While watching the Canucks-Avalanche game last night - the sixth such matchup of the season, the announcer commented that today's game marked the first time since 1962 that two teams had faced each other six times by the end of November. Bear in mind that in 1962, the NHL was a six-team league. Since the league has expanded fivefold in those forty-three years, why are these two teams playing six of their first twenty-six games against one another? The answer: the NHL's new scheduling plan, which is intended to foster divisional rivalries. Teams in the same division (in Vancouver's case, Calgary, Edmonton, and Minnesota, along with Colorado) play eight games against one another during the year. In addition, clubs play four games against the ten teams in their conference, but outside the division, and round out the 82-game schedule with a single game against ten of the fifteen teams in the conference they don't belong to. Thus, teams (and their fans) will only see some teams twice every three-year span, and only once in their home building.

This has upset many hockey fans, and with due reason. Sidney Crosby and Alexander Ovechkin, two of the league's hot young prospects, both play in the Eastern Conference, with Pittsburgh and Washington respectively. Teams in the Northwest Division (such as Vancouver) play one road game this season against Atlantic Division teams, such as Pittburgh, and do not play Washington or any of their Southwest Division mates at all (including defending Stanley Cup champs Tampa Bay). Regardless of how the NHL scheduler handles next year, fans in this part of the continent will only see home games against one of these two divisions next season.

Now, a mid-January Canucks-Panthers tilt isn't necessarily going to be a crowd-pleaser, but the Stanley Cup finals - the most important games of the hockey year - are played between the champions of - you guessed it - the Eastern and Western conferences. Right now, the conference leaders are Ottawa and Detroit. Are you looking forward to a match-up between these two hockey forces? Well, keep waiting...they don't play one another this season. It's quite possible (the odds are one in three) that the two teams in the finals come June will not have played each other since the 2003-04 season sometime. But, as long as St. Louis and Columbus play each other every week and a half during the season, excitement is guaranteed, right?

So, what is the solution? How about this:

Return to a four-division setup; teams remain in their current conference, but are divided as follows:

Western Conference:
Pacific Division

So, from the beginning...

As some of you know, I've long wanted to appear on Jeopardy (from here on in, I will omit the trademark exclamation mark because of the apparent grammatical nightmares that it causes...my journal entries are grammatical bad dreams as it is) but the tryouts haven't been in Vancouver since before I was 18. Well, a few weeks back, I'm sitting on the couch over at Andrea's, and, lo and behold, during a Jeopardy commercial break, an announcement appears advertising upcoming tryouts in Vancouver! So, I get myself this here laptop, and I log on to jeopardy.com and sign myself up. Two days later, what should appear in my inbox but an invitation? (Answer: junk email. But the point is the invitation.) So, I'm making plans for the 9th at 2:30 - I'm off to the Westin Grand Hotel downtown!

But, at this point in the story, that's still two weeks away. Time to start studying! So, I grab me my trusty 2004 Encyclopedia Britannica Almanac and start reading through my U.S. Presidents, World Capitals, Classical Composers "B", Potent Potables, and all that stuff. More or less, I'm trying to read this 1000-page book on the bus without looking like some weirdo reading an almanac on the bus. Anyway, I'm also scanning the Internet for practice Jeopardy tests, reading other contestants' experiences, booking the day off work (the best part!). All's going well. I learn that the test is 50 questions long (in 50 different categories), and you have to get about 35 right (they never say the exact number) to pass. Most people say that it's quite difficult, and about 10% of people pass the first test and get to play the mock game. I ramp up my study of classical composers.

So, finally, on Wednesday, the day comes. On the invitation, I am asked to wear what I'd wear if I were actually on the show, so I figured that I'd break out the big guns and wear the new suit - who knows, it might be cold and wet (it is November, after all) and maybe, just maybe, all that stuff that I've heard over the years about looking good and feeling good is true. So, at about 12:30, I get suited up and hit the bus downtown. After killing a bit of time, I go into the hotel around 2:00 and head up to the lobby as per the signs at the entrance. The first thing I noticed was the odd mix of people in the building. There was the dumb-looking twentyish kid pacing the lobby with a furrowed brow and confused, almost frightened look, on his face, as though he were an expectant father but he wasn't sure that he was at the right hospital. There was the fifty-something "weird aunt" wearing worn jeans and a sweater she had knit herself with a cat and unicorn on the front. The bald, trench coat-wearing, scowling middle aged man. The guy who had his contruction-worker clothes in a plastic bag at his feet. And about 75 others.

A little after 2:30, they called us all in. The contestant committee were an energetic bunch, their leader a heavy-set woman of about forty. She gave us a little intro/comedy routine before her assistant, a younger, but no less enthusaistic, man, gave us a few softball practice questions to loosen everyone up. Then came the moment of truth.

For fear of Sony launching a lawsuit, I won't actually reveal the questions they asked (you can ask me in person), but they started off with a couple of easy ones, possibly to lure us into a false sense of security. Still, by about the halfway point, I was still feeling pretty good - there were a few I didn't know for sure, but otherwise I was doing OK. As the test continued, though, I started to realize that the 'maybe' and the 'what the...' were adding up. Since you aren't given any time to review, though, there wasn't time to count. I hand in my test thinking that I had at least given myself a shot.

Well, they only have three people marking the tests, and there were about eighty of us, so it would be a while to mark them, so we got to meet Kelly from the Jeopardy Clue Crew, who did a Q&A, and handled the clumsy advances of the guy beside me with aplomb, by implying that he was gay.

Anyway, we found out that we got to keep our pens, which can be used at home as makeshift 'buzzers' (when this was mentioned, everyone in the room but me started clicking their pens simultaneously - at this point I am thinking that I have a good chance of passing, or else no one does), and that Alex Trebek is a really cool guy, and blah blah blah hurry up with the test results would you. About 35 minutes later, a hush fills the room as the doors at the back open. They walk up to the front, and promptly stall by giving away free crappy hats to two people (haha chumps now know that they didn't pass the test). So they read off the names, and the qualifiers raise their hands as they are called. Seven people are called, and then we hear the dreaded "and the last...". It is only not dreadful for one person, who was not me. In the end, everyone that qualified was at least thirty-five (or so), I think there were four men and four women, and they all looked like the people that you'd see on Jeopardy. Professional-looking, a touch of grey on the men and a drab pantsuit on the women. I'm sure they'll do well.

Despite the setback, I haven't given up on the dream yet, although I can't take the test for at least another year, and they rarely come to Canada, let alone Vancouver, so I might have to be in L.A. at some point to take it, which, of course, assumes that the show will still be running for at least a few more years. Well, without the mustache, Trebek still looks young...

So, the next day, it was back to work for me...but at least I got to keep the pen. Click click.

The last four months of my life, in bullet-point form!

Anyway, today marks my second and likely final convocation at Simon Fraser University - just under two years since my first one. It's interesting to compare my academic and financial situations at either convocation, so let's do that!

2003 Convocation (BA Honours)

So, it happened. I successfully defended my thesis on the 15th, and my committee approved it (with no revisions, to my astonishment). I am now, unofficially until June, a Master of Arts. The whole day was awash with pomp and circumstance. Or perhaps just the latter. My supervisor had invited the other members of my committee and the director of the Scottish Studies Centre to come out for drinks after the defence. Then he developed an inflamed tooth. So they put him on meds and as it turned out, he needed a root canal (the morning of my defence). So, drinks were out. But, we could still go out for lunch beforehand. Alas, the other invitees had an assortment of obligations keeping them from coming to campus. Still, it wouldn't be a problem to just go to lunch with my supervisor, right? And, where better to eat but at SFU's vaunted Mackenzie cafeteria, where one can obtain a freshly made roast beef sandwich? But nowehere, of course.

All that aside, it went well, I was happy, and Andrea and I went out to (a much nicer) dinner that night. Then, on Saturday, after a day's sober reflection and realization that my identity as a grad student is no longer, and that I have no job for the summer, and that I could bust my butt looking for a crappy job if I really wanted, I sent an email to my former employer, the one we all know and love - the Brick. That's right; less than 24 hours after defending my thesis, I was reapplying to a job that I had quit to become a grad student. Making less than I did beforehand.

Well, sometimes, getting a bad job isn't its own punishment. Sunday morning after church I stopped at London Drugs on Broadway and parked underground to let Andrea drop off some pictures. As I was backing out of the spot to leave, I (brilliantly) turned without looking and ran the passenger side of the car into a concrete post. Sadly, it's not the first time that I've done this (and both times, I had someone else in the car with me, so I can't even make up an elaborate hit-and-run story). Anyway, the damage is only cosmetic, which is an adjective not oft used to describe any property of the 1987 Honda Accord, so I won't be getting it fixed. At least my car is now even more an indication of my socioeconomic class (goes along nicely with the new job).

Then, on Monday, I got to find out how much irritation a page number can cause (as measured in hours). At my defence, I found out that the approval page that I had created did not meet one of the standards of the history department. So the graduate secretary had printed a new one for me. Fine, right? Well, her page number was a different font size than mine. "No problem, though," you say, "you can simply adjust your thesis to meet the standards of the approval page, right?" Well, that's what I thought, so I went and found my external examiner (who had not been present at the exam) to get him to sign the sheet that already bore the signatures of my other two committee members. I would soon find out that not only was the font size of the page number different, but it was also not quite aligned in the centre of the page, and it was about a quarter of an inch higher on the page than mine. These are things that the library's thesis assistant, who is the bureaucrat to end all bureaucrats, would cite as reasons to toss it into the university's central furnace.

After unsuccessful attempts at moulding my thesis to the format of the approval page while keeping it within the library's guidelines, I resigned myself to having to reprint the pages and getting my committee to re-sign themselves to said pages. Thankfully they were all on campus that day; sadly, they were not all on campus at the same time. Four short hours later, I was handing my signed, printed, copied in quadruple thesis in to the library, never to have to deal with it again until the thesis assistant inevitably calls to harangue me about some minor point.

To recap, in the space of three days, I defended my thesis, smashed my car, got a new (old) job, handed in my thesis. In the end, I now have a Master's degree, the same job that I had when I was in second year, and a dented car.

Oh, and I might be moving soon. We'll see about that later.

One of the other big things that I have to look forward to in April is the U2 concert on the 29th. Andrea and I orginally bought three pairs of tickets for the two concerts, but we're selling the two pairs for the show on the 28th, what with being starving students and all. We got rid of the first pair quite expeditiously, making the transaction under the Skytrain tracks near Metrotown like so many drug deals.

Anyway, the second set of tickets (not quite as good as the first pair) has proven somewhat more difficult to separate ourselves from. However, a week or two ago, somebody did email Andrea about them. Here, by way of edited emails, is what did take place:

Idiot: Hi, Do you still have the tix? what is the face cost on them? Cheers.

Andrea: Face cost is $123 plus fan club membership which was $50. Tix are still available. Let me know if you want them. Thanks.

Idiot: Ok so how much are you going to sell them for and are u into trading with some cash? (Note that the price was on the craigslist ad that she had placed, as well as in the subject heading of each email that had been sent.)

Andrea: Make me an offer and i'll let you know. (By now, she was pretty sure that this dude was, in fact, deserving of his interview nickname.)

Idiot: Well, I have some kimonos and some comic books of value. Other stuff as well. Here is the deal. Someone wants to sell me a single ticket. I would prefer 2 But I also have 2 freinds that want to go as well. I just cant afford 2 tix, so I'm will to barter. I'm new to vancouver and this would be my first concert here. I would like to enjoy it with someone. Cheers.

Andrea: Tempting, but no. (/end of email conversation)

So, needless to say, we still have the tickets. And sadly, no kimonos or comic books.

At least there are some things in life that need no defence.

'Till some other time,
Eric

February was, until somebody stole Environment Canada's sunshine measuring device (which I imagine is an old man standing outside looking up and saying 'Yup, it shoore is sunny out'), the brightest such month in the Lower Mainland's recorded history. And here, in Canada's playground, one might think that I spent the month gallavanting outdoors, cavorting in the woods, frolicking in the sunshine, or some such other fanciful synonym for recreating in some wonderful part of nature.

Instead, I wrote the second half of my thesis.

Yes, while others were snowboarding on the half-inch of white that covers the local mountains, or mountain biking over the corpses of those who tried to snowboard, I was sitting in the dank hovel that is my basement, typing away at my computer, or, more likely, procrastinating from doing so. And yet somehow, by last Thursday, I had a conglomeration of words in my possession, that hopefully tells the tale of the Vancouver Caledonian Games from 1893 to 1927. Now, of course, I'm not finished yet - my supervisor has the draft right now, and his words are rather important in deciding my fate - but I'm closer to the point where I never have to think about the class constraints implied by the imposition of a dress code at the 1923 Games. Or any other such related topic. Ever.

So, what do I think about now that I'm almost finished my second degree? Getting a third, of course! As of now, I am still waiting on my application to UBC Law, a response to which could come any day. And, there's the matter of paying for said degree, which will likely involve things that I would rather not think of.

I was talking about student loans. I don't want to know what you were thinking.

Anyway, having handed in the draft on Thursday meant that I had most of the weekend free to do what I wished, which is all I could have hoped for on my birthday weekend. Andrea, who, thanks to her gentle and not-so-gentle nudging throughout the past months, was the main reason why I finished my draft as soon as I did, decided to take advantage of my freedom and her extended 'reading weekend' to whisk me off to Seattle on Saturday. Pike Place Market provided the most gratifying experience of the trip, as it afforded me a (hopefully) once-in-a-lifetime opportunity: to witness the awe-inspiring sight of a purplish, slimy, ichthyoid dangling from a iced counter, pinned to the ice by a sign reading 'Hello! I am a Monk Fish!' A Hallmark card if there ever was one.

But Seattle was not all rotting sea life. We also took the opportunity to ascend the Space Needle for the first time in each of our lives, which provided us excellent views of geographic landmarks that we could not identify. Combine that with a fair bit of walking around town, a little bit of window shopping, and a picnic on the sort-of waterfront, and you have the making of an excellent pre-birthday day.

And now we come to today, and the reason why I have time to write this journal entry at ten in the morning. For you see, I have apparently reached the advanced age where I forget basic things, such as what time my tutorials are on Mondays. Last night, I set my alarm for 7:45 to ensure that I would be ready in time for the 8:40 bus, which would get me to SFU by about 9:10, which would therefore allow me to have plenty of time to make it to my 9:30 tutorial. This would be all fine and dandy if I had a 9:30 tutorial Monday morning. Which I don't, as you might have guessed by now. This fact I did not realize until I was on the bus, well on my way up to campus. So, because of my early-onset Alzheimer's, I have plenty of time to entertain you, the reader, with my bizarre ramblings.

I hope that you appreciate all of the hard work that goes into these things.

Alas, I must take my leave, as I have forgotten in which room my class is held.

On other fronts, it has (as usual) been a long time since I entered anything into the journal. This is due to several reasons. First, of course, was the Christmas break, which I spent among family in Abbotsford. Rather than writing, I learned valuable new drink recipes, such as Cokenog (patent pending).

Cokenog

Ingredients: