Em entrevista ao Entertainment Weekly, Dakota Fanning fala sobre sua opinião em relação a sua personagem, suas expectativas em relação ao filme e como é voltar a vida de estudante após as gravações.

 

Sua personagem, Jane Volturi, é terrível. Foi divertido ser do mal?

Sim. É uma das primeiras vezes que eu fui má. E ela é uma personagem que sente prazer em causar pânico nas pessoas. É muito fascinante ser a Jane. Essa foi uma das razões que eu quis o papel.

 

Qual foi sua reação quando começou a ouvir sobre os números que o filme atingiu?

Bom, eu acho que muitas pessoas são fãs dos livros e dos filmes, e é muito legal que tantas pessoas tenham visto ele no primeiro fim de semana nos cinemas. Eu conheço várias pessoas que acamparam por uns dias, esperando a estréia. E eu acho que é ótimo que as pessoas tenham ido vê-lo logo quando entrou em cartaz.

 

Como é voltar para o colégio depois que o filme estreou?

Essa é minha vida. Isso que é normal para mim. Eu realmente não sei nada de diferente disso. Eu realmente sou sortuda porque eu posso ir ao colégio e ter essa vida não normal, não importando como ela seja, e também fazer o que amo e ser parte de ótimos projetos.

Leia a entrevista completa no site de Artigos & Entrevistas.

Waaaaa, Dakota Fanning, keren abieess,,, She’s so gorgeous, adorable, extraordinary and very talented girl,,, i like her since yesterday,LOlz…

Biography :

Hannah Dakota Fanning

Born on February 23th 1994 in Conyers, Georgia, USA

Job as an Actress

Family :

• Aunt: Jill Arrington. ESPN college football reporter
• Father: Steven Fanning. Played minor league baseball for the St. Louis Cardinals
• Grandfather: Rick Arrington. Maternal grandfather; was the quarterback for the Philadelphia Eagles from 1970-1972
• Mother: Joy Fanning.
• Sister: Elle Fanning. Born April 9, 1998

Education :

• Campbell Hall Episcopal High School, North Hollywood, CA

Filmography :

2001  :

Father Xmas

Tomcats

I am Sam

2002 :

Taken,

Trapped,

Sweet Home Alabama,

Hansel and Gretel

2003 :

Uptown Girl,

The Cat in the Hat,

Kim Possible – A Sitch in Time (voice as Preschool Kim )

2004 :

Man of Fire,

My Neigbour Totoro,(voice as Satsuki Kusakabe  – english version )

In The Realms of the Unreal (voice as narrator )

2005 :

Hide and Seek,

Lilo and Sticth 2(voice as Lilo),

Nine Lives,

War of the Worlds,

Dreamer

2006 :

Charlotte’s Web

2007 :

Hounddog, Cutlass

2008 :

The Secret Life’s of Bees

2009 :

Coraline (voice as Coraline),

Push,

Fragments – Winged Creatures,

New Moon

2010 :

Runaways ( coming soon ),

Eclipse ( coming soon )

Wah pengen banget nonton NewMoon, tp sayang saya lg di Lombok, pulau terpencil gini, gak ada bioskop. Kalopun mau buka bioskop, kayaknya ga bs laku, hehe, kurang berpotensi. Lanjutan dari NewMoon, Eclipse, rencana di rilis pada Juni 2010.

Beberapa Foto Dakota Fanning :

Dakota Fanning – Gorgeous and talented Actress

The serried, shadowed rivets on this DC3 wing are very pleasing.

There’s great pleasure to be found in little things. Especially when the light hits them just so.

Travelling in a DC3 is a rich experience for all the senses.

Classic beauty makes it hard to stop looking.

I had a thought today that has always bothered me in the past…

As far as I could remember December 25th was always recognized as the birth of Jesus Christ, whether it was the actual date or not was really not all that important, and was always celebrated as such. The past few years a trend has started around this country where even mentioning the holiday in such a way was discriminatory of the other religions for some reason. Wishing someone a Merry Christmas has somehow become offensive.

That is where my beef starts on this post. I say Merry Christmas because I am celebrating my beliefs and wishing blessings and happiness onto others whenever I say that. I am not trying to convert anyone or say my beliefs are more important than anyone’s beliefs aside from my own. I am basically saying have a great day as this is a day of happiness and celebration of my own personal beliefs. I have not heard anyone complain about such things when the roles are reversed in such a situation. Why is it that when you are part of a majority you always have to apologize or retract your beliefs to make the rest of the minority groups and beliefs feel better about themselves. I would much rather say Merry Christmas and have someone , as just an example here, reply in saying Happy Hanukkah. See how easy that would be… no one needs to get mad or offended by the situation just celebrate your beliefs.

So, instead of the whole nation having to change the traditions of so many why not tolerate each other and your separate beliefs a little more? With that in thought; I would like to wish everyone a “Happy Thanksgiving” and a “Merry Christmas” as this week we finally got our lights up to help us celebrate our traditions and beliefs for the end of the year.

God bless

The barn at my brother's farm in North Dakota.

My husband and I will be traveling 500 miles north to my “home place” in North Dakota for Thanksgiving.  I’ve blogged before about how much I love living on the Great Plains, and even though my husband and I have made our home a few states south of where I grew up, I’m happy to still call this great, giant region of the Great Plains home.

One of the books I always recommend to people who aren’t sure how someone could love a place like North Dakota so fiercely is Kathleen Norris’s Dakota:  A Spiritual Geography.  It is a wonderful book of collected writings about her life in “Dakota” (she really resides in Lemmon, SD which is right on the border between North Dakota and South Dakota).  She recounts stories about the weather, the culture, the farmers, and the people who aren’t always accepting of artists like herself.  Still, she demonstrates a raw appreciation for her place, a kind of appreciation I continue to strive for in the places I have lived.

But mostly Norris’ book drips of love for Dakota, and that can be a pretty rare thing.  North Dakota is over 70,000 square miles, with a population of only 641,000 people.  That’s far less people than live in the Omaha metro area, where I do much of my shopping these days.  Although my home in North Dakota is in the East and Norris writes mostly about Western Dakota (an entirely different kind of landscape, region and culture) her book always helps me to rediscover my roots, and remember things about my home that I may have forgotten.

Here’s an excerpt:

“More Americans than ever, well over 70 percent, now live in urban areas and tend to see Plains land as empty.  what they really mean is devoid of human presence.  Most visitors to Dakota travel on interstate highways that will take them as quickly as possible through the region, pas our larger cities to such attractions as the Badlands and the Black Hills.  Looking at the expanse of land in between, they may wonder why a person would choose to live in such a barren place, let alone love it.  But mostly they are bored:  they turn up the car stereo, count the miles to civilization, and look away.

Dakota is a painful reminder of human limits, just as cities and shopping malls are attempts to deny them.  This book is an invitation to a land of little rain and few trees, dry summer winds and harsh winters, a land rich in grass and sky and surprises.”

I’m not going to lie – going “home” for holidays is not something I always look forward to – and I know that it can be difficult for many of you, as well.  Used to the comfortable cushion of several hundred miles, reuniting with family for several days is not always easy.  My mother (and best friend) has been dead for nearly four years now, and returning home seems to bring all the pain back again, and reminds me, with a powerful sting, that our family is – at times – painfully different now.

And so when I am facing a trip “home” for the holidays, I find myself searching again for what I love about that place.  Fortunately, it usually doesn’t take too long to find.  Kathleen Norris’ words help immensely.

Best wishes to all of you as you travel – near or far – to be with family or friends this week.  May we all remember to breathe deeply, and search for the bounty in our lives that we shall be forever thankful for.

I don’t friggin’ believe it! I am from North Dakota and this man has been in office longer than I can understand because he continues to do things against what the public opinion of that state may be. He is going to vote for the health reform bill that is going to put a serious noose around our necks. His popularity is way down and I hope he loses his seat in Washington though that will not fix the problem he is helping to create now with passing this bill into law!

Despite Poll Showing N. Dakotans Don’t Want It, Byron Dorgan Provides 60th Vote For Health Care Bill.

North Dakota Attorney Generals Tells Indian Supporters Of Sioux Nickname To Shut Up And Be Offended.

I say again most of the natives support and consider the mascot an mark of honor but a few extremists and their white liberal supporters, who do not know what they are talking about, are trying to make something out of nothing with this abusive claim to the Universities mascot.
When will it ever end…
Go Sioux!!!

Thanks to my favorite British suitor for sending me this gem again to remind me how much I love it.

Happy early birthday, MJP! Can’t wait for the shenanigans next month for your birthday!

Summertime, think it was June,
Teri Ann

Fui ontem assistir a pré-estréia de Lua Nova no cinema. Cheguei a me arrepender em alguns momentos.

Não pelo filme, claro! Ficou bom demais!!! Só que, não sei, acho que era muita gente pequena num mesmo lugar, outras eram pequenas de cabeça mesmo. Sério, me senti num parque de diversões! Antes de abrirem as salas do cinema, eles já estavam gritando. Ah! Tinha gente esperando desde a 1 da tarde lá já… Isso que as sessões eram a 00:01 e a outra 00:15. Mas como eu sei que também faço minhas loucuras pelas bandas, acho que eles devem ter seus motivos para terem feito isso – apesar de ser BEM diferente.

Bom, tirando o fato de eles terem começado a gritar antes de entrar no cinema, de terem gritado mais ainda quando começou o trailer, e mais ainda quando apareceu o Edward e o Jacob a primeira vez, o filme ficou demais! Já tinha visto vários pedaços na internet, lido entrevista com os atores, diretor e roteirista, mesmo assim achei que ficou melhor do que eu estava esperando.

Coloquei aqui uma foto dos Volturi, porque ao contrario do que a grande maioria, eu prefiro o Aro. Fala sério, o Michael Sheen é uma baita de um ator!!!! Enfim, elogios a parte… Assistam o filme, está melhor do que o primeiro. A roteirista caprichou

Teen starlets Dakota Fanning and Kristen Stewart share a steamy snog in their new movie ‘The Runaways’.

“Yes, it happens in The Runaways,” The Daily Telegraph quoted Fanning as telling Access Hollywood.

“It was passionate. We’re playing Joan Jett and Cherie Curie and they’re best friends in the film and became really close in real life. And that’s something that went down back in the ‘70s.

“We were so into the scene and into the script and the characters,” she added.

The 15-year-old will also be seen in Twilight sequel New Moon.

Fanning told Teen Vogue she agreed to take on the role of Jane because, “I read all four Twilight books in one week. It’s such a phenomenon, and I wanted to be able to say that I was a part of it.”

It was another day of scorching sun.  After weeks of no moisture and hot temperatures, the green earth had turned brown.  The grass crunched underneath the feet.  The fire danger index was off the charts and there was a dryness across the prairie.  With no regrowth of the grass and leafy forbes for the sheep to feed on, they began to lose weight and condition.  Just following a daily trek across the barren pasture in hopes of finding some sweet morsel of grass left them empty and panting for water when they returned.  How desperately the land cried out for water!

A shepherd by the name of David said something about thirst.  Psalm 63:  O God, you are my God, earnestly I seek you; my soul thirsts for you, my body longs for you, in a dry and weary land where there is no water. David is talking about a sense of longing and craving similar to the cry of a parched land. Like sheep returning to the water fountain after a hot dry journey across a barren land, David is expressing his longing and dependence on the “Living Water.”

Sheep can only go about 8 days without water depending on conditions.  Death is quick and sure.  All the body functions shut down and there is one overriding need, water.

What can a thirsty land and thirsty sheep teach us?

This longing and craving is God given.  We are hard wired with this internal sense of thirst.  But this craving is not for just any liquid. It is for pure, raw water.  To ignore this longing or to try to quench this thirst with other liquids falls short.  Nothing satisfies except the real thing. (Coke is not the real thing)  Jesus said we need “living water” to satisfy us.  Without it, we perish.

I had a group of “bottle lambs” I was raising because they were orphans.  On a beautiful, sunny spring day, I decided to let them out of their sheep pen and run around the farm yard.  I thought the best thing for them was to get some sun and maybe nibble on the green grass. Meanwhile, I was changing shovels on a cultivator by the farm shop and the bottle lambs decided to come and join me.  I had to chase  them away as they were pestering me.  They disappeared around the corner of the shop building.  Later when I had completed work on the implement, I moved it away from the shop.  When I returned,  I noticed some oil drops and some oil imprints on the concrete. The imprints looked like lamb hooves so I went to find my group of 10 bottle lambs.  They were bedded down under some trees in the shade.  To my dismay, they had rings of oil around their mouths.  I ran back to the shop to inspect.  Oops! I had changed oil in our big tractor and put the used oil in a container around the shop corner to be disposed of later.  The lambs had found the oil.  They were thirsty from being outside and not having their bottle feeding so they decided to drink the old crankcase oil!  There was not a drop left in the 3 gallon container.

I called the local vet and asked for help…… he said it might kill them as it was high in lead content…. but he had no particular reference to oil drinking…you think!

Father, please forgive me……    They must have been very thirsty.  Would their thirst be their undoing?

Well, I can tell you by my unscientific study of ten lambs, that oil that goes in one end comes out the other end in exactly the same condition.  They soon had oily mouths and oily rear ends!  It took weeks for the oil to wear off and it took the hair with it.  Good News: they did not die.  Bad News:  they did not grow  normally.  It stunted their growth severely. (Note: International 1466 crankcase oil does not make good lip gloss either!)

I wonder what our thirst leads to?  What kind of stuff are we trying to satisfy our thirst?

God has given us a thirst. Our thirst can lead to life.  Just like sheep, we move about trying to find tasty morsels to satisfy our hunger and thirst.  We need to listen to David, the shepherd,  ”My soul thirst for you, O God!”  In a dry and parched land called life, we will find ourselves with this deep inner longing for something to satisfy our thirsty souls.  God bids, Come to the water…….

Many people today like their water flavored or with caffeine, fizz, or coloring.  A whole industry is centered on adding stuff to water.  Even as Christ followers, we want to add stuff to the living water.  We like our God with traditional or contemporary worship, maybe with blue jeans or with steeples.  We want a little charisma with our God or we want a pre-trib God.  Not too many people just want their God raw with nothing added.

Jesus said about this living water, Everyone who drinks this water ( the well water the Samaritan woman came to draw) will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks of the water Igive him will never thirst.  Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life. John 4:13-14

What is a thirsty sheep to do?  Come and drink……

the bag-carried charms of lonely school-girls

blue crushed dreams drowned at noon-day

vented fortunes melted and re-created

morphed laughters reflected in a magenta pool

shadowy remains of the over-large green lantern

vultured skulls swinging by their guitar strings

music honeyed lions pondering the dancing stars

there a stare – here a smile – everywhere death

paper-thin mannequins feasting on shrimp salads

oceanic largesses buttoned and stored sideways

sun-dried tomatoes drank with overmuch salt

zion led saints proportioning those fairly decked nuns

swing crushed remains – the bread cracks of yore

the vegan induced convulsions of some carnivore

emperor dreamed lords dressed in nakedness

street whispered symphonies overtaken with sun-dried laughters

slithering oysters wrestling with some stranded toe

darling buds gnashing their teeth as they gently kiss those receding winds

suffocated wedding bands recalling past conquests

suffused pleasures desiring a proper vessel

the sweaty palms of boys chained in boarding schools

green sullied roof tops laced in brown jacaranda leaves

death masked violins overran with a craving for strings

there be but a remainder of mats – herded feet whistling their displeasure

overmuch excitement – the sure emblem of lovers at war

gloried bosoms rounder than the fairest august apple

middle apportioned fortunes starved of the seasons fallings

i pose a conundrum – suppose i cared

those circular yearning s teasing the pathetic fortunes of our failings

trombone led bands cowering beneath flute dresses

museum honeyed murals of masters unknown

leather clobbered loins remained upon the chiefest lizard cliffs

shop stewed beans rustling in their metal prisons

willows distantly dancing a fresh of the flowing muds

the punished sounds of choirs hanged at dawn

boot driven passions remained on a plastic plate

a loose lip here – a shoe there – everywhere death

numidian mushrooms sheltered beneath kilimanjaros shoulders

kissed birds overcome with grief

the booked imaginings of shy pupils giggling in rain

pampered lobsters sunbathing in their coffins

oiled thighs standing erect besides michelangelo’s david

yellow scented lusts of husbands given over to theatre

comedy driven longings – the perpendicular stares of wronged lover

the karoo streams – kalahari basins – toureg chants – gorgon encampments

they all be but simple venison servings

table laid charms bottled in salt

how fair are those dancing bears – even the same fur-less devils

suspended aloft that soon disappearing iceberg

night stars rushing purposefully to their deaths

sychellian crustaceans wallowing in grief

the bushveld  tropics leaning gently upon fair mozambique’s cheeks

soon-approaching monsoons announcing their arrival in himalayan chants

train hurried suns murmuring for a lack of attention

the haired touching of lovers stranded at and in the sea

easterly badlands housed in some papal estate

toe-tugged yearnings elegantly decked in straw skirts

of epher’s children – salute them with a gentle tug in either direction

craven red shoes seated upright in some rainy mud hut

of mau mau and his abandoned harlots – whistle only and touch not

burning forests housed wholly in her mouth

olympian straits considered and rejected

righteousness forced upon unwilling saints – they chose sin instead

snow-covered churches overcome with laughter

coat pocketed jealousies of rivals resorting to righteousness – dueling

scorched lands immigrating downward and into hell

cherry scented mustangs awash in fresh aloe

dew carried feet refusing the flung serving of fresh boots

the remaining african horn fed to the nomadics of eritrea

diseased waters bottled and sent to epher’s descendants

soap deprived ankles painted in valley yellow

dark suns prejudiced at the sight of blue oranges

suited bullfrogs desiring an audience with the priest

mournful dirges of some tragic anthem lorded over the plains

serengeti woodlands teaming with overmuch grasshoppers

lateral – dental – palatial

the rice grown hatreds of aphrite’s rude cousins

millet rinsed touchings of loves and lovers clothed in burnings

sight condemned ancients rehearsing their final movements

hurried motionings of sharks harpooned at the high deserts

drunk instructors condemned to the wine cellars

drought moustaches grown arrogant with the occasional brush

ankle dipped hands dancing on freshly painted ceilings

roman centurions sheepishly waiting upon the priests

the back covered lashes of whips crying at dawn

zebra teethed lions lying sideways – the feed was much

meditating monks nightly preaching patience as they doubt its efficacy

rib jointed searchings of parents transfixed upon some tragic statute

guitar stringed understandings of lovers soon to be loosened

hurricane gales refusing freely gifted medications – they instead desire destruction

church chimed machinations – the loud shadows of sarcadortal hems

leather-covered sweaters speaking of soon returning father abraham

marsh covered bibles resurrected to their mournful parents

papered lips pretending to care yet found out

fortuned souls buried in moses’ bosoom

piano starved school children emaciated and in need of fresh cassava

drunk pilgrims desecrating their holy places

curses courtiers given over to overindulgence

pleasured hips forgetting how to dress

earth abused servants despising their hoes

equator neglected bears doubly aggrieved

polluted musics distilled in yellow barley

tomato crushed dreams of lovers separated by war

tributaries of untamed passions spewing from eva’s bosom

tribal instincts of mothers caressing their pops – confused loves

crucified sailors condemned for purity of passions

the yellow ribbons circling about in their blue trousers

bus driven fears of known futures

boiled mannequins cascading in sheltered rage

the oiled ankles of lovers destined to fail

teaming marshes pregnant with the anticipation of your impending hanging

what would shylock do

such purity contained in those unassuming holy loins

not a penny more or less

the weighty pendulums of earthly expectations placed shoulderwise

upon such lowly flesh – pray for his rich poverty

freely consider the run – jonah did

circular chains layered outwardly upon her cheeks

wandering stares of the decomposing tortoise

craged backs of prisoners rejoicing at the sight of a whip

unseemly lovings of the nile priests

snow married rains competing for the mastery

roaming preachers begging for fresh underwear

any recall the simple pleasures of death

hyacinth troubled waters refusing to suffocate

consider the daffodils and their fair cousins – the black mamba

following – continue your runnings

street dancing muses overtaken with giggling willows

haggard poets taking up whistling

layered burnings of victims returned from their nightly flames

the bleached denials of lovers untrained in the art – of lying

caressed lips of saints hanged and burned by the eclipse

green creeks snaking around eva’s proud towers

ever populated with the bagged trifles of smiles sealed and delivered

expected rains falling only the honest sinners

touch not but freely reach

the flasked remains of wars forced upon the innocent

dirt condemned shoulders praying for rain

honeyed nights scribing the moanful chants of reunited lovers

built ruins of some ancient king – god

boot-straped cowboys jeaned and straightwith saddled

onion ringed stairs of pilgrims unfurling their carpets in prayer

stoned devils loosened on an unassuming friday afternoon

the shamelessly chanted charms of choirs rehearsing compassion

free range grains frustrated at the sight of a sickle

garden manufactured sandals covered in cassava peelings

the red vases of fortunes’ train soon approaches

temple plundered riches housed in some temple

boat driven suspenders tugging the wily doe

arabian summers spend it hibernation

square run destinies married to music slithered hands

love-worn seagulls taking up residence on greenland’s beaches

the pilgrim stares of submerged penguins

superfluous gains of tormentors destined to burn

collected unicorns aimlessly peddling their air cycles

terrace covered nakedness of summers spent at the arctic

zerubabel conducted symphonies arrested by the passing eclipse

the retrograde joys of past loves recalled in regret

of pains  known and grown out of – try harder

vase-shaped frustrations – even the same man nurtured

sandals of ambitions dead at birth

any care pass along the rope – how make you a proper noose

how sweet the contradiction daily raping humanity

baleful mourns of innocence hushed in the still of the night

bewildered stares fixed upon the priestly robes of the temple vultures

scavengers given over to overmuch prayer – before consuming their flesh

teeth mapped meats shaking with fear

with love and for love yet always serving self

hades scented saints marching triumphantly towards their sabbath pews

those proper passions gently housed in some harlots bosom

care consider her kind

rude awakenings of skirts hugged one upon another

round fingers – the meandering coins emblazoned with sea fortunes

sword kissed deaths transfixed upon some tragic mount

that they too desire to commune with father moses – any care find him

knee-nursed yearnings of some crawling pop

kettle-whispered lovings of mothers overcome with joy

loves journeyed in darkness only to be condemned by the searching light

some waffled longings of imprisoned cousins – twice removed

fortunes plundered and straightaway surrendered to mightier foes

watched yearnings of those round face anthills

care imitate the socialized hatreds of the sheppard

joyous singings at the news of the stranded winters upon the seas

today be the burial of some tragic figure – some son of three parents

scared remains of lovers burned in love – rather it be love that burned then -

or love caused these burnings – love burned them – in a word: they be dead

the dragon costumes singularly common yet without a mother

companies of soldiers bewailing their blood-muddied swords

pure-bred expectations of fathers married to daily runnings

parisian harlots – even those decadent damsels of notre dame

lamp lighted walkings of some painted corridor

symphonic laughters given over to overmuch prayers

recall the butterfly laced travels of righteous odysseus

the drought peopled apartments quietly screaming for chardonnay

touched purities of priests aggrieved in spirit yet glad in the flesh

palm lined libraries of cairo giddily seated adjacent jerusalem’s famous lamps

summer covered carpets laced with gerbera ferns

nightly runnings of forbidden lovers conspiring their next escapes

apostolic sureties of saint eva – blessed be her musical loins

poems collected in empty wooden wine skins

coerced laughters masked in the lying giggles of the anaconda

prayerful knees of the arabian monk wrestling with an empty sea shell

rehearsed returns of the blue women of the green lagoon

liberian tiles refusing their ordained marriages to cuban cements

any care hear of the loud shrills of the debauched crickets

plimsol expectations of princes ignored in plain sight

the returned piercings of lapped waters dancing in a great danes mouth

restrained sheep recalling their wild histories as dakota mustangs

of sacrifices a dove yet wholly unrepentant

rosy mornings carried in an empty jar

that the sistine chapel was erected by a harlot – aye even eva

that most righteous and upwardly decked saint of the weeping sheets

known of most for her convulsing inducing hands

virgin pilgrims remained upon their store-bought piety

some raisin cured yawns of the whited sepulchers housing her blessed remains

glass layered centuries of accusations returned and loosened

sweet-honeyed chirpings of the wooly mammoth

crane-spoted hyenas jumping rope in the serengeti plains

crowned turtles desiring the company of boiling lobsters

any recall the tearful repentances of proud nabucco

slaves become masters and enslaving their fellow slaves

how that in running – they instead lost themselves

have a care

Wings Over Miami Air Museum

25º 39’ 00” N / 80º 26’ 00” W

In Miami’s metro area, if you make your way to the end of the road that leads through the Kendall–Tamiami Executive Airport you will happen upon a small, dynamic and fascinating aviation collection — the Wings Over Miami  Air Museum. The aircraft number about a dozen, or so, but the actual population fluctuates. There are permanent airplanes, there are aircraft under restoration and there are aircraft in the hanger on the occasional temporary basis. 

Wings Over Miami Air Museum hangar view — photo by Joe May

There are no decrepit exhibits and all the aircraft are in pristine condition. Amazingly so, I think, given the few members in the cadre. Equally amazing is that almost each time I visit, this quiet and out of the way museum, inevitably aircraft have been respotted due to the ever on-going work. Aircraft are flown in for the work and for special handling the musem can provide. One case, a recent one, of special handling was the disassembly for shipment of a Stearman Kaydet. There it was – wings and tail resting on the hanger floor, the landing gear set aside and an engine hoist chain slung around the power plant. Experts at work — and in Florida’s subtropical August heat! Thankfully, the office is air conditioned and well equipped with restroom facilities. There is a drink dispensing machine just outside the main door and a café is not really necessary since a plentitude of eateries can be found just outside the entrance of the airport. A modest entry fee is asked for a day’s admission.

Some exhibits have come and gone. The wings and empennage of the WW II Kawasaki 川崎市 Ki-61 飛燕 (Hien, roughly flying swallow, Allied codename Tony) that once were on display have gone back to their owner, as did the TBM Avenger that had been taken down to bare metal.

Some aircraft are there for safekeeping – a Consolidated PBY-5A Catalina and a Douglas C-47 Dakota, are examples. Another aircraft — a Douglas B-26 Invader — was freshened up and moved about 1000 feet (~300m) to a newly built memorial to the Cuban and American pilots who perished during the Bay of Pigs Invasion — or La Batalla de Girón as it is known in Cuba. [Please see the post, A new monument to fliers – the aviators of the Bay of Pigs Invasion & the Douglas B-26 Invader, published on 21 October 2009.]

Consolidated PBY-5A Catalina — photo by Joe May

A Grumman F-14 Tomcat is the largest aircraft displayed as is one of the most beautiful North American SNJ-6 (also known as the AT-6 Texan when flown by the USAAF) I have seen. On my last visit not one, but two, other Texans were undergoing complete rebuilds for flying — zero time wings and engines — serious and professional work.

North American SNJ — photo by Joe May

North American SNJ nose art — photo by Joe May

Adding to the remarkable accomplishments of this small museum are the foreign made aircraft on exhibit. They are: a Nanchang CJ-6A from the People’s Republic of China, an Aero L-29 Delfín from the former Czechoslovakia, and a Yakovlev Yak-52 from the former USSR.

Nanchang CJ-6A — photo by Joe May

Nanchang CJ-6A fuselage art detail — photo by Joe May

This museum is not to be missed and is worth the detour for any aviation enthusiast or historian visiting the Miami metro area. The main entrance to the Kendall–Tamiami Executive Airport is located on SW 137^th Avenue between SW 120^th Street and SW 152^nd Street in Miami Florida USA. Flying to the airport is possible in private aircraft but regular airlines can be used to fly into the Miami International Airport or the Fort Lauderdale–Hollywood International Airport.

By Michael MacLeod

ONLY a frail pensioner seemed to care for the whereabouts of hapless ex-Scotland gaffer George Burley today (Tues).

The out of favour 53 year-old has gone AWOL from his Edinburgh mansion having being kicked out by the SFA after a dismal World Cup qualifying campaign.

He was last seen on Monday morning, appearing dejected as he made his way to showdown talks with SFA supremo Gordon Smith at the Dakota Hotel in Lanarkshire.

Little did the ex-Hearts and Ipswich boss know that his fate was already sealed.

Yesterday an elderly neighbour popped by Burley’s home – perhaps to pass on her commiserations – but just like Burley himself, she was shown the door.