ROSCOE

I miss my dog Roscoe. I took care of him for 2 years after my grandma died. He lived to be 17, almost 18. One night, toward the end of his life, when all he could do was sleep and eat, he got up out of his bed and painfully walked down the hallway to drink from his bowl. As he returned, he paused in the doorway for a moment, then came over to me so that I could scratch behind his ears and pat his head. He turned and went back. As he laid down he let out a big sigh. An old man. An old friend.

As I write this

I can feel him

sitting on my feet.

The weight of him.

The touch of

his fur.

Breathing.

In and

out.

As men march off to war,

he knows more,

is more,

and means more than that

and moments like these

will never be

forgotten.

INTEGRITY

Whenever I’ve got a big flight exam or test coming up I like to complain about it to my friends and ask my family for prayers. I am usually super stressed and talking about it helps. And a lot of the time they tell me something like,  “You’ll do fine, you always do.” Or, “Just relax, you got this.” And it DRIVES ME CRAZZZYYYY!! I don’t “got this”. I feel like all people see is the success. They don’t see the failures, which are twice as many. They don’t see the times I’ve tried so hard and come up short. The times I threw the book across the room and laid on the bed face down. Or the times I drove home from the airport during flight training nearly in tears because I felt like I’d never get it or I was too stupid. Or the time I nearly quit mid-flight and told Marcus to fly us back because I was done. They don’t realize that the only way “I got this” is to work my butt off. There have been plenty of times when I didn’t put in the required effort and the result was less than desirable. Sometimes they say, “I bet if you took it right now you’d pass with a 70%”. In my mind I punch them in the gut. Nothing gets the negative self-talk going like phoning it in and doing much worse than I am capable of. The only way I can feel good about it is to over-prepare. In school, my mom used to tell me to shoot for 100% and settle for 90%. That never made sense to me. I would always calculate how many assignments and papers I could skip to squeak by with a 90. And a lot of times I ended up with an 80 and I would be disappointed. I just can’t do that anymore. I don’t think passengers want a pilot who just went in and took it and squeaked by with a 70.  And I certainly couldn’t live with myself. When I won the award for outstanding 1^st year flight student, I was blown away. I had no idea where I was in comparison to the rest of the students. And when I won again for outstanding graduate, I was honored. But mostly I felt like a phony. All I could think about were my shortcomings. The times I gave it less than 100%. And there was sooooo much I didn’t know. Flying for SeaPort the last 2 years has taught me so much. And there is still loads to learn and perfect. But getting this job with Pinnacle (Delta Connection) has given me a renewed sense of confidence in my flying. I’m finally getting that chip off my shoulder. I know what I know. I’m a good pilot. I’m a safe pilot. And there is plenty of time for growing.

I WEAR MY SUNGLASSES

I’m so mad at sunglasses right now. I’ve had like 60 pair in the last year and a half and all have failed me. First there were the Smith Shelter.

Then I found out they were for big heads and realized how ridiculous they looked on me so I sold them to Brady Pearson since he has a huge melon. Then I got the gold framed Smith Serpico. 

These are about the stupidest, blingiest things ever. They are huuuuge and cheaply made. The screw holding the whole thing together fell out while I was in Costa Rica. So I traded them in for the silver ones (less bling). Screw fell out on this pair in Mexico about half the time of the gold ones. These still live in the center console of my truck with one lens popped out due to the missing screw. Such a bad design. By this time I was fed up and went back to my 1999 Oakley super machismo glasses. They have lived in the glove box of 2 of my cars and now my truck for the past 8 years (no case) and I can’t find even one scratch on the lenses. They just look horrendous. So I decided to quit fooling around and go with the benchmark of quality aviator glasses, Ray Ban. My girlfriend at the time was nice enough to buy them for my birthday. Ain’t that sweet? Well when I opened the box I had to fake excitement because they were waaaay too big and heavy and slid off my face…even after I had adjusted them. So I gave them to a friend who has a slightly bigger face hoping he’d wear those instead of the super cheese ball Ray Bans he found at the park and I bought the small version of the Ray Ban aviator. 

Ugggghnnn! Waaaay too small. The arms have to be bent out to fit around my already skinny log-shaped head (just call me loghead). And the coverage is horrible. They let so much light in I’m constantly getting headaches from squinting. They’re almost as heavy as the large size and also slide down the nose. I hated pushing them back up like nerds with pocket protectors and the top button buttoned up. Then the nose piece broke off when I was trying to adjust them. Sugar! (fake cuss word). I can’t catch a break. So I splurged and went all out and got the Maui Jim Kapalua frames. 

I was never a fan of rimless sunglasses, especially since this happened:  

But these are so sick! They are light and stay in place, coverage is good and they look spectacular. However, they are fragile and the lenses scratch easily and Maui Jim's polarization isn't nearly as good as Smith Optics and Oakley and it's impossible to keep fingerprints off them, but I was willing to live with all that. A few weeks ago as I was getting into the plane I completely smashed them. They have been mostly bent back into place but they are still crooked. And I am angry. And the lenses are a little too dark for my taste. When I take them off after wearing them for a while I feel like I’ve been out of touch with reality or like I can breathe again after being underwater. To add to the madness, my good friend John Frey gave me a super sweet, super expensive pair of Giro cycling glasses.

They are so dope. Problem is, they don’t sit close enough to my face and every single ride I am getting dirt and mud in my eyes. And I won't even mention the sweet Giro pair I appropriated from Jacob in Mexico when the Smith's broke...

 ...then lost. Or the white ones Blake got free with a snowboard purchase and gave me...

...which I left in a gas station bathroom in Olympia, Washington changing for Baktash and Layli's wedding. I think I’m just gonna start wearing a welder’s helmet. Or maybe I’ll get tinted contacts. If  you’re still reading this rant, God bless you.

DEAR MOM

When I was 13, I was very small for my age. Only Brandon Ewing was smaller than I was. And what was worse, I had a very sensitive stomach and couldn't eat most foods. And so I think my mom was worried for me that I wouldn't grow up and be a strong, tough man like my dad. I got picked on a lot mostly because I was a smart ass and had a mouth on me and wasn't afraid of making the bigger guys feel stupid, even if they beat the crap out of me afterward. I played baseball and so did my older brother but we were on different teams. I played with the 13 year-olds and him with the fourteen and fifteens. Well one day they were short one player and were going to have to forfeit. I was there with my glove of course, as always. So they gave me a jersey that was way too big for me and put me on 2nd base and batting last in the lineup. My brother was at shortstop as usual and he was very good. By the third inning all of our batters had been struck out, 3 at a time, and I was to be the last out. As I walked up to the plate the crowd began to laugh because I was so small, especially compared to the other kids, and the baggy uniform only made it worse. The first pitch came, I had never seen anything that fast before and I jumped back. And they laughed again. The second one came exactly the same. I couldn't believe it. I stepped out of the batter's box and looked up at my mom. She was standing with her hands on her mouth. I heard her say, "C'mon Jamie, you're not going to hit anything if you don't swing the bat." I looked down the 3rd base line at the coach. He gave me a couple claps, not expecting much, and I stepped back into the box. The 3rd pitch came just like the other two and I took a swing and smashed the ball over the right fielder's head. A stand-up double. I looked back at the stands and my mom was jumping up and down and clapping. She was so excited. And for a minute I thought maybe she wouldn't worry about me so much.

 Mom on the left and my brothers and I wearing our baseball team jackets (I'm giving the thumbs up). 

TRUE LOVE

A few years ago I saw a movie called 'The Devil And Daniel Johnston'. It chronicles the struggles of a mentally ill artist and musician.  

It has had a profound impact on me. I think about his songs often. They are simple, almost to a fault, but from the heart. Today it finally dawned on me why I can't get his story out of my head. He's the ultimate underdog! He has pursued his art for many, many years in the face of brutal torture from within. Each man's hell is different, but his is up and behind his face. At one point in his life, while riding as a passenger in his father's small airplane, he turned the engine off and threw the keys out of the window forcing his father to make a crash landing into the forest below. But through it all he has expressed himself. The beautiful bits as well as the ugly ones. Just as Bukowski said of Fante, his "pure and magic emotions hang on the simple clean line." This one is my favorite, although it's a little late for Valentine's Day.

He recorded his early songs with nothing more than a dictation tape recorder placed near his keyboard or guitar. You can hear how raw these recordings were in 'Story Of An Artist', for example.

The courage of this man is what gets me. Most people don't understand the courage it takes for people with his affliction just to get out of bed in the morning, shave, pay bills, sit in traffic, much less stand up in front of a crowd of people and share their art. And yet he has, and he's created something timeless, with the crudest of tools. 

Thank you for the inspiration Daniel Johnston.

THROUGH THE MANGROVES

Things at work were going much worse than I had planned. To get this job I waited for half a year, virtually homeless, sleeping on a gracious friend's couch and living out of a single duffel bag. During that waiting time I got a job valet parking cars at a restaurant making minimum wage. I couldn't pay my rent let alone buy food. To keep from starving I took the leftover bread rolls when the servers put them by the trash at the end of the night. The bread and the one meal per shift we were allowed kept me going, except for the nights when I was so busy it seemed like I ran for the entire 8 hours fetching cars. Once I had the job I waited and worked so hard for, I realized it was nothing like I had hoped. I was miserable and seriously questioning my life decisions when Matt and Amanda asked me to perform their wedding ceremony. It was to be on the beach in Tulum, Mexico. I was speechless. Honored. Sometimes you have no idea how loved you are.

On the day the women were to visit the spa, the men had a guided fishing trip planned, but it was out of my budget so I wasn't planning on going. Matt's dad Steve and I had developed a deep friendship in a few short years and somehow he knew how badly I needed this, even more so than I did. He had decided that I was going even if he had to pay for it, and that was it. That night I slept in a hammock on the beach. We struck out before dawn and drove on a jeep road for nearly two hours to Punta Allen. It's the most beautiful, serene place I've ever seen, nearly untouched by modern civilization. Our guide Juan took us in the boat a few miles across the bay and had us get out into water that was astonishingly warm and only waist deep! You could literally watch the schools of fish come and go the water was so clear and blue. After a few hours he took us around the point and through mangrove channels that were perfectly carved out of the jungle. In most places it was like a mangrove tunnel. And after a few minutes of ducking branches and slowly navigating these narrow channels, it would open up into a wide area of shallow water they call "flats" and we'd be traveling at full speed. To me, it was something out of a Gabriel Garcia Marquez novel. I couldn't keep myself from shivering. The effect on me was manifesting itself physically, yet it felt like a movie. In a few short days I went from the environs of misery, hunger, self-doubt and anxiety to those of awe, peace, tranquility and inspiration. I cannot begin to tell you what an effect this can have on a man's spirit.

I think about Steve all the time although we don't talk very often. I hope he doesn't have too difficult a time with the images of war that must plague him. And one day I hope he knows how his gesture helped lift the spirits of a man that was nearly broken.

 
Steve with a beautiful fish.

That's Juan and Steve, Matt giving the thumbs up.

A BIKE SAVED MY LIFE

I was bored and depressed and living in Los Angeles with its smog, half-sun and no rain for months. I was stuck in a dead end job and a lonely apartment with lots of acquaintances but not many friends. I went from 150 pounds to 175. I dreaded getting out of bed every morning. I was addicted to my pain medication after a surgery. I knew I had to change something but I didn’t know what or how. 

One Saturday, as I sat on the couch watching TV, a large box showed up on my doorstep. It was from my Dad. There was a mountain bike inside. It was in a thousand pieces. There were no instructions. I sorta figured out how to put it all back together but with some unknown extra parts. Then I took it to the only trail I knew in the Santa Monica Mountains. It was an 11 mile loop with 900 feet of climbing. I was embarrassed by guys twice my age riding past me as I walked my bike, but I kept going. I was determined to improve. As I walked back to my car I vowed to return and try again. After five tries and three sessions of puking in the bushes I was able to reach the top of Dirt Mulholland without getting off the bike. I felt my life begin to change and it hasn’t stopped since. It may sound trivial to some, but the career goals that I have since achieved and most of the friendships I now cherish are because of the bike. And my Dad and I have become closer than ever because of our shared passion. 

I don’t know if it was a father’s instinct or just good timing, but I’m forever indebted to him for sending that old bike when he did.

That's me in the black jacket and my dad next to me along with my brother Zack and sister-in-law Sonlla.