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Uncategorized

The Masked Grader Strikes Again! [Updated]

Update: The papers have been taken down; the links now lead to this notice:

At the request of UT Austin’s Student Judicial Services office, I’ve

taken down the files pending an appointment I have with them next week.

Ah, the joys of non-academic discipline.


I love this panel from Achewood:

Comic: Panel from Achewood.

It would seem that a number of future car stereo magazine subscribers

were taking an astronomy course at the University of Texas in Austin,

as a prankster discovered:

At the UT Austin physics department, you have several grades of physics

tracks. There is the “this is going to hurt a lot but you will learn

from it” engineering physics. There is the “you learn the concepts but

you are useless in any practical sense” biomed physics (which I’m

taking). And then there is the “I’m taking this because for some reason

my liberal arts degree mandates it.” physics.

I was

walking through Painter Hall when I saw a pile of graded papers waiting

to be picked up. It was a short writing assignment on how the practical

applications of lasers has affected your life.

From a quick look

at the grammar and incomplete sentences, I knew it was a freshman

course. So I took the papers, added my own… comments… and placed

them back in the pile. The grades on them were put there by the

original grader.

Both the papers and the comments he added are hilarious. The latter, intentionally so:

Bad paper #1

Bad paper #2

Bad paper #3

Bad paper #4

Bad paper #5

Bad paper #6

Bad paper #7

Bad paper #8

Bad paper #9

Bad paper #10

Bad paper #11

Bad paper #12

Bad paper #13

Bad paper #14

Bad paper #15

Bad paper #16

Bad paper #17

Bad paper #18

Bad paper #19

Read the full entry here.

Categories
In the News

Flanders-Like Behaviour + Anti-Social Neighbour = Disaster [Updated]

You’ve probably heard this already, but let me state for the record: Wanita Renea Young is the worst neighbour on Earth.


Update: The original site to which I linked has a random image that isn’t always work-safe. Here’s its link.

In case you can’t go there, here’s the most important part of the entry:

According to the Jewish philosopher and Rabbi, Moses Maimonides, there are eight levels of tzedaka.

(Tzedaka is the Jewish legal requirement to do right by your fellow

man… a moral imperitive to charity if you like.) The levels of giving

(from least admirable, to most) are:

  1. Giving begrudgingly
  2. Giving less than you should, but giving it cheerfully.
  3. Giving after being asked
  4. Giving before being asked
  5. Giving when you do not know the recipient’s identity, but the recipient knows your identity
  6. Giving when you know the recipient’s identity, but the recipient does not know your identity
  7. Giving when neither party knows the other’s identity
  8. Giving that enables the recipient to become self-reliant

Yesterday, I read an article at Reuters

about two teenage girls baking cookies for the neighbours in some hick

town in Colorado. They stayed home from some party or other and made

sweet things for people, decorated them with little hearts, wrapped

them in ribbon and left a note saying ‘have a great night.’ Then they

ran around, full of neighbourly love, and dropped the boxes off on

porches, knocking on the door and hiding before the recipient of the

gift got to the door. To me, that sounds like the 6th level of giving: giving when you know the recipient’s identity, but the recipient does not know your identity.

I hope the bitch neighbour (Wanita Renea Young) that filed the lawsuit

against the two teenagers for this random act of kindness, lies awake

in bed at night wondering whatever happened to the ‘youth of today.’ I

hope it plagues her.

Hear, hear.

Categories
It Happened to Me

Last Night

It’s always a blast to step out for food and drinks with our friends from the Tucows office in Starkville, Mississippi,

and last night was no exception. My coworker Darryl and I hung out with

Bill, who was visiting from Starkville and had a blast. We talked about

work, poker, booze, alcoholic Van Halen bass players and even a bit of

politics. Anyone who says that “Red Staters” and “Blue Staters” (or

well, Darryl and I would be, if we were American) can’t get along needs

to get out of their echo chamber for a stretch.

We all agreed that the Bush plan to privatize social security sounds

like a perfect opportunity for financial institutions to gouge people,

which in turn sounds like a perfect opportunity to post this comic:

Comic: Geroge Bush in a tank approaching a building marked 'Social Security' saying 'We'll be greeted as liberators!'


We talked for a little bit about tech enclaves and what painful social

scenes places with nine-to-one male/female ratios have. Naturally, the

movie Office Space came up. Bill and I love that movie.

Strangely enough, my fellows in Tucows’ Reasearch and Innovation

department haven’t seen it yet (when I started working at Tucows, Boss Ross

didn’t know what the “Is it good for the company?” sign I posted at my

des referred to). What the hell kind of research group are we? I must

correct this oversight soon.


We ended up at my favourite watering hole, Smokeless Joe, where they

know me well enough that as soon as I sat down at the bar, the barkeep

said “Sorry Joey, there’s no Black Katt

on tap this evening.” That’s why I love that bar so dearly; they know

me there, and they’ll often turn down the stereo to let me play

accordion for the crowd.

Rick Mercer happened to

be sitting at the bar beside us and we got into a conversation with

him. Mercer, for those of you who don’t know him, used to be on a CBC

news satire show called This Hour Has 22 Minutes and does an occasional special called Talking to Americans,

in which Mercer does “man on the street” interviews in the US that show

how little our friends to the south know about their largest trading

partner with whom they share the world’s largest undefended

border.Americanophile that I am (hey, I’m marrying one, and I’m the

direct descendant of one), it pains me to note that a number of their

politicans have used “I’ve never travelled outside the country!” as part of their campaigns.

Bill asked Mercer if he was the one who fooled  then-Governor

George Bush (he got Bush to comment on his endorsement by Canadian

Prime Minister “Jean Poutine”), to which Mercer replied “yes”. “I’m

glad you didn’t interview me; I might’ve made the same mistake,” Bill

said.

To be fair: can any of my fellow Canadians name the G8 member countries

— we’ll exclude the European Union for the purposes of this question

— and their leaders? (I can, but I’m the smartest accordion player in

the city. I have a level of excellence to maintain.)

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Uncategorized

"We Regret to Inform You that Xavier’s School Will Not Accept Your Application at This Time…"

What happens to people who can’t cut the mutant mustard at the school where the X-Men train? McSweeney’s tells all in their article, Rejection Letters from Xavier’s School of Exceptional Youth.

Categories
In the News It Happened to Me Music

RIP Jimmy Smith: 1926 – 2005

Photo: Jimmy Smith at the Hammond B-3.

Jimmy Smith, master of the “Full Eights” sound on the mighty Hammond B-3!

Around 1985, the Yamaha Organ School was doing its damndest to expunge

my love for music and my sense of rhythm. While Yamaha’s musical

instrument division were practically redefining instruments — consider

the Yamaha grand piano’s bright sound, favoured by Glenn Gould and many

rock pianists, as well as the DX-7 synthesizer and the WX-7, which let

sax and clarinet players play synth — the ghouls behind the home organ

division crafted a course bereft of soul and full of schmaltz. I had a

teacher who had a bit of a legato fetish; she was an advocate of a

playing style in which the notes blurred together into a bland aural

mush. To make matters worse, I was only two out of fourteen songs

through the required Barry Manilow songbook.

After making sure that I got kicked out of organ school at the annual

recital (long story, which I’ll recount later), I became a synth player

full-time. I even went to far as to erase any of the organ sounds from

my Akai AX-60 synth. I’d had enough of that infernal instrument.

What changed my mind was a music course I took at Crazy Go Nuts

University: “Science and Technology for Musicians”. It qualified as an

“arts” course for engineering students and as a “science” course for

the music students. I often gave them a hand with the science parts

(“Uh, Joey, how do I draw a graph of a 5Hz sine wave with an amplitude

of 2?”) and they gave me a hand with non-keyboard instruments (“Uh,

Dave, how do I play a scale on a clarinet?”).

During the course, I wound up writing a paper on the Hammond B-3 organ.

This instrument was clearly the invention of a former watchmaker: a

classic Hammond is essentially a big electric motor driving a gear

system which in turn drives a series of wheels that made sound. While

writing the paper, I decided to hit the music library and listen to

artists who were considered B-3 virtuosos; that’s when I discovered

Jimmy Smith.

My bad experiences at the Yamaha Organ School, coupled with a teacher

who was more devoid of funk than the entire Michigan Militia, led me to

forget that one could play the organ with rhythm and even staccato

attacks. On the organ, Jimmy Smith’s hands and feet could be weapons;

his playing style defined what we now considered to be the de facto

organ soloing and pedalling style.

Musicians who redefine the way their

instrument is played tend to draw inspiration from other instruments. For example, Carlos Santana says that in order to perfect his signature guitar playing style, he played Dionne Warwick albums over and over and listened to her voice.

In Smith’s case, he drew inspiration from trumpet players, mimicking

their lines. He even emulated their sound in solos by killing the Leslie

(an organ spaker mounted on a rotating stand that gives organs their

“whirling” sound) and slamming every drawbar save the lowest and

highest to the “zero” setting.

After buying Jimmy’s live album, Root Down (whose name you should recognize — the Beastie Boys covered the title track on Ill Communication),

I reprogrammed the organ sounds back into my synth, and made sure than

any subsequent synth I bought could do a decent B-3 impression. Later,

when the organ made its comeback in rock in the early 1990’s (thanks

largely to the “Madchester” sound of bands like the Charlatans,

Inspiral Carpets, Milltown Brothers, et. al.), I copped more than my

fair share of Jimmy Smith licks at gigs. In 1994, I got to completely “Smith

out” when the band we opened for let me use their B-3 and Leslie. It

was heaven.

My last

synth — a Korg WaveStation A/D,

which I still have — has a patch I programmed: a monster B-3 sound

with a touch of distortion and a decent Leslie effect paired with

spring reverb. When you dial it up, its name appears in capital letters

on the display: JIMMY SMITH.


Jimmy Smith died on Tuesday at the age of 79. He’d been playing the organ for 50 years and would’ve embarked on a tour with Joey “The other keyboardist named Joey” deFrancesco next month.

Thanks, Jimmy, for all the music, and for helping me fall in love with the organ again.

Categories
It Happened to Me

Forgot to Get Schmutzed

Photo: Shrek billboard above a a church banner reading 'He Is Risen'.

Best. Sign placement. Ever.

I just read this in Deenster’s blog:

is it just me, or did every one seem to walk around with a bit of schmutz on their forehead?

Oh, crap. I knew I forgot to do something today.

(Note 1: Hey, Wendy! I didn’t have to look up “schmutz”!)

(Note 2: I wonder if Adina spent half her time in India going up to people and

saying: “Excuse me, I thought you should know that you have a bit of

pimento on your forehead.”)

I’ll bet this guy remembered:

Photo: Hairy dude wearing a speedo and a big honkin' crucifix medallion.

Get this man a waxing and some low-carb communion, stat!

Categories
In the News

Happy Chinese New Year!

It’s the Year of the Rooster!

Of course, if you’re into rampant Beavis-and-Buttheadism like me,

you’re going to be and keep referring to it as “Year of the Cock” or

better yet, by my own coinage: “Cocktoberfest”.

(I prefer my coinage: it’s poultry in motion!)

Kung hei fat choy, everybody.

Graphic: Colonel Sanders/KFC logo with 'Kung hei Fat Choy!' below 'KFC'.

At least, we finally know what KFC truly stands for. D’you think Colonel Sanders and General Tao ever served together?