La-Étincelle

Be More Chill: sing along to ALL the instrumentals.

The Book of Mormon: passionately yell the lines. Then glance out the window awkwardly to make sure no one’s listening. Then resume passionately yelling. Awkwardly go quiet when you hear people passing your door. Repeat.

Dear Evan Hansen: two modes: either humming the songs peacefully to yourself or jumping to your feet, perfectly executing the “Sincerely, Me” dance and also doing all of Ben Platt’s physical tics and waiting for your Tony.

Falsettos: *singing along happily for hundredth time* *abruptly stops* What does that line even mean

Hamilton: there is literally only one way to do it: singing along to all the parts at once and incorporating all the furniture in the room for maximum effect.

The Last Five Years: have a hundred tabs open with the lyrics. It would be one of the easiest musicals to sing along to alone if there weren’t so many goddamn words.

Les Misérables: reconcile yourself to the fact that it’s physically impossible to sing along to all the parts. You gotta just pick a character to sing with. Which is actually fine, because most Les Mis fans have this one character that’s “their” character. And there’s probably only one character who’s in your range, anyway. I mean, you can try to sing along to all the parts, but prepare to get absolutely slaughtered in “One Day More.”

Newsies: whatever you do, just don’t try to dance along. Please.

Next to Normal: *singing along happily for hundredth time* *abruptly stops* Whoa. That line is really clever/weird/sad/beautiful.

The Phantom of the Opera: AHHHHH aaahhhh ahhhh ahhhHHHH SING MY ANGEL OF MUSIC AHHHH ahhhh ahhh hahhhHHHHH sing mY ANGEL ahhh hahhhhhhh ahhhhHHHHH SING FOR MEEEE AHHHHH HHHHHHHH HAHHHHH HHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHHHH SING MY ANGEL HHHHHHHH Ś̹̗̝̠̫I͓̻̰̲N̢̠͕G̦̬͟ ̲F̳̫̦̜̭̰O͙̹̪͕̞͉͟R̩̭̦ ̛̠͚̰M̫͍̬͇͈̖EE̖̙̬̳̞̞̹È̖E͈EE͏E̗̞̲͍̰̕E̗̙̬̻̭Ḛ̫͉̗̜ aaʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰ

Rent: ALL the air guitar.

Spring Awakening: *forgets lyric* 🎶 lonely grass purple horses hay bale 🎶

Waitress: wait until “I Didn’t Plan It” and “She Used to Be Mine,” and then let out YEARS of pain and sadness

I’ll be real I don’t know much about Phoenix Wright. But! I do know a lot about birds.

The mighty ptarmagin! Practically a feathered rabbit, these magnificent creatures are built for the snow.

Look at those boots! Wonderfully feathered. They spend most of their time as little snow lumps.

In fact, they’re very well known for the above phenomenon.

use tools

Can be taught to speak (like parrots)

Have huge brains for birds

like seriously their brain-to-body size ratio is equal to that of a chimpanzee

They vocalize anger, sadness, or happiness in response to things

they are scary smart at solving puzzles

some crows stay with their mates until one of them dies

they can remember faces

SIDENOTE HERE BECAUSE HOLY SHIT.  They did an experiment where these guys wore masks and some of them fucked with crows.  Pretty soon the crows recognized the masks = douchebag.  But the nice guys with masks they left alone.  THEN, OH WE’RE NOT DONE, NO SIR crows that WEREN’T EVEN IN THE EXPERIMENT AND NEVER SAW THE MASK BEFORE knew about mask-dudes and attacked them on sight.  THEY PASSED ON THE FUCKING INFORMATION TO THEIR CROW BUDDIES.

They remember places where crows were killed by farmers and change their migration patterns.

Every day, I would watch Buck from my window until one day I opened it and started talking to him. He was small and gangly and he couldn’t caw right. His feathers were all over the place and I felt a kinship. So I made a deal with him. I told him that if he could do it, if he could fly, then I could find the strength to get up. Well… near the end of the season, after talking with him every day, I finally saw him get out of the nest. He went to the edge of his branch, braced himself, and jumped… and just before he hit the ground, he soared back up into the sky. I cheered harder than I ever had before.

That winter, Buck left the area. I was crestfallen. I felt like I’d lost a friend. But I was so damn proud of him. 

Cut to the next spring? I’m walking up the driveway one day when suddenly I hear a sound… a broken caw. I look up, and Buck is sitting in a tree above my head. He stared at me and puffed his feathers, then hopped down in front of me and cawed again. I was so damn thrilled, and I told him how proud I was of him. He ruffled his feathers and then soared off into his old tree. 

That summer? I heard two broken caws. One from Buck… and one from his chick.

i tried to get close and take a better look and one of them dived super low and tried to attack me. so i went back in the house and chopped some sliced raw meat and tossed it at him from a distance.

a few more times later, very soon after, they could tell i was trying to help, and did not attack me. i was “allowed” to walk up close and pick him up, he couldn’t drink water properly so i had to dip my finger in a bowl and stick it in his mouth.

i did this few times a day and it went on for about a week before he disappeared, i thought he recovered and left, but he came back the next day and lands on me, and i see him around the block quite often, and he would come sit on my shoulder for a few minutes and then fly away again. i feel like i’ve adopted a son.

As a side note, I volunteered at a rehab (Hope for Wildlife), where they were rehabbing a crow with a broken wing–who was named Russell Crow. He kept pulling his bandage off so a sleeve was cut off some old clothing and put on him like a little sweater. 

Onfim was a child who lived in Novgorod, Russia, in the 13th century. He left his notes and homework exercises scratched in soft birch bark (beresta) which was preserved in the clay soil of Novgorod. Onfim, who archaeologists believe was six or seven at the time, wrote in Old Novgorodian; besides letters and syllables, he drew battle scenes and drawings of himself, his family, and his teacher. [x]

Here is a picture of him as a knight stabbing someone.

(At least, he wrote his name next to the knight. Either it was supposed to be him or he was signing his masterpiece. Either way, still adorable.)

Several pictures of the original birch pieces can be found here:  [x]

The majority of the surviving correspondences regarding Ea-nasir were recovered from one particular room in a building that is believed to have been Ea-nasir’s own house.

Like, these are clay tablets. They’re bulky, fragile, and difficult to store. They typically weren’t kept long-term unless they contained financial records or other vital information (which is why we have huge reams of financial data about ancient Babylon in spite of how little we know about the actual culture: most of the surviving tablets are commercial inventories, bills of sale, etc.).