Why did it have to be snakes (on a plane)?

The official site is up, but there's nothing there yet.

Thankfully, there are pictures at blackfilm.com. My favorite is obviously this one:

Fig 1: "Snakes? On a plane?"

grar

I was feeling good for a few days there, but appear to have re-sickified myself today. This time it's just a miserable cough, made all the worse by a midterm tomorrow.

Oh, I see that amuses you. Well, would it amuse you if I told you that I coughed on your sandwich when you weren't paying attention?

Thought so.

I love the colorful movements as much as the next person, but this is enough

The borscht was fun, but this green curry business is out of hand and must stop.

"Where to start?" More like "Where to finish?"

I just got back from Toronto. I went there for Reading Week. It was the best Reading Week ever. It was also the third Reading Week ever, so maybe I should change that to something more impressive. I know: it was the best time away from Saskatoon totalling less than a month ever.

Extra for nerds: add hyphens to that last sentence and send the results my way. Persons who add hyphens precisely where I'd have added them -- and oh, would I have added them -- receive a prize from my prize drawer (previously known as my Might Magazine drawer).

The trip as I remember it:

On Saturday, while waiting for my flight, the WestJet agent announced that one randomly selected passenger would win a prize in honour of WestJet's tenth anniversary. I was feeling good and felt destined to win the prize. I did. It was a $20 travel voucher. When I went to claim it, I told the agent that I had a feeling I'd win, and then sensing that this sounded suspicious, as if I'd rigged the selection, I added something about it being "just one of those feelings you get ... y'know? Right? One of those?"

I arrived in the Big Whitey later that evening. I wore my new tuxedo to meet Mike and Rebecca. Yes, as of three weeks ago I own a tuxedo. No, it wasn't nearly as expensive you'd think. I'd have written about it here -- on this very blog! -- but I didn't want Mike and Rebecca to know that there was even the slightest chance of me wearing a tuxedo on the plane. Mission accomplished. There was much laughter and rejoicing.

I don't recall much of the next couple of days, but I know there was food shopping involved.

Fig 1: food shopping

Sadly, there was no studying involved, and thus I am fucked.

Fig 2: Dave is fucked

In order that Mike and Rebecca could do the fleshy jig of the Mommy and Daddy dance on Valentine's Day, I went out with Trish that evening. We had deep-fried squid and then went to a bar playing 60's girl-group songs. The sound was lousy but the heart-shaped candy was free. A woefully out-of-shape homosexual took off his shirt on the dancefloor and I felt more pride about my body than I had ever felt previously. It wasn't gay pride, but it was gay-related pride, and that was close enough for my purposes.

The next day Trish and I rented Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance, which sounds like one volume in a series of children's novels (along with Tea and Cakes for Mr. Vengeance and Mr. Vengeance Goes on Holiday) but is in fact a deliciously dark and twisted tale of fraternal love, wacky revolutionaries, kidnapping, suicide, organ selling, and organ stealing. There's also vengeance and sympathy. We ate homemade pizza and I missed my chance to see Match Point with Mike and Rebecca, but did end up catching Sonny Chiba's Street Fighter with Mike. That was a great movie, too, but to compose a list of its elements would spoil all the fun.

Later that evening I received an email from my grandmother, telling me that she has new boyfriend. While very happy for my grandmother, I got creeped out by the idea of her potentially gettin' her freak on, and slept fitfully that night. (To be fair, I get creeped out by the thought of any close relations doing ... that; as far as I'm concerned, my newlywed sister and her husband play Canasta and then maybe have a snuggle before going to sleep.) I also noticed that I had missed a call from my mother on my cellphone, and resolved to return her call once I got back to Saskatoon.

On Thursday Mike, Rebecca, and I watched tv. I took the opportunity to confess that I enjoy watching the heartbreaking failure of Olympic athletes from powerhouse countries.

On Friday, I went over to Trish's and we had fondue with Greg and watched The Apple, which is a terrible movie but is still the best weak-Christian-allegory-set-in-1994-but-made-in-1980-and-set-to-music ever made. Trish and I then went to a bar for karaoke. I performed "Come Sail Away" by Styx, much to the delight of Trish and the dj and the dj's girlfriend and no one else. Later that evening, a revelation:

Fig 3: the dj performs "Sheila take a bow" by the Smiths

There were no songs by the Smiths in the catalog they gave us! I asked the dj if he had more Smiths songs, and he showed me his secret list. I asked for, and got, "There's a light that never goes out". Trish and I sang the hell out of that song, and it was only when we were nearing the end that I realised lyrics like

And if a ten-ton truck
Kills the both of us
To die by your side
Well, the pleasure, the privilege is mine

may not be the most appropriate for us to sing before our road trip.

Oh yeah, Trish is coming on the road trip with me. She doesn't have a licence, but I don't have the ability to drive and fire a gun at the same time, so it works out. New Orleans, here we come!

Saturday started off hungoveredly, but got better in the evening. Mike and Rebecca threw a Russian-themed birthday party for me and Jessica. All of my favourite Ontarians were there (even Neil Peart!), and we ate and drank and drank and ate, and then we watched two episodes of Freaks and Geeks (which Neil fucking ate up).

Sunday was OK, but it was the day I left, so it was kinda lousy. On the plus side, once again I was the randomly selected WestJet passenger to win a prize; this time it was a $100 travel voucher. On the minus side, when I got home I checked my voicemail and heard three increasingly tense messages from my mom; she had been calling because we hadn't chatted in a while and she wanted to catch up before she left for Ukraine on Sunday, ie the very day I finally heard her messages. I felt kinda lousy.

But hey, travel vouchers!

Enter the nemesis

I'd been in a funk the last few weeks, which helps explain the lack of posting. (Also helping the explanation is my utter contempt for [your Significant Other's name here]; honestly, I don't see how I can be friends with you if you've got such bad taste in lovers.)

This afternoon, the funk went from "funk as in bad smell" to "funk as in Bootsy Collins". Why the switch? Two words: Dave H.

For the uninitiated, Dave H. is the guy in my Software Engineering class who sat during my group's presentation and scowled at us, and then asked a jerk-ass question that would have gotten him killed if he asked it in any bar in Tijuana. We handled the question pretty well; Samer started talking and kept talking and hemmed and hawed and made shit up and eventually everyone was so confused that we were ready for the next question.

(By the way, everyone in the room knew the correct answer to Dave H.'s question -- "We did it that way because the prof told us to" -- but this answer was unacceptable for a group presentation)

Dave H., for being a dick during and after our presentation, and then being a dick during your own presentation (oh yeah), you are hereby anointed as my sacred mortal nemesis. You shall be my mortal nemesis until such time as you are crushed by my cunning schemata and acknowledge your inferiority, with your wails of agony and supplication like the singing of children to my ears. I will not rest until your failure is complete, and your failure will not be complete until you are but a shell of your current self, your arrogance turned to self-pity. Make no mistake; the only pity you receive will be self-pity. The populace will be too busy praising my awesomeness to notice your utter debasement, and will be too joyous basking in my illuminating magnanimousness to spend any thought of pitying you, pitiable though you may be.

Thanks, Dave H., for giving me the spark I needed to make it through the semester.

Yes, dear readers, it will take all semester to crush him. I could probably have him crushed by the end of the week, but I wish to toy with him as a cat toys with a mouse before the kill. It ... amuses me.

In other developments:

• In a perfect world, this car will not sell and will be put up again in May, at which point I will buy it. Or, you know, its twin brother.

All my medium-fidelity prototypes: for naught?

Have you ever had to give a presentation without knowing ahead of time what the PowerPoint slides looked like?

Yeah, that sentence sucks, but so does my situation, sorta. Samer said I should upload the text and graphics I wanted for my part of the presentation and then he'd put them into the PowerPoint slides. I still haven't seen Samer today, nor has he uploaded the presentation to our group account.

Oh, for the love of Christ, please let the presentation be done.

I've got a plan for summer, though! Me + car = road trip. Brilliant in its simplicity, no?