As I type, I’m getting a sense of what it must be like to be strafed by military aircraft. For some unfathomable reason, there’s a display of the Snowbirds just over my roof and somewhat to the south — Jesus!, here they come again, it seems about 100 metres over my head!
They are so loud! All that’s missing is the rat-a-tat-a-tat and a huge ka-plooie! For some reason, I love fireworks, which are basically exploded armaments made aesthetic. But I can’t get into this, it’s scaring the heck out of me.
Paul Virilio, please explain this aesthetic of speed!
PS: Ok, ok, so the guy in the uniform is cute. The Gang of Four knew what they were talking about when they sang, “I love a man in a uniform.” Bang bang, shoot shoot.
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When I lived in Mountain View, California, the Blue Angels came to do a show at the nearby Naval Air Station. For several days before, they practiced their maneuvers. I lived less than a block from one of their paths, Rengstorf Blvd. They flew no higher than 100 feet over the pavement. I could mark their passage with precision: I waved as they passed and as they turned to acknowledge me, I could make out their eyes above the rubber oxygen masks.
If they (the Snowbirds) come back next year, maybe I’ll get courageous and venture out of the house to watch. Meanwhile, the size of this silly pilot’s photo is messing up the format of this page — what a ham!
You need a decent paintshop program! I always size my stuff down.
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