They say Engineering school is hard. But there’s a point at which you simply become numbed to it… when 78 of 99 students get a midterm mark below 50%, it’s not hard to start fantasizing about a long and successful career as a line worker screwing lids on toothpaste tubes.

And apologies to arts majors for the image. We think it’s funny. (They think it’s funny at UBC, too…)

It’s a verb, a noun, an adjective and nothing if not an enigmatic company; the greatest place for a hacker to work, a pattern for the future, and more romantically, a cathedral awaiting Alan Turing’s soul. In January, I’ll be heading to NYC for a few months of working with the Google Maps Team—it’s hard not to be a little excited.

Once again it is that my life has taken a bizarre and unpredictable turn. Surprise is the flavour that keeps one anchored in the present; I have no complaints.

When I changed my banner image for the fall, it was more an act of defiance than as some sort of genuine reflection of the reality outside. We’ve now had several dustings of snow, and there was the small issue of my bicycle brakes being encased in ice, fused to the wheel.

Anyhow, I ran into Matthias Wandel at Swing Club this afternoon—he’s a UW grad, and has a number of really neat project writeups on his site. It was just funny that I was half-heartedly studying some circuits in the studio, and when I asked him about an op-amp question, his response was more about what a useless circuit it was, than what exactly the filter behaviour would be.

In other news, I seem to be getting the hang of Tango a bit more. It’s a far simpler dance than Lindy, and certainly less flexible, but fun enough in its high-heeled, strutting sort of way. Like any of the more intimate dances, it’s more about the subtle communication between partners than big showy spins and tricks.

My movie tastes are not complex. I know for sure that I don’t like straight action movies or creepy horror flicks. Chick flicks are fine, so long as they’re honest and plausible; thrillers are cool, and I’ll even indulge in the odd schmaltzy drama.

I’m pretty good at avoiding the films I know I’ll dislike. Occasionally, I’ve even liked ones I thought I wouldn’t.

Plus, Robin Williams and Christopher Walken have been good in the past. With a great premise, and a trailer full of funny stand-up clips, shouldn’t Man of the Year have been a slam-dunk?

Well, it’s not. It’s a smoking, twisted wreck of a film. It’s the first movie I’ve seriously considered walking out of. And if you don’t want spoilers, you can pass on this article. Just know this: the plot elements left out of the trailer are ones so completely absurd that concealing them is in no way a service to their moments of revelation. If you thought the trailer was funny, then seriously, watch the trailer. On loop. Don’t spend your time and money at the multiplex, just watch the trailer on loop for twenty minutes. Read on…

Last night, in Waterloo, there were two parties.

The first was thrown by a frat, and was bone dry. The second was thrown by a local employer and featured a good deal more beer and liquor than could have been safely consumed by the persons present.

Not that all Waterloo frat parties are dry, or that most employer recruitment sessions aren’t, but it’s a little amusing to observe the contrast between students now and the students who graduated ten years ago to start companies in town.

I’ve been a fairly consistent user of reddit almost since its inception. It’s elegant, simple, and the links are fairly good. What’s also good is the discussion. Reddit takes the unusual step of ignoring chronology when laying out comment pages: new comments start at the top, and high-quality comments stay there.

This fluidity means that reading the discussions is—on the whole—a positive experience. It also means, however, that the layout of the threads on a given article can greatly change from one visit to the next. They have several built-in features that help you find your old comments and their replies, but I wanted two additional features, so I made a quick Greasemonkey user script to add these. Read on…

I had a teacher in high school who felt very strongly about the word suck. Most adults—those who care—object to the vulgarity of a fellatio reference, but he specifically took offense at the suggestion that the act of giving oral sex should be considered something to use as an insult. Our eleventh-grade selves found this pretty amusing; since we held this teacher in high regard, I believe the word did pretty much vanish from our respective lexicons, for the term and sometime afterward.

A fascinating article in Slate this week points out the sheer utility of the word, and suggests that we embrace its use. I must admit, the word is awfully convenient, but I hadn’t been sure why until the Slate piece explained it.

The Palais Royale was a dance hall built in the early 20th century, once a major destination for Toronto dancers, but shuttered since the sixties. Well, it’s been bought, renovated, and apparently the new owners are back to throwing public dances there. The first of these was last weekend.

First things first: The floor there is spectacular. Even if not truly sprung, it’s extremely comfortable, and very, very smooth. Sooner or later I’ll buy proper suede shoes, but even given my sub-par equipment, the Palais’ balance between slip and grip is impeccable. I think I really cut loose on my Charleston for the first time; it’s awesome to be able to really twist and shuffle the feet, yet still have enough traction to be confident you won’t suddenly lose it and fall over. Read on…

The Half-Bakery came up on reddit recently, and I was strongly reminded of The Phantom Tollbooth’s Royal Banquet.

“The half bakery?” questioned Milo.

“Of course, the half bakery,” snapped the king. “Where do you think half-baked ideas come from? Now, please don’t interrupt. By royal command, the pastry chefs have worked all night to—”

“What’s a half-baked idea?” asked Milo again.

“Will you be quiet?” growled Azaz angrily; but, before he could begin again, three large serving carts were wheeled into the hall and everyone jumped up to help himself.

“They’re very tasty,” explained the Humbug, “but they don’t always agree with you. Here’s one that’s very good.” He handed it to Milo and, through the icing and nuts, Milo saw that it said, “THE EARTH IS FLAT.”

“People swallowed that one for years,” commented the Spelling Bee, “but it’s not very popular these days—d-a-y-s.” He picked up a long on that stated “THE MOON IS MADE OF GREEN CHEESE” and hungrily bit off the part that said “CHEESE.” “Now there’s a half-baked idea,” he said, smiling.

Milo looked at the great assortment of cakes, which were being eaten almost as quickly as anyone could read them. The count was munching contentedly on “IT NEVER RAINS BUT IT POURS” and the kind was busy slicing one that stated “NIGHT AIR IS BAD AIR.”

“I wouldn’t eat too many of those if I were you,” advised Tock. “They may look good, but you can get terribly sick of them.”

“Don’t worry,” Milo replied; “I’ll just wrap one up for later,” and he folded his napkin around “EVERYTHING HAPPENS FOR THE BEST.”

So I went and saw Cars. And as with The Incredibles, it was with some degree of apprehension that I entered the theatre. Would Pixar put my doubts to shame and be astounding, yet again? Or would the combination of Owen Wilson, an obviously rather pat storyline, and anthropomorphic automobiles finally be enough sillyness to sink Pixar’s latest creation?

Indeed, this time around the response is much more mixed than ever before. There was very little doubt that The Incredibles was spectacular–enumerating its various assets serves little purpose. But what is it in Cars that gives pause? Read on…