Dry Adiabatic Lapse Rate

So The Duff was at the local air show just last week, courtesy of some free tickets from the workplace. He managed to get there on a weekday, which was a trade only day. As usual he walked around in the sun, soaking up lots of Vitamin D, and getting his mandatory sunburn while watching the various performances by the many wonderful aircraft companies vying for government dollars.
It amused him that after awhile, he recognised the maneouvres and started dozing off. It was simply humourous as he watches the aircraft at one spot of the sky, doze off, and when he awakens a few seconds later, the aircraft is in another part of the sky, while he's still staring at the old spot. Everyone else in the stands would have progressed on. He stuck out like a sore thumb, much like a spectator at a tennis match watching the wrong half of the court.

Anyway, he bumps into an old friend of his from his university days, and goes over to say hi. The first thing this fried does is grab his tie (which was part of his uniform that he had to don for the occasion), and looked at the insignia on the tie, and spouted disgustingly," So you finally took the plunge and went for the job, huh?"

The job in question is one that he had always fancied at the back of his mind, that of an airline pilot. It would allow him to travel off the tiny island called home every couple of days to destinations far and wide, to meet new people and places, cultures and scenaries. It would bring him a fairly comfortable income and thus a lifestyle he is accustomed to. And most importantly, still afford him quite a bit of free time to pursue other interests on his journey to achieving renaissance.

He had shared this "passion" with his friends over the years, but always putting it on the backburner as world events transpired to knock him off this path, like 9-11 and the SARS event, which had almost led to a company wide pilot strike. However, he went ahead with the plan when, as in most cases, all other doors which he had wanted to open, were already open, and had kicked him on the ass on his abrupt exits from those alternatives.

So on the one hand you could say that he sold himself out to a boring, old slave driving occupation, but it was also an old idea he had, before he built such castles in the sky during his university days, and left practicalities and "two feet on the ground"-ness behind. A childhood dream of sorts, that hopefully would come to fruition.

For he still has a long way ahead of him while he trains for this tough career. It is arduous, with uncountable hours of studying, flight training, simulations, and apple polishing. Back into the corparate structure which he abhored. Back to the mugging of words on yellow printed pages. Back to a regular houred schedule for now. Back to a fixed income month on month. Back into the rat race. Back to terms like this post's title.

He hopes he will make it through. He hopes his Truths may still prevail, that he would still be able to do enough in his life to maintain a certain modicum of individuality. His own terms, and rules, around other more steadfast rules. Bending and poking and preferably not breaking.

May his sanity stay the course.

Not another Jumpstart?!

Procrastination is the mother of all stagnation.

For it was this very word that prevented the Duff from continuing his posts here, and the sharing of his mundane life with an audience that he permits himself the luxury of conjuring up in bouts of fantastic exodii from reality.

For each time he tried to put finger to keyboard, or even entertaining hte thought of wanting to type something out on this platform, another would easily come along and pull him away from his original intent. Whenever he elaborates in his mushy collection of synapses a running rhetoric on the state of the world around him, a stray errand would prevent him from establishing his essay onto the bits and bytes of the ether. In short, he has ADD.

Perhaps in this incarnation of You Are The Truth, the final perpetual beta (an oxymoron if there ever was one), would emerge, and a constant stream of tidbits of shared consciousness with race memory would be allowed to see the light of day. Perhaps, finally, he would find the discipline to stick to a fucking schedule.

We'll see. The past few months since the last post had been tumultuous to say the least, and would be utterly an exercise in futility to dredge the events up and place them on the mantelpiece all at one go. Hence, he would break them down into worms of shared experience and let them drill to the surface, and to dump them unto the big bright world above. For his Truths to intrude into all others, and amalgamate into a mutated blob of life.