Posting too close to the sun
Nashville, TN
Joined October 2013
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Scalabrian Chilis retweeted
She was falling 27,000 feet in a minute in an iced-up jet. In about 35 seconds she declared a mayday, gave her tail number, descent rate, overspeed and a 60-degree bank. That's the job. Then she died with eight other people, and you're grading her tone. Fuck you.
A pilot should not:
🔘become hysterical
🔘speak too quickly to be intelligible
🔘say, "We're going to crash into the ground!"
🔘scream like a little girl
🔘hyperventilate
🔘scream like a little girl again
A pilot needs a certain disposition. This is not it. That's the reality.
Readers added context they thought people might want to know
The aircraft was in an uncontrolled overspeed dive exceeding 20,000 ft/min from cruising altitude. Expecting calm is unrealistic; male pilots have screamed in CVRs facing death, e.g. Western 2605.
fox13news.com/news/were-gonn…
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Western_A…
Sometimes I wonder if I started banging dudes just so I could say faggot. Cause it really is fun to say. But banging dudes is also fun. Much to think about.
Scalabrian Chilis retweeted
the first video of one of these Gestapo thugs getting capped im cheering
Cellphone video captured an ICE agent pointing a gun at a bystander walking two dogs during an immigration enforcement operation in North Hollywood on Friday.
The footage shows masked officers detaining another man before two agents rush toward the dog walker after he appears to pick something up from the ground. One agent pushes him into bushes while pointing a gun at the bystander's face.
Scalabrian Chilis retweeted
apparently these trick or treaters are not big on spoonfuls of trader joe’s butter chicken with basmati rice
Scalabrian Chilis retweeted
no RL Grime halloween mix has really left a void of spooky allure these past couple of years
Scalabrian Chilis retweeted
Before I visited Pennsylvania, everyone warned me that Philadelphia people are the toughest, most impatient people in America.
I believed them until I walked toward the front door of a Wawa gas station.
I was still forty feet away in the parking lot, walking between rows of cars.
A massive construction worker in steel-toe boots, carrying a twenty-four-ounce coffee in one hand and a paper-wrapped hoagie in the other, pushed open the glass door to leave. Then he saw me.
He stopped. He planted his boot against the bottom of the door. And he waited.
Forty feet is a very long distance when a grown man is holding a door for you in the wind.
In Japan, to make a stranger wait carries great shame. So I broke into that awkward half-jog every man performs when he wishes to show gratitude without looking like he is fleeing a crime.
"Go ahead, boss," he said as I passed.
Ten minutes later, as I walked out with my own sandwich, I saw an elderly woman locking her car thirty feet away.
I planted my foot against the glass. I held the door.
Another man behind me held the inner door. Within seconds we had formed an impromptu honor guard of grumpy men holding glass doors in complete silence.
Philadelphia may boo Santa Claus.
But inside the three-foot radius of a Wawa doorway, they have the manners of the imperial court.
Scalabrian Chilis retweeted
For fifty eight years, my boss in Tokyo believed that beef should be sliced as thin as paper.
In Japan, we cook thin meat for four seconds in boiling broth. That is our way.
Then last month, the YouTube algorithm showed Director Sato a video of a man in Texas smoking a brisket.
It changed his life.
On Monday morning, he called me to his desk. His eyes were bloodshot.
"Have you seen this?" he whispered, turning his monitor toward me. "The American pitmaster does not sleep for sixteen hours. He sits by the fire in the dark. He guards the meat like a castle."
I said, "Sir, it is just a barbecue."
He slammed his hand on the desk.
"This is not cooking," he said. "This is a vigil."
Last Saturday was our annual company picnic by the river in Kanagawa. Normally, we grill thin meat and yakisoba for two hours and go home at 2:00 PM.
I arrived at 9:30 AM to help set up.
Director Sato was already there.
I want to be accurate here: he had been sitting in a folding chair since 10:00 PM on Friday night. He was wearing a towel around his head and staring at a massive black barrel smoker he had imported from Oklahoma.
Inside I said: THIS MAN HAS ABANDONED CORPORATE LIFE FOR THE SMOKE.
When we tried to help him, he held up a pair of metal tongs and clicked them twice.
"Step back," he said calmly. "The stall has begun. Nobody opens the lid."
Twelve Japanese accountants stood in complete silence around a barrel for four more hours. Nobody dared to eat a single noodle until he gave the signal.
At 1:45 PM, he sliced the meat. It fell apart on the cutting board.
My boss looked at the pink smoke ring, nodded once, and wiped a single tear from his cheek.
He has already submitted an official budget request for a trailer smoker for next fiscal year.