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Call me crazy, but a sport where you could get killed (literally) never appealed to me. Possibly because I'm not keen on physical injury and/or pain, especially when it happens to me. *shrug*
I've thought about this a lot. As I mentioned, I was in the hang gliding world for twenty years, with about a thousand hours of air time in gliders and ultralights, and have been asked why I could be in such a dangerous sport. I've also talked with participants of other sports like SCUBA divers, paragliding, motorcycle racing, and skydiving, all of which have their own component of danger.

The answers I got were all more or less the same as mine: The sports put me into an environment which is so different from everyday live, one that I'd often dreamed of. In my case, it was to share the air with eagles and hawks who soared with me as companions, to see the world thousands of feet below with nothing between me and that world but a one-inch-thick aluminum tube and...most important... to not be falling but rising on a current of air. That would be worth dying for, if it came to that. You could synthesize all this in a movie, I guess, but it wouldn't come close to the real thing.

When I was young, I had dreams of flying all the time. When I started hang gliding, the dreams stopped. When I quit the sport due to a bad shoulder, the dreams came back. I've had pilots tell me that one of their most memorable moments in life was their first soaring flight.

We used to tell our students: "Hang gliding is dangerous. It will never be completely safe. But you can make it safer by cautious flying, rigorous checks of your equipment, and awareness of the air. " Later on, when I was test-flying prototypes and production gliders, my attitude was always that this particular glider wanted to kill me, and it was my job to figure out when and how that might happen, and take steps to ensure that it wouldn't. I took pride in accomplishing that. That may be another answer to the question.
 
I've thought about this a lot. As I mentioned, I was in the hang gliding world for twenty years, with about a thousand hours of air time in gliders and ultralights, and have been asked why I could be in such a dangerous sport. I've also talked with participants of other sports like SCUBA divers, paragliding, motorcycle racing, and skydiving, all of which have their own component of danger.

The answers I got were all more or less the same as mine: The sports put me into an environment which is so different from everyday live, one that I'd often dreamed of. In my case, it was to share the air with eagles and hawks who soared with me as companions, to see the world thousands of feet below with nothing between me and that world but a one-inch-thick aluminum tube and...most important... to not be falling but rising on a current of air. That would be worth dying for, if it came to that. You could synthesize all this in a movie, I guess, but it wouldn't come close to the real thing.

When I was young, I had dreams of flying all the time. When I started hang gliding, the dreams stopped. When I quit the sport due to a bad shoulder, the dreams came back. I've had pilots tell me that one of their most memorable moments in life was their first soaring flight.

We used to tell our students: "Hang gliding is dangerous. It will never be completely safe. But you can make it safer by cautious flying, rigorous checks of your equipment, and awareness of the air. " Later on, when I was test-flying prototypes and production gliders, my attitude was always that this particular glider wanted to kill me, and it was my job to figure out when and how that might happen, and take steps to ensure that it wouldn't. I took pride in accomplishing that. That may be another answer to the question.
As a veteran of several "extreme" sports, I can attest that the most dangerous part is the drive to and from the venue.
 
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I haven't encountered much poetry about food, but there's a few songs about it. This one from Guy Clark comes to mind:

"Homegrown tomatoes homegrown tomatoes
What'd life be without homegrown tomatoes
Only two things that money can't buy
That's true love & homegrown tomatoes"
 
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Tomatoes are very polarizing. One of the most common ingredient deletions in food service, right up there with onions and anchovies. Aside from their sauce utility, I could take them or leave them. I might be one of the few Italian gardeners that doesn't bother with them, but that could be because everyone and their uncle is always giving them to me.
 
I haven't encountered much poetry about food, but there's a few songs about it. This one from Guy Clarke comes to mind:

"Homegrown tomatoes homegrown tomatoes
What'd life be without homegrown tomatoes
Only two things that money can't buy
That's true love & homegrown tomatoes"

Sartre had some interesting thoughts about food in "existentialism and human emotions" but it was a long time ago that I read it.
 
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