Hold onto your propeller hats, folks, because you're about to meet a creature of habit, a connoisseur of questionable cuisine, and a man who's seen more corn than a scarecrow's nightmare. That's right, I'm a retired engineer, armed with a double-barreled degree in Mechanical Engineering and Physics, basically I spent 40 years in the aviation industry proving that with enough equations, I can make anything fly (or at least, look like it might). Whether that means I have an enduring love affair with airplanes or I was simply too comfortable to make a career change is a debate for another day.

My career was a whirlwind of exotic locales and even more exotic food. I've traveled so extensively, I'm pretty sure my passport has more stamps than a philatelist's convention. And speaking of food, eating isn't just a hobby; it's a core competency. The things I've ingested could probably win an Olympic medal for culinary daring, and while they might shock you, I've developed a palate that's seen it all – from the sublime to the "is this even legal?"  However, there is one exception to the eat-any-thing rule and that's raw chicken.  I will save that story for another time.

Along the way, I somehow managed to co-pilot the raising of three (mostly) human children, alongside a veritable Noah's Ark of dogs, cats, and enough "various other furry and feathered critters" to cause us to have a pet cemetery in our backyard. I've seen Golden Retrievers standing in snow when it's 20 below zero refusing to come inside, hamsters go for wagon rides and cats hanging off bird cages.  I've been to more hockey games that should be allowed for any sane person.  My kids, bless their adventurous souls, have frolicked with wild dolphins and stood on the Great Wall. No, not simultaneously.

Now, I've landed (pun intended) in the Midwest where corn stretches to the horizon in every direction. It’s a truly horrible, nasty, silly place, and I implore you, for the love of all that is holy, never, ever consider moving here. You've been warned.