I woke up to thunder. Big, big thunder. Then the rain. We all know thunder only happens when it's raining, as Fleetwood Mac once told us. Glee this week did a Fleetwood Mac theme (I know, and I don't care; I watch Glee sometimes), and I couldn't believe I knew every single word. I'd never even been an intentional Fleetwood Mac fan, but it's funny, and kind of scary, how things just seep into your subconscious, and stay there. Forever. Like that pile of unmatched socks on my dresser. They've been there about as long as Fleetwood Mac lyrics have been in my brain.
But there is a difference between things you can't help knowing whether you want to or not, and things you will crawl over broken glass to get to. For me, it's the writer William Langewiesche. Vanity Fair has made him their international correspondent, and he wrote for the Atlantic for years. If I could read only one magazine writer from here on in, it would be Bill. Sorry, that last name is killing me. He's brilliant. I've linked his work before - he's amazing at plane crash stuff, war stuff, and boat stuff. When you have a few minutes, read this. It's from 2004 about one of the worst maritime disasters in European history: 850 died on the Estonia, a luxury ferry in the Baltic Sea.
Now you're back. Wasn't that amazing? If so, go read this now. I linked it when it ran in 2009, but it's still jaw dropping. Two planes collide midair above the Amazon - and not little scoobie-do Cessnas; jets. Bill was a professional pilot before he turned into a writer, and it doesn't seem right that someone this great at writing, at explaining things, should be so good at so many things. Oh, and look like this.
Okay. I gave you some long stuff for a thundery Saturday morning. Like me, you might get buried in his backlist (The Atlantic has a ton of his work, as does Vanity Fair), and if you like adventure/danger stuff, this is your guy. Bookmark it. I just flip through and read pieces once in a while; I always learn something.