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Christopher,

I had lunch with a buddy, who used to be a stunt pilot. He knows a couple of guys that can hook you up with a good smoke system for T6’s. He said most of the guys have these computerized systems, but the rest is based on your flying skills. The Pepsi guy that smokes at his air field once and a while learned his P’s and Q’s with his wife on the ground with a radio.

Signed,

That P looks like an F

Leland R. S. Torrence

Leland Torrence Enterprises and the Guild

17 Vernon Court, Woodbridge, CT 06525

Office: 203-397-8505

Fax: 203-389-7516

Pager: 860-340-2174

Mobile: 203-981-4004

E-mail: [log in to unmask]

www.LelandTorrenceEnterprises.com

From: His reply: “No. Have you read The Lazy Teenager by Virtual Reality?” [mailto:[log in to unmask]] On Behalf Of [log in to unmask]
Sent: Thursday, February 01, 2007 8:42 AM
To: [log in to unmask]
Subject: [BP] Last month...

...an artist hired a single airplane to skywrite, over and over again, "Who will she choose?" over Manhattan. The art of single plane skywriting is sublime, not the junk-fax quality of the normal multi-plane puff-puff-puff morse code. The wind was high, and the pilot had to twist and turn to close the "o"s and cross the "t"s before they were irretrievably shifted. And, depending on his exit from the last letter, he (????) could either segue nicely into the next letter, or be forced to make a wide, circling turn (complicated by the high head or tail wind). Where do you go to learn to skywrite? I bet Ken knows. And I bet Michael knows how.

But only a few people on the street noticed the aerial artistics, and I felt comforted again that there was something admirable in the world that did not have to be sold or rented or packaged to be "real". Indeed, that there must be many things like this, right over my head, that I have never noticed - kind of like the "forever wild" areas that I will never see, the ones that some snowmobilers think are useless. It reminded me of a column of boiler smoke I saw last year from a tall building on West End Avenue. It was winter sunset, and the tippy-tops of the buildings had that cold, cold pink of the dying light. A boiler started up, and sent its oil-black "poof" up into the sky, where it was wrestled apart by the chilly winds flying in from the West. In half a minute it was gone.

Christopher