An Army of Line Following Robots

Little things that work for you actually, do a LOT. I mean it. You have a toaster in your kitchen? I used to. Till it burnt itself. It is something like toaster suicide,
except I’m not sure why a toaster would heat its insides a deep, burning shade of red. Smokin’ red.

In middle school, we studied physical properties of metals and we were warned that this happens when you get onto the wrong side of metals. My toaster was suicidal. I’m hoping yours wasn’t.

Have you ever, ever wondered how those lovely slices of bread were toasted just the right shade of delicious golden brown? Have you ever, ever wondered how come the toaster knew when to stop? I was pesky as a kid. I’m told I might still be, but I think we all carry our childhood versions with us, so it’s okay.

I wondered. Each time I would yank the plunger down and wait for my baby-by-my-style meal, I wondered. And then it dawned on me. The toaster has a brain. That thought is positively creepy. Imagine getting your pup to warm up the leftovers from last night. (Keep the ribbons out of sight, will you?)

Having made a discovery of such enormous proportions, I set out on a long, arduous journey to unravel the state of all things… The secret of The Toaster Brain. I had to walk up to my personal computer, struggling to gather strength to switch it on. The wait almost took a toll on me, as it fluttered its Windows flag to life. Isn’t there a rule that says whatever you want happening quick will take thrice the time, maybe more? #thescienceofitall

I looked around for my internet browser. It was a difficult task identifying the true internet browser from this sea of icons that hit my vision howmuchever far it strayed. After minutes of searching I found it and I humbly requested it to summon Google. #moderndayoracle

This was not easy either but as it turned out, it spelled the end of my dilemma. It pointed out a number of answers to the question that had ravaged my young, 7up-deprived pesky head for long.

The moment of realisation was obviously when you see that the brain is lots of wires and wait for it, metal. Weird enough, it has absolutely no resemblance to walnuts.

Curiosity bred with Curiosity. Curiosity, Curiosity, their children and their grandmother, we all wonder how a bunch of wires could possibly execute action, much less control a machine? of course, I knew a lot less than I know now.

So all these years, I have persevered and sought the secret of The Brain. In a stroke of serendipitous events, I joined the college robotics society later in my freshman year. you learn about zeroes and ones and how these digits make up your world, literally.

The Matrix doesn’t seem like the far-fetched prospect it did during its release. Talking Trinity, I think latex can be slightly eeky to wear. but the hairdo, the hairdo… you go, girl!

We have amazing seniors at col who were more excited to share their saber-toothed knowledge with us than we were to soak it in.

The ride’s begun already and my first stop is an army of line following robots.

In robotics events, there’s such a thing as an arena which has a path or many of known dimensions and shape marked out. Outside these arenas you got lines and lines out there. Guess who has an army of line following robots? No, really. Take a guess.

My robots will invade and take over before you can even think of trying to misspell the word.

Woohoo! #rainbowmonkeydance

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5 thoughts on “An Army of Line Following Robots

  1. My toaster is homicidal. It is killing me by melting slowly, poisoning my brain with dioxins. It was very cheap, and a little kitsch in that Chinese way of design.

    First the green bits, which held up some wire frame thing I never really worked out why was there, began to melt. Slowly, very slowly, so I could hardly notice till the wire frame thing collapsed.

    It doesn’t know when my toast is ready and nearly always burns it, except when it pops up pale, warm bread. It’s trying to kill me. I swear it is. I have to kill it first. I no longer have a choice.

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