I’m Coming For You.

I have it!!

After days and weeks of thinking, I finally have the idea I was searching for!

Since I live on residence and flew with weight constrains, I hadn’t packed for Halloween at all. No fancy costumes, no elaborate art and craft material, and an ass too lazy to go off campus do not auger well for my trick or treating prospects. 

Yes, I’m in college and I’m ready to trick or treat. I also have a math problem set due the next day, does that sound familiar now?

So I’ve decided to do the best I can. 

I’m going to wrap my comforter around myself, not brush my hair, and go knocking down doors. 

I’m going to be your bad hair day. 

I’m going to be that day you can’t leave bed. 

I’m going to be your lack of motivation, your depression, you crushed hopes and dreams. 

Get your candy ready. 

Random Musings

How many times have you seen in the movies, an empowered, emancipated person giving an emotional speech, impromptu perhaps, to a number of comrades, associates, or even complete strangers?

There’s a crowd gathered around this person, listening in rapt attention, maybe even re-evaluating their whole lives, agreeing with this wonder who has managed to sum up everything they’ve wanted to say, who’s breaking the shackles, creating a new World Order, or perhaps, retiring.

As they go over a particularly delicate piece, emotion begins to take over, and the cellos behind either snap a finger and disappear, or go crazy to the point where the emotion is lost on you because you actually can’t hear what they’re saying.
That’s also just another one of the million infuriating times you will glance at the glaring white subtitles and miss a moment’s worth of reel and then curse the subtitles for being so distracting.
Honestly, I’m not ranting. I’m just asking for the subtitles to be turned transparent instead of white. Back to the emotional speech.

The camera zooms into the speaker’s face and then slowly pans over to the audience, whose faces match the mood of the cramping, sore orchestra in the recording studio, and then back to the Orator, who suddenly cracks, first a cough, a choke then a sob, and then has a complete breakdown. If you couldn’t follow the speech before, even the subtitles can’t save you this time.

To be honest, the subtitles themselves are confused by this point.
I can only imagine the guilty party would want nothing more than to simply display five whole minutes of “*******” until the madness dies, but since they can’t do that or they aren’t getting called back (and an audio transcription of their phone call with their employers too would match their fine work), so they do the next best thing.

” (inaudible murmurings)”

Yep, that is precisely why you chose to look to the subtitles in the first place.

The look on your face is disruntled at best, but the look on the Orator and the audience’s face is disfigured, the ability to conjure up such a look being what the actors have been paid for.

Basically, the speaker is shook, the audience is moved, everyone’s on the verge of tears and the speaker’s in shambles. Glycerine does its job well. There are red eyes and screwed up eyebrows and glycerine pouring across faces. And you buy it. If you’re watching the movie alone and happen to have your door locked, you crack a sob. If you’re watching with a friend (or any other person), you curse in your head and angle your head away and suddenly want the violins to get louder and the subs to get more outrageously distracting.

But on doing some thinking, I realised I really haven’t seen these earth-shattering speeches work their magic in real life.

Glycerine does its job well. In real life, if you did manage to cook up such emotion (in which situation, the violins would actually seem out of place), there’d be bleary eyes, guilty people looking out of it as they realise something’s amiss and jerk up from their phones, and snot.

Seriously, it’s an image killer if you really think about it. In real life, crying like that would almost always be accompanied by snot. By the time you’ve shed two tears, there would be a new born stream coming out of your nose.

It’s all very nice if you’re myopic and sitting five metres away, but for someone in front, and for you, the speaker, to notice that clear line of dribble trickling down your nose, for its salty taste to fill the top of your mouth as you open it to speak in a situation where you’re already struggling to get the words out— it’s a mood killer!

I wonder how it would work if some hyperrealist filmmaker became obsessed with glycerine pouring down actors noses.

The subtitlers would have a field day:

“(Snot pours)
(Sniffles)
(Audibly chokes on glycerine snot)”

My Roommate Selection Process Feels Like Tinder

I filled applications. Then I filled some more applications. I’ve browsed through majors I’ve never dreamed of doing and fantasized about others my mother would never dream of me doing. I’ve answered questions in writing that no normal socially functioning person should ask a person, much less a seventeen year old. My personal data and quirks have merrily sailed into data banks of colleges I have no obligation to be selling out to, and even paid them for it.

I heard back and got admit letters and rejection letters (tons. The environment thanks universities for having the sense not to print rejection letters on paper. Phew, fireplaces are not even violent.)

I’ve even attended meet-and-greets with other university admits.
But nothing, and I mean nothing, makes the idea of going to college a distinct reality like trying to find a roommate does.
Or more accurately, providing a self-profile and being matched with a roommate.

They say, provide information about yourself, interests, passions, other things that you may be looking for when searching for a roommate.

Isn’t that exactly how Tinder functions?

To make it more sinister if possible, neither me nor my Mystery Future Match get to swipe in either direction. Faceless shadows behind administrative desks will do that for us. Now that’s a swipe in the face.

I’ve done this, what, fifteen times already, and I’m still procrastinating describing myself. It’s hard stuff. Makes me want to run away and hide. I wonder if that’s a valid description? “Having to describe myself makes me want to run away and hide. Looking for a roommate who doesn’t mind me bringing along a broom closet to hide in.”
Maybe I should stick with “Not a morning person. Bear with black curtains. Drawn close.” Or go with the very considerate warning: “I might just blog about you.”

Yikes. Maybe no one should want to room with me.

At least I have some time to think about this.

And I’m thinking.

I’m thinking, is Tinder for asexuals a thing?

While I’m thinking, I’m drawing dragons. I’ve graduated beyond researching them.

image
This draft oughta amuse you.

Celery For Thought

Supermarkets are hell. Grocery shopping is hell. Grocery shopping in a place where you aren’t limited in choice to just groceries and can in fact buy anything from celery to stationery, medicines to washing machines and god alone knows what more, is hell. I’d have wondered why, if vegetables were more of a nightmare than they’d originally been slated to be, people didn’t just stick to eating ice cream.
But then again, in a supermarket of such stature, you probably get your ice cream shopping done too.

It’s the sort of place where you come out with a shopping bill that looks more like a scroll transcription of an ancient epic.
And whatever the discounts may make it sound like, you’re not going to come out feeling any richer for sure.

Mum decided that as an Eighteen Year-Old Adult, I ought to join the happy family tradition of Sunday morning grocery shopping.
As if I’ve never had to do this before.

Alright then, let’s pretend I’ve made new revelations

It is quite hell.
I can only imagine what sort of an adult I would make. I’d detest the obligatory weekly necessity and curse my human need to eat. Or something like that.

I’d be that person with noise cancelling headphones and a ton of experimental music in my ears, carefully analyzing pieces I haven’t had the chance to in the weekly rush of a [insert weird job title]’s life, carelessly striking items off my list and then getting home to realise, “I forgot to shop for toilet roll… again!”

No, I think people might want to pay me not to be an adult.

But anyway, if I had any use at all in today’s opera, it was that of the trolley. And pacifying mum. Both of which turned out to be the same.
If I had a stereotypical girlfriend, I’d be expected to lug shopping bags around, a scene anyone can identify.
Now replace the shopping bags with chillies and potatoes, and a mum grumbling about how dad wouldn’t allow a second trolley. (After all, what am I for?)

No, putting myself to a little more use than just that, I did shop for ice cream.

But I really am a multi-purpose instrument that deserves to be advertised on the shopping mart bill board. And that’s because I had another task to carry out.

Babysitting. Trolleysitting!
And yes, they’re the same. When you’ve spent an hour at the mart, painstakingly remembering and collecting every item needed to complete this clueless treasure hunt, braving failure every step of the way, that trolley does indeed become precious as your baby. Or at least, what’s inside it does.
A short note about these failures: I’ve taken five trips up and down the store to relay from dad to mum the fact that the vegetables she’d picked out were ‘just not right’.
The second last time I got there, I handed mum the offending packet and told her, “Try again.”
The last I got there, I simply handed her a brand new report card: “F.”

Trolleysitting. When people eye so much candy on shelves, there needs to be a solid anchor to watch over your past efforts. No one said it had to be voluntary, even when the volunteer would rather be leagues away!
My grandparents were here with us today, so I had to babysit their shopping cart. Oh well, with trolleys around, absolutely nothing can be frictionless. (In narrow isles, navigating an overfilled shopping cart with maddeningly screeching wheels is an art. Avoiding the squeaky cart is more luck than an art, because almost no cart is perfect, but it seems today was my day. Ironic, given I had to go at all. But the friction today was elsewhere.)

They momentarily left me to mind the cart as they stood in line for the checkout. The minute they were gone though, all hell broke lose.

A few nods and a glance up later, I realised that they were standing in the senior citizens’ line!

Many people complain about not looking their age, and no way in hell could I ever have fit the board hanging above my head: “Sixty years and above only”. I also think I’ve been overusing the word hell today.

At any rate, my first reaction was panic mixed with a mad, fleeting moment of Inposter syndrome, and then an explanation of how I was trolleysitting. No charge per hour too.

The rest of my time there was spent bumping into (and getting squeezed by, into corners, like no one under the Jacobin government had any business to) other people who’d lucked out with rebel trolleys while typing this post out and occasionally getting that self righteous look from others in the senior citizen queue that said, “this infernal texting generation!”.

But I guess there’s one thing my “adult” self will thank mum for getting me here for: next time, we bring along Paganini.

[Edits: the ongoing civil war against Autocorrect’s subversion of my opinions.]

Up In Smoke

There was an idea, a seemingly foolproof plan, that had lurked in my head for a while. During the last few months of school, I’d been thinking of trying to study in the hours that no one was around to disturb me– early morning and late at night. At least so far, there’s no construction at 3 AM!
The only reason my foolproof plan kept failing was that I couldn’t sleep in the day.

Regardless though, I’d been taking to the night. Four years ago, I couldn’t have possibly stayed up past one. But I think, when I look back on my high school years, I may just associate 2 AM with thermodynamics. Go figure.
Unless I am super distracted, in which case I give up at 2 and go to sleep, at least the studying at night part of the plan still doesn’t fail me. (One minute… I’ve done nearly zero studying since school ended, this statement has no evidence backing it up.)

But as always, there’s an exception to the rule, and I’m not even talking chemistry.
Mum sometimes checks up on me if she momentarily wakes up at night. Sometimes she gets me a water bottle or yells at me to go to sleep (“it’s already 3 AM!”) or comes with the dreaded question: “Did you/Will you have your milk?”
This one particular night though, she decided, after checking up on me, to make something to eat, possibly for my sister’s tiffin the next morning.
She wouldn’t tell me. Maybe it was one of the protein powders she’s trying out on my sister. I’d know if I heard her scream the next day.
I was sitting with some chemistry, only half awake. I’m scribbling down reactions of burning salts, high ignition temperatures and product gases when I smell smoke.
I realise it’s probably too late in the night. So I glance at the clock for permission to leave, and it laughs back in my face.
It’s only 12:30 AM. What?
So I get up and go outside to grab a bottle of water.

There’s actually smoke, I can’t hallucinate a smell and cough! I frown.
My turn to check up on mum.
Mum says, don’t open the kitchen door.
I say, someone outside’s burning something?
Mum says, I was cooking…
I realise something.
You burned something? I ask.
“If you need a water bottle, take it from outside.”
“What were you cooking?” I ask.
Mum doesn’t answer that.
“I thought it was late, I’ll do it tomorrow.”
“But what could you possibly have burnt this late at night?” But she won’t say.
I begin to laugh. This could end up worse than mystery meat! In that moment, I forgive my sister for everything.
Smoke on the water
A fire in the sky

Man, mum makes it possible!

The laughing soon turned to coughing though, and I had to open every window in the house. Diffusion of gases. Middle school chemistry.

I did eventually return to my (new and improved) high school chemistry, only to find that it was 1 AM. Half an hour? My foolproof plan nosedived out the window.
I remember sitting down with a sigh, thinking, ‘spoke too soon’.

The Next Day…
The Burnt Magic Potion had revealed itself.
It was a mixture, just as I’d suspected. Like mystery meat though, I don’t know what it is. I can’t know the ingredients, that’s just the way it is. Of course, I only came to know from the scream.

As I sat with a chemistry text book, I heard coughs and screams. By the time I rushed out to see who needed a paramedic though, no one was there. My sister, the lab rat, was in the bathroom, possibly puking. What she’d left behind was a sight to behold.

It looked like a scene straight out of Trainspotting.
There was disarray at the table, some spilt liquid (water), overturned glasses, oh, and powder. A lot of powder, sprinkled over the table like someone had recently had a hurried session. All I needed to do to complete the scene was draw the curtains and darken the room.
I didn’t stick around and sniff though, but headed back to my chemistry books. [Fun fact for geeks and junkies: this chemistry text book of mine almost teaches you how to prepare herion, codeine and morphine. Almost. I know the structures. It’s under a section called “Everyday-life Chemistry. Come talk to me. 😉 ]
I did later hear something about puking up breakfast. The Magic Potion’s done it’s job, I’d say!

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!

Dukin’ It Out–Or Not.

Nope, there was another test today, but that’s not what this one’s about.

(To be fair, it’s not chemistry. You’d get bored!)

What this is about is the fact that I’ve had a great day.

See, I’ve been doing this college apps thing for about three months now, maybe four. And it’s a long, lonely process.
It’s all about you. Every college essay can have more or less two stars, you and the college, unless you’re writing it about someone else. Solo.
Add to that the fact that we’ve got exams going on right now. You just go to school, write a paper and come home to study in solitude for another day (or two, if you’re lucky).

So yep, it can get pretty solo. And with a million different things going on there, you might feel like you need to talk about it every once in a while.

The trouble is, days I’m at home, the only people I have to talk to are my folks. And in their opinion, I talk a lot. If I were to quote them on that, I’d have written that in bold, caps. (Alternately, I’ve been through their cycles of “You’re too quiet, you just don’t open your mouth.” There is no in-between.)

Well, I’ll agree with them on this one thing, I can go on for half an hour, and I wouldn’t have finished talking about one facet of whatever I am talking about. To be fair to me, I don’t write college essays every day! So in favour of my grades they’ve often told me to pick up that chemistry textbook and shut up for goodness’ sake. I guess it saves that one hour between 3 and 4 in the morning that I may have been tumbling around with a textbook in hand in.

Still, it gets weird not to be able to discuss a weird idea you’ve had, or something you’d want to laugh about, because I’m pretty sure if someone collected and published the first ideas/drafts people got for their application essays, it would be a bestseller in the comedy/facepalm section, only behind my surveys. (Which aren’t selling anytime soon… but are still hilarious! You can check out the craziness here, and I’ll just use this space to say that I’ll compile another one soon after my tests are done. I’ve got nearly two months’ worth of answers in that notebook, so I’m far from done yet!)

It also doesn’t help that when I am in school, there really aren’t all that many people I can talk about writing essays to without me… doing the half-hour stream of rubbish thing.

But today, I met up with one of my buddies who too is writing college essays, and we had a pretty long chat about essays. Probably filled my half-hour quota! (She’s probably reading this too, so hi!) Which is pretty much why it was a great day. It’s reason enough, if you ask me.

If any of you out there reading this are going through your essay drafts for the seventeenth time, why not hit me an email, it’d be awesome to talk!
In other news, I was standing in the balcony today when I saw this person walking down the road playing a guitar. I couldn’t tell if it was a guy or a girl, cropped black hair with the front half dyed gold. I could only think, that could totally have been me. I’ve done that. Walked down the road with a guitar slung round my neck. And also have disrupted an entire cafeteria because I was sitting there and playing my guitar. They didn’t throw me out, but no coffee either. (Fear not, though, it was acoustic! The guitar, not the nonexistent coffee.)

So yep, that’s about it for now. I’m functioning on four hours of sleep (that being from 4:20 am to 8:20, no less) so do ignore any errors!
… just realised that I can’t say that to the colleges whose essays I’m going to write after this.
But if anything weird happens on my app, you’ll hear from me again!

… Who knew college essays were a veritable gold mine?

Chemocalypse

Have I reached Ground Zero?

Every time I say the words “I mean”, I hear “amine”.
Now, it’s one thing to mishear someone else talking. But when something that I’ve said sounds like something completely else to my own ears, I believe alarm bells go off.

The weird fact is that I am currently studying physics (and writing essays, but that’s English. And blogging… and I don’t know what that ought to be categorised as at this critical point in time.)

The only correlation I can find is the electrons. So I’m a nitro-powered highly charged mess.

Know what amine?

 

 

[Note: If you’ve been reading here for a while, my new ‘short’ posts might come as a bit of a surprise. Wasn’t I the one who kept rambling on and on? Well see, it’s the chemistry. It’s most compelling, in the electronegative sense. It has ulterior electro-motives. And I must surrender to its (-)I effect  will.

Once this nucleophilic tango reaches its crescendo and dies, I’ll be back and up to ds/dt (… apologies, I meant speed. Either my brain’s not working, or it’s overworking).

Till then, it’ll most likely be short rants. Or maybe a legit post?

As always, my excuse is that I’m underground. Something good ought to come out of this!]

I’m Underground

That’s my excuse for not having blogged in a while.

Allow me to quickly update by bio, I’m a bit of a freelance agent, and I’m on a job right now.
And the job’s kept me under ground level, and far from a wi-fi signal.
If you’re reading this, I probably got very lucky one day and caught an open wi-fi!

The job has me sitting in a hidden, underground cabin, doing some intelligence work.
I’m sifting through data ranging over fifty years, learning all I can, compiling it into reports marked for certain eyes only.
I don’t know how all this will help any of you anytime soon, but I’m told it will.
Alright, let’s go with that.

It does get long and lonely at times, and all I have to keep me company is a small potted cactus and plenty of paper.
I’ve definitely used some of it to write stuff other than my work… there may be more material in tow here!
– Me wasting time when I haven’t any.

But anyway, Headquarters estimates that with good efficiency, I shouldn’t be in here longer than a week.

And when I’m back, you may end up being better informed about where all your vanishing spray actually vanishes too.
Or you may not.

My mother had once (or maybe fifty times) said, hard work never goes a waste.

To infinity and beyond!
Till I resurface, face front!

 

… Alright, I’ve got exams going on this week.
Designers across the world are “editing” occupation titles to make them seem livelier.
Engineers are now imagineers. Anything that sounds better than your dull ol’ truth.
I like the ‘intelligence officer’ angle more. Do you?

Reel Saturated

Aargh, why do I feel these days like movie scripts are a waste of actors, and half the time actors are a waste of scripts?
Have the scriptwriters lost their own attention spans? Are they writing a few punchlines and getting a sixth grader to fill in the rest of the pages?
Half the punchlines, I see the pleading faces of an embarrassed actor on screen: please do laugh when you hear this!
Some seem bored, some are boring, and why is it that the one day I ditch my nonexistent schedule for a movie it must be such a bore?
Yes, I did go for a movie, and I carried a backup with me that did end up saving me a few hours of cringing: my phone, with noise blocking earphones I scored off my mother. (Mine don’t block out noise.)
Well if you asked me if it was worth my time, I’d say it was, because I caught the decent parts of a movie and watched 2 episodes of Arrow!
Now that’s a few hours well spent, I feel proud.

On a related note, if you’ve spent too long around physics textbooks, I think sometimes, it can screw up your movie-watching experience. (Quite literally)
I sat in the hall with muffled sounds in my ears, I could hear when I wanted to, and I heard a bit of dialogue at a point. Seemed interesting, I paused my episode.
There was someone named Helix getting beaten up by the hero.
I’m thinking, oh, how interesting, there’s a guy named Helix. Never seen that before. I’m not even sitting for a sci-fi movie where a bad guy ‘screws’ everyone over, what’s the deal?
Right on cue, Helix tumbles down a staircase rolling, might I mention, in helical motion.
Ah, that must be why a self-proclaimed comedy film has a baddie who spirals down staircases, named Helix.

Fast forward two hours, I realised his name was really Alex all the while.
Boy, am I saturated with physics.