I came home today, and there's all this stuff on the news about plane crashes.

The other day in the paper, there were a few, too. One was a FedEx jet in Tokyo that burst into flames after bouncing off a windy runway. It killed the entire crew (unlike the movies, where a Tom Hanks survives and gets packages back to their owners...yeah, that goes down as probably the biggest product placement in movie history).

In Butte, Montana a small plane crashed, killing 14 of the 17 passengers. It crashed in a cemetary. Which made me wonder...would you bury the survivors there? Or would you bury them back in California (the plane originated from Otay Mesa)? One of the survivors, apparently, is from New York. So, the question arises...would you bury him there?

Better yet...if the survivor had been on a bus you were driving and four people got on at the first bus stop, and two people got off on the second bus stop...and it took 20 minutes to get to the next bus stop, which had 20 people boarding, what would the name of the bus driver be?

Okay, sorry. I went into those tricks you did as a kid. Remember those? Punchline questions like "What do you do at a red light?" and "Cows don't drink milk, they drink water."

I'm flying to New York over the weekend, for a friends birthday. So, I'm doing the opposite of people that say when things happen, they happen in threes (actor Ron Silver died, as did Natasha Richardson. Who is next?). I'm thinking if there are a few more plane crashes, and they're supposedly so infrequent....what are the odds of yet another one happening this weekend?

And...since the party is a surprise for my friend and his wife, I'm also going by the logic that my friends don't read my blogs.

If he surprises me and does read this one, well....sorry Joe. But....Happy Birthday. See ya in a few days.