I am your archetypal daydreamer. I mostly wander around with my head in the clouds carelessly minding my own bidness until something provokes enough thought that I feel like I have to come down for a minute to say something about it. Well today I read an article that roused me from my mental hibernation (the article was published on heckin’ Sunday like!). It was called ‘The Voice of The People’. It was in Sundays’ ‘Life’ magazine with the Independent and was written by a guy called Declan Lynch.
The subheading read: “There’s a reason why everyone doesn’t have a voice and a reason why bloggers are just bloggers.”
Now, usually I’m not one to give a shit about what’s between the two covers of a magazine that comes free with the Sunday paper but this dude implicated me. He implicated and he criticized me and any other person out there who has the audacity to flaunt freedom of expression in the form of… A blog!
The article wasn’t directly about blogging really. It was about how we have become a nation of uncertain nitwits who call for a referendum at the first hint of a political decision needing to be made. That’s all fair enough but Declan pointed the finger. A bold enough move when you’re pointing it at the majority.
Basically, Mr. Lynch griped sarcastically for a few hundred words about how blogging has become so popular in recent years and how it’s killing “real journalism”. He reckons that because anyone can write a blog, the integrity of the journalistic vocation is, essentially, being shit on by every Tom, Dick and Harry with a laptop and a basic ability to type/form an opinion.
The first conclusion to spring to my mind upon reading the piece was that there was no way in hell that the scribe was below the age of 40. You know that TV show that used to be on BBC called ‘Grumpy Old Men’ where people like Bob Geldof , Jeremy Clarkson, Rory McGrath and the like just sat there and grumbled about things that they didn’t understand? That’s what it put me in mind of. It was like listening to an old man giving out about how it’s far from blogging he was raised and things, of course, were better when he was a buck. And BINGO, further research tells me that Declan Lynch was born in 1961.
Here in Ireland, we’re terrified of change. Kind of the point of Mr. Lynch’s story in the first place. So it’s hypocritical enough to see the article pan out as the words of a middle-aged man who appears petrified that his job might be at risk to some, in his own mocking words, “desperado” with a blog.
The thing is, in one respect, I can appreciate where he’s coming from. I can see why he feels that his professional toes are being stepped on by the simplicity and freedom that the 21st century and the internet culture provide. There is, no question, an abundance of personal blogs out there covering just about every topic you can think of and laymen with too much time on their hands are behind a vast majority of them.
In another respect, however, I feel that Mr. Lynch is an intolerant old stick-in-the-mud who has a dislike for modernism and the fact that it is now possible for everyone to have a voice regardless of whether they’re endorsed by a publication or not.
I have a degree in Journalism from Dublin City University. I spent three years earning it. About a year and a half into my studies I came to the realisation that, while I loved to write, I had very little interest in resigning myself to a life limited by word counts, deadlines, uninteresting subject matter and the brutality of editors. The reality of the profession was revealed to be a million miles from the idealistic reason I got into it in the first place. Where I wanted journalism to be a craft; something you could be creative with, an outlet for originality and flair, I was thumped in the face with a reality of ruthlessness, confinement and censorship. I finished my studies, graduated with the rest of my class and, while most of my peers ventured off into the cut-throat world of professional journalism, I ventured into the unexpected but wholly more gratifying terrain of childcare, where I today remain.
Point being? That not everyone who writes a blog is an uneducated imbecile who doesn’t deserve a voice, as Mr. Lynch not so discreetly implies. I take exception to the notion that just because a person chooses to write on their own terms it makes them less of a writer than someone who gets paid to roll out mundane “inverted pyramid” style news articles for a broadsheet paper. While a payroll journalist gets the freedom to write about whatever the editor decides, the blogger utilises initiative and crafts something. The blogger has the creative independence that the paid reporter can only hope to someday earn professionally and the blogger can generate as much attention for their work as any byline can for theirs.
The fact is that, as much as old school “I used to have to walk a mile in the snow just to get clean drinking water” grouches like Mr. Lynch are loathe to tolerate it, the internet is the future of communication. Matter fact, it’s not even the future. It’s the present. This month, Encyclopaedia Britannica announced that, after 244 years in print, it would now only be available online. I mean, I love books (I refuse to ever have a Kindle, for example) but if that’s not one of the final nails in the coffin of the printed word, I don’t know what is. Also, here’s a link to an article listing all the major news stories that were broken on twitter (by the layman) before anywhere else: http://www.techradar.com/news/internet/10-news-stories-that-broke-on-twitter-first-719532
In his tirade, Mr. Lynch alleges that “being good is not the point anymore.” Well, I respectfully disagree with that principle. Being “good” remains an essential component in any piece of journalism whether it comes in the form of an article, a column, a blog or even a tweet. Regardless of the encompassing accessibility of blogging to anyone with a notion to be heard in some way, good writers remain; There are people out there who are perceptive, creative, witty, outspoken and ingenious. They write, undiscovered and unappreciated. But doing it for one common reason: A love of writing.
So, it’s St. Patrick’s Day again. Yay for Paddy! Our patron saint. He drove the snakes out of Ireland like a boss! The only problem with it being that history suggests there never was any snakes in Ireland and eh, Saint Paddy was British. But let’s just sweep that one under the rug for the day that’s in it, shall we?
They say that we’re blessed with the gift of the gab here in Ireland. I dunno who “they” are or where they’re from but I feel they misread us. We don’t so much have the gift of the gab, but rather we have an unadulterated fear of awkward silences. Hence, we’re mad for the small talk.
Here’s a typical conversation, to be overheard at the petrol pumps of any Texaco around the country:
Paddy #1: Well boss, how’s it goin’?
Paddy #2: Ah, sure I’m alright. I’ll not complain. What about yourself? Any craic goin’?
Paddy#1: Divil the bit and fuck the hate now. Scrapin’ by.
Paddy #2: Aren’t we all? Bad times.
Paddy #1: Bad times. That’s a fierce mild day.
Paddy # 2: Ah sure it’s great to see it.
Paddy # 1: It’s meant to get colder now from Tuesday though.
Paddy #2: Aw, will ya quit! But there’s some stretch in the evenings these days.
Paddy #1: Feckin’ sure. Where does the time go? Sure I’m still not over Christmas.
Paddy #2: And we’re into March now. It’s mad isn’t it? What’s the plan for Paddys?
Paddy #1: Ah, I’ll probably head to the parade, few pints to be had, ya know yourself.
Paddy #2: Yeah, same as. Sure what else would ya be at?
Paddy # 1: Exactly. Has to be done. Right sure I better go. I have to see a thing about a thing with the… yoke.
Paddy #2: Right, good man. Sure I’ll chat t’ ya again. Good luck.
And translated it goes:
Paddy #1: Well boss, how’s it goin’?
Paddy #2: Not great. I’ve my fair share of problems but I don’t know you well enough/have the time to go into it with you. What about yourself?
Paddy#1: I’ve no money.
Paddy #2: Am I supposed to feel sorry for you? I’ve no feckin’ money either like.
Paddy #1: So shall we talk about the weather for a minute before I have to go in and pay for this petrol?
Paddy # 2: Yeah. I guess so.
Paddy # 1: I have nothing to say to you.
Paddy #2: I’ve nothing to say to you either.
Paddy #1: Soooo…
Paddy #2: Emmmm, Paddy’s Day! That’s coming up! We could talk about that…
Paddy #1: Yeah. I’m gonna go on the absolute piss from Saturday, spend all my money and probably not come home until Monday night at some stage.
Paddy #2: Me too. There’s absolutely nothing else to do in this country.
Paddy # 1: True story. Right, I’m gonna go ahead and make an excuse to go now because we’re out of conversation and shit’s about to get awkward.
Paddy #2: Thank god. See ya.
These conversations are unanimously accepted in this country. They’re reserved, not for your friends and family, but for those people that you just really don’t have that much in common with. Ie: people you went to primary school with and haven’t seen in about three years and you always forget what they’re doing in college, your parents’ friends (or your friends’ parents, for that matter), those people that you’d talk to in the pub but you’re not really friends with in real life and people who just recently added you on Facebook because maybe they know your brother and want to have a bit of a snoop through your photos. But generally they all culminate around one thing, and that’s whatever social event is next on the calender. And by social event, I of course mean; reason to go on the piss.
So, Paddy’s Day is the next upcoming reason to go on the piss and everyone wants to know what everyone else is going to be at for it. It’s a bank holiday. They come around rare enough. And Paddy’s Day itself actually falls on a Saturday this year. Couldn’t. Suit. More… Ach ní bheidh mé ag ól. Yup, I’m one of the sorry few that’s not going on the beer. I informed my brother of thisyesterday and was greeted with a baffled response. He’s got MAJOR plans. But see, the thing is, I don’t drink very often, but when I do drink I’m a DEAD CERT to overdo it. I mean, where one should stop drinking at 2am and go to bed, I’ll be the bolox scraping the dregs of a bottle of Mickey Finns, asking for song requests and trying to dissuade people from going to bed when 8am rolls around. It’s just not a good look. I mean, sure it’s the best of craic at the time but after a bit of a snooze and once the hangover subsides, all that’s left is utter, utter mortification. What did I say to yer one? Why did I say that? Who is that stranger in all my photos? How do I have more money in my wallet now than I had going out? And the inevitable, “Right, that’s it. No more drinking for me for a LONG time.” It’s for this reason that I drink only occasionally and will consequently be acting as complimentary taxi this weekend while the vast majority of my peers will morph into drunken parodies of themselves for circa 48 hours.
Now, don’t get me wrong. There’s no judgement here. I’m not averse to a good session. Give me a group friends and some vodka Diet Cokes on a sunny day or a big family get together at Christmas and I’m SOLD. But the thoughts of going to a pub in Ireland on Paddy’s Day are enough to make me want to emigrate. The reason being that as much as we like to take offence at having a rep for drinking outrageously, akin to the uproar over those Urban Outfitters t-shirts (http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2108948/St-Patricks-Day-Urban-Outfitters-T-shirts-Irish-Americans-fury-disrespectful-slogans.html), it’s actually not a million miles off the mark. We drink if it’s someone’s birthday (ya have to celebrate). We drink if it’s Christmas (Irish coffee’s begin as soon as one wakes on Christmas morning in my house). We drink if someone dies (it’d be wrong not to exchange stories of the deceased over a few). We drink if it’s sunny (beer garden!). We drink if it’s a bank holiday (no work on Monday). We drink if someone’s migrating (for the big send-off valya). We drink is someone’s home from abroad (it’s the best way to reunite with the most amount of people in the least amount of time). We drink if we break-up with someone (drown the sorrows). We drink if it’s payday (coz we can). Summarised: We drink a fair bit of alcohol in Ireland.
Usually, Paddy’s Day in Ireland looks something like this:
Everyone is bananas. The place is jammed. You’re getting pushed around. Ya can’t get near the bar (or the toilets). There’s vomit, broken glass and chips blanketing the footpath outside. There’s cigarette smoke EVERYWHERE. The floors are sticky. People are shifting in the corners. EVERYBODY is shouting and leering and staggering. Fights break out.
There’s very little actual patriotism in an Irish pub on St. Patrick’s Day. The gimmicky t-shirts are sported, the trad music is on the go and there’s probably some shamrock bunting strewn across the bar but it’s not really there in the spirit of honouring old Eire. Nah, it’s considered more of a “theme” for the party. Kind of like a fancy dress except the options are limited to green stuff… mostly.
I wouldn’t mind being elsewhere for the big day. Somewhere far away. Somewhere where St. Patrick’s Day is regarded as more than simple justification for the mother of all seisúns. I just figure, at least if you went away off to, say, Boston or Vancouver or Sydney or the like, you’d be graced with a slightly tamer, more eloquently patriotic and better organised version of what Paddy’s Day is in Ireland.
Listen though, I’m not saying I’m any form of pioneer. When I relent to a session, I fall as hard as any other gal (“Don’t be goin’ to bed! Bed is for losers! There’s Mickey Finns to be drank!”). There’s nothing wrong with it, you know, aside from for all that malarkey about binge drinking and liver damage and stuff. But Paddy’s Day is too much for me and my amateur persona to deal with. I guess I’m just in yearning for a more docile version. One that an “every-now-and-again” girl like me can keep pace with.
Top Gun is one of my all time favourite movies. There’s two and a half reasons for this:
1) I really love airplanes
2) I really love the military
½) I really love Kenny Loggins
So today, I have been mostly thinking about the Top Gun sequel and how amazing it’s going to be. If there’s one awesome movie that can be extra-awesomized by the 21st century it’s Top Gun. A dude from Lockheed confirmed the other day that Maverick will be back and he’s apparently gonna be an F-35 test pilot.
I read this article: http://gizmodo.com/5889737/top-gun-2-is-real-and-stars-a-plane-that-doesnt-fly. These guys obvs don’t like Tom Cruise (which is okay. He’s pretty mental and tiny. He does have a pilots licence though, inspired by this very role.) but they also don’t seem very keen on the F-35, which, I guess, is also fair enough. It’s a notoriously flawed aircraft. But let’s and remember that this is not real life. This is Hollywood. And Hollywood is trying to make a modern, 21st century movie about fighter pilots. The F-35 is about as modern as it gets before we stumble into drone territory. And let’s face facts, no one wants to see a Top Gun sequel in which Mav flies the aircraft using a remote control. It just wouldn’t be the same. So can we all please just quit “curmudgeoning” and hope that Hollywood will do us good? Paramount is in. Bruckheimer is in. Cruise is in. No word yet on the chick from ‘Witness’ and I’d be very doubtful that Val Kilmer would have any interest, but sure Iceman was only ever a bastard anyways.
Eh, so yeah, anyways, the point was that I was thinking about Top Gun and then I started thinking about airplanes in general which got me to thinking about pilots and how you have to have so much money to become one. And then I was thinking that if I had loads of money I’d fo’ sho’ be a pilot. And then I was thinking about how much money celebrities have and so obviously then I was thinking about celebrities who use some of that money to actually become pilots.
And this is the resulting top ten…
#10. PRINCE HARRY
Prince Harry. He’s the one that did not get married last year. He’s also the one that is a bit of craic. If I was having a party (and if I thought he’d come) I’d definitely invite Prince Harry. He was caught smoking pot. He dressed up as a Nazi for a fancy dress party that time. He called one of his military colleagues a “paki” and a “raghead”. He’s been known to physically attack paparazzi. And he dated that little bleach blonde, orange skinned skaaaaaank, Chelsea Davy. Like I said, Pile O’ Craic.
Anyways, this isn’t about him being a laugh. This is about him being a helicopter pilot. But not just any helicopter pilot. Oh no, these days, little Harry who looked so sad and lost at his mum’s funeral way back when, is now in training to pilot a muthafuckin’ Apache attack helicopter.
The Apache is famous for being the baddest, flyest, most awesomely awesome piece of weaponry that the military has to offer and training to fly one is no mean feat. Harry initially learned to fly back in 2009 and has been working on his Type Conversion for the Apache ever since with hopes of returning to the frontline in Afghanistan as soon as he’s done training.
That’s much cooler than Prince William’s career as a Search and Rescue pilot.
#9. JAKE PAVELKA
Jake Pavelka. You don’t know who he is. Neither do I really. He was on the American reality TV series, ‘The Bachelor’ in 2010 and, more recently, he was on ‘Dancing With The Stars’ where he did not win. At the moment I belive he is appearing as the celebrity guest host for the Chippendales in Las Vegas. Awesome.
But, before Jake became a womanising, fame hungry television personality and prized jerk, he was a real life pilot flying commercially for Atlantic Southeast Airlines.
Jake learned to fly when he was 12 and went on to become a Flight Instructor before landing a job with ASA, also known as Delta Connection.
Recently, US Magazine reported that Jake’s 15 minutes of fame are up and he’s back in the captain’s seat for Delta. Good enough. I was going to say he was pretty dumb to give up the day job in the first place, but then I thought about all the money he must have made in the past few years and I’ve decided he was actually clever enough.
#8. JAMES FRANCO
Props to James Franco. He’s a fine young man. He’s an actor, we know this. He’s also a producer and director. He’s a model. He’s a philanthropist. He’s a writer. He’s a painter. And he’s also a very highly educated dude. He has a degree in English with creative writing from UCLA. He went to Columbia to study writing. He studied filmmaking at NYU. He is a PhD student at Yale. He is due to attend Houston University this year to study for a doctorate in literature and creative writing. He’s so smart it’s kind of insane.
You may wonder why James is only #8 on this list, especially when you consider what a genius he is. Well, the reason is just that I feel that he lacks any real passion for aviation. Franco learned how to fly in 2006. He did it as research for his role in the movie, ‘Flyboys’ in which he played a WWI fighter pilot. He was asked about it in an interview and had this to say, “I’ve become kind of obsessive about research. I think part of it’s just filling time. I signed onto this at least four months in advance. So I thought, “Well, I have the time, I might as well get my license. So I went every day and I got it.”
See what I mean? There’s no love there.
Watch him be underwhelmed about the whole thing here (if the narrators’ dull voice doesn’t put you to sleep first):
A much more romantic tale would be that he discovered his love for flight whilst interning at Lockheed Martin in his youth. Alas, it’s not the case. He did intern at Lockheed Martin in his youth, but he discovered a love for maths and not flying. Good one.
So why give him a place on the list at all? D’uh, coz he’s pretty.
#7. ZACH BRAFF
I don’t need to tell you who Zach Braff is. You already know. But, did you know that in addition to being a very funny guy (follow him, go on) Zach Braff is also a licensed pilot? Probably not.
Zach learned to fly in 2008 and got his PPL in November of that year. He says he did it because he had become a nervous flier and wanted to conquer his fears. Says J.D: “During a particularly horrible patch of travel, I decided I’d take flying lessons. I’d get to know the unknown by unknowing what I had known. Instead of running from my new fear, I’d saunter right up to it and tickle fear’s balls with my peace-sign fingers.”
Turns out it worked a treat. Since then J.D has taken to the air like a duck to water. In 2010, he flew cross-country for the very first time especially to see Ellen…
He doesn’t make a big deal out of it. He’s not affiliated with any organisations. He doesn’t fly commercially. He owns a single-engine Cirrus, nothing too swanky, which he uses to fly on sunny days. Good for you Scrubs. Good for you.
#6. ANGELINA JOLIE
I’m no feminist but part of me feels like I have to include Angelina on this list just because there’s no other women on it. To be honest, Angelina sort of irritates me. She’s just a bit too intense and serious. Like, I’d say you’d be hard pushed to get a bit of craic out of Angelina Jolie. But that’s besides the point. The point being that Angelina is an aviatrix. Mostly we forget that she flies. Probably because she doesn’t push it on us like some of the higher placed names on this list. But she does.
Angelina first learned to fly in 2005, apparently at the insistence of Maddox, who loved to go to the airport and watch the planes. Since then she has kept up her hobby and told Vanity Fair that she loves it so much because “it’s the only place I’m completely alone, up in the air, detached from everything.” Fair enough I s’pose.
But, of course, the gothic one has her detractors. There’s a barrage of naysayers who deem that Angelina is not experienced enough to fly the Cirrus SR-22 that she splashed out $360,000 on. Some instructor guy from California stuck is oar in saying, “Letting an inexperienced, novice pilot like Angelina Jolie fly it is like giving a Ferrari to a 16-year-old boy. It’s a recipe for disaster. It is the fastest plane in its class. It climbs like a missile. Miss Jolie should fly something more sedate for a while. This airplane is a thoroughbred that needs experience to control.”
Personally I think it ain’t got nuffin’ to do with anyone what kind of plane she flies. If Lara Croft wants to fly an SR-22 and she’s licensed to do so then Lara Croft should fly an SR-22. Heck, if I had her money, I’d take my pick aswell.
Despite being pretty low-key with her aviation interests, Angelina did do a story with Vogue in which she posed alongside a P51. She donned a couture outfit, posed a bit and then hiked up the crisp white pencil skirt, kicked off her heels and took her interviewer for a fast paced flight around the California desert. The resulting pictures are pretty cool I have to admit.
#5. DEXTER HOLLAND
Dexter Holland. You know him. And if you don’t, you’re wrong because yes, you actually do. He’s the singer with The Offspring. He’s pretty fly for a white guy. But he’s also a white guy who flies.
Seems our Dexter is your quintessential overachiever. Apparently being the singer for the worlds favourite pop punk group just is not enough for this Boris Becker lookalike. Nah, Dexter’s got the smarts too! He got a degree in biology from the University of Southern California and then went on to get a masters in molecular biology. In 2006 he ran the Los Angeles marathon. He owns Nitro Records as well as his own brand of hot sauce: Gringo Bandito. And hey whaddya know, he’s also a certified pilot.
Dexter is pretty low-key sort of a guy (well, as low key as a bleach blonde 47-year-old rock singer who owns three aircraft can be). What I mean to say is that Dex doesn’t seem to really give a shit if we know anything about his aviation interests or not. He doesn’t dress up in a pilots uniform and he doesn’t have any association with an airline. Seems like he legit just really likes to fly recreationally. So don’t be expecting any big fanfare at your local airport next time The Offspring roll into town. Just keep an eye out for Dexters Cessna Citation jet with the anarchy symbol on the tail.
#4. MORGAN FREEMAN
Who doesn’t love Morgan Freeman? The mere mention of his name incites the brain to replay his voice in ones head. He’s the definition of a living legend. Shawshank Redemption. Se7en. Million Dollar Baby. March of the Penguins. Invictus. His name is trademarked. He’s environmentally conscious. He’s politically active. He speaks fluent French. He’s brilliant at golf. And he flies planes.
Morgan Freeman wanted to be a fighter pilot when he was a kid. So enamored with flight was he that he joined the Air Force as soon as he finished school. But things didn’t work out for poor Morgan. He ended up working as an Air Force mechanic. Not quite the adrenaline-fuelled career he was after. So, he swapped his dream of being a pilot for a dream of being an actor. And as we all know, that one panned out pretty nicely for him.
It wasn’t until 2002, when he was 65 years-old, that Morgans’ passion was reignited. At the provocation of a pilot friend, he began taking lessons in July of 2002, qualifying with his PPL in October of the same year and by the summer of 2003, Morgan was up and running with a multi-engine rating.
Never one to escape a bit of bad luck (remember his car crash in 2008? No? It was pretty serious. http://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-1041570/Pictured-The-horrific-car-crash-nearly-killed-Morgan-Freeman.html), Freeman got into a spot of bother in 2004 when he broke altitude rules around Teterboro airport in New Jersey. He was banned from flying for 45 days. Naughty, naughty… But Morgan took it like a champ and used the time to get a bit of filming done before taking to the skies again.
Like Harrison Ford, Morgan did an ad for AOPA. Here it is:
These days Morgan is the proud owner of two Cessnas and a pretty fancy Emivest corporate jet which he uses to fly himself from a to b (“It is so much easier than being strip-searched.”).
Saying all this, Morgan is 75 years-old. So just…. be careful. That’s all.
#3. HARRISON FORD
Word on the street (web) is that Harrison Ford is worth in excess of $200 million. Not really surprising when you consider the fact that he was Han Solo AND Indiana Jones (two movie franchises that I have approximately zero interest in.) For the longest time I’ve pegged Harrison for a sharper, more miserable and less cuddly version of Richard Gere. You see paparazzi pictures of him out and about with Ally McBeal and they look like they’re having a good time NEVER! She trails behind him, arms crossed, stomach growling with the hunger and he attempts to hide his scowl behind a pair of shades. But there’s a but. Harrison Ford is actually a pretty stand up guy and as far as celebrity aviators go, he’s right up there. And here’s the why…
Harrison first began learning to fly in the 60s but he wasn’t able to afford to keep up the training. It wasn’t until he had made a few bob from the movies that he was able to fully pursue his passion. And pursue it, Harry did. Today he’s licensed to fly both fixed wing and rotor aircraft. He owns six planes and a helicopter (“I have more airplanes than it’s fair for anybody to have”), regularly attending fly-ins in Wyoming where he has a ranch and sometimes provides emergency helicopter services for local authorities (he once rescued an ailing hiker from a mountainside. How awesome would it be to be rescued by Harrison Ford?!). He was also one of the charitable who stepped up when the earthquake rocked Haiti in 2010, flying in medical supplies and volunteers on behalf of Operation Smile.
When he’s not too busy flying himself and his co-stars to various movie sets, Harrison also spreads his philanthropic wings by acting as an honorary board member for Wings of Hope, the worlds biggest aviation based charity. From 2004 to 2009 (when he was replaced by Captain Sully. Yay for Captain Sully!) he was the chairman for the Young Eagles program which is a voluntary organization that gives children the opportunity to fly and to learn about aviation. During his time as chairman, old man Ford flew more than 300 young eagles in his various airplanes. Now everybody tilt your head and say, “awwwww.”
Such is Harrisons eminence in the aviation community, that he was invited to fly VIP with the US Navy’s elite display team, The Blue Angels. He flew backseat with Lt. Cmdr. Kevin ‘Kojak’ Davis, (who was killed during an airshow a year later). Here’s the vid:
Harrison also did an ad promoting general aviation for the Aircraft Owners And Pilots Association AAAAAAAND, in 2010, the National Aeronautics Association awarded him with their most esteemed honour, The Wright Brothers Memorial Trophy, an award established in 1948 to honour those who have demonstrated “significant public service of enduring value to aviation in the United States.”
Now… Don’t you wish you were as cool as Harrison Ford? I’ll end on a quote from the man himself. This is a gem: “In my life I have two roles. One of them everyone knows about. It provides a means to the other, which I prefer.”
#2. JOHN TRAVOLTA
Face/Off. That’s a great movie. And Jay Travs is a great man. Okay, so maybe he’s a crazyface scientologist and yes, he might have a devastating array of gay rumours surrounding him but that’s for Kelly Preston to worry about. Me? I’m more concerned with his efforts in the sky. And no one, NO ONE, is more showboaty about their aviation skills than John Travolta.
Danny Zuko/Vincent Vega/Tony Manero/Michael the Angel first got his wings in 1974 and has since spent many an hour contributing to global warming in a major way whilst carting his ever growing entourage (waistline) around the world in a Boeing 707 named “Jett Clipper”.
Travs is an ambassador for Qantas (he even did a Qantas in-flight safety video) and, in 2010, in a magnificent display of heroism/desperate bid for a decent photo op, the Jaymeister flew his 707 to Haiti to deliver a fuckload of emergency supplies to the stricken people.
But… Let’s talk about his house for just a second. It’s a heckin’ airport house! I kid you not. John “James Ubriacco” Travolta lives in this house: That’s a control tower on the roof there. That’s his Qantas 707 parked in the “garage” (couldn’t you have built something a little bigger, Jay?). The smaller one must just be the one he uses for tippin’ about in. You know, for the school run, to the shop for a litre of milk, that kind of thing). The house is in Florida in a place called Jumbolair Aviation Estates. Residents of Jumbolair have the reassurance of a gated community and access to two runways. They have their own (crummy) website and host community events like rodeos and barbeques and shit to which I bet Jay Travs goes to approximately NONE. But that’s okay because he’s John Travolta and he’s better than you.
#1 BRUCE DICKINSON
A’ight, Imma be honest, John Travolta was the original #1 on this list. I was all done with him and his awesome house and his massive plane. But then I started writing about Bruce. And I realised that I couldn’t justify placing him in the #2 position (Yeah, coz this rundown is so massively relevant to all involved!) when he really deserves #1.
For those who just aren’t sure, Bruce Dickinson is the lead singer with Iron Maiden (I LOVE Iron Maiden!) He’s a great talent as well as a decent guy and an all round heckin’ inspiration! In 2009, ‘Intelligent Life’ magazine said that Bruce was a living example of a polymath. Don’t worry, I didn’t know what it meant either. But google has since informed me that, “a polymath is someone of wide ranging knowledge and learning.” It translates as “having learned much”. In short, my main man Brucey D is a muthafuckin’ genius.
Aside from being the singer in one of the world’s biggest rock bands, Bruce also has a degree in history and an honorary music doctrate. He is an avid fencer, competing internationally and he founded a fencing equipment company called ‘Duellist’. He is a writer, with two books and a movie on his resume. He is also a successful radio host and television presenter. And to top it all off, Bruce is a commercial pilot.
Where John Travolta uses his skills and money to haul his own ass around the world in a jet, Bruce puts his skills to a considerably more considerate use. He was a captain for British airline, Astraeus, flying passengers to their destinations around the world in a 757. He also captains Ed Force One, carrying his bandmates, their crew, equipment, and sometimes even fans from city to city on Iron Maiden tours. In 2006 he flew around 200 British citizens home from Lebanon when there was major conflict going down. In 2008 he stepped up again and flew 180 stranded British citizens home from Egypt. He flew troops out of Afghanistan aaaaaaaaand, after Hurricane Irene last year, Bruce was one of the first pilots ready to fly out and help. I mean, come aaaaaaan!!! What a stand-up guy!
He made this awesomeo TV show called ‘Flying Heavy Metal’, which I have on DVD somewhere (actually it’s pristinely stored in my aviation/military dvd case along with other winners like ‘Ross Kemp In Afghanistan’ and ‘Air Crash Investigation’) in which he took a look at, and often flew, different types of aircraft.
After Astraeus went defunct just there last November, Bruce had quite a bit to say;
“I’m amused that the less well informed seem to be portraying me as having to resort to busking on the streets following the closure of Astraeus. The more astute members of my circle are aware there’s rather more going on in my world. Firstly, I’m already working on a plan to save Astraeus, or at least create a new business with jobs for my friends and former colleagues. This is a serious plan involving people who are very good at their jobs. Secondly, I am also involved in a project which could mean the creation of as many as 1,500 jobs in aerospace in South Wales. Thirdly, I’m a long way into the development of a flight training company – Real World Aviation – which will be perfectly placed to help address the aviation industry’s perennial challenge: producing new and qualified pilots.”
Yipes. And all in the same year that Iron Maiden’s ‘The Final Frontier’ album went to number one in TWENTY EIGHT MUTHAFUCKIN’ COUNTRIES! Good. Man. Bruce.
He’s a class act. An inspiration, I said. Who said rock stars can’t be good role models?! Superiority, thy name is Bruce.
HONORABLE MENTIONS ALSO GO TO:
– Dr. Phil McGraw who has been flying since he was 16
– Clint Eastwood who flies helicopters to avoid traffic
– Giselle Bundchen who also flies helicopters (fair play)
– Kris Kristofferson who worked as a helicopter pilot both in the military and commercially
– Kurt Russell who got his PPL back in 1992
And finally, a shout out to the late, great Patrick Swayze who flew as a private pilot for years and once miraculously escaped injury when he crash landed his Cessna on a suburban road in Arizona. His wiki page says this: “According to the police report, witnesses said that Swayze appeared to be extremely intoxicated and asked for help to remove evidence—an open bottle of wine and a 30-pack of beer—from the crash site.”… Hahaha!! Good man Pat! That’s the way to do it!
sureitsallabitofcraic 