#26 - 5 out of 8

Pinch punch, first of the month, and no returns.

A month has gone by since I'd set myself some good old resolutions.
Let's see how well I've done.

1. Do some exercise. ü
Haha. Um. Actually, I've been out jogging once a week every Sunday, for what seems like forty minutes. I look at my watch and to my disappointment, it's only twenty.
Even though this won't get me any fitter than before, it makes me feel like I'm doing something.

2. Eat less. û

... If anything, I seem to be eating more. I love food. I just... I just... can't get away from it.

3. Work more. û

No, this hasn't happened.

4. Get a job. û

Um... So far, no... Unless... Unless I start monetising, whatever that is.

Hmm. 

5. Don't be a hermit. ü

Right. Well, this is subjective. I have spoken to humans. Does that count?

6. Stop smoking. ü

Yeah, shut up, this makes me feel better.

Oh crud. If I'd never started smoking, that means I never could have stopped either...

7. Stop making stupid jokes. û

An example of a stupid joke I made:

*End of class. I jump up*

(While dancing) 'Are you ready?... Are your ready for lunch? Yes I am, oh yeah!'

Elton John is the beast, man.

8. Sleep more. û

I'll sleep when I'm dead.

Yes, the more attentive amongst you will have realised I've only kept three out of the eight resolutions I'd made. The title was, of course, the number of resolutions I'd broken... It's just embarrassing, you know? Three out of eight...

OK, honestly? Honestly, I didn't try very hard, partly because I'm just naturally lazy, and partly because I'd forgotten about these resolutions about thirty minutes after I'd made them.

There's always next year, 2012.

Oh, wait.
Isn't that Apocalypse?! Ah, well. It sounds fun. I'd forgotten to put that down on my calendar.
I wasn't looking forward to the London Olympics anyway.

This year is going to be awesome.
Why is it going to be awesome, Ali? I hear you ask.
Well, firstly, I'm going to finish school forever. No more school for all eternity.
Secondly, the new Strokes album will be out on the 22nd March, which, incidentally, is my junior school teacher's and my teddy bear's birthday. I finished knitting my teddy bear in Year 3 on her birthday, so I named it after her. Their names are Mary.

I digress.

Anyhoo. I have a whole heartful of love for Julian Casablancas. His voice is just so awesome.
The new album was meant to come out early last year, but of course, that didn't happen. I'm so geared up for this. It's called 'Angles'. (The first time I heard about the album, it was from an Xfm DJ, who said it was called 'Angels', which I'd thought was more a Robbie Williams-sounding album name. I ran around telling everyone it was called 'Angels'.)

Here's a drawing of a dead angel that I drew ages ago:

3rd Doodle

My Year 11 mind was a little morbid. Here's a picture of a chubby little angel to cheer you up:

4th Doodle. Yeah boi.

Why is it a compliment if someone calls you an angel?
Surely it means that you look dead or something.

Doodle No.2

So... Has this ever happened to you?

2nd Doodle: Me: Oh my God! Oh sorry, I didn't - I - I'll shut the door...
*Closes door and mutters* Lock it next time!

Ali's second tip of the day:
Lock the bathroom door.


Alright, goodnight my dears.

#25 - Snot so nice

See what I did there, eh?

The other day I sneezed something like twelve times in one minute.
I got really angry because sneezing is really tiring, so one minute I was fine, and the next, I was quite literally exhausted. And my abdominal muscles hurt. Who knew sneezing was such a good work out?

1st Doodle: A boy sneezing.

I feel illness approaching. I tried kicking it in the shins and spitting in its face, but it didn't seem to mind.
If I muster up enough will power, perhaps I could just will the illness away. Maybe I could make myself immune if I thought about it hard enough.

Why do we close our eyes when we sneeze? When I was little, I was told my eyes would fall out if I sneezed with my eyes open. I didn't know the reason, so I've done a little research for you.
Disappointingly, there is no reason why we sneeze with our eyes closed. It's just a natural reflex, just as if you tap a particular spot on your knee, your leg will jerk. (I find that most entertaining...)

The Ancient Greeks thought that every time you sneezed, you lost some of your brain matter. Despite this misguided belief, they were still as clever as hell.

Some random facts about sneezing*:
1) You sneeze when an irritant comes into contact with the lining of your nose, which causes the nerves to send a message to the medulla, the lower part of your brain, making the muscles in your chest expand and the muscles at the back of your throat and vocal chords contract. The stomach muscles and chest muscles do the same, and the sneeze is expelled through your mouth.
See how many muscles you use to sneeze? No wonder why I get so tired.
2) When you sneeze, you shoot out 2,000 - 5,000 droplets of mucus and air, that propel away from the body at between 70 and 100 miles an hour (112.6 and 160 kph).
3) The spray from your sneeze can reach up to 5 feet (152.4cm).

So I thought I'd share some pen/pencil drawings with you from time to time. I sometimes draw in my diary or doodle in my homework diary, so you might see more of them soon. Maybe.

Um, yeah. Have a nice day.

Oh, I almost forgot -

Ali's Tip of the Day:
If you're feeling the need to sneeze, and you're having trouble, look at the light.
You're welcome.



________________________________________________________________
*from Discovery Health

#24 - Weight-lifting with my eyes

The title sounds rather gruesome. It's not, don't worry. I don't even think it's possible to actually lift dumbells with your eyes anyway. Maybe some Guinness World Record Holder has done it, but remember, they're probably insane.

I'm sure you've experienced this before.
It'll strike you when you least expect it.

You'll be in a lesson or a lecture, bright and eager to learn about new things.

9.09am
You enter, a ball of energy, speed to the front of the classroom/hall and grab a seat. You whip out some paper and a pen, and grin madly as your enthusiasm bubbles up inside of you.

Fine, maybe not, but basically, you're awake and alert and ready to take on this beast of a lesson.

9.10am
The teacher enters, and the lesson begins.

You're fine, you can do this. Just an hour and ten minutes until break.

9.11am
You've made it through a minute. One hour and nine minutes till break.

The teacher writes on the board and speaks. You listen to every word and duly take note.

You begin to doodle, because it's fun.
Oh snap, you've missed an important point that the teacher just said. Copy neighbour's notes. Neighbour snarls but lets you copy, albeit reluctantly.

Gradually, and quite inexplicably, the words that flow out of the teacher's mouth start to merge into one long monotonous drone that becomes softer and softer. You stop listening altogether and look out of the window. Ooh look, clouds.

9.45am
In the middle of this lesson, you begin to notice that your eyes are losing the ability to focus correctly and that your eyelids are getting heavier and heavier... You stifle a yawn and your eyes water. The sensitive, caring girl in the class looks at you worriedly, as if she thinks you're crying. You shoot her a look to say, get lost, bitch, I'm tough.
The room is stuffy; maybe the teacher has switched on the projector to show an explanatory clip of some sort and the lights are off... It's dark and warm and the cushioned chairs are oh-so comfortable... You lay your head in the crook of your elbow, and your eyes begin to close...

Then with a jolt, you spring up.

'No!' You tell yourself, 'I mustn't fall asleep!'

You hope that no one noticed your spasmodic jerk.

It is quite literally a Herculean effort to open your eyes; every time you blink, you struggle to open them again.

And so you begin to think of things that'll make you stay awake. You dig your nails into your hands so that the pain keeps you from being snug. You shift about everytime you start to feel sleepy. You cross/uncross your legs multiple times, scratch your nose, pull at hangnails, clear your throat, anything, just so long as you're occupied in doing something that isn't so distracting that the teacher will notice, but distracting enough for yourself so you don't doze off.

However, this can earn you disapproving looks from your fellow classmates.

So you resort to thoughts and plans for the future. Perhaps you make up stories in your head, like the one about the man-eating turnip that invaded London and devoured the population and only you, the superhero, could save mankind's destruction. Or the one about the boy who you walk past every morning at 7.45 and how you would one day stop and have babies a conversation with him.
Any thought or story at all, anything interesting that will save you from visiting the beckoning realm of sleep.

Apocalypse! Turnips!

You look at the clock and it's only 9.47am.

#24 - Go unicorn yourself

Uh... Right. Well, it has come to my attention the number of words I use that don’t actually mean anything.
I mean, like, for example, already, within these two sentences, there have been numerous occasions in which I could have done without some words, you know?
To show this, I have very helpfully put them in purple.

Um. So. Yeah.

In fact, I could have a whole conversation with a friend, in which nothing remotely interesting is said:

Me:      Hey.
Friend: Hi.
Me:      How are you?
Friend: Good. You?
Me:      Good.
Friend: Cool.
Me:      Cool.
Friend: So.
Me:      Yeah.
Friend: Um.
Me:      Right.
Friend: Well.
Me:      You know that thing…
Friend: Oh yeah.
Me:      With the thing?
Friend: Yeah.
Me:      It’s so cool.
Friend: Yeah.
Me:      Cool.
Friend: Cool.

It’s not just in conversations that meaningless words are used, I even write awkwardly.

As in all those ‘um’s and ‘so’s and ‘yeah’s… and all the countless ellipses that I use...

I know what you're thinking:
"Stupid girl, why doesn't she just delete those awkward bits?"

And my answer would be... well… ahem. Let's replace some words with the word 'unicorn', in which case my answer would be:
"Well, unicorn, I write as I speak, so shove it up your unicornhole and unicorning deal with it, you son of a unicorn*."

In that case, I would have contradicted myself there by having written unicorn so many times, which is not my usual swear word of choice, therefore I do not write as I speak... Ah well. Deal with it.

Kevin, the manly unicorn.

*An alternative version, for the more innocent among you:
"Well, my dear, I write as I speak, so shove it up your pothole and kindly deal with it, you son of a lady."

And of course, the title isn't rude. "Go help yourself."
[Woah, that took me an insanely long time to find a reflexive verb that wasn't weird (examples included: hit, clean, kill... love...)]
"Go help yourself", as in "Go help yourself to some more cake, my dear".

Go unicorn yourself to some cake.

#23 - A short ditty.

I think I'll write a nice short ditty,
That is meant to be quite witty,
Alas, dear reader, I have no wit -
My poetry is kinda sh*t.
I waste your time as well as mine.
To rhyme with that I have this line.
I've written this in two minutes flat
Bet you can't beat me on that.


One of these days, I'm gonna write such an epic poem it'll blow your mind.
Just you wait.

Here is a picture of a giraffe, for no apparent reason:

I shall call him Hubert.

#22 - Supermice

If I had girl triplets, I'd call them all Elizabeth.

Oh, there is logic for calling all three of my hypothetical triplets Elizabeth. They'd have three different nicknames: Elle, Lizzie and Beth, or something like that to distinguish them. To call them down for dinner, all I'd have to do is shout 'Elizabeth!' and they'd all come running down. What a time saver.

Lord Professor Robert Winston came to our school to talk to us about Reproductive Biology. It was absolutely fascinating, and left me wishing I'd become some scientist person. But that's a bit too late.
Damnit, what can I do with French and Russian?! I can't save the world with that...

He talked about modifying genes and the possibility of creating a superhuman. There's this gene called the PEPCK gene, which they inserted into some mice embryos. They became supermice. No joke. Here's a clip of Supermouse vs. Normal Mouse on treadmills. It's woah.

The PEPCK mouse (or Supermouse)

• Could run for 6km at a speed of 20m per minute for six hours without stopping
• Could reproduce at the age of 2.5 years (mice usually stop being able to reproduce after the age of one)
• Could live longer than the average mouse
• Could eat and eat without getting fat (I wish I had this gene...)

Supermouse!

Anyway, the point is, is that it could be possible in the future to create so-called 'superhumans', but of course, there are ethical implications that follow such a course of action...
If these superhumans were to exist, where would that leave us mere humans?

Robert Winston is pretty damn awesome. Plus he has a great moustache.

Another thought that struck me, which isn't really related to all this, was the idea of chance.
So you and I were made because the fastest sperm penetrated an egg. All the millions of other little fellows lost out on the chance to fuse with the egg. If it had been any other one sperm that got to the egg, you wouldn't have existed at all, and some other person would be where you are now.

I remember my mum talking about a miscarriage she'd had. I was nearly two when my parents thought they'd give me a companion. I don't know what the cause of it was, but if it hadn't happened, I would have had another sibling. Maybe Doug wouldn't have existed. Aha...

#21 - Free money!

Yes, FREE MONEY!

Now that I have your attention, I'd like to talk about something entirely different altogether.

LOLROFLLMFAOJK... Rowling...

No, I am actually going to talk about free money, and how YOU, yes, you, sitting there, reading this very post, can get your hands on some of that stuff.

I'm not even joking, it's the easiest sheet that ever existed.

... Only you don't get much of it. And it's not money, it's vouchers. Plus it takes an age.

So I came home today, and found an envelope, inside of which was a voucher!
I'm not going to say how much the voucher was worth. It's too embarrassing.

OK, fine. It was worth a measly pound. 100 little pennies. A quid. A squid. A lula. (Squid = a lula in Portuguese, I just learnt today.)

Anyway. If you go onto YouGov and do their surveys, you earn points (50 points per survey). Once you've earned 5000 points, you get a £50 voucher!
So that'll take 100 surveys... Plus, surveys come every few weeks... so... ah, whatever.
Free money!

It takes kind of nearly forever though...
I've been on since October 2010, and I've only earned 300 points... This is long.

Here's the site anyway, for, uh, vouchers, that uh, take forever to earn:
http://my.yougov.com/

There is almost kind of no point.

#20 - Conversations with my brother

Good day to you out there.

My brother was an accident. That's why my parents love me more than him.
Don't tell him, though.

Anyway, as I see his ugly face everyday, I kinda have to talk to him.

Here is a typical conversation with my brother Doug:

*Doug lets off some air*

*Ali hits Doug*

Doug: Ow! B*tch!
Me:    You're disgusting.
Doug: You are.
Me:    No, you are.
Doug: No, you are.
Me:    No, you are.
Doug: No, you are.
Me:    No, you are.
Doug: No, you are.
Me:    No, you are.

*Pause*

Doug: (whispers) No, you are.
Me:    I HEARD THAT!

*Fight ensues*

...Yeah, you get the picture. If it's not that, it'll be the classic 'I know you are, but what am I?' comeback.
OK, I'll admit, I'm not proud of this. It takes all my willpower not to answer back, even though it's the mature thing to do.

[Oh my God, I'm going to be 18 soon.]

Other times we both just rant our heads off at the same time:

Doug: OhmyGodyou'resoannoyingstopitIhateyouyoustupidb*tchjustgetlostnoonelikesyouanywayyoudouchejuststopgoingonaboutitaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrghhhhhhhhhhhh!
Me:    Whatthehellwhyareyoueventalkingjustshutthehellupyou'resodisgustingyouidiotnooneevencareswhatyousaydumbassIcan'tbelieveI'mrelatedtosucharetardjustshutupalreadyYOUWEREANACCIDENT.

...

Doug: WUT.

...

Me:    Oh ****.







And slightly off-topic, but while we're talking about Doug: a while back, when he was still a wee child, I managed to convince him he was born a girl.

Me:    ... And so they sewed someone else's on you.
Doug: Psht, obviously not.
Me:    ...Well why do you think you've got nipples then?

...

Doug: *Looks down his top* OHMYGOD.

#19 - The Earl of Sandwich

Hey there, beautiful. Yeah, you.
I'm just kidding. Don't flatter yourself, I can't even see your face.

Anyway.
I had a really random thought.
Do you call your left hand your left hand and your right one your right because of their shape or their position?
Say you were born with two left hands, one of them would still be your right hand, simply because it's on the right. But technically your right hand would be your left hand because it's shaped like what your left hand's supposed to be like.
OR your right left hand could have a thumb that looked like a pinky and a pinky that looked like a thumb etc.

I'm confusing myself. What a stupid thought. This couldn't ever happen anyway.

Anyway.
The word 'sandwich' is a funny word.
I don't know whether to pronounce the 'ch' bit like 'ch' (as in 'beach') or 'ge' (as in 'judge').

I'm sure you all know already, but the word sandwich was invented by the Earl of Sandwich in the 18th century. He ordered some meat tucked between two pieces of bread because he didn't want to get his hands dirty while playing cards.
Oh, he didn't invent the sandwich though. God knows what they called it before the Earl of Sandwich came along.

Egmatowich

I made the most disgusting egg and tomato sandwich yesterday and I ate it all.
I put some scrambled eggs on some toast, some tomatoes on top of that, and slapped another piece of toast on top and called it a sandwich.
'Hey, you're a sandwich,' I said to it.
Oh dear.
My comedic levels are dropping. I mean, they were low to begin with, but that, that joke right there, was far below standard.
The egg and tomato made the toast soggy. I don't think I'll be able to survive without someone to cook for me.

#18 - Sean

I don't actually remember Sean. I only know him through photographs and my mother's stories-about-when-I-was-young.

I was three. He was also three. We met in nursery and it was love at first sight.
We were inseparable, because we believed we were in love.
We held hands all the time - even when we went to the loo.
(I don't remember this myself - my mum recounted this to me.)
We would invite each other over for play dates.
Apparently I was very bossy. We watched The Lion King together and played with my toy ponies together, because that was what I wanted to do. He was the perfect boyfriend, because he always listened to me and did everything I said.
We both liked dinosaurs very much.

Then one day, his parents announced that they were all moving to America.
I can't remember whether or not that upset me, but I wouldn't put it past myself to have just been indifferent over that.

So he moved away, and the next time I saw him, we were about six or seven, the awkward age where girls are like: 'Ew, boys!' and boys are like 'Ew, girls!'
His family came to London to visit.
He'd gotten a little fatter. I gave him a present (a dinosaur sticker book).
We went to the Rainforest Café with our families, and his mother bought me a plush frog.
I didn't talk to him. I talked to his older sister, Christine, because she was cool and knew how to skip.

They left, and I've never seen them since.

It would be really cheesy to end on a paragraph where I wonder what he's like now, whether he's fat or fit, whether he's as perfect a boyfriend as he was fourteen years ago, so I'm not going to.
Although I kind of just have.

Instead, I'll talk about something slightly unrelated but still kind of related.

I'm an assistant to a Year 3 class, where all the kids are about seven or eight.
It shocked me when I realised that when these kids are my age, I'll be 27.

Yeah, I know.
I feel so old now.

Anyway, they're adorable, and they're always so happy.
I'm not going to lie, I have my favourites.
But already, even at such a tender young age, you can tell who's going to be a complete bitch when they're older.

#17 - My complex

My spider senses are tingling. I sense this may be a serious-ish post. Maybe. Meh, we'll see how it goes.

Ever since I was little, I've had this weird psychological thing.
I don't know how to explain it, but I always feel guilty. I'll demonstrate this by an incident that happened when I was about eight.

I was in class one morning, and the teacher announced that someone's pencilcase had been stolen. Everyone gasped and started whispering. I gasped in my head, but not aloud.
The teacher shushed us, and we fell silent.
She then scrutinized us, eyes screwed up, pacing about the classroom.
I immediately felt guilty; I remember thinking that I had to act normal so that no one would suspect it was me, even though it wasn't. So I copied the people around me and acted like them.
For about a week, no one discovered who the mysterious thief was. Everyone was whispering and hypothesising. No one trusted each other.

OK, I know, we were eight and it wasn't a big deal.
Oh but it was.
For us.
We were eight.

Anyway. Eventually they found out who it was, and she probably got her punishment; I don't know, I didn't really care.

The point is, even now, I feel guilty for things I haven't done. I'm always aware of how I should act in different circumstances.
The latter point is to do with my social ineptitude, but as for the former, I don't understand.

You know how your parents have really strong influences over your psychological development?
Maybe it's them.
Meh, whatever. No logical explanation has appeared to me, so I'll just blame it on my parents.

#16 - Whales, black holes and takeaways.

Na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na Fatman!
If Fatman was a superhero, he would kill people by sitting on them.

Fatman!

So now that my mother has gone, I'm stuck with my Dad and my brother.
Unfortunately, none of us can cook. The most I can do is sandwiches, and that's not even cooking.
It's been takeaways, microwave meals and McDonald's all the way.

Just a little update to let you know I might die of obesity/starvation, I'm not quite sure which one yet.
Probably obesity, because it seems more fun. Jokes.

This is morbid.

Anyway, coming home from Maccy D's the other day, I remembered the television programme that was on a few days ago about the fattest people in the world. Wait, that's not the name. 'Larger than Life'. That's the one. My friend, Annie, had posted me a link and was like 'Watch it.' So I did.

I pitied them and at the same time, thought they were ridiculous. I felt a bit bad for feeling like that.
I didn't watch all of it, but there was a bit where this humungous lady says: "Ah'm worried thayt if Ah don't stawp puttin' the things in ma mouth lak Ah do, it's gonna kill me." No shit, Sherlock.
These people are termed 'super-morbidly obese'.
And the narrator's like: 'The amount of food they're eating is killing them, but if they quit altogether, they'll die', or something like that.
And there's a shot of afore-mentioned fat lady on a couch on one side of the room, and a plate of cookies on the other side. She looks longingly at them.

Now don't get me wrong, I understand, it's hard when you're as big as a mountain to start doing exercise, but how can you let yourself balloon to such proportions in the first place? That, ladies and gentlemen, I don't understand.
Surely you looked in the mirror at least once before you became bed-ridden, and thought 'Ah, look at that belly, it's growing a bit. Maybe I should go for a jog'. Surely?

So what to do about it? Well, thankfully the world has Ali, who comes up with the most ingenious and practical ideas.
- As global warming continues, the sea level will continually rise, hence more incidences of flooding will occur. We can use fat people as dams.
- Also related to rising sea levels, low-rising areas, such as Bangladesh, or the island Tuvalu, will be in danger of being submerged under water, leading to more climate change refugees. We can use fat people as islands.
- Greenpeace is against whale-hunting. Let's hunt fat people instead.



"Thank God for fat people."

 I'm sorry. This was such an insensitive post. Oh hang on, I have one more solution for fat people:

- When the sun dies and turns into a black hole as Apocalypse comes, thank God for fat people - we can stuff them into the hole.

#15 - Happy Friday!

Happy Friday, everyone!

I'm going to start a karoke thing going on here. Just for you.
(Also for me.)

What I shall do is post a music video, and the lyrics underneath. That way you can watch and sing along.
I'm sure you won't actually, but rest assured, I will.

Let's start with the most played song on my iPod a good, upbeat song, by the one and only, George Michael.

I never thought much of this song, until I watched 'L'Arnacoeur'. That was some film. Ah, Romain Duris, comme il est beau...

Wake Me Up Before You Go Go - Wham!

Jitterbug!
Jitterbug!
Jitterbug!
Jitterbug!

You put the boom-boom into my heart,
You send my soul sky high when your lovin' starts.
Jitterbug into my brain,
Goes bang bang bang till my feet do the same.

But something's bugging me,
Something ain't right.
My best friend told me
What you did last night,

Left me sleeping
In my bed.
I was dreaming,
But I should've been with you instead.

CHORUS
Wake me up before you go go,
Don't leave me hanging on like a yo-yo.
Wake me up before you go go,
I don't wanna miss it when you hit that high.
Wake me up before you go go,
'Cause I'm not planning on going solo.
Wake me up before you go go,
Take me dancing tonight.
I wanna hit that high...

You get the grey skies outta my way,
You make the sun shine brighter than Doris Day.
Turn a bright spark into a flame,
My beats per minute never been the same.

'Cause you're my lady,
I'm your fool.
Makes me crazy
When you act so cruel,

C'mon baby,
Let's not fight.
We'll go dancing
And everything will be alright.

REPEAT CHORUS

Cuddle up baby,
Move in tight.
We'll go dancing tomorrow night.

It's cold out there
But it's warm in bed.
They can dance,
We'll stay home instead.

Four things:

1) As I copied the lyrics from some lyric site, I was horrified by the number of mispelled words and the bad punctuation, so I went through it all and corrected it. I have allowed for artistic licence.

2) I hope I didn't lose any of my street cred because of this. Agh. The damage is done.

3) I hope I didn't lose any of my precious few followers because of this. (I love you. Don't leave me. It's not what it looks like. I was thinking of you the whole time, I promise.)

4) I feel I must justify myself by saying that actually 'The Next Time Around' by Little Joy, is the most played song on my iPod.

#14 - Hell's bells

i.e. car alarms.

There's an orchestra of car alarms going on outside.
One went off, the high-pitched type, and then another went off at a slightly lower pitch, in sync with it and everything. It created a kind of cacophonous harmony.
Ooh, unintentional oxymoron.

In my irritation, I tried to sing along with it, because that's what I'd do if an annoying song comes on the radio, but it proved very difficult singing to a car alarm.
I went to the window to see what the beep was going on, but all I could see were two cars flashing their lights at each other. Like a courtship ritual, if cars did such things.

The noise is driving me insane. It's not my fault that I'm writing weird stuff, blame it on the car alarms.


Damn. It looks like the cars are giving off some weird smell. The lines are meant to convey noise.

Later:
OK, it has stopped.

Now there are angry people shouting at each other.
I can't hear what they're saying, but I imagine that beneath that surface of hate, there is pure, profound love.
You just gotta read between the lines, you see, or have a stupid imagination like I do.

OK, they've stopped too.

Silence once again, and order has been restored.





Stupid bloody car alarms distracting me and wasting my stupid bloody time I couldn't concentrate because of those stupid bloody car alarms and their stupid bloody owners not bothering to switch the stupid bloody car alarms off because they're stupid and bloody and retarded AAAARGH stupid bloody car alarms

#13.1 - Another blog

Hi again.

While I should have been finishing a million essays (school in three days. ALLOW), I decided instead to set up a new blog, in which I have posted all the videos my brother and I created ages ago. I felt they deserved to be seen. Plus I was bored. Standard.

They're stop-motion videos. We used Blu Tack, whiteboards and I recently experimented with paper cut-outs.

Here is a link to the other blog:
http://stop-start-go.blogspot.com/

Here is a link to the channel:
http://www.youtube.com/user/StopStartGo

#13 - Nothing to do with time travelling.

Hello, children of the world.

This post is kind of sort of maybe not really to do with time travelling. Sorry to disappoint you, but the clue was in the title.

Who wants to go to the future? We all are anyway. Just be patient.

I had a thought, while the New Year celebrations were occurring. If you could get to places really quickly, you could have celebrated New Year every hour. I mean, New Year gets to the easternmost point in the world first, i.e. anywhere along the 180th meridian, e.g. Fiji. If you quickly traveled east to say, Sydney, an hour later, it would be New Year all over again. And you could just keep on doing that (if you could find a craft that could travel quickly enough).

Anyway. I'm going to write about fake time travelling, in terms of time zones. Like I said, it's not real time travelling (hence, fake).
So I live in London, in which the Greenwich meridian is located.
Everywhere to the east is hours ahead of us.
Everywhere to the west is hours behind us.

So, say I move to Hong Kong (GMT+8), forever. If I moved there, it would seem like I lost eight hours of my life.
If I moved to New York (GMT-5), forever, I'd have appeared to gain five hours.
I know this isn't true. It's not really gaining or losing hours, it just feels like it.

It's weird that, on the westernmost point of America (Cape Wrangell, Attu Island, Alaska), this is where the last sunset happens, it's still the early hours of the 3rd of January, while at the easternmost point of Russia (Chukotka Autonomous Okrug), it's already the 4th of January.

For those of you who were hoping to get the real deal about time travelling, sorry. If you've got this far, congratulations, I have wasted precious moments of your life that you will never ever get back. Mwahaha.
Here is a consolation paragraph:

I have been to a really interesting lecture about time travelling, only I can't remember how it worked. How useful. It was possible, but (for the moment) only with very minute particles.
I, for one, think it impossible, for a number of reasons. One being the paradoxical nature of time travelling. Let's say I travelled back in time and killed my mum. That would mean I wouldn't have existed in the first place.
Yeah, I know, that was rather brief. In truth, I know nothing about how science works. Sorry. Again.
Here is an interesting link about time travel anyway. It is easy to understand. Here is one that is not, for all you hardcore science enthusiasts.

That was Ali, on fake time travel. Ali, out.