#347: The .gifs cometh!

Yes!
I have finally figured out how to upload animated gifs. This blog just got a dozen times more interesting. :3


For your viewing pleasure [and mine too], here's a loop of one of my favorite moments from Game of Thrones:

#273.15: De boîtes à musique et d'autres choses.

You know how when you come across something you played with when you were younger and haven't seen in a long time, it opens up a chest of repressed childhood memories you had locked away in the darkest recesses of your mind, somewhere?

Today, while clearing the toxic wasteland that is my room, I chanced upon this contraption:

Yes, Instagrammed. I know.

For the clueless, that doohickey in the picture is the musical part of a music box.

I got the music box for my eighth birthday from my uncle. I remember thinking "Sweet Jesus that is the most magical thing I have seen" when my uncle first showed me how to play it. Picture a curly-haired 8 year old kid with a party hat on her head, mouth agape and eyes sparkling with wonder.

The box itself was black, and had red and gold flowers on the lid. There was a key under the box which you had to wind up (music boxes are powered by clockwork), and then if you opened the box you would able to hear the music. Under the lid of the box was a mirror, with a lake and swans painted around the bottom.  There was also a sort of podium in the box, on which a pair of pearly white ballerina figurines stood. When the music played and the box was open, the ballerinas would twirl gracefully round and round the little stage.

Ah, the music.

The box played a chiming rendition of 'Swan Lake', by Tchaikovsky. You might know it from 'Black Swan', or from 'Barbie of Swan Lake'. Or from the original ballet itself. Who knows.

I used to keep paper stars, friendship bands, feathers, badges and other oddities that I treasured, in the music box. And the box itself at the back of the cupboard under all the sweaters. I was very protective of it. [Read: If anybody touched it without my permission, rest assured heads would be rolling.]

And then I broke it, a couple of years down the line. I had already lost the ballerinas, and the mirror had fallen off and shattered. I remember wondering what made the music, so I smashed the box to bits. I received my answer, along with a nasty gash on my palm and a hole in my good shirt.

Serves me right.

I managed to salvage the musical part from the wreckage, thankfully.

So I was pleasantly surprised to find it resting quietly among all the junk in my drawer. I picked it up and wound the key, and as the tune played, nine years' worth of memories came flooding back. In other words, I nostalgia'd. Hard.

;A;

#MCMXCIV: People tell me I'm a quiet person.

Up until recently, I was convinced that not many people were interested in my opinions. I had grown accustomed to the monosyllabic responses I would receive from everyone. I was under the pretext that nobody ever listened to anything I said and thus became the "I have to tell you something, but you probably think it's silly so I don't want to impose my thoughts on you" kind of person. It felt like people were doing me a favor by listening to me.


Hence the quietness.


Depressing, non?

I couldn't be further from the truth.

It turns out I do have a bunch of people who care about me enough to listen to everything (well, almost everything) I have to say, however absurd it might be. And the fact that I do hesitate to tell them just anything might be rubbing them the wrong way. They of all people deserve to know what I think.
I figured this out just now. :facepalm:


Henceforth, when I feel like I need to say something, I'll say it.
Or I'll try, at least.
Ok.


Maiti out!

#1.01*10^5: Today, I got nothing...

...so here's a picture of my dog being handsome as ever. Enjaai.

#1.732: How's that for fried gold?

[Tim, Daisy and Brian have all just watched the original Star Wars trilogy] 

Tim: Brian, did you notice that everything that transpired in those three films - and I *mean* everything - can be attributed to the actions of one very *minor* character? 

Brian: Who? 

Tim: The gunner on the Star Destroyer at the beginning of the first film. 

Brian: How come? 

Tim: [know-it-all] Well. Hmmhmmhmm. Because, if the gunner *had* shot the pod that C-3P0 and R2 were in, they wouldn't have got to Tatooine, they wouldn't have met Luke, Luke wouldn't have met Ben, they wouldn't have met Han and Chewie, they wouldn't have rescued Princess Leia. *None* of it would have happened. 

Spaced is the quintessential geek show if there ever was one.

:cough:TBBT:cough:

Brb. Rewatching.

#40: Closure.

I know I should have written this much earlier. But hell, here goes nothing.

Dear Math,

It's over. We're finished.

To be honest, there was never really anything between us to begin with, was there?

Sure, we've had some good times, but let's be honest: The bad times outweigh the good. Remember linear equations back in 7th grade? That was, by far, my most fun experience with you.

But that's where it ended.
Things have, since, just gone further and further downhill. Finding x is fun sometimes, but I cannot spend my entire life trying to find it. Seriously, how do you manage to keep losing it again and again? And I don't think I'll ever use binomial theorem in my life again. Can't you see how impractical it is for me?
Honestly, I find it quite unbelievable that we could tolerate each other for so long.

I don't know how else to say this, but: You are very complex. Far too complex for an idiot like me. Quite frankly, we ever never meant to be. I can no longer pretend I actually understand you.
I'm sorry Quadratic Equations, Trigonometry, Limits, but this pretense has gone on long enough. You'll find someone else- you'll find a whole lot of someone elses- far better than I could ever be.

All my regards,
Mollika.

Obligatory Journal Post #39: Desperation.

Today, a friend of mine observed that the length of my hair is inversely proportional to the marks I get.

LOLWUT

I am, of course, seriously considering going bald now.

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You know how during a test or an exam, that one annoying song sets up camp in your brain and blares loudly during crucial moments in the test?

Today during the Physics test, S.P.Balasubramaniam singing the "I DON KNOW WAT YOU SAY. I DON KNOW WAT YOU SAY." part in Ek Duje Ke Liye was stuck in a constant loop in my head.

Me: So the rms velocity of an oxygen molecule is so-and-so...

Brain: I DON KNOW WAT YOU SAY. I DON KNOW WAT YOU SAY.

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A couple of classmates tell me that last Monday was the coldest Monday of the decade.

If so, then cool yo.

Youseewhatididthar.jpg

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