, this is the police and mother------, you are under arrest!" You would seriously not believe the volume and range of this voice. The rumbly, non-vocal-chord projected part of his voice would give most speed metal screamers a reason to give up. This was a devil voice. And I look out the window and it is my new neighbor screaming at the air! I had no idea he had that in him!

Well, the screaming was startling but when I realized it was him I settled down right away. He's got some sort of Broca's injury at the very least, but man, I wondered where he learned to talk so authoritatively of being under arrest.

So today I went to the local grocery store to get a roasted chicken (it was 85 degrees (in the PNW I call that "sunny with a chance of motorcycles"), I'm not sure why I got a wild hare for chicken) and there he was hanging out at that corner. Wearing a T-shirt, a jacket and a tie with two strings of shiny beads (silver and purple) under the tie. As he greeted me I said, "Happy Mardi Gras."

He didn't get it. I am probably kind of a jerk for saying it.

Also: After I finished writing this I heard him yelling again. Maybe he's not as cheerful in the heat.

When a blog is not enough

While talking with dad on the phone about the post I did contrasting "Pride and Prejudice" with "Brokeback Mountain," dad discovered my Blogger profile was the number one result for callie white (though not "callie white"). Well, if people are reading and linking you're sure doing it quietly.

At any rate, one of the sites I stumbled across is a sit that seeks to create a network that uses a web crawler to pick out people's names, titles and companies and complile them into a database. I am the number one result for "Callie White" on that site though also the only one. It cites 206 sources for deciding I'm worthy of an independent profile, most of them Gateway stories. They are a fairly random sample, but if you are interested here are some gleanings of non-Tacoma Narrows Bridge weekly updates.

An education story about censorship in two local high school newspaper: http://tinyurl.com/fdey6

People hate tolls, and although I didn't need a public meeting to tell me that, I was a little surprised with the level of heckling (even one of the anti-toll people got heckled): http://tinyurl.com/k8tss

Sometimes as a reporter, especially if you work in a small community, it is easy to get annoyed when land use issues drag on for an interminable amount of time. Obviously these issues are massively important to local property owners, but as a non-night owl when meetings go on for more than two hours I get a little testy and stories pop out that read like this: http://tinyurl.com/hkc7p

This was an award winner (for humorous article) that needs some editing, in retrospect, to keep the humor tighter: http://tinyurl.com/kecdm

Here's a cool artist and her story did a nice life-art symmetry thing: http://tinyurl.com/fztjx

The lede is good on this one, even if it's a generic local-girl-makes-good (and, to be fair, judging by how nice her parents' house was, they had the resources to make sure she could do good in her chosen field): http://tinyurl.com/zx4gb

WWII vets are my bread and butter. This story is complicated by having three equal narratives — and fascinating ones — but not only did the structure come out pretty well, I think it's pretty exciting and moving: http://tinyurl.com/h3vka

Here's a daredevil for you. This lady is a hoot, and this is my only feature to run on the Sports pages to date: http://tinyurl.com/zenus

This old column is on the display case of a local deli, which is an ego boost to me but also, considering the topic maybe depressing?: http://tinyurl.com/jatqt

This column takes on a *very* controversial topic and takes a really hard stance (just kidding!): http://tinyurl.com/ecbdv

This column really could have used some editing because I sound like a complete idiot in the beginning, making no sense, but at the end it finally comes together: http://tinyurl.com/hffgz (I was writing 120 inches a week in stories and doing more in briefs, which leaves the neurons frazzled)

This column is about going to a church sale with Janice, who I just love. A lot more than this column, but I think the details of the weird stuff people donate to yard sales have anthropological value: http://tinyurl.com/gmuwd

Here's a column where I fess up to past weaselishness: http://tinyurl.com/oruhf

This is the column that begat the controversy that caused me no end of pain and suffering. Well, it's basically ended now, and I have emerged with a head held high and a sterling reputation. What divine providence that it is preserved for all eternity here: http://tinyurl.com/p2787

Here are some stories informed by my time in high school volunteering for the Academy of Natural Sciences: http://tinyurl.com/zpmxg and http://tinyurl.com/gznqu and this column http://tinyurl.com/mzn3f

I just love Phyllis Beckley. She and her husband Jim are just amazing people: http://tinyurl.com/mvudh

When I wrote this there were no business stories about WiFi in the press to speak of. I was just obsessed with it since I'd gotten my 12" Powerbook with Airport and miffed at how few places there were I could nip into to get on the web, and apparently that's all it takes to be a journalism visionary: http://tinyurl.com/hetmv

This is the story from spending a day salmon fishing with old salts. Mr. Jerkovich died a couple of days before the story ran, which gives it a little poignancy: http://tinyurl.com/ff874

Here are some seniors talking about the good old days, but with a news angle: http://tinyurl.com/hm6dn

That ought to be enough to hold the most ravenous Monument reader who hasn't already seen these articles.

The race update

Oof. Like that was necessary. Not exactly the brightest moment one has during a race.

I came in 1,821 (out of a lot) with an overall time of 1:21:08, setting a pace of 10:54 per mile.

And I may be losing a toenail due to the race. Well, the shoes, really.

Good times.

It has come to my attention that Michelle's picture is up, and she is less than proud of it (she was my training partner). Also see Mike Leonard, ad director of the Gateway, and Denise, my Tuff-E-Nuff instructor. My friend Lindley was snapped at the start of the race, which is so much less fun to see than those of us snapped at the end. As a result, I look so much happier than my compatriots to be finishing the race. And man, was I ever glad to be done.

Because apparently running IS addictive

I've been checking out this site, which primarily is a compendium of PNW events. I'm thinking about doing more 10ks and 12ks — 5s seem to be over really quick. And there are a lot of triathlons and duathlons going on right now as well as marathons and half-marathons (which are a little further than I really care to go).

There's a 10k in Tacoma called the "Bank to Bay," but it's a day after a Fort Lewis muddy 5K with a lot of obstacles, which sounds fun too. Then, of course, there are a couple of "Bun Runs" which are sponsored by nudist camps and, apparently, clothing optional. Yes, I'm sure it seems like streaking on the surface, but in reality, I'm sure even the most die-hard naturists have to give comfort its due, if you know what I mean.

I also found a pace calculator, which let me know I ran the S2N in less than 11 minutes a mile. Not a lot less, but it was an ego boost just the same.

The race goes to the swift

I heard the red wave time was the clock minus 15 minutes, which gives me a time of about 81 minutes for 7.5 miles. That's not too bad considering all the hills.

Even though I never have to run again there is a part of me that now wants to run Five Mile Drive every Saturday. That part is definitely not located in my feet.

The race, it is run

I did it! 7.5 miles! I'm not sure of my time — it's going to be posted later on the website so I'll check back in. As I was coming around the final bend I heard a guy say "red wave's at 1:20:00," but the clock at the finish said 1:36:10, but the clock didn't necessarily start with the red wave, so, again, who knows. I'm pretty sure me and Michelle beat our previous times, though, at 95 and 90 minutes, respectively.

Here's what it's like to run the S2N:

Pre-race: Michelle: "I hope we beat him. He's got one leg." Callie: "Man, we'd better beat her. She's like 300 pounds." Michelle: "What happened to her leg?" Callie: "That's a varicose vein." Michelle: "You mean like a spider vein? (pause) We better beat her." Announcer: "And running on his 50th anniversary! Eric somebody! His time last year was 1:15:34!" Michelle: "What?" Callie: "We are going to have to let a lot of stuff go." Michelle: "That's crazy."

The Roman Centurion, representing Roman Meal Bread, one of the sponsors, is a guy from the Tuesday/Thursday Tuff-E-Nuff class. Why is he not running? He is a better runner than I am for sure.

Mile 1: The red wave is all scrunched up like crazy. We are going downhill. I am able to pass people. I pass you, Santa-looking man! I pass you, large-bottomed women! I pass you, gimpy runner! Going downhill is fantastic! Hey! Is that Lindley ahead of me? Maybe I can catch up ... no ... okay, see you at the finish, Lindley.

Mile 2: We are starting to break up a little. Here is "The First Hill." The most optimistic of the red wavers have to walk. I start sucking air. My second wind has yet to kick in. Ah, sweet zoo parking lot, you are flat. Ah, sweet downhill again. Oh, man here is the next hill. It is not too steep.

Mile 3: We are still going uphill! Every bend in the road, obscuring the view! It only obscures more uphill! Sweet Lord make it stop! I am racewalking and walking and jogging and Michelle is ahead of me, all energetic and young! Ah, it has stopped. It is kind of flat. Now I am running again.

Mile 4: Michelle has deigned to let me run in front of her. It is up and down and up and down and hey, more water! Racers are messy people who just throw the cups down. OMG we can litter! I am getting a cup! Running and drinking is hard! But here is a condoned act of littering! I just littered in the park, OMG OMG! And people say I cannot cut loose.

Mile 5: This is getting so much easier. Where has Michelle gone? She must be ahead of me. Must. Run. A. Little. Faster. Man, my hips are starting to hurt. I'm glad I took some Advil this morning.

Mile 6: My blister on my middle right toe is starting to hurt. Where is Michelle? Did she have an asthma attack and I don't know about it and now she's in the hospital? Is she ahead of me or behind me? She must be behind me.

Mile 7: This is weird. No Michelle. Well, if I'm in front, I must be haler and hardier than I thought. Man, that spot where my shorts rub against my thighs hurts. I can't believe I'm going to get a blister on my legs. That is horrible. When is this thing over with? Man, what course are we running? I've never been this way before. Another uphill? Oh man. Yay! Downhill! Oh no! I'm a little out of control! Uphill again! Okay, walk this one a bit. You can walk the rest of the way. It's no shame. Must. Run. Can run flat part. Run flat. Jettison extra weight. Lose articles, pronouns, big words.

Finish: Run! RUN RUN RUN IN!!! RUN IT!!! RRRRUUUUUUNNNN!!!!!!! Everything hurts but it's almost over! RUN, CALLIE RUN!!

Michelle made it in two minutes later. She had to tie her shoe, she said. Man, ain't no shame in the walking game. Or having double bunny ear knots. We get a free orange. It is Sunkist yet one of the best oranges I've ever eaten. I get two loaves of Roman Meal bread from a guy looking the other way. I don't need or want two loaves of bread, much less a kind that only has a single gram of fiber per slice. Overheard by Michelle: man: "we got a free loaf of bread and an orange for only $25!" We still wonder if S2N gives its money to a worthy cause. I think because we wonder it must not, unless you count the continued existence of the race, and that's cool when I think about it.

I'm going to get a burger now.

Tomorrow's the day

7.5 miles. I am so excited.

I am washing my race clothes in preparation tonight and am taking it easy. I had to run to the store for some laundry detergent — I apparently lost a whole new bottle, which I didn't think was possible — but other than that I'm conserving energy. Ate a big bowl of pho, which may not have been smart, and two pieces of bread and jam since I'm all out of Milano cookies, which is also dubious. Also I'm charging my iPod shuffle for tomorrow. I cannot recommend the shuffle enough. It's light and doesn't skip at all and the battery goes on forever and ever. Plus they're on bigtime sale right now at the Apple Store. If you exercise, totally buy one.

I also found a product that is called "liquid bandage" which I'm going to put over the place where I had blisters. I kinda got them to the point where they came off right before the race. Which really isn't cool because now it's tender skin that's exposed instead of the tough stuff that was there. Still, my feet aren't really ready for sandals or anything. They're still pretty gnarly.

Once I run this race I'll barely ever run again and, if so, pretty much only on flat surfaces. I cannot wait to kickbox again.

Also, I did not go ahead and try to create a race costume as a faux superhero. It isn't that I'm too shy; I'm too lazy.