The Duff woke up early today. He'd gone to bed dead tired the night before, even though he hadn't been up to much before that.
At 5am, his eyes opened and his body didn't resist the call of consciousness. He felt refreshed, rejuvenated even. He enjoyed getting up early. This contradicts much as he had prided himself as not being a morning person. He had always struggled with school and lectures before 10. Or any time for that matter. Hmm....
He supposes that it might be that the accomodations are quiet at that hour. He had always enjoyed walking through his house when everyone else was asleep. He'd look at his dog snoozing under the moonlight in the backyard. Sometimes, the dog would be awake, and could somehow sense him in the kitchen. Much remains to be learnt on the acute senses of Man's Best Friend.
He had his usual breakfast of eggs (half boiled), cereal drowned in milk, and coffee. A mix of both the traditional and the modern, eastern and western. Eating alone in a quiet dining hall, reading more depressing news of the world on food encrusted week old newspapers, he was joined by 2 others who were older than most of the cohort here, being that they were previously from the Air Force. Perhaps only older fools leave the bed early.
He decided to walk through the open air quadrangle enroute to his room. He breathed in the fresh, crisp air, and was immediately brought to an earlier, simpler time when he was in the army, of mornings met with aching pains of sleeping in the great outdoors, squeezing the cold out of the joints, and yet feeling healthier with the clean, oxygen rich air that his lungs relished. Getting into his position while watching the fog rise out of the freshly minty dewey grass, he runs his tongue over the plaque coated teeth, awaiting to pour hot lead into the soft, weak flesh of his enemies. Surreal to say the least.
He cleaned up his room, made his bed and started preparing for his flight this evening. The weather spoke solemnly of the likelihood of going up for the sortie. Even with the wonderful morning, his nightmare continues. To alleviate his mood, he watches the last episode of the Tonight Show with Jay Leno. 17 years on a programme, 5 nights a week. What an industrious personality. No matter what his life is like, every night he would appear in front of a worldwide audience and bring laughter and cheers into many a living room. What a professional. And you thought women were good at faking it.
He ended the show with a talk of his legacy. It all stems from his crew of wonderfully loyal participants, from the cameramen to publicists, writers to editors. Most had stayed for all 17 years, and during that time, there were many unions amongst them. His legacy thus was all the children borne of these unions. The curtains rose to show them, all 68 of them. Wonderful. And so appropriate for the Duff truly thinks that all children are our legacy. Every one of them. And thats the undeniable Truth.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
As The Wheel Turns
So the Duff is lying in bed at a supremely early hour. He's feeling a little under the weather, something he has the fortune of avoiding all year long in-spite of being in a new environment and with all the changes that accompanies such an exodus. Alas, all good steaks must come to an end, and his armour of invincibility shatters like the broken dreams of a crack whore.
He has been trying to ascertain the origins of his mild sickness. The usual reasons come to mind; the lack of sleep, an unhealthy diet, non-existent exercise and inclement weather. All the above though, doesn't exactly hold water. He's been sleeping at least 8 hours each day, or more, as he hasn't had much opportunity to fly of late and thus, he stays up till 4am each and every day, catching up on movies and such, waking up at noon to all manner of aches and pains that are associated with sloth. Diet is something out of his hands, as the nutritionist has taken an extended vacation. Junk food and instant noodles have made a more regular appearance in the menus, but never to the extend of being THIS detrimental. Fruits and vegetables were still ingested fastidiously. Exercise have been reduced, but not absent. A shitload of weather popped a cap on his schedule's ass, but he stayed out of it; however, it did prevent him from jogging his usual daily 10km;->
You are only as healthy as you feel. That has been a line constantly pounding in his head, for he has recently felt apathetic. An overall lack of luck has attributed to him not flying, and thus not progressing. To not feel overly upset over these proceedings, he has numbed himself to these facts, and instead let the fates decide. There is only so much he can do. And perhaps, this is whats causing him to be bed-bound by 9.45pm, an absurdly early hour for him.
The Duff has thus once again spiraled down into procrastination and dread. Instead of studying for his coming tests, which he views as a very distant inevitability, he watches lots of shows and reads quite a bit. Both at the movies and on his laptop, he has caught at least 20 movies in the last 2 weeks, and a multitude of tv programmes ranging from sitcoms to sci-fi. He has felt the magic of falling in love, the pure blandness of mindless violence, the beauties of the written word and the fascinating locales that they can conjure, and most of all, emotions that run the gamut of possibilities.
Another active waste of time are the games on facebook, which he has started delving fully into to while away the eons of hours. His current favourites are Hell's Kitchen, a multitasking and prioritizing-centric game that might just help him in his flying, Mafia Wars, for the sheer joy of character advancement and fortune building, and Chain Reaction, for the lovely tunes and colours. He knows he's like a kid, and he's loving every eon of it.
But all too soon, darkness will fall, but with it, the hope of light that comes with the dawn. The end is nigh, but to what end? At least some movement forward is better than being stuck in limbo. The Duff braves on, as he must. The alternatives are not to be entertained. He leaves with a line of Truth from the recesses of his sinful mind,
"You do what you have to do, so that you can do what you want to do."
He has been trying to ascertain the origins of his mild sickness. The usual reasons come to mind; the lack of sleep, an unhealthy diet, non-existent exercise and inclement weather. All the above though, doesn't exactly hold water. He's been sleeping at least 8 hours each day, or more, as he hasn't had much opportunity to fly of late and thus, he stays up till 4am each and every day, catching up on movies and such, waking up at noon to all manner of aches and pains that are associated with sloth. Diet is something out of his hands, as the nutritionist has taken an extended vacation. Junk food and instant noodles have made a more regular appearance in the menus, but never to the extend of being THIS detrimental. Fruits and vegetables were still ingested fastidiously. Exercise have been reduced, but not absent. A shitload of weather popped a cap on his schedule's ass, but he stayed out of it; however, it did prevent him from jogging his usual daily 10km;->
You are only as healthy as you feel. That has been a line constantly pounding in his head, for he has recently felt apathetic. An overall lack of luck has attributed to him not flying, and thus not progressing. To not feel overly upset over these proceedings, he has numbed himself to these facts, and instead let the fates decide. There is only so much he can do. And perhaps, this is whats causing him to be bed-bound by 9.45pm, an absurdly early hour for him.
The Duff has thus once again spiraled down into procrastination and dread. Instead of studying for his coming tests, which he views as a very distant inevitability, he watches lots of shows and reads quite a bit. Both at the movies and on his laptop, he has caught at least 20 movies in the last 2 weeks, and a multitude of tv programmes ranging from sitcoms to sci-fi. He has felt the magic of falling in love, the pure blandness of mindless violence, the beauties of the written word and the fascinating locales that they can conjure, and most of all, emotions that run the gamut of possibilities.
Another active waste of time are the games on facebook, which he has started delving fully into to while away the eons of hours. His current favourites are Hell's Kitchen, a multitasking and prioritizing-centric game that might just help him in his flying, Mafia Wars, for the sheer joy of character advancement and fortune building, and Chain Reaction, for the lovely tunes and colours. He knows he's like a kid, and he's loving every eon of it.
But all too soon, darkness will fall, but with it, the hope of light that comes with the dawn. The end is nigh, but to what end? At least some movement forward is better than being stuck in limbo. The Duff braves on, as he must. The alternatives are not to be entertained. He leaves with a line of Truth from the recesses of his sinful mind,
"You do what you have to do, so that you can do what you want to do."
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
Have you Ever....
Have you ever been in the shower long enough with your thoughts wandering, only to wonder if you had already shampooed your hair? Then do it and realise that you had already done so?
Have you ever tried unrolling a sock from a new laundry wash, only to find that you are only rolling it onto itself, but you do not realise this until the sock is halfway into becoming a singularity?
Have you ever been in a situation where your stress levels are dissipating, but only for a few hours before more shit hits the fan, and you are so tired from the first dose of adrenaline washing off, that your limbs feel like dead weight, and yet your bones feel hollow, and you only wish that the next adrenaline rush would suffice to pull you through the next ordeal?
Have you ever been so hungry for so long that your stomach get bloated from the gases created in your digestive track as your acids work their way through the mucus and stomach lining? Hmmmm... villi.... (sounds like a new pasta)
Have you ever tried unrolling a sock from a new laundry wash, only to find that you are only rolling it onto itself, but you do not realise this until the sock is halfway into becoming a singularity?
Have you ever been in a situation where your stress levels are dissipating, but only for a few hours before more shit hits the fan, and you are so tired from the first dose of adrenaline washing off, that your limbs feel like dead weight, and yet your bones feel hollow, and you only wish that the next adrenaline rush would suffice to pull you through the next ordeal?
Have you ever been so hungry for so long that your stomach get bloated from the gases created in your digestive track as your acids work their way through the mucus and stomach lining? Hmmmm... villi.... (sounds like a new pasta)
Friday, May 01, 2009
Snikt-choo!
The Duff just got back from a screening of the first bullet fired from the Hollywood studios this eventful summer of thrills and spills. Wolverine has hit town, although he landed flat on his face.
Being the comic reading intellectual that he is, and an avid fan of the x-books no less, he is sure that this pathetic attempt to cash in on the world's favourite mutant has inevitably backfired, for there is no way Marvel would, or should, green-light a sequel to this expectedly disappointing origin story, unless its done by Abrams, Spielberg or Tarantino.
While wholely bastardizing canon is a part and parcel of adapting comic book material consisting of entire volumes spanning the works of creative minds unleashed over decades and compressing it all into a mere 120mins is absolutely understandable and commonplace enough to numb his senses and sensibilities, he is nevertheless appalled at how much they can squeeze onto the screen for the lousiest excuse of just having the character in the picture, and simultaneously stripping the character of all its richness and history. All for the merchandising, and the split second a fanboy's heart rate is increased by easter eggs. WTF.
He is ranting. He shall try to stop now. Sounds horrible now that it echoes back at him through the interwub.
Once again, the powers that be are sending out misdirection into the hearts and minds of the masses around the world. His bullshit-detection-meter is off the charts this time round. The lack of cynicism and curiousity quotient is amazing, and he just thinks that everyone buying into the nonsense perhaps deserves all the fear that is being shoved down his throat.
The recent outbreak of 2009 H5N1 virus for example, and its immense coverage in the media is astounding, as are the precautionary measures being taken, and at times suggested. The Duff thinks that it is a superb exercise in misdirecting attention away from more pressing matters like the economy. The statistics of this flu pandemic's possible effects, the outrage and panic that is aroused by papers, news programmes and web articles border on the mad. The irrationality of it all pisses him off. If it is lives they want to save, they are better served warning everyone to stay away from swimming pools, alcohol and staircases. If it is lining their coffers, Tamiflu it is.
Rant again. Fuck. FUCK!!!
The spew from his fatigued mind coupled with some all time favourite songs are causing him to become delirious. How could anybody give a flying fuck about what he's pissed at?
He should stop. Now.
Playlist: Freakonomics, Sarah MacLachlan, The Killers, Snow Patrol.
Reading List: The Badger, Nowergian Wood, A Sparrow Falls.
Surfing List: fmylife, 3quarksdaily, englishrussia.
Being the comic reading intellectual that he is, and an avid fan of the x-books no less, he is sure that this pathetic attempt to cash in on the world's favourite mutant has inevitably backfired, for there is no way Marvel would, or should, green-light a sequel to this expectedly disappointing origin story, unless its done by Abrams, Spielberg or Tarantino.
While wholely bastardizing canon is a part and parcel of adapting comic book material consisting of entire volumes spanning the works of creative minds unleashed over decades and compressing it all into a mere 120mins is absolutely understandable and commonplace enough to numb his senses and sensibilities, he is nevertheless appalled at how much they can squeeze onto the screen for the lousiest excuse of just having the character in the picture, and simultaneously stripping the character of all its richness and history. All for the merchandising, and the split second a fanboy's heart rate is increased by easter eggs. WTF.
He is ranting. He shall try to stop now. Sounds horrible now that it echoes back at him through the interwub.
Once again, the powers that be are sending out misdirection into the hearts and minds of the masses around the world. His bullshit-detection-meter is off the charts this time round. The lack of cynicism and curiousity quotient is amazing, and he just thinks that everyone buying into the nonsense perhaps deserves all the fear that is being shoved down his throat.
The recent outbreak of 2009 H5N1 virus for example, and its immense coverage in the media is astounding, as are the precautionary measures being taken, and at times suggested. The Duff thinks that it is a superb exercise in misdirecting attention away from more pressing matters like the economy. The statistics of this flu pandemic's possible effects, the outrage and panic that is aroused by papers, news programmes and web articles border on the mad. The irrationality of it all pisses him off. If it is lives they want to save, they are better served warning everyone to stay away from swimming pools, alcohol and staircases. If it is lining their coffers, Tamiflu it is.
Rant again. Fuck. FUCK!!!
The spew from his fatigued mind coupled with some all time favourite songs are causing him to become delirious. How could anybody give a flying fuck about what he's pissed at?
He should stop. Now.
Playlist: Freakonomics, Sarah MacLachlan, The Killers, Snow Patrol.
Reading List: The Badger, Nowergian Wood, A Sparrow Falls.
Surfing List: fmylife, 3quarksdaily, englishrussia.
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