Flying Solo

Very often people confuse Hollywood movie stars with the characters they play.

For example, I'm fairly sure Christian Bale isn't Batman. James McAvoy doesn't have twenty-three different personalities. Tom Hanks doesn't sit on park benches eating chocolates. And apparently Harrison Ford isn't quite the pilot Han Solo is.

In his second publicized airplane event, Ford mistakenly landed on the taxiway instead of the runway at John Wayne Airport in Orange County, California. In the process, he flew dangerously close over an American Airlines 737 that was on the taxiway waiting for clearance to take off.

Contrary to popular belief, after airport officials questioned him, his first question was not, "You mean this isn't Alderaan?"

Landing a role isn't like landing a plane. And unlike his Star Wars aircraft, there was no chance his old biplane was going to make the Kessel Run in twelve parsecs.

Instead, it just sputtered to a bad landing, which may cost Ford suspension or even revocation of his pilot's license.

This incident comes on the heels of bringing his plane down for a hard landing on a golf course in Santa Monica a couple years ago, and being seriously injured in the process.

Commercial pilots have a mandatory retirement age of 65. Ford is 74. And even though there's no such age limit for recreational pilots, and while he's an experienced, respected one, there does come a time when reflexes, vision, concentration, memory and alertness just aren't what they used to be.

For me that time is in status meetings.

Anyway, in the same way I believe drivers of a certain age should be required to regularly prove their abilities before they get behind the wheel, pilots should also have to be tested to see if they're airworthy.

My guess is that Ford will just get a temporary suspension of his license, and then be back in the air. It's one of the perks of being one of the biggest movie stars in the world. And naturally, however long that suspension is, at the end of it he'll be even older than he is now.

Or as Han would say, "Here's where the real fun starts."

That's the ticket

Much to the dismay of both my kids, we weren't the parents that ran out and bought them cars when they got their license. They've had to make do with sharing our cars when they're available - which we do our best to see that they are.

But a few weeks ago, that changed. The wife had been driving a sixteen-year old Land Cruiser, and was next in line for a new car. So she got one.

Not new new. A certified pre-owned, 2012 model with considerably less mileage (19,400) than her current wheels (245,000). We hang onto cars for a long time.

So now, instead of moving two cars in and out of our driveway, we have three to juggle. Which requires considerably more planning than two. It's like one point higher on the Richter scale is a thousand times more powerful quake.

Alright, we know analogies aren't my strong point, but you see where I'm going.

The daily ritual now is who's leaving first, who's coming back with a car at what time and who drives which car. The only thing we know for sure is no one but the wife drives the wife's new car, although recently there's even been some leniency with that rule.

The problem is there are three cars and four drivers. But that'll change in August when young Mr. Spielberg goes off to film school in the blue dot on the great red state of Texas. Needless to say, his sister is quite excited thinking she'll have a car any old time she wants one after he leaves. We won't spoil her little fantasy just yet.

Besides driveway parking, the other situation exponentially worse with the addition of a third car is insurance. We were already paying an arm and a leg to insure everyone. Now the premium has increased to a small fortune. And if one of the teenagers happen to get a ticket, we've been told it gets jacked up to a king's ransom.

Anyway, we'll continue to plan accordingly when it comes to jockeying the cars in the driveway, even if we have to invest in new equipment to do it.

I don't mind. I look pretty good in those little red jackets.

Stroller derby

Seems like yesterday my wife and I were taking our baby boy out for a stroll in his awesome Peg Perego stroller - the Rolls Royce of strollers at the time.

Since we lived in Santa Monica at the time (100 yards from the beach in a rent-controlled apartment on the top floor of a 17-story building - don't get me started), we'd take our son for daily stroller walks on Main Street and the Third Street Promenade. The Promenade was a wide expanse of walkway, with plenty of room for us even when it was crowded. And when we were on Main Street, we made a point of staying to one side of the sidewalk so people coming and going could get around us easily.

More than rules of the road, it was just common courtesy. Seems like such a quaint notion from a gentler time doesn't it.

Fast forward to this evening as we're trying to get around these sidewalk hoggin', cell-phone talkin', baby ignorin', stroller pushin' mamas blocking 2nd Street in Belmont Shore with a Mitt Romney sense of entitlement to the sidewalk.

It'd be one thing if they were going slow to carefully navigate the walking throngs so their babies wouldn't get bumped or jostled.

But no,these mamas were in their plastic bubble, oblivious to everyone else on the sidewalk because they were so caught up in their own fabulousness. They didn't care one whit about anyone in front or behind them.

I suppose the good news is we were behind them. With a clear view of their rear bumpers (yes, that is what I meant), we could see the faces of the oncoming crowd as they had to quickly engage in avoidance tactics so as not to get run over by the clueless moms.

I know you can't make people more considerate. Believe me, I've tried. Maybe strollers need to be reclassified as moving vehicles, and parents operating them would be required to take a driving test to get licensed.

The other question that went through my mind is why do they have these babies out so late on a cold February night, with all the germy strangers passing them by anyway.

Oh that's right. You don't need a license to be a parent either.

I'm walkin' here

Recognize the somewhat unpleasant looking gentleman in glasses? I think we can all agree from the look on his face that he's not happy about something.

That something is probably the damage the bodies of the 10 people he killed and 70 he injured did to his 1992 red Buick La Sabre as he was plowing through them at Santa Monica Farmer's Market on July 16, 2003.

His name is George Russell Weller, and he was 86 years old at the time of the accident.

The reason he comes to mind is because I heard about another senior involved accident yesterday. It seems a 79-year old woman hit a 74-year old pedestrian in Tustin.

But wait, there's more.

Any underachieving senior citizen can mow down someone. But not realizing she hit anything or any one, she took it the extra step by dragging the woman under her car for almost a mile until onlookers stopped her and pointed out the body under her car.

Years ago there was a 60 Minutes piece about senior drivers. In it, a 92-year old man in Florida had run into eight people waiting for a bus, killing five of them including two children. He didn't even remember the accident.

Just Googling "senior involved car accidents" for this post turned up thousands of articles.

I'm tired of arguments from organizations like AARP about seniors needing to drive to hang on to their independence. Really? I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that innocent lives trump their independence.

The two highest accident/death prone age groups when it comes to driving are 16-25 and 60 - whatever. As unpopular as it may be, there should be mandatory annual driving tests for everyone in those age groups. The idea that licenses get renewed for four years at a time by mail when someone is in their 80's is a joke. How many people that age do you know with 20/20 vision, excellent hearing and cat-like reflexes? That's what I thought.

In case anyone forgot - and memory is one of the first things to go as you get older - driving in California is a privilege not a right.

Sorry this wasn't the usual humorous post with the snappy end line.

But there's nothing funny about people getting killed by senior drivers who can't remember hitting anybody.