Progress.

Blogging - for me at least - is like exercising. Or dieting.
It requires willpower, something I have almost none of. For example, I will update my blog everyday for a while, with full enthu posts about what I bought at the supermarket, or how badly I had to pee but I was locked out of my house. Gradually, the posts become as dull and boring as cornflakes that have been soaking in milk for too long.
And then they just stop.

I haven't blogged in four months. Four long, arduous months. Which sounds great in my head, because it seems like I've been working my ass off with college coursework and practicals that I haven't really found the time to even look up from my copy of Prescott's Microbiology, Eighth Edition. But when I really look back, all I seem to have done is marvel at how symmetrical, how shiny Bryan Cranston's head is in Breaking Bad.
So not much, really. Eh.

#nowplaying.

Well, college is closed now. I have about 20 days of vacation left before the next semester starts, and absolutely nothing to do. The brother has school, so I have the entire house to myself.
No entrances to study for.
I can totally wake up late and go to sleep late.
Eat everything.
Bake a cake, ice it, and then eat that too.
Impromptu Wes Anderson movie marathon.

I imagine this is what living in paradise must feel like.

While I haven't been blogging, SO much has happened. A whole semester has flown by, and I'm still alive.
That is a cause for celebration by itself.

Fresher Flash Flood.

This is a thing. I wrote this thing roughly a month ago. Things have changed a bit since, but these feelings bubble up occasionally.

Evernote FTW.

Updated Jun 20, 2013

I have been attending college for just over a week now. The culture shock isn't as much as I'd expected; the population is as diverse as diverse gets, and everyone has a decent enough demeanor. Nobody bothers or picks on each other, so long as said victim isn't being a huge prick.

It's just as the Internet said it would be.

However, what no amount of askreddit threads and yahoo answers about college could ever prepare me for is the horrible loneliness.

The loneliness that stems from not sharing common interests with almost anybody, leaving you, quite often, with no one to talk to; no one to freak out about things with you. I suppose that's the price you have to pay for possessing such a vast, diverse college student population around yourself.

That, and the dreaded feeling of you being deluged by the fresher flash flood. A sickening amalgam of the despair of drifting apart from the rest of the crowd, and the hopelessness of not being able to do anything about it.

There's so much change. It's almost too much to experience all at once, and at the end of it all, you're all alone. Floundering, gasping for breath in your own little puddle of misery and self-pity.

Abhi mood nahi hain.

Whoa. It's been quite a while since I keyed in blogger.com in the address bar.
Well, it has only been a little over a month, but :insert something here about time flying like an arrow blah blah:

Quite a few things have changed. I would like to write about all of them in vivid detail, but for now let's just leave it at that.

Since my last post on this blog:

• I've gotten out of High School and into College. Which is as hectic as ever, but it has its perks. 
• We've adopted a cat from the animal shelter. It's been with us for over 3 months now, and it still doesn't have a name. Poor old no-name slob.
• I visited the Andaman Islands.

If this wasn't the most unenthusiastic blog post in the history of forever, I'll be a monkey's uncle.

More on everything later.

Talk about vindictiveness.

In Sleeping Beauty, the one fairy that wasn't invited to the ceremony gatecrashed the party and cursed the princess to fall asleep after pricking herself on a spinning wheel and remain asleep, until she received true love's kiss.
Wow.

"If any of my present buddies don't invite me to their weddings and their children's birthday parties, I will curse their first born children."
That sounds so messed up.
The fact that these tales we listen to as children, are in fact wildly inappropriate, not the buddies getting married and having children bit.
Well, to be honest, that sounds pretty messed up too.

And not to plunge myself into the endless circle jerk that is true love, but really? She's been asleep for her entire teenage life in a tower that's surrounded by a practically impenetrable hymen of thorny vines and the like. And the prince has never even seen her. He travels all the way to wake her and suddenly, it's true love.
If you ask me, that's borderline rape.

Meh.

People find solace in the oddest of things.

So there's this goat.



It's a large, white goat with big, droopy ears and eyes that can stare into your soul. The kind of goat I assume other goats would deem :normal:. It remains tied to a "No Free Left Turn" signpost, a few paces from my usual bus stop.

But it's not just some old goat. Not to me it isn't.
It's an all-powerful, all-knowing, bearded Gandalf-esque wizard goat.

I saw this very goat for the first time ever, on my way home from my first day of 11th standard, a fresh chapter in the book of Life and all that poppycock.
I happened to peek out from my auto just as we flitted by it and caught a glimpse of His Capriciousness Mr. Goat-Sama. It was just there, minding its own business, chewing grass. There was nothing particularly striking about it. Goat-Sama was extraordinarily ordinary.
I saw it again the next day. And again the day after that, and again much later. Every time I passed by the signpost, Goat-Sama was there.

This continued for quite a while. I often found myself praying that Goat-Sama's life be spared a while longer. See, there's this butcher shop right across the road from Goat-Sama's usual spot.
Not that he cared. To him it was all about the grass.
Eventually I forgot about Goat-Sama.


So yesterday, when I was returning home from my unofficial last day of 12th standard, having written my last board exam and all, I just happened to peek out of my auto as it passed by the signpost.
Goat-Sama was there.
Goat-Sama had always been there.

I don't know what I'm more happy about. The fact that my exams are all over, or that my prayers actually worked.
In any case, Goat-Sama is aliiiiive.
I feel like I've made a new friend. Goat-Sama is the Djali to my Esmeralda.
I'm not going anywhere near him though. He looks like the kind of goat that might bite your arm off if you were stupid enough to go pat him.

-------------------------------------

Edit: I found this oddly hilarious. I DONT EVEN KNOW WAT:

Then again, it's 2am in the morning and I have been deprived of precious sleep for the whole of this month. I don't even know what I'm saying or writing anymore hGGFVBhfzHKjkbgl

Remedial Chaos Theory.

Remedial Chaos Theory is probably the best episode of Community ever.
In fact, I would argue that it is one of the most glorious moments of television ever.
Maybe I tend to exaggerate things.
But COMMUNITY IS SO FREAKIN' AWESOME OHMYGOOOOD
:Shamelessly plugging new favourite tv show:
Ignore this post. It exists for the sole purpose of there being more Community-related content on my blog. Yay.

ROXAAANE!!

My brother hates Instagram.

That's right. He hates Instagram.

And with good reason too; not just because that's the opinion of the Internet Hivemind, or just to piss me off (I use the Instagram app on my phone like it's nobody's business, taking pictures of ridiculous things.)
And maybe, just maybe, I'm starting to agree with him.
According to him, the only way people can enjoy a good meal at a restaurant anymore is through the cellphone camera. If you haven't taken a picture and Instagrammed it then suddenly your meal isn't worth it anymore. And what is the deal with taking a perfectly clear picture of anything, and then applying a gritty yellow filter to it in order for it to be artsy? It's ridiculous.
And the hashtag rape on all the photos. Ugh.

Sometimes I think he is the only sensible person in this entire household. Heck, I know it.

And the same goes with any of the existing forms of social networking that people use today. Everyone has turned into an all-out, unabashed social media junkie.
Not long ago, a friend of mine admonished me (via text) for not peppering my text messages with enough emoticons. Another time, I got yelled at by another friend (in person) for not 'liking' any of her deep, insightful facebook posts.
These are the things we complain about now.
I suppose every generation has it's 'thing'. The 70s had disco, we have Instagram.

Obligatory Louis CK:

Clearly, times have changed. Not long ago, taking photos was a somewhat meaningful activity. As far as my family goes, we only took the camera out only for birthdays, or when we went on picnics and long trips. And I wasn't allowed anywhere near it, of course. Rolls and rolls of film would be submitted for developing into photos, and out of all of them, only a few would make it into an album.
Now, well, we don't have to lug the chunky Yashica around anymore when we travel, but suddenly the whole sacred ritual of taking photos has become pointless. "Oh, look! A wonderful sunset! I'll take a picture of it with my cellphone, add a fake edit to it so it looks grainy and vintage, and upload it to Instagram." Thing is, millions of people around the world are doing the very same thing, so your meaningful sunset is gone, lost in an endless sea of meaningful sunsets. Not so meaningful now, is it?

To quote from an article I was reading while I wrote this:

"We're drowning in a sea of photos and I think our ability to filter the good from the bad almost disappears. Why else do I see people sharing photos of their dinner every day? There are only so many ways you can to take a photo of sandwich you and a billion other people had for lunch. Would anyone care?

The urge to share things comes from human nature, but the uncurated photos we send out every day make us all less interested in them. Sadly, this applies even to the ones which are worth the time to look at. We feel the need to 'contribute' constantly, so we end up taking hundreds of photos and sharing them on Instagram to fill the void and feel, just for a moment, that we’ve made an impression."

Instagram may be a pointless activity to a lot of people. But 'being pointless' never stopped anyone from doing anything, ever. I will continue to take pictures of ridiculous things. My brother hates Instagram, not me.
But I do recognize that I have a problem, and I'll do my best not to get overwhelmingly obsessed with the whole thing. There are tv shows meant specifically for that purpose.

Hi. I am Snickerdoodle. I am a social media junkie. It has been 4 days since my last tweet and 2 days since my last post on Instagram.

Of Change, and Other Things.

Leaves are falling all around, It's time I was on my way. 
Thanks to you, I'm much obliged for such a pleasant stay.


To me, the whole of last week has been about overwhelming change; about transitioning from one world to another. I even graduated (And I will write a meaningful post about that soon), among many other things.

That's it. I've decided. "Ramble On" is the current theme song to my life. It perfectly describes my sentiments about the whole brouhaha that my mind has been for a while now.

Which brings me to the point of this post. It's 2 am on a Tuesday morning, and while I should be asleep like everyone else, I'm not. I usually make important life decisions around this time. I feel like I should do this right now, lest I end up changing my mind about it later.

As of today, "Fluorescent Adolescent 2.0" is now "Keep Calm and Ramble On."


So it's a small change of name. For a blog, even. Why am I making such a big deal about it?
Thing is, I started this blog sometime back in early 2007. Back then, it was called "The Suckish Life of a 7th Grader", and I used it to rant about school, math, and other people and things. Over the years, it changed to "Fluorescent Adolescent 2.0", and now I'm changing the name again.

It's always been just this one tiny blog. So, in a way, this blog has watched me grow: from a precocious 12-year old ranting about anime and school, to, well, whatever it is that I've turned out to be today. I treat it like a sentient entity. It grows and changes as I grow and change.
In some odd way, this blog is sort of like my Grecian Urn; even though all those rants have long since been deleted (And thank goodness for that), the memories still remain.


So yeah, all that.

For inspirational purposes, here is a picture of a ridiculous otter.

Obligatory Journal Post #01101010

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen...:blah blah:... you look wonderful in your suits and sarees this evening :blahblahetc:.."

I'm willing to bet a good box of orange tic tacs that somebody is going to say that at Valedictory this Saturday.

Which brings me to the point of this blog post: I'm graduating this Saturday!
:Yay, woohoo, tears et al:

Really. No sarcasm and all. Full enthu is coming.
Fourteen years. Fourteen phenomenal, fucking wonderful years I've spent here, and now, I'm finally being kicked out into the big, bad world to tackle whatever shenanigans life throws at me. Full nostalgia trippage is happening.
:sniffle:

As with most things, the preparation for the actual event is more overwhelming than the actual event itself.
All around me everyone is doing their darn best to look amazing for valedictory. I hear talk of crash diets, and starving, among other things.
Me? I'm sitting on my bum watching Desperate Housewives on tv and drinking my weight in mango juice.

Living the dream, folks.

"Don't get sentimental, it always ends up drivel."

You take your usual seat by the window, headphones and all.

The big red bus ambles along the road, and then halts at a traffic signal. You gaze fixedly out the bus window, at the next lane.
Bikes and cars flit endlessly across it.
You spot something hovering above the lane. It's a butterfly.
A big, butterfly; with wings striped a black and bright orange. A Monarch.
Of course, you christen it Madame Butterfly.

Madame Butterfly hovers over the road, dodging the endless volley of vehicles.
She performs an intricate ballet, pirouetting around each bike. Twirl, twirl, flip.
She dances the Danse Macabre as if she's done so all her precious little life.
You smile to yourself. Your heart has formed an unspoken bond with Madame Butterfly already.

Suddenly, Madame Butterfly falters.
She got too carried away.
A misstep.
A stumble.
One
Tiny
Slip-up.

A bike collides with Madame Butterfly, as you watch in horror.
Her wing is broken.
Her spirit, wounded.
She quietly falls to the ground, with the grace of a dead leaf.
Wings twitch, legs are going.
No sooner does she touch the ground, than three vehicles run over her body in quick succession.
Madame Butterfly is dead.
Crushed like a bug in the ground.


The bus starts to move.
Macklemore is playing on your iPod. Otherside.

She never got up, she never got up

We live on the cusp of death thinkin' that it won't be us

It won't be us

It won't be us

It won't be us

A tiny part of you died with Madame Butterfly that day.

Mogadishu.

Backstory: At 1:30am this morning, when the whole world was fast asleep, I was supposed to be studying for a certain literature exam.

And then a friend sent me this picture.

I'll admit I laughed at this way more, and way louder than I should.

HAI SPD.

Weekend Update. Just not as hilarious as SNL.

This past week has been very eventful, to say the least.


Sony stopped manufacturing the PlayStation 2 sometime last week.
A moment of silence, please.
:'Amazing Grace' on bagpipes plays in the background; tears etc.:
The most successful gaming console of all time, the ps2 also has the sole distinction of being the only gaming console that I own. Many summers were spent sitting in front of the TV, armed with my trusty controller, perfecting my backhand and my Kamehameha. It seems as if it was only yesterday that I beat everyone else's ass at Budokai Tenkaichi 3 and Sega Tennis, and failed miserably at God of War and FIFA '11. But, no matter how terrible a gamer I might be, the ps2 shall always hold a special place in my heart.
Thanks for the memories. ;_;

I also decided that I'd had enough of botany for a lifetime and had an impromptu coming-of-age movie marathon, starting with The Breakfast Club and The Graduate, and ending in a big, sobbing mess of tears and feelings. God. See what trying to live out your entire teenage life through movies in a single day does to you?
One of the movies watched that day was 'The Perks of Being a Wallflower', based on the book of the same name. I'd read the book sometime in 11th std. (Yes, 'std.'. Not grade. Yuck. 'Grade' feels so pretentious.)
It was a nice read, and I'll admit it got me through some pretty bad times. It's in the form of letters to an unnamed girl from a boy who calls himself Charlie. The book is about, well, high school, growing up, relationships, friends, the whole shebang.
It references Catcher in the Rye, The Smiths, The Rocky Horror Picture Show, and the scene with them dancing to "Come on Eileen" is hilarious.
You ever get the feeling a movie was custom made just to suit your likes and dislikes? Throughout the movie, I was thinking, "Holy shit. Catcher in the Rye, The Smiths AND The Rocky Horror Picture Show in a single movie. This is actually happening. Woooow."
Besides all that, the movie was quite alright. It's a good adaptation of the book. Full of quotable quotes. I liked it, somewhat better than the book in fact. The characters really came to life in the movie, and Ezra Miller was completely awesome as Patrick.

Okay, I'll go now. Botany is the devil incarnate. I'm pretty sure that in the depths of hell, there exists a hellhound with each of its heads named Holard, Echard and Chresard.


Edit: I made a playlist! Check it or so help me God I'll eat you  :]
Edit #2: 100th post! Woohoo!

:[

Dear whoever's up there:

This new year better be fucking amazing.

Regards,
Snickerdoodle.