Ice Creams Don’t Lie

When I was a kid, there was an advert on the telly about sugar biscuits “so soft, they’d melt in your mouth.”

Now, I may not have been the science kid I happen to be today, but back then, such a radical change, of food in the solid state to the liquid state, food that was not ice, (which I loved to melt in my hands back then) seemed quite incredible.

I bought a packet, insisting to my mum that there was definitely something special about them biscuits.

Then I proceeded to shove one biscuit into my mouth and wait for it to melt.

I waited.

Then I waited some more.

I thought of the woman (woman?) in the ad who proclaimed that it melted and closed her eyes from the sugar rush.

Five year-olds don’t have that much patience.

Where is my liquid biscuit??

For forty-five minutes, the sorry, soggy piece of baked flour sat in my mouth, getting wetter, more deformed, but STILL. SOLID.

It never melted, needless to say, and (thankfully) I don’t remember what happened of that biscuit. Maybe I finally ate it.
Maybe I didn’t. I’ll never know, because mum doesn’t remember this incident. Maybe she doesn’t want to remember?

Anyway, it’s shattering. They lied on TV, and this five year old fell for it too.

And that is why I like ice creams.

They begin, cold, fuming, solid, and really do melt in your mouth.

Because ice creams don’t lie.

Although, with this biscuit incident behind me, is it really a surprise that I’m not too particularly fond of food?

The Big Bustle

You know, I haven’t a minute to waste
Life slips by me in haste

Bubblegum’s gone sour
Chewed on it and a thought for twenty one hours
And now I know there’s nothing good on the telly
And the path traced by the crazy dogs that chase me

You know, I haven’t a minute to spare
Life rushed by me in reverse gear

I’ve finished three bottles of ink
Run through every thought, I don’t know what to think
And everything I’ve ever known has merged into a snowball
Now I’ll respond to the pigeon’s call

And you know, I haven’t a moment’s release
Life just gave me a strip-tease

And I thought I’d take a day-trip
Assess my life and get a grip
Maybe get some work done
But then I ate some vitamins just for fun

You know, I haven’t a minute to spare
Life just rushed by me in reverse gear

I don’t feel like doing any thin’
For both life and I, that’s a win-win
And you know I haven’t a minute to give
Like life doesn’t have a damn to give,
But it makes for a splendid narrative—
Somewhere in between, you try to live.

This is for all those who tried. And then put down the full stop.

Sherlock’s In A White Lab Coat

They blindfold you and hand you a substance.
Then they start a time bomb and set it for three hours.
The countdown begins, the clock’s ticking, your life depends on it, any moment, your beaker might explode.
You have got to find out what they gave you.

You’ve been framed, and you know it. All the evidence stands against you.
There is only one way you can prove yourself: take the interrogation.
They’ll try to trick you, they’ll try to break you, it’s up to you to stand by your word and worth.
They have all the records.
But you might have the answer… Or a doughnut.
You’ve one chance to win… Can you acquit yourself?

Alright, so they maay not blindfold you. But apart from that, I’ve described our chemistry practicals.

We have a test where, like I mentioned above, you’re given a beaker full of mystery liquid, and you must find out what’s in it.
Sherlock’s got work to do.
Sniff it, (don’t) taste it, run tests on either it, or your buddy. But solve the mystery.

One of the possible organic compounds we could be given is an alcohol.

Yes, no one talks about it, but most of us are under-18.
Can’t tell them that, though.
Besides, phenols are kinda banned too.
Not in our lab, though―anything’s possible if you just try!

So, back to the alcohol.
We’re on a mission to identify the alcohol.
It’s a project I call Alcohols Anonymous.

But this is the prelude.
The real symphony is to be played tomorrow.
The apparatus is set.
There’s a look in the glint on the beakers and test tubes’ glass that says, See you there. The final chemistry practicals begin.

Tomorrow’s the big day.

Tomorrow, Sherlock will smoke a pipette in a white lab coat, and alarm bells may ring.

The game has begun!

Saviour of the Universe

Ooh, has this blog been bustling!!
Over the last week, I’ve received about ten new email follows already, but I’m not exactly jumping about them, in reality, they’ve only been really hit-and-run, and I’ll explain that further.

You know when you sit down to create your new email id (your thirty-fifth one) and really don’t know what to name it? You eventually end up hitting your head/hands over the keyboard like a tortured Bach and then run to Enter before you can truly realise your latest masterpiece.
So has been the case here.
I’ve been receiving follows from all the qwertyabcxyz’s I could, and they’re all Outlook ids, everyday/second day, similar time.

Yes, I know they’re spam. But I didn’t really take notice. Heck, if they’re scammers, their self-appointed job is to spam me, in this situation, it’s me who’ll be spamming them. Besides, the stats look pretty, don’t they?

But before you question the validity of my blog, I’ll give you the latest: they’re all gone, each and every one of them. Poof, vanished.

I’d be lying if I said I weren’t disappointed. I’d have loved to engage some random jobless people hunching over a computer somewhere in ‘Latin America or the Carribean islands’ (unless that’s a VPN). They all (all the drunk-slam id’s of the same person) unfollowed.
Oh well. I guess that was the last of my spam interactions.

Boy, was I ever wrong.

So yesterday, after a long day of coding, I open my inbox to check for college mail, aand I see an email from an ‘Alex’.
I click.
WordPress wants to let me know that there’s a new comment on my blog. The grammar’s beautiful. See, on this blog, I have a ‘Moderate Comments’ setting on.
Unfortunately, I’d forgotten to do that on my other blog.
Soon, I receive another email.

This time, WordPress informs me that a comment has already been published on my blog.
It’s from–guess who–Alex!

It reads:

Nice blog here! Also your web site rather a lot up fast! What web host are you the usage of? Can I am getting your affiliate hyperlink on your host? I want my web site loaded up as fast as yours lol

The grammarian in me is moved to tears.

I’m annoyed, at 2 in the morning when I’d rather be sleeping (second thought: when would I not?), I’m being spammed by some bored spammer over lunch. What’s worse, my spam filter seems to be down. This shouldn’t have gotten through in the first place!

I’m about to hit ‘Mark Spam’.
Then I realise I haven’t watched a James Veitch Scamalot video in a month. (If you don’t know what I’m talking about, I highly recommend you Google him up. Top-notch fellow, rising comedian who’s routine consists of his true-life trysts with replying to spam emails. Worth your time, I kid you not.)

So I decided, I need my fix.

I hit reply.

Me:

Thank you.
If you want your website or weblog to be as fast as this one here, YOU MUST SUPPORT NET NEUTRALITY, MY FRIEND!
T’is the only way.

I sat back satisfied. There! With such a reply, even the guy must know he’s not doing a very good job being conspicous, nor is he getting what he wants… whatever he wants. I don’t expect to hear back.
But you know we wouldn’t be here reading this if I didn’t, don’t you?

Alex:

I am no longer positive where you are getting your info, however good topic. I must spend some time finding out much more or understanding more. Thank you for magnificent info I used to be looking for this info for my mission.

Interesting. Now I definitely see reason for using 10 different IDs. Also, I’m glad my little poem complaining about my life was vital for you to get the codes you need to prevent a nuclear apocalypse. I forgive you, Alex.

Me:

Thank you, 007. I advice maximum caution, and wish you the best of luck in completing your Mission successfully.

Alex is on a Mission. He has a clear target in mind. (Wish I knew if he knows what it is, but) He’s out to get it.
Guy won’t give up.
He tries again, with a different email id.
Unfortunately, he forgets to change his name. He’s still Alex. Hey, it’s alright. Changing ID’s must be like replacing the flowers on his table.
If he has any.

Alex (with a new qwoxzcdfwdw@outlook ID):

Wow, amazing blog format! How lengthy have you ever been running a blog for? you make running a blog glance easy. The full glance of your web site is great, as smartly as the content!

I like butter. I also like running. Running long, pointless conversations.

Me:

I agree with you, making a blog run sure is a lengthy task! In fact, we’re aiming for the 20k next month! You ought to join us!

Are you getting a hang of this? The point is to be as pointless, and as annoying as them. And pray you haven’t forgotten a chemistry test that’s happening the next day. No, I cannot complete a post without the word ‘chemistry’. I must be extremely bad at this.

Unfortunately, our friend Alex is too!
In fact, he managed to remember this blog too. The post he had targetted was one I had posted on both my blogs, so it must’ve been easy for him to get confused. My spam filter is on here, but this was as good as they come, I couldn’t pass it up.

Alex:

You actually make it seem so easy together with your presentation however I in finding this topic to be actually one thing which I believe I might never understand. It kind of feels too complicated and extremely large for me. I’m looking forward on your subsequent publish, I will attempt to get the dangle of it!

See, I was feeling pretty perky by now. I felt benevolent replying to this.

Me:

Don’t get discouraged, Alex! I recommend signing up for the Word of the Day on https://dictionary.com, it’ll work wonders! For example, a word like Floccinaucinihilipilification might seem huge, but it really only means ‘to judge something as worthless’.
Once you expand your knowledge, you’ll start feeling more confident about yourself! Go for it!

PS: if that doesn’t work, try singing in front of a mirror.

And I look forward to hearing from you on other posts soon!

If nothing else over the past half hour, he sure got part of this message.

Of course I heard back from him. He was sort of becoming my pen pal/ego booster by this point. Feeling low? Alex thinks your post can save the planet from destruction! (Yes, I received that thrice.)
He;’s at it again.

Alex:

I’m not certain where you are getting your information, but good topic. I needs to spend a while learning more or working out more. Thanks for magnificent information I was looking for this information for my mission.

Alright, I get the point, I’m the Saviour, ain’t I? I don’t have to hear it from you.

I didn’t reply.

I think I broke him. His eyes opened. He saw the Truth.
I can sleep.


This afternoon, I check my inbox.
No Alex, bummer.

But, I have an email from an Enid Townsend.
Someone likes reading, and someone likes music.
And someone never grew up beyond Enid Blyton. Possibly. I don’t judge a book by its cover, nor a comment by the number of x’s/c’s/q’s in its sender’s email address.

Just to be sure, I check up the IP address.
Sure as day, it says ‘Latin America or the Carribean islands’!
Guess who’s back! I’m almost touched, Alex, no no no, wait, Enid remembered me beyond a day!

She says:

I appreciate, result in I discovered exactly what I used to be looking for. You have ended my 4 day long hunt! God Bless you man. Have a nice day. Bye

I love her already. She’s a rebel. She put a full stop for every sentence but the last. I have to oblige with a reply.

Me:

You did?! Lucky you, man! I’m glad you didn’t end up like this guy. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e3-5YC_oHjE
He’s been searching for 30 years now… maybe you guys should trade the secret to success, or something.

(That’s a link to U2’s song Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For, from their 1987 album The Joshua Tree.)

I haven’t heard from either after that, and it’s got a bit lonely with just me and those Carbon atoms, so I thought of sharing this here. Hope you enjoyed it, afterall, I’ve got to start catering to real people again!

Also, someday when I’m famous and you read my biography, you’d have heard it first: I just saved the planet from nuclear apocalypse.

Over and out.


Also, come morning and guess who’s back? Latin America’s buzzing me.

Kristi Acevedo: F*ckin’ amazing things here. I am very happy to look your article. Thank you a lot and i’m having a look ahead to touch you. Will you kindly drop me a e-mail?

I don’t know what to say anymore. I oughta file for sexual harassment.

So I reply:


Dearest Kristi,
How did you know I’m so clumsy? I drop emails, and tons of chemistry textbooks and press irons when they’re hot too! If you’re clumsy too, it’s about time you emailed zeklutzunion@klutzy.com

Unfortunately, I have a new follower in the most ancient sense: someone who won’t stop following up!

Lenora Novak (aka Alex):

You can certainly see your skills in the work you write. The world hopes for even more passionate writers such as you who are not afraid to mention how they believe. Always go after your heart.

Me:

Awwww, you know, I’ve always wanted to be an open heart surgeon, I suck at it.
You’ve just made my day!
I shall always remember to believe in myself and go for it thanks to you, training be damned!!
Also, do you mind if I quote you to my detractors?

What’s more, Alex has been exploring my blog, and has found other posts too.

He chose a post titled Doom to post his next masterpiece:

Kim Miranda:

Thank you for another great post. The place else may anyone get that type of information in such an ideal approach of writing? I have a presentation subsequent week, and I am at the look for such information.

Me:

Man, Kim… If you’re looking for Doom, where on earth do you work??

And hopefully, that’s it for now. It must be pretty late at night in the Caribbean, so we may have more tomorrow.
But heck, chemistry’s call is stronger, so I’ll try to keep the suspense… for a little while at least.
That’s all from me!


Update!! This happened for real.  I have nothing left to prove.

Gotta give it to the guy though, he’s a real sport!

Jaded

Do I want a change of scenery?
It’s the fifteenth time this wall has passed by me
Or fifteen more, easily

Mission’s lost signals to ground control
And now my mind’s truly alone
Is anyone home?

And I look to the skies for a sign of the end
But the laws of space and time have bent
I declare I cannot be ment

I’ve walked this fine line fifty times
And repeated these fifteen lines
Leave me alone and I’ll be a walking landline

I am a looping, skipping tape
How much more can you take
With the ever-rising stakes?

Snap me out of this apathy
It’s got a stranglehold on me
My motivation steamed and is nowhere to be seen,

Just lie a little…
Just try a little…
Die a little…
Lye a little…
Cry a little…
Was always sci-fi to me,
And now it’s all I see in me.

When Alarm Bells Ring

I’ve pretty much been leaving myself Post-It’s all over the house. I swear, if I expanded base to the whole city, we’d practically be living  in a Paper Town.

Our walls are practically caking with paper now. Once when we were out of space, I grabbed a permanent marker and left myself a note on the glass to conduct a survey. Of course, when it was done, I ethanoled it off. Deodorant’s honestly more handy this way!
Hey, science student here.
Not surprisingly (and I mean that), I learnt this neat trick from a lifeskill teacher.

It has happened on more than one occasion in school that I’ve drawn or written a preparation reaction for a bomb without knowing. IUPAC’s doing a good job, replacing all well known names with less dangerous-sounding ones!
Some are more obvious, of course.
2,4,6-trinitromethylbenzene, anyone?
(It’s TNT, just for the record.)

There was this once when we were in the chemistry lab at school, doing salt analyses.
My lab partner and I have a penchant for, well… living up to the crazy-haired dudes-in-white image: being a bit excited.
Now, we don’t really screw around or try dangerous reactions as such, but we’ve broken a test tube or two and set off the smoke alarms a few times in the lab.

Not in the recent past though, half owing to the fact that we’ve pretty much had exams going on ALL of last month; I had a printed calander of the month of November, and guess what, it was my test schedule. Another reason why there have been no sirens was because the last time we entered, last week, the alarms are in our chemistry teacher’s head. We had one of the most confusion-filled, messed up practicals, and they were our mocks, prelude to the real deal… It’s a story for another day. It was tragic, but hilarious.

Basically, my mother is probably glad that an unmonitored kid at a college far away has not picked chemistry as her major.

So it was a salt analysis that we were doing that day, and my partner and I were trying to live up to our reputation without being kicked out of the lab. (hasn’t happened yet, but I have a hunch that the day it does, the smoke alarms will be more than the more the culprit the us…)

It was a salt that was confirmed with the 2,4-DNP test, it gave either a colour change or a precipitate, and I think it was orange… I need to do that again, don’t tell my chem teacher. All of chemistry in about 15 days, and chemistry isn’t all I study, no no no. To add to that, I’ve recently gotten addicted to James Veitch’s scam email-reply gigs, and at 3 minutes a vid, they’re the perfect length and are perfectly hilarious.
In short, no Christmas for me.
[I think I’d written this before Christmas. This is what happens when I pencil stuff down. It can take ages to put it up!]

So we were doing the DNP test, and the very existence of the DNP in our lab intrigued me. See, I’d done some research when I was bored studying chemistry.
DNPB, or the 2,4-dinitrophenyl group has been around for a while. The Germans use it as gunpowder—combustable and explosive. It fell out of use after that, though, until America rediscovered it in the 80s.
The key word here is combustion.
DNP would raise the temperatures, and an America grappling with obesity woes saw promise in that.

Soon, DNP pills had the market floored, and guess what, they did work, after all, it was only the application of a principle.
DNP caused combustion and raised metabolic rates, and so people began running through their bodily reserves much faster. DNP became the wonder pill the country had searched for for decades.
And then the overheating came to light.
Risks of death were turning out to be pretty high for DNP takers. Of course, it isn’t until you try it out for a few that results and effects actually show. So most people only say the fat-fighting wonders of the pill and made a frenzy for the pharmacist’s. The risk stats came later. One person was believed to have literally cooked to death: his body hit a whopping 43 degrees Celsius, he roasted.

Sure enough, the substance was banned. And here it was, in our chem lab.
Never mind the hot, concentrated hydrochloric acid and sulphuric acids (that we use on a regular basis and have a few lab coat holes because of), there was an explosive in our lab!

(About the HCl, don’t ask how many times people have accidentally swallowed it (in its dilute form, thankfully) while pipetting it out for titrations.
’Adventures In the Chemistry Lab’ ought to be a multi-seasonal television series in its own right. Maybe I’ll do it someday.
Season 1, Episode 1: We Are Bot Responsible For Your Death! (Though We Will Attend The Funeral). [True story. Grade 11, pracs session 1]
Episode 2: No, a Jacket Will Not Substitute For Your Lab Coat!
Episode 3: Brrring, Bbriiinng, Briiinngg… [smoke alarms]
Episode 4: Please Pass the Salt

Episode 10: …Briinng, bringg, brinnggg… No One Cares Anymore.
Season Finale: Can This Batch Pass the Prelims?

Season 2 Premier: A New Batch Arrives!
(Liner notes: Thank god, the last batch made it out… we need more salt!))

So I went around the lab educating people with droppers filled with DNP solution, of the explosive potential of DNP.
At the rate I’d hyped DNP up, I had almost expected something to happen when one drop of DNP fell into my test tube…
But it only just turned orange.
Not even a smoke alarm went off that day.

Speaking of which, our final Board practicals begin next week, complete with an external examiner; that’s when the smoke alarms will really ring!

Look Around

It’s taken me about three months to finally finish all my college applications, I repeat ALL of them, and it’s only now that I noticed this. The song ‘Look Around’ by Red Hot Chili Peppers is practically written for and about our lives around this time!

Here’s the original song for reference. I’ve written the lyrics below, along with my interpretation in brackets. What do you think?

Stiff club, it’s my nature
Custom love is the nomenclature
[‘Why  (college)?’ essays]
Turn down mass confusion
[Common App]
Hit the road cause we just keep cruisin’
[Campus tours/Moving from one rejection to another]
Double my fun, double my vision
[‘fun’ sarcastically. You work on application essays for six hours straight, are on the verge of glasses then]
Long hard look at my last decision
[Mid December/late March][Also what the colleges never do]
Hustle here, hustle there
Hustle me bitch and you best beware [Us?]
It’s emotional and I told you so
But you had to know so I told you
[Cliche essays]

Soft walk to horizon [Us in every essay]
One big crash that no one dies in
[Application process, as a whole]
This is for the folks in Fayetteville
It’ll come true if you say it will
[As you hover over the ‘Submit’ button, look at the name one last time, and with a sigh, click.][Also, us to Admissions.]

Look around, look around, look around
All around, all around, all around
Look around, look around, look around
All around, all around, all around
[What you do at the beginning of the application process when you wake up and realise you’ve been alive for 17 years and have nothing exceptional to say about yourself.
Grab that scuba gear. We’re divin’ deep.]

It’s emotional and I told you so
But you had to know so I told you

Please don’t look right through me
Hurts my heart when you do that to me
[NEED I EXPLAIN THIS.]
Street life out my window
City made breeze gonna stroke my skin though
Dropped a lot of words on an old brick wall
[‘Old Brick Wall = 750 ft high, made block by block, every time you sit before the blank Common App page with a writer’s block]
Rob a lot of banks got a pedigree scrawl [word bank]
Put my peg into your square
Run around like we just don’t care  [One word: Senioritis.]

Look around, look around, look around
All around, all around, all around
Look around, look around, look around
All around, Oh yeah!

Move it ah got to get ya, want to get you
Move it ah got to get ya, going to get you
Move it ah got to get ya, want to get you
Move it ah got to get ya, going to get you
Move it ah got to get ya, want to get you
Move it ah got to get ya, going to get you
Move it ah got to get ya, want to get you
Move it ah got to get ya, going to get you
[And will this thought with which you end every night end with that coveted letter, or yet another rejection?]

Look around, look around, look around
All around, all around, all around
Look around, look around, look around
All around, Oh yeah!

When I’m feeling small [125?! Can’t you give me more word room??]
And I’m hitting a wall   [I may have written about this in another essay to the same college…]
Wanna feel it all around
When I’m feeling small
And I’m hitting a wall
Wanna feel it all around [say it with me, gang–We can do this!!]

Tuxed Out

If you’d like to know how the night ended, it was with my mother laughing and saying that I “can’t even pull off a skirt right”. (I won’t argue. It’s only my third time wearing one.)

My tux plans went for a toss when, after having gotten my pants ready, mum and I realised that we don’t have the shirt and coat to go above it.
Yep, it took us a week to discover that loophole.
I don’t know whether to laugh or cringe.

So I ended up trudging along in a skirt. Figures.

Apart from that, it was as every Farewell should be—where you rediscover that you absolutely can’t dance, and that there are only a few varieties in this department: those who are bad at dancing, those who are exceptional at dancing bad, and those who can give you an illusion of a good dance. And you realise no one cares. And you realise why the stationery industry isn’t dead, when ink and thoughts flow freer than non-existent wine—yearbook signing!

Basically, awesome stuff.

(I hear laughter in the background. Is that a high-pitched Chemistry high on helium? Come on, it’s 1:30 AM!)

The Private Musings of an Excited Electron

In a few days, we have an official burden-release. Our school will formally dump us on our butts. (not really…)

We have our farewell, our final send-off, and then we grind our noses for a month and then head off on our own paths. It seems so much like a prism at play here: at school, you are a uniform beam of white light and everyone is the same, travelling down the air path, until you reach the final frontier, the glass barrier (or glass ceiling, if you’d see it that way), and cross over into a different, denser glass medium. There’s confusion, change of direction, slowing down — it’s the transition phase.

Once you reach the other face of the glass prism, you’re crossing again (the Official Dump, by the way), you’re leaving your glass cocoon, school, and stepping out into the faster, rarer air medium of the real world. Better pick up the pace.
White light passed through a prism emerges to split into its spectrum, as we all find our own wavelengths and split up into a diverse, varied, colourful spectrum and go our own separate ways. Where would this experiment be without a screen to capture the spectrum, to write the legacy for every eye to behold?

And that;s where we are right now. Still in the prism, going through our own little transitions, and at the threshold of emergence.
And yes, we are all a little refracted and deviated! (*aherm*, YouTube, *aherm*…)

One thing I’ve noticed though, is that the idea of Farewell, aka Dumping Ceremony (kidding), has somehow become interchangeable with the idea of Prom, which we don’t have.
A substitute, perhaps? It must be the formal dress code. “What are you wearing?” has become a frequently heard question — we’re turning into the Hollywood Press!
Red carpet, here we come!

Of course, if it really was Prom, I’d probably be playing Billy Idol’s Dancing With Myself all night and/or prepare to begin a charity bandage donation the next day for all the feet I’d have stepped on.
And it may sound absurd, but we’re taking a date to Farewell. Farewell! Of course, only from the leaving batch, but still, pop culture has gotten to us!
(The last farewell I remember, we’d all huddled around a hole in the terrace and channelized our ‘negative spiritual energies’ down it, and then had our teachers pray for our Board exams. You could tell from the look on their faces that the prayer was for real!
Imagine doing that with a date. And in a formal dress. Phew!)

But heck, life doesn’t need justification, and we played along. If we don’t have Prom, we’ll make it happen, I suppose!
Just for fun, I’d asked a really good friend of mine, and she said yes!
This was a few months ago, though, and I figured she’d forgotten… we all have electrons swimming in our brains these days, and I cannot explain why I overuse the word electron.

Today, after—guess what?—a physics paper, I happened to run into her and we sat down awhile and talked. Most of the school had probably emptied out; mum says I stay on till way too late, but in my defence, I won’t ever hang around a school again after a few months.
But thank goodness for the quiet moment, sometimes I cannot hear myself speak.

We began talking about Farewell-Prom, and how people were obsessing over what to wear (everything from a sari to boxers, most people had talked to me about it before). We began taking about people taking dates to farewell, no, not the edible kind.
Amidst all the hype, she asked me if I was going. I replied, probably. She told me I could hang out with her.
I remembered then that I’d asked her out. (We’re all tube lights with electrons flowing through..) She said, “Ah, yeah! Well, I’d have asked you if you hadn’t, anyway.”

That’s it. That just about made my day. Rainbows be damned, bring on the Prom. Mum’s even probably alright with me wearing a tux, which is a first (big IF I can get my hands on one in two days. I don’t own one.)

…One sec, wasn’t it a Farewell?

Sherlock’s On Holiday

“Such a thing is sleep
It never comes cheap
Always such a price
To cut you off from paradise
Roll of a dice,
A game of chance
Unto the REM stage to advance
Ah, sleep, such a dilemma is thee
The loser’s always me:
I lose sleep or chemistry/history.”

This is actually my sister’s life story. In fact, she’s asleep as I write this, after spending all morning that we were out for my design test, complaining about how we were wasting her time bringing her out with us, time she could’ve slept and then studied.
Oh well.

In other news, today’s been an eventful day. The design test I mentioned wasn’t too bad, I didn’t study for it. (I signed up for it back when I was considering taking up design, but then I had a sudden change of heart and am going for computer science. I still decided to give it, just for fun.)
On the way back, we passed a domino-accident. It was on the highway, there was a row of cars on the opposite side with both bonnets and dickeys smashed in… chain accident. One car must’ve stopped, and before the one behind it could slow down, it rammed into it’s predecessor with some force, and this continued for–guess–six cars.
I’d go with my mum’s theory for this one: when you’re living in the big, clustered cities, you’re definitely not used to speed. Take to the free, open highways,and you just do not know what to do with it. Result? Bam!
There was a ton of traffic as many folks decided to stop and look on, or worse, record the whole thing. It was as clustered as it could get! I don’t know if anybody decided to call in authorities: half a kilometer after the scene, we saw some cops in their van just gazing out, most likely blissfully unaware. They were two drive lanes away, but looking back, we probably shoulda told them… however we could.
It was sad though, because that expressway is very well known for frequent accidents, probably all avoidable. I don’t have pictures, because we decided not to stop—knowing that lane’s notoriety, my first thought was, let’s first get out of here! I’d only just seen a video of a crash in Cali when people on the road were too busy gazing up at the SpaceX launch…

We’ll probably read of it in tomorrow’s news, and in all likelihood, no one will be too surprised.


Just saw something weird. There was a man on a scooter waiting for someone, and this stray dog in our neighbourhood goes crazy. It’s usually a bit over-excited (remember this? Same dog.), but today, its tail was wagging that extra furiously, and it kept barking incessantly, not right at the man, but above and around him; everywhere.
I figured, heh, regular day in the life. It and its accomplice, a dog that seems to have once been a lot more civilised than this one, but has his friend rubbing off on him (assuming it’s a him), usually bark in harmony, a 45-minute symphony. I don’t know if they’re aware of their listening demographic, but just to be safe and modest and not sing before a very large crowd, they often perform at 2. AM.
So I figured, nothing new here.

But as soon as the woman arrived and the two left, the dogs stopped barking. That’s it. Silence. And then they started sniffing around on the ground, just where the scooter was.

I was pretty intrigued now. This was looking exactly like those movies where some fishy, suspicious-looking crook comes in to carry out his task, and a olfactorily-functioning dog would take one sniff and start barking at the goon.
This guy did nothing but sit on his bike and ignore the dogs, but what if. What just if. Where’s Sherlock?

And I have no idea why I’m doing this right now when I have an application to submit. Tonight. 7 hours to go!