The Penalty Box

Let me preface this story with a little background.  The office manager where I work loves to get into the spirit of the holidays, no matter which one it is.  Her enthusiasm is rather infectious, and she manages to get everyone involved in whatever she cooks up.  Not unlike Aimee in many ways.  Anyway, she convinced the powers-that-be of the company to buy a bunch of pumpkins for us to carve for Hallowe’en.  This was done on Friday.  Yeah that’s right, I spent about an hour carving a pumpkin outside of lunch hour.  I carved out a skull pirate, if anyone is interested.

Now the thing you should know is that on the 26th floor where I work, there are some rather large windows.  These windows face the sun as it rises, so there is plenty of sunlight shining through.  As a result, the office would pretty much be baking were it not for the temperature regulation in the building.  Since no one’s around over the weekend, this system is shut off to save money.  Our carved pumpkins were left in the office over the weekend, and let’s just say they were exposed to a bit of heat.  And when I say “a bit,” I mean a whole fucking lot.  On Monday morning, most of them had caved inwards and looked like they had melted.  Others started to shrivel up as the moisture inside them dried out.

Today, some of the pumpkins started to rot.  As in, spots of mold started growing.  As a result, one or two started releasing moisture again.  Yep, some pumpkin wine was brewing and it was not smelling too good either.  One pumpkin was particularly saucy, so one of my co-workers decided to chuck it.  These pumpkins were placed on top of a cabinet, at about head level.  She put a garbage can on top of the desk in front of her and pulled the pumpkin off of the shelf.  Unfortunately, she made the mistake of tipping the pumpkin towards her.  The fermenting rotten pumpkin juice spilled down her shirt (not on, DOWN) and her face scrunched up in discomfort as the stench filled her nostrils.

The office manager handed her some paper towels as the pumpkin was tossed, and she trotted off to the washroom to clean up.  She had a pretty good sense of humour about it all, but she wore a jacket for the rest of the day.  One of my other co-workers jokingly said it was cause enough for a personal day.  I’m just glad it wasn’t me.  Perhaps it was the pumpkin’s last revenge after being cooked over the weekend.  On the upside, there was plenty of candy to console her.

On another note, I found out that vegetarian chile can be quite tasty.

I went to Allen’s Hallowe’en party yesterday. Showed up as a 1950s era gangster, complete with a Nerf Maverick. There were various costumes there, one of note was Jason, who dressed as a newspaper. Specifically, black and white and red all over. Pun. Hurr. All in all, a fairly entertaining party, particularly when people got sauced. One of Allen’s brothers managed to rip his pants, butt to crotch, after rolling off a recliner.

Speaking of Hallowe’en, there have been surprisingly few fireworks/firecrackers set off in my neighbourhood. Usually I hear them starting at least the weekend before the 31st, sometimes earlier than that. Pretty much nothing so far, so maybe the troublemakers have all disappeared. One could only hope.

In honour of those that were plastered this weekend, and for those of you with a particularly tough midterm schedule this time of year, here’s a little diddy by Great Big Sea. It’s called “The Old Black Rum.”

I drank sixteen doubles for the price of one
Trying to find the courage to talk to one
I asked her for a dance
Not a second glance
My night had just begun

Well I drink to the father and the holy ghost
I’m kneeling at the alter of my nightly post
So I’ll raise a glass, not the first nor last
Come join me in this toast

Chorus:
Because the old black rum’s got a hold on me
Like a dog wrapped round my leg
And the old black rum’s got a hold on me
Will I live for another day?
Hey, Will I live for another day?

Well the queen of George Street just went walking on by
Walking on by with some guy who don’t care
That she stood in line
Since half past nine
And spent three hours on her hair (On her hair!)

Well her friend is looking at me with an evil grin
I think the bloody racket might soon begin
I must have said some thing
To the George Street queen
The boys are joining in!

[Chorus]

So I drank all of my money
And I slept out in the rain
Everyday is different but the nights they’re all the same
You never see the sun on the old black rum
But I know I’m gonna do it again!

[Chorus 2x]

• Why are the most proficient can collecting hobos old Chinese women?
• Why are some of those hobos not actually hobos?
• Why would one use the speaker phone feature on her cell phone and then cover her mouth while talking to the person on the other end?
• When did wearing two polo shirts, one on top of the other, become a fashion trend?
• Speaking of polo shirts, how does “popping the collar” (I think that’s the term) look good? I think it looks retarded.
• When did puke green become fashionable again?
• Why does it feel wrong to think about dating younger girls? In the 2-4 year range younger.  Stupid Benton and his “cradle robbing” theory.
• Why can’t I pull multiple late nights in a row anymore? Does two years really make that much of a difference in the energy department?
• How the hell is the helium balloon I got for convocation still floating two and a half weeks later?
• Why are grad photos a pain in the ass? Okay I just hate the makeup part.  I’m still bitter from my high school grad pictures.
• Why do the Canucks have to give me heart attacks this year? And why does that build enough excitement to make me love the game even more?
• Why is Elias sucking when I took him with my second pick in one of my pools?
• Why the hell are none my players getting special teams goals in the hockey pool I run?
• Why does time seem to go a lot faster now that I’m working?

Questions to wonder why.  I hope that didn’t sound too whiny.  Hurr.  I made a funny.

If you haven’t yet watched this week’s Battlestar Galactica and follow the show, stop reading now.

Have you stopped yet?

Well?

Okay good. Now go do something else. The rest, read on. It sorta went like this: (more…)

Guess who quit as CBC sports director? That’s right, the incompetent twit who fired Chris Cuthbert and Brian Williams and fucked up the deal with the Canadian Curling Association.  Oh happy day!

On another amusing note, there was a hobo today who tried to convince three girls at the bus stop to marry him.  He was playing “Here Comes the Bride” on his harmonica, saying he was practicing for his wedding.  Then he asked each girl in succession to marry him, getting declined all the way.  It was funny to watch, as he spent a good five minutes on the last girl before her bus showed up.  She seemed to have a good sense of humour, as she had a smile on her face and laughed a few times.

Quite a refreshing change of pace from the usual hobos who ask for spare change all the time.  The best hobos hang around GM Place after games singing beer songs in order to get a few bucks for a beer.

The home opener was last night.  They lost.  It’s Bishnu’s fault.

That is all.

Look what came in the mail for me:

That’s right.  Be jealous.  Home opener tomorrow too!

My reactions went as follows:
Holy shit it’s back!
Whoa, creepy.
Hahahaha.  Fat.
The Old Man is awesome.
Tighe is a badass.
Baltar, you dick.
Hahahaha.  Fat.
Oh hay, drama!
Wait, what? What the fuck? WHAT THE FUCK??? DAMMIT, CLIFFHANGER!

Yeah, it has started again.  And I’m going to love and hate every minute of it.

Today was my convocation, ending what was my final chapter in the story of my undergraduate degree. I saw some old friends, people I knew from my Pinetree days and a couple I went to elementary school with. Not a large attendance of people I knew, mostly due to work and school commitments. Majority of my family had to work too, but my parents, my sister and my grandmother was there, so it was all good for me. I never really did well being the centre of attention. I was uncomfortable at my high school graduation and not much has changed on my view of things since then. Were it up to me, I would’ve skipped walking the stage, but my family wanted to see it. Given that they’ve put me up this many years, it’s the least I could do.

It never really hit me that I had graduated before today. Even when I got my last mark back on goSFU (aka slowSFU lawls), it didn’t feel much different. Nor did I really feel any different since then. Not even when I was interviewing for a job, or when I started working. When I got up this morning, I knew I had convocation today, but I still didn’t feel different. Even when I got my robe, and mingled during the CS reception. I still felt the same.

It wasn’t until I lined up just outside Convocation Mall that it hit me. The wind was blowing the tassle in my face, the sunshine casting angled shadows on a beautiful fall afternoon. I looked up and saw the Terry Fox statue, a frozen Terry Fox in running form, heading towards a finish line he never was able to cross. In that moment, it dawned on me. The procession I stood in was the final leg of a five year marathon (insert Star Trek joke here). The finish line was up ahead, family waiting to congratulate me. The reward for it all? Real life.

The chatter around me blurred into dull background noise and at that moment, a small ray of sunshine hit the AQ Pond. The bagpipes started up, and the procession moved. There were flashes all around as my fellow graduates had pictures being taken all over. A small rush of emotion ran through me as I thought, “I’m done. I’m actually done.”

The next hour and a half went everywhere from really boring to really really fucking boring. No less than four speeches were given, and Michael Stevenson’s speech was the same recycled speech from the last five convocations I’ve attended. That’s over a period of 3 years. Goddamn, man, with what you’re paid you could hire a decent speechwriter to revamp that speech. Hell, you could probably expense it to the university!

As the people in front of me went up to have their names read, I couldn’t help but giggle when the Faculty of Applied Sciences Dean Brian Lewis mispronounced Eli Gibson’s name. I never knew it could be pronounced Ee-lee. As I began to approach the ramp to head to the stage, my heart quickened a bit. What was it? I was nervous. Why? I don’t know. Not the same nervous as when you forget to study for a midterm or that feeling you get when you know there’s no way in hell you’re ready for that final, but just a general overall feeling of nervousness. When was the last time I felt that? Jeez. My name was announced and I walked across the stage without incident. I half expected the only cousin of mine who managed to attend to scream something silly, but I guess he wasn’t quite sauced enough to do it.

The girl in front of me had every second step captured in picture form by her father and younger brother. “Safe following distance” I kept thinking, because she stopped every few metres to pose. She seemed somewhat familiar, and apparently she recognized me. I felt kind of bad for not remembering her name, and had to sneak a look in the convocation program to find out what it was. Once I did, I didn’t feel so bad, as I had met her once previously in passing, probably when I was talking to Wilson, an engineering friend of mine.

Oh, I should also mention that when I went through the robe obtaining process, there were people that helped you put it on. Harriet came out of the blue to help me and pinned that hoodie thing to my robe. She’s one of a few people who work for SFU that I’ll miss now that I’m done. Awesome person all around, that woman.

After it was all done, I dropped by the dollar store to get a picture with Aimee. She gave me a card with well wishes from the CS crew, a pleasant surprise to say the least. Oh yeah, and this oddly shaped pen that looks like a bird. With balloons.

So I’m done. I head now full into real life, finding my spot in the rat race with a BSc in my pocket. I had different expectations when I entered university, and my plan then was not what happened over the last five years. I can definitely say now that things went better than I planned, namely because of the experiences I had and the friends I’ve made. Onward and upward and such. New challenges await.

Hello World!

…tomorrow, hockey’s back tomorrow, it’s only a day aaaaaaaawaaaaaaaaaay!