To chorando de rir… =)
By the time a Navy pilot pulled into a little town, every hotel room was taken. “You’ve got to have a room somewhere,” he pleaded. “Or just a bed, I don’t care where.” “Well, I do have a double room with one occupant, a Marine pilot,” admitted the manager, “and he might be glad to split the cost. But to tell you the truth, he snores so loudly that people in adjoining rooms have complained in the past. I’m not sure it’d be worth it to you.”
“No problem,” the tired Navy pilot assured him. “I’ll take it.” The next morning the Navy Pilot came down to breakfast bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. “How’d you sleep?” Asked the manager. “Never better.” The manager was impressed. No problem with the other guy snoring, then?” “Nope, I shut him up in no time.” Said the Navy pilot. “How’d you manage that?” asked the manager. “He was already in bed, snoring away, when I came in the room, I went over, gave him a kiss on the cheek, said, ‘Goodnight, beautiful,’ and he sat up all night watching me.”
Before take-off, a professional pilot is keen, anxious, but lest someone read his true feelings he is elaborately casual. The reason for this is that he is about to enter a new though familiar world. The process of entrance begins a short time before he leaves the ground and is completed the instant he is in the air. From that moment on, not only his body but his spirit and personality exist in a separate world known only to himself and his comrades.
As the years go by, he returns to this invisible world rather than to earth for peace and solace. There also he finds a profound enchantment, although he can seldom describe it. He can discuss it with others of his kind, and because they too know and feel its power they understand. But his attempts to communicate his feelings to his wife or other earthly confidants invariable end in failure.
Flying is hypnotic and all pilots are willing victims to the spell. Their world is like a magic island in which the factors of life and death assume their proper values. Thinking becomes clear because there are no earthly foibles or embellishments to confuse it. Professional pilots are, of necessity, uncomplicated, simple men. Their thinking must remain straightforward, or they die — violently.
— Ernest K. Gann
Você vai começar a tocar o céu, no momento em que você tocar a velocidade perfeita. E isso não está voando a mil milhas por hora, ou um milhão, de voar à velocidade da luz. Porque qualquer número é um limite, e velocidade perfeita, meu filho, é estar lá.
– Richard Bach
You will begin to touch heaven, in the moment you touch the perfect speed. And that isn’t flying a thousand miles an hour, or a million, of flying at the speed of light. Because any number is a limit, and perfect speed, my son, is being there.
— Richard Bach
During a commercial airline flight a Naval aviator was seated next to a young mother with a baby in arms. When her baby began crying during the descent for landing, the mother began nursing her infant as discreetly as possible. The pilot pretended not to notice and, upon debarking, he gallantly offered his assistance to help with the various baby-related articles. When the young mother expressed her gratitude, he responded, “Gosh, that’s a good looking baby…and he sure was hungry!” Somewhat embarrassed, the mother explained that her pediatrician said breast feeding would help alleviate the pressure in the baby’s ears. The pilot sadly shook his head, and in true Sailor fashion exclaimed…….. And all these years I’ve been chewing gum.
This letter is written to insure that management is fully aware of the seriousness of the current O-ring erosion problem in the SRM joints from an engineering standpoint. . . . If the same scenario should occur in a field joint (and it could), then it is a jump ball as to the success or failure of the joint because the secondary O-ring cannot respond to the clevis opening rate and may not be capable of pressurization. The result would be a catastrophe of the highest order – loss of human life. . . .
It is my honest and very real fear that if we do not take immediate action to dedicate a team to solve the problem with the field joint having the number one priority, then we stand in jeopardy of losing a flight along with all the launch pad facilities.
— Roger Boisjoly, Morton Thiokol, Inc.
Interoffice memo to R. K. Lund, Vice President, Engineering titled SRM O-Ring Erosion/Potential Failure Criticality, sent six months before the Challenger launch, 31 July 1985.
Roger Mark Boisjoly (April 25, 1938 – January 6, 2012) was an American mechanical engineer, fluid dynamicist and an aerodynamicist who worked for Morton Thiokol, the manufacturer of the solid rocket boosters for the Space Shuttle program.
Following the announcement that the Challenger mission was confirmed for January 28, 1986, Boisjoly and his colleagues tried to stop the flight. Temperatures were due to be down to −1 °C overnight. Boisjoly felt that this would severely compromise the safety of the O-ring, and potentially lose the flight.
The matter was discussed with Morton Thiokol managers, who agreed that the issue was serious enough to recommend delaying the flight. They arranged a telephone conference with NASA management and gave their findings. However, after a while, the Morton Thiokol managers asked for a few minutes off the phone to discuss their final position again.
Despite the efforts of Boisjoly and others in this off-line briefing, the Morton Thiokol managers decided to advise NASA that their data was inconclusive. NASA asked if there were objections. Hearing none, the decision to fly the ill-fated STS-51L Challenger mission was made.
Boisjoly’s concerns proved correct. In the first moments after ignition, the O-rings failed completely and were burned away, resulting in the black puff of smoke visible on films of the launch. This left only a layer of aluminum oxide (a combustion product) to seal the joint. At 59 seconds after launch, buffeted by high-altitude winds, the oxide gave way. Hot gases streamed out of the joint in a visible torch-like plume that burned into the external hydrogen tank. At about 73 seconds, the adjacent SRB strut gave way and the vehicle quickly disintegrated.
Boisjoly was quite relieved when the flight lifted off, as his investigations had predicted that the SRB would explode during the initial take-off. Seventy-three seconds later he witnessed the shuttle disaster on television.
After the Shuttle disaster, Boisjoly was painfully rewarded for his foresight and playing the part of a whistle blower by releasing his reports publicly. Thiokol cut him off from space work, and he was shunned by colleagues and managers. A former friend warned him, “If you wreck this company, I’m going to put my kids on your doorstep,” Boisjoly told The Los Angeles Times in 1987.
He had headaches, double-vision and depression, he said. He yelled at his dog and his daughters and skipped church to avoid people. He filed two suits against Thiokol; both were dismissed.
He later said he was sustained by a single gesture of support. Sally Ride, the first American woman in space, hugged him after his appearance before the commission.
“She was the only one,” he said in a whisper to a Newsday reporter in 1988. “The only one.”
Hoje é Dia Internacional de Lembrança do Holocausto, marcando a passagem de 70 anos desde a libertação de Auschwitz em 1945.
Dentro dos muros de Auschwitz I e dos campos de extermínio nas proximidades Auschwitz II-Birkenau, mais de 1,1 milhão de judeus foram assassinados em câmaras de gás, trabalho forçado, fome, doença ou experimentação médica durante a ocupação nazista na Segunda Guerra Mundial.
Em 4 de setembro de 2003 – Três F-15 Eagles da Força Aérea Israelense voaram sobre a Polônia, e começaram a seguir os trilhos do trem que levam à Auschwitz-Birkenau. Cada aeronave pilotada por um filho de um sobrevivente do Holocausto, cada avião transportava a lista completa das pessoas assassinadas no interior das muralhas dos acampamentos e, mais importante, cada avião transportava uma promessa para nunca deixar que a história se repita.
À medida que as F-15 da IDF sobrevoavam o campo de concentração, o líder da formação Brig.-Gen. Amir Eshel leu a seguinte declaração no rádio:
“Nós pilotos da Força Aérea, voando nos céus acima dos campos de horrores, por sobre as cinzas dos milhões de vítimas e de seus gritos silenciosos, saudamos sua coragem e prometemos ser o escudo do povo judeu e sua nação Israel . ”
Eles não devem ser esquecidos.
Há 38 anos atrás, 21/01/1976, o CONCORDE fazia seu primeiro voo comercial carregando passageiros.
Simultaneamente um Concorde da British Airways, o G-BOAA, decolou de Londres para o Bahrain enquanto de Paris o F-BVFA da Air France decolava para o Rio de janeiro via Dakar.
Pouca gente sabe que o Rio/Brasil teve um papel tão de destaque na era do voo supersônico de passageiros!
38 years ago today, 21 January 1976: The first scheduled supersonic passenger airliners, British Airways’ Concorde G-BOAA and Air France’ Concorde F-BVFA, took off simultaneously at 11:40 a.m.
G-BOAA departed London Heathrow enroute Bahrain, and F-BVFA departed Paris enroute Rio de Janero, with a stop at Dakar.
The British Airways’ flight, using call sign “Speedbird Concorde”, was crewed by Captain Norman Victor Todd, Captain Brian James Calvert and Flight Engineer John Lidiard. Chief Test Pilot Ernest Brian Trubshaw, CBE, MVO, was also aboard.
G-BOAA arrived on time at 15:20. F-BVFA, after a delay at Dakar, arrived at Rio de Janeiro at 19:00.
On the night before Christmas my ship was at sea,
A big flat-top “bird farm” from the land of the free.
Cruising the ocean at “the tip of the spear”,
So everyone home could sleep sound with no fear.
Flight ops had ended hours ago,
The day crew had turned in and gone down below.
Night crew was doin’ their maintenance checks,
The aircrews and pilots were gettin’ some rest.
The cooks in the galley were fixin’ Mid-rat’s,
The Air Boss and Cap’n could finally relax.
CIC called up said something’s inbound,
Prob’ly the mail plane, a C-2 Greyhound.
Stand clear of the foul-line, one to recover,
“Angel” is airborne, to starboard he’ll hover.
Spotters see only one red blinkin’ light,
No markers on wing-tips, now somethin’ ain’t right.
All eyes are watching but no one believes,
What comes o’er the round-down, bold as you please.
Nine deer and a sleigh, no tail-hook or tires,
How does Paddles grade a trap with no wire?
A red Nomex flight-suit, of course gloves that match,
And S. Claus printed on his aviator patch.
Why, it’s old Santa Claus wearin’ goggles and leather,
With bags full of Christmas cards, presents and letters.
Don’t stand there gawkin’, froze in your tracks,
Give him a hand with unloadin’ those sacks.
The bags are all carried to the mail room below,
And after a pre-flight, Santa’s ready to go.
The cat-crew is wondering now which hold-back pin?
Santa just laughs then he’s airborne again.
We didn’t hear jingling bells from his sleigh,
Ol’ Santa was whistling Anchors Aweigh.
Off the angle-deck, over wave-caps of white,
Even without afterburners he’s soon out of sight.
We all stood there doubting what we had just seen,
But the deer left a present, smelly and green.
Over the side with all the deer turds,
Don’t want them things fod’in one of our birds.
Tho’ that night happened many long years ago,
Santa still travels to our ships on the foam.
Machine Room Operations
Recently someone called me from one of the “Out on the Floor Offices”, an ethereal place rumored to exist only in hyperspace, populated by mysterious beings called Users.
She was quite frantic. She was having trouble running a program through the computer, and her message was clear enough, although rather ill-conceived: “MY FILES ARE FULL!”
I furrowed my brow, lit a smoke, and explained to her, “Really now, Miss Butterman, I don’t have time for this.” I slowly exhaled the menthol vapors as I stopped her process, crushing any hopes she may have had of ever again seeing that document she had spent three hours slaving over.
“I was typing this REALLY important letter, and it HAS to be ready in an hour… there’s all this stuff on my screen that I didn’t type… it says something about an error, should I read it to you?”
“No point. Just press return.”
“Oh my, it wants my username. Can I restart that where I left off?”
“Not a chance.” I drew another puff and tossed the phone aside. It occurred to me that if I had to hear one more of those whining complaint sessions, heads were going to roll. Where do you people GET this stuff? I’m going to tell you what’s really going on here. Now LISTEN UP. I’m not going over this a second time:
Computer The black box that does your work for you. That’s all you need to know.
Response Time Usually measured in nanoseconds; sometimes measured in calendar months. The general rule is: Shut up your complaining about response time.
Hardware See “Computer.” Again, not your concern.
Software If we want you to know, we’ll tell you about it, otherwise, leave us alone.
Network Don’t worry about it, we’ll take care of it. Use it to send mail among your half-wit selves, and don’t think we won’t read it all. What do you think we do all day? By the way , Butterman… shame about your mother’s Pancreas.
Data The general rule is: Don’t use any data files and if you find any, delete them before I find out about them. In fact, just stay off the computer. (See “Response Time”)
System Crash Don’t ever call the system manager to tell him you think the computer is down. Don’t call him to ask him when it will be up again. The more you bother him, the longer it takes.
Downtime Like I said, don’t ask
Uptime Be thankful for it, use it wisely, and get out of my face
Overtime Don’t be ridiculous.
Vacation A time during which I don’t have to put up with your sniveling. Don’t try calling. There’s no point.
Computer Room Keep out, you’re not invited. Don’t knock on the door — don’t even think about it. I broke the phone last time one of you jerks called me, and I’m not about to replace it. And keep your greasy fingers off the windows.
My Office The name says it all… it’s mine; stay out.
Your Problems The name says it all…
Deadlines The general rule is: Deadlines are not acknowledged by me; they’re not my responsibility. Go tell someone who cares.
- A valid reason for shutting down the system at any time.
- Much more important than anything any of you bozos do.
- Anything I choose to call “maintenance” is maintenance.
Software Upgrades Far too complex for you to comprehend. If I tell you I’m upgrading the system, just be quietly thankful. It’s for your own good, even if it does mean extensive downtime during peak hours.
Electronic Mail I delete it before it’s read, so don’t bother sending any to me.
Defaults We like them just like they are; we chose them for a reason. Don’t mess with them; consider them mandatory.
Error Messages I’m not interested. I’m going to kill your process anyway, so keep them to yourself.
Killing your Process
- Don’t ever ask why
- Beyond your control
- No warnings are given
- The highlight of my day
- If you call, it’s going to happen. No exceptions.
Passwords I reserve the right to change them without notice at any time. I choose them, and the more you bother me, the more degrading yours will be. (Example: BUTTERMAN: SNOTFACE)
- They slow down the computer
- They waste my time
- A general nuisance
- Worse than that, actually
Software Modifications You don’t know what you want — we’ll tell you what you want. It stays like it is. Period.
Privileges I’ve got them, you don’t need them. Enough said.
Priority Mine is higher than yours, accept it. That’s the reason my games run faster than your lousy accounting package. (See “Response Time”)
Terminals Before calling me with a terminal problem, consider this:
- Are you prepared to do without one for weeks?
- Do you REALLY want your process killed?
- Did you just trip over the cord again?
- Of course you did.
Disk Space I set the quotas, you live with them. If you need more space, check “Data Files”.
Operator I hired him and I trained him. He does what I tell him to. Usually armed; always dangerous.
Backups A good idea if I gave a shit, which of course I don’t.
Lunch The only time that calling my office won’t result in the killing of your process.
Data Security That’s your problem. I’m certainly not going to lose any sleep over it. My files are locked up tight. I feel secure.
Jiffy Length of time it takes me to resolve your problem by killing your process.
Eternity Length of time it takes me to give a shit about any problem that can’t be resolved by killing your process.
- It can’t be done (as far as you know)
- I can’t be bothered
- You’re starting to annoy me
- Couldn’t have been avoided
- Not my fault (as far as you know)
- The result of annoying me
Menus If it’s not on the menu, don’t ask for it. It’s not available. If it is on the menu, it’s probably of no use or it doesn’t work. We’re working on it (See “Eternity”).
Utilities I find them quite useful, you’ll find them quite inaccessible. Besides, they’re not on your menu, are they. What did I tell you about that?
Of course, I reserve the right to add, change, or remove anything from the above list. I’m not asking you to accept these matters without question, I’m telling you.
Now that we all know where we stand, I’m sure there’ll be no future problems. If you have any questions or comments please feel free to keep them to yourself. If you feel the need for more information, I highly recommend that you ask someone else Sincerely, The System Manager
P.S. The new disk quota of 30 blocks per user became effective yesterday. Anyone caught exceeding the quota will lose their accounts (this means you, Butterman!)
São várias as brincadeiras com o Salmo 23:4, aqui vai mais uma.
“Embora eu voe pelo Vale da Sombra da Morte, eu não temerei nenhum mal. Pois eu estou a 80.000 Pés e Subindo.”
Na entrada para a antiga base operacional do SR-71 em Kadena, Japão
“Though I Fly Through the Valley of Death, I Shall Fear No Evil. For I am at 80,000 Feet and Climbing.”
At the entrance to the old SR-71 operating base Kadena, Japan