This weekend I will be at Vanessa's house for Easter. Therefore I won't be posting. Keep your pants on, don't worry, I shall return on Sunday night. In the meantime here are some tidbits for you:

-Lance really is going to space, or at least he's in Russia undergoing tests. He Sync bandwagon right before it heads off of a cliff.

-Lyle Lovett has been trampled by a bull. How many non-country singers can say that about themselves?

-And finally, in possibly the most bizarre story I have ever heard, a woman who was accused of throwing her pet iguana at someone claimed that the person was harassing her and that the lizard "leapt from my arms to defend my honor". Wow.

Cruise Report Part 4 of 4, The Ship: In Which Pete Loses, Wins, then Loses his Money in the Casino

So about now you're wondering, the ship was at sea for 7 days but you've only discussed 3 of them, what did you do the other days? The answer to this question, however, is vastly different depending on who you ask. Here it is from four different perspectives:

Chris' Day
Most of my days were spent attempting to find sun. It was cloudy for the first few days of the cruise, so I was forced to sit in the hot tub as an alternate source of heat. I also worked out every day, since I had access to a gym just by walking upstairs. The gym on the ship was interesting because the machines had no weights. Instead, they had pneumatic air compressors that you could adjust with a foot switch. I ate a lot as well, to counteract all of this exercising, since there was a 24-hour pizzeria that had to be taken advantage of. I also spent some time in the casino learning to play craps (although not actually playing) and watching the others lose their money. I did spend some playing in a blackjack tournament that I eventually lost. When I go to a casino it cannot accurately be called "gambling". A "gamble" implies that there is a chance at both winning or losing. When I play, however, there is no chance of winning. I only lose, and I lose quickly. The only real money I spent in the casino was to put $20 on one hand of blackjack with the idea that if I won I'd walk away and if I lost I'd walk away. Of course I lost immediately. Amount of alcohol consumed: Zero, just one bad smoothie.

Bryan's Day
Bryan's typical day was very similar to mine except he actually won in the casino. $100 on one pull of the slot machine. However by the end of the cruise he had managed to lose most of it at blackjack. Bryan also read a book in the sun, went to the gym, ate the occasional calzone, and played Spades with us. Bryan and I won all but one game of Spades, because we are a juggernaut. We will take on all comers. Amount of alcohol consumed: Two hard lemonades.

Brian's Day
Brian Park was Pete's friend from Oregon (pronounced "Oar-a-gone" not "Organ"). He had a particular affinity for the casino and for sleeping. Along with Pete he managed to sleep away a good portion of the daylight hours, choosing instead to come out at night and pay the casino a hundred bucks or so. He knew the dealers by name and even tried to fix one of them up with Bryan. Alas, he was not her type so Brian proceeded to allow her to take his money. At the end of the cruise he had lost so much money that he had to borrow some from Pete in order to pay for a cab home from the airport. However, all of his losses paid off in that one of the girls who was also losing money in the casino kissed him after she happened to win once. He also made it to the finals of the blackjack tournament (pronounced "turn-a-ment" not "two-er-na-ment"). Amount of alcohol consumed: 2 shots of tequila, one blue-looking thing.

Pete's Day
Pete's days were spent mostly eating and sleeping. Pete managed to also sleep away the days while gambling at night, but in typical Pete fashion he also never stopped eating. To this day I wonder how he can always be hungry. Pete also gambled (and therefore lost) quite frequently, but he actually had a winning streak. One night he managed to bet the table maximum at blackjack 3 consecutive times and win every time. This made up for the previous night's losses, but this windfall was soon spent on more hands of blackjack, and he once again returned to the red. Amount of alcohol consumed: Blue-looking thing.

4 college students on a cruise managed to purchase and consume only 6 alcoholic drinks during one week. The same cannot be said for many of the other passengers, especially those from Texas who were in a constant state of inebriation and were therefore always screaming "yee-ha!". I'm not kidding.

Quick quiz: Which campus group perpetrated the following crime...

Members offended three visiting women's tennis teams and the Washington University administration, allegedly yelling sexually explicit epithets and throwing a dead squirrel onto the courts during a tennis match on Saturday, March 15.

If you guessed a fraternity, and chances are you would considering their reputation, you would be absolutely correct.

It is a rare occasion where you can offend four colleges all in the span of one morning, but this particular fraternity managed to do just that by yelling obscene phrases at their female tennis players. The "brothers" started off with a few suggestions for the girls, notably "Hey girls, you can't [expletive deleted] play tennis, so why don't you come upstairs, and I'll show you something you can play with". Apparently the players did not catch the implied subtleties, so the guys decided to spell it out in easier-to-understand terms: "Why don't you come up here and let me [expletive deleted] you in your [expletive deleted].". Then, apparently frustrated because none of the girls accepted their invitations, the guys did what any logical person would do and hurled a dead squirrel onto the courts. At this point it became official that the squirrel, dead or alive, had more common sense than any of the males involved in this situation.

Before you start bashing the frat, keep in mind that the guys had a perfectly logical excuse: they were drunk. You see, by choosing to consume large amounts of alcohol you, by default, automatically are not responsible for any of your actions. At least this is the standard defense.

Despite pleas by the fraternity that people consider also the positive philanthropic benefits of the weekend ($1,000 raised for charity), it is hard to look past drunken obscenity and a good old-fashioned squirrel-hurling. Some of the opposing tennis coaches suggested that the brothers be required to undergo sensitivity training, but I think at this point if you can't recognize that yelling obscenities and throwing a dead squirrel onto a tennis court during a match are both inappropriate behaviors for 20+ year-olds then you're never going to learn.

I've mentioned before here that Dave Barry is my personal hero because of his many humorous books and columns. Well last night I finally got to see him in person at Webster University down the street.

We arrived half an hour early and were confident that we would have plenty of time to get seats (it was all free and open to the public), but when we got in the door we saw that there was a line beginning to extend from the doors. The most disturbing part was that the line was not moving because the doors were closed, and certain old rich-looking folks carrying neon green tickets were the only ones getting in. An announcement on the loudspeaker a few moments later confirmed our worst fears: there were no open seats left for the public. All remaining seats were reserved for ticketholders who had given money to Webster U., and if there were any donors who didn't show up they would let a few more people in.

By this time the line extended out the doors and the public was none-too-pleased. People were complaining to management and leaving the line in disgust. On a hunch (and because we had nothing better to do) we hung around and slowly moved forward in the line that was slowly dissipating. Sure enough, about 5 minutes before starting time the doors opened and they yanked in a few more people. We were in this group.

Ironically we got some of the best seats in the house because we were put into unoccupied reserved seats front and center. After a long-winded introduction by the president of Webster (or so he claimed to be, he could've been a Mafia hit-man for all I know about Webster), Dave came out and went through a funny hour-and-a-half long routine of his columns and some new material.

Afterwards, he took questions and after an incredibly creepy question from a large stalker-type man in the back of the room, he pointed at me. As you probably know (or should know anyway), Dave recently wrote a book called Big Trouble that has since been made into a movie which was supposed to come out last September but was delayed until next week because of the September 11 tragedy. What follows is an approximate transcription of my question and its rejoinder:

Me: After the success of Big Trouble are you planning on writing any more fiction books?
Dave Barry: Fiction books.....also called novels [crowd bursts into laughter, especially David, michael, and James, who were sitting with me].

So I can now say that I was zinged by the funniest man in America. As much as he made me look like a dumb college kid (luckily everyone probably thought I went to Webster), I must consider it an honor. Cross one more thing off of life's to-do list.

The Academy Awards are on right though, but rather than go through the usual "who won and who should've won" list, I will pose a different question: "Who cares?" I have never been able to understand why people watch hours and hours of pre-awards shows and the final 4 hour bore-a-thon ceremony just to see what outfits other people are wearing. In the long run it doesn't matter what awards any of them win, it does not impact my life in the least. Whether or not Lord of the Rings wins any award doesn't change the fact that I enjoyed it, and even if Moulin Rouge wins 10 I will never in a million years sit through the whole thing. Then there are the "analysts" who sit there and ooh and aah over a piece of fabric that someone else picked for Nicole Kidman to wear. These analysts, keep in mind, have no other career than talking about what more successful entertainers are wearing. I, on the other hand, am watching Major League. This movie won zero Academy Awards, but is damn funny anyway.

I thought yesterday was Casino Night, but it turns out that it isn't until next week. If you recall, I did the exact same thing last week with Dave Barry, who is actually coming tomorrow night. I think I am going senile in my old age.

Cruise Report Part 3 of 4, Cozumel: Scuba Diving, Mexican Prostitutes, and Pikachu

I have been to Mexico, so I kind of knew what to expect. Everyone would want our money. There is no fixed price for anything, haggling is encouraged, and beverages are undrinkable. We also heard that shopping was good, and because our shore excursion did not depart until 1 in the afternoon we slept in for a little while and then got up to hit the town. We were once again docked rather than anchored, so we got right off the ship and onto Mexican soil, where the cruise photographer immediately began bombarding us with props and trying to take our picture. First was a photo with no props, then someone held a very large lizard up to our chest so it looked like we were holding it, then a photo with someone dressed in what looked suspiciously like American Indian garb. This would be the least tacky of our Mexican adventures.

We walked through a giant duty-free store that sold liquor, perfume, and large stone penises (I'm not kidding, I'll scan a picture as soon as I get a chance), and came out in the "shopping town" which had seemingly been set up the night before in preparation for tourists. The shopkeepers were relentless in their sales pitches, despite the fact that every single store sold only one product: "funny shirts". Most of the shirts referred to alcohol or the sun, while others quite accurately poked fun at Mexico's dirty water supply. There was a row of about 20 stores which all sold the same shirts, and they were apparently all in a competition as to who could price the shirts cheapest in order to sell some. An economist would have a field day here. In addition, they used some shady sales tactics to try and convince us to buy shirts. "Hey dudes, funny shirts $1", "Hey dudes, come inside, buy something", and my personal favorite "Hey mister, want to see my sister?" This particular shopkeeper apparently realized we were not interested in funny shirts and, in a desperate attempt to earn our American money, took a stab at positioning another product: cheap Mexican prostitutes. Another shopkeeper, in an effort to get my attention, pelted me in the chest with a small rock. Good times.

After escaping the shopping district, which also included airbrushed paintings of sunsets with Pikachu in front of them, we journeyed to the place where we would be leaving for our shore excursion. Rather than pure snorkeling again, we decided to try Snuba, which is just like scuba diving except with the airtank on the surface on a raft and everyone attached to the same one via a long rubber hose. We got a quick lesson from an instructor (who was not amazed by our limited range of Spanish phrases, yet we spouted them all anyway), and then took to the beach. The water here was very clear, and the fish and coral were a lot more colorful. We dove down to a maximum of about 20 feet, and I had to continuously pop my ears in order to equalize the pressure. It was great fun, though, I highly recommend Snuba to everyone, as they have it other places besides Mexico.

Next Time, The Ship: In Which Pete Loses, Wins, then Loses his Money in the Casino

Today I purchased my cap and gown for graduation in a month and a half, although I'm not really graduating. Well, I am really graduating, but I'm not actually going anywhere. I'm staying here for another 2 years to get my Master's degree in Computer Science, this being contingent on me finding an apartment. You see, back in February myself, David and michael signed up for the waiting list at Debaliviere Apartments thinking that we could take occupancy in either April or May. We were second on the waiting list and quite confident that something would open up. However, it is nearing the end of March and there are no apartments opening up in April, so now we are getting worried. If no apartments open in May, we will be forced to search elsewhere for an apartment, and we won't have much time. Washington University, being the kind souls they are, offer no summer apartments and kick us out of our current residences on May 12. If anyone knows of any 3-bedroom apartments available *now* (no waiting lists) that are either close to school or on the Med School shuttle route, let me know. I'll be your best friend.

Another update on my arch-nemesis, the National Forest-turned-Clean Air hippie. Today he was at his usual post at the underpass, but instead of the usual pestering he was actually offering something: a summer job. Or to be more specific he was looking for new recruits to serve as his minions to be brainwashed and spread throughout the land with thousands of paper postcards.

Rather than take a break yesterday evening I opted to spend my time doing my taxes. At first it appeared that I was due an $88 refund, but oh was I mistaken. The mutual fund I invest in awarded me a whopping $2.79 in capital gains, and because of this I had to use a different schedule to figure out the taxes I owe. Of this $2.79, only 28 cents are taxable, so little that the extra amount is ignored. However, while the normal schedule allows me to divide the taxes I owe by 3, the capital gains schedule does not. Therefore because of 28 cents of extra taxable income I now owe the government $90. As you can imagine, I am not a happy camper. I can't claim any more deductions since my parents claim me as a dependent, so I may have to do some fiddling and rollover some of my mutual fund money into an IRA if I can't find a loophole. The ridiculous thing is that I have to go to all this trouble, and my taxes are increased by $170, because of $2.79. Ridiculous.

I was all excited about going to see my personal hero, Dave Barry, speak at Webster University this evening. However, upon revisiting the website to find out where to go, I discovered that he is not coming until next week. I already cancelled my CS456 meeting, so now I have an unexpected free evening tonight. Right now I am using up my free evening watching Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back on WUTV, but I think I may just chill out for awhile and read a book or something. I have not had many completely free evenings recently due to WUGrade and my presentations, so it's about time I take a break.

Last night I walked into Lien Dormitory and saw possibly the oddest sight I have ever seen. A whole gaggle of Pi Beta Phi sorority girls were wearing camouflage pants, tank tops, and bandandas, and had "G.I. Hoe's" written on their arms in marker. They were, of course, preparing for an evening at World War III, the largest and loudest of the frat parties.

I say loudest because last year I awoke one morning to the sounds of gunfire and bombs blasting throughout campus. Once I shook the cobwebs out of my head and assured myself that the nation had not been plunged into global thermonuclear war, I ventured outside and found that the source of the sound was, of course, fraternity row. This year in an effort to be a bit more tasteful there were no war noises, but instead there was loud music at 7:30 in the morning that could be heard clear across campus.

But back to the Pi Phis. Apparently it is tradition for these particular sorority girls to dress their pledges in crazy getups and throw them into the sea of undersexed underclassmen for World War III. Some of the girls were clearly quite at home with the notion, while others were not as ecstatic about being groped and gawked at. For this reason, the older Pi Phis were actually running the event like boot camp. The girls were even forced to line up and march over to the party.

This crazy event came ironically during the culmination of Engineering Scholarship Weekend, during which the brightest pre-freshman minds compete. Just when I interview 12 of the smartest and most interesting people I have ever met and start thinking that I will eventually leave WashU in capable hands, I have to go and see a spectacle like this that leaves me with more doubt than ever.

WUGrade is finally finished. After a week of late nights, hard coding, and documentation, it is finally done. Now it's in the hands of the judges. We find out on March 31st whether or not we've won. Right now it looks pretty good, since as far as I can tell only 13 groups total submitted their projects correctly on time. I haven't been overly impressed by any of the other ones I've seen, and certainly none of them have the immense amount of generated code documentation that we have nor the 20 page writeup.

This weekend is the annual Engineering Scholarship Competition, where 12 high school students are flown in to compete for 4 full scholarships. As usual, this year's group is very impressive, and much smarter than me. I, however, have the upper hand on them, as I get to interview all twelve tomorrow and make full reports on all of them. These reports are then used by the scholarship committee to decide who gets the scholarship. I've spent most of today reading over the students' applications, essays, and recommendations and coming up with some real doozies to ask them as interview questions. It should be a good time, although one that will involve waking up at 7:00 tomorrow morning. Yikes.

Cruise Report Part 2 of 4, Grand Cayman: In Which We Drive on the Wrong Side of the Road and Snorkel Again

A day after our Jamaican debacle, we awoke to a new port of call. Grand Cayman is the largest of three Cayman Islands, which either were or are protectorates of Great Britain. It sounds like someone had a little size fixation; Grand Cayman, Great Britain? Both are comparatively small islands.

Since Grand Cayman is/was British, it has a different culture from most of the other Caribbean islands. Where islands like Jamaica et. al. will sell their souls for American money, the Cayman Island Dollar (CI$) is actually worth more than the US Dollar. They also do wonky things there like drive on the left side of the road despite having American cars (with steering wheels on the left) and provide bank accounts that act as tax shelters for rich American folk.

Because of this highfalutin' British-esque snobbery, Grand Cayman is also one of the few ports where it is actually safe to walk around on your own without fearing for your life or your money. This was a good thing for us because we were not able to secure tickets to snorkel with the stingrays, which is Grand Cayman's number one tourist attraction. As a result, we planned on wandering about looking for our own amusement. Top notch eh old chap?

Unfortunately there are no docks large enough to support our cruise ship at Grand Cayman (guess it's not so Grand after all), so we were forced to take a shuttle tender to the shore and back. This provided scheduling problems, because the shuttles took about half an hour to run and the ship was leaving at 3:00 in the afternoon in order to make it to Grand Cayman on time.

Once we got to the island we walked around for awhile and found a tour place that promised a glass-hulled boat tour of shipwrecks and snorkeling on the coral reef. We were a little scared about the time that the trip left, though. It was supposed to finish at 2:30, which left us only half an hour to make it back to the pier to pick up the tender. We were convinced that we would be back on time, so we paid for tickets and then took a cab to the beach and lounged for awhile.

After a few currency conversion issues with various locals who wanted nothing to do with our cheap American money, we returned to take the snorkeling trip. This time the water was much clearer, although the reef was still mostly unimpressive. The shipwrecks were kind of cool, but there was no gold to be seen. While we were snorkeling the rain started to fall, which would be a precursor of events to come.

We returned to shore at 2:30 as promised and started running for the pier. This would prove to be unnecessary because the line to get on the shuttle tender wound around and out of the Port Authority. By this time the rain was falling harder, with some of the biggest raindrops I have ever felt. No one had umbrellas, of course, so the entire line of people was getting soaked. No one was very happy, and everyone was pushing and shoving to get on the next available shuttle. 3:00 came and went and there were still hundreds of people left at the pier, including us. An hour later, after we had been completely drenched, we got on what would be the last tender back to the ship.

At that point it was definitely hot tub time.

Next Time, Cozumel: Scuba Diving, Mexican Prostitutes, and Pikachu

For the next two days I will be working on WUGrade (our Microsoft Best of .NET contest entry) pretty much nonstop when I am not in class. Because of this you may have to wait awhile for the next cruise report unless I get a chance tonight. This may at first seem to not benefit you at all, but keep in mind that if I win this contest I will have a lot of extra money to burn, which could better quality music for the Music page (which is right now empty). Patience is a virtue.

Cruise Report Part 1 of 4, Jamaica: The Armpit of the Caribbean

The first port of call on my spring break cruise was Montego Bay, Jamaica. Featured in the Beach Boys' song "Kokomo" and homeland of Bob Marley and marijuana, we expected Jamaica to be an island paradise. As we ate breakfast that morning we looked out over the clear blue water and green forests and figured to be correct. However, "drug-ridden cesspool" would be a more accurate description of Montego Bay.

Our shore excursion that day would be a snorkeling trip. We signed up for some sort of snorkeling-like activity at each port and this was our first, so we did not know what to expect. At minimum I expected a certified instructor, a sturdy vessel, and some of that goopy stuff that keeps your mask from fogging up. In reality I found none of these.

We got off the boat and asked the nearest local which way to the snorkeling. "Talk to 'da Rasta" was his response, and he pointed to a shoeless, dreadlocked, possibly stoned man with glazed-over eyes. This nameless Rastafarian then took out tickets and pointed off in the distance, referring us to "Horace" who would take us out on the water.

After walking a ways down the shore, we came upon another shoeless man and a rickety wooden "boat" which had large gasoline tanks sitting next to the seats. This apparently was Horace, and he issued us snorkels, masks, and fins, all of which were sitting in paint buckets full of dirty ocean water. Despite my better judgment I took one of each and tried them on, and once everyone was on the "boat" we shoved off for the reef.

Most of you have probably seen coral reefs in movies and magazines. Colorful tropical fish swimming through a bed of colorful coral and plants was the image I had in my head. Instead, after a short ride on the "boat" that reeked of gasoline and had an engine that didn't sound like it could power a pencil sharpener, we dropped anchor in murky water. There were fish, not the least bit colorful or tropical, but they were hard to see since the water was so dirty. It didn't help that our masks were not exactly spotless either. The only color in the coral was the dull orange of fire coral, which would sting and burn if we touched it. After about 30 minutes of avoiding fire coral and looking for signs of life in the dirty water, we loaded back on the boat and once again prayed that it would not spring a leak or explode.

After our snorkeling adventure with Horace and the stoned Rastafarian, we went shopping in the duty-free stores next to the pier. These were not the quaint tropical shops you imagine either, instead they were located inside a warehouse that was guarded by Jamaican customs agents. We purchased a few souvenirs, and one shopkeeper attempted to teach Pete how to smuggle embargoed Cuban cigars into the US, then quickly ran back onto the boat and out of the country that prides itself on its pot-smoking heritage.

Next Time, Grand Cayman: In Which We Drive on the Wrong Side of the Road And Snorkel Again

Ahh, it's good to be back from the warm weather, sun, abundance of free gourmet food, and many girls in bikinis to cold, grey, homework, projects, and the same chicken sandwich every day. For all of you who placed bets on the odds, none of them actually happened. We all returned to the US safe and sound, and although Pete almost tried to smuggle in Cuban cigars, clearer heads prevailed.

I will be very very busy over the next week, but I will try to find time to post about the cruise. I will be working hard core on WUGrade all week most likely, as well as preparing for a presentation in CS456 next Monday. I also have a robotics presentation next Tuesday that I need to do some work on, and a Marketing Strategy project that I haven't started yet.

And so it begins again...

Well it's about time that I head off to sleep before my great adventure. I will try to keep some sort of diary-type dealie so that I can update you all of my wacky shenanigans upon my return. There is supposedly an internet cafe on the ship but it probably costs approximately $15 per second to use, so don't expect any updates next week. If you receive one, treat it as a windfall.

Before I leave, I'd like to take this opportunity to remind you that March is National Peanut Month, National Hamburger and Pickle Month, National Music in Our Schools Month, National Noodle Month, and most importantly National Foot Health Month.

Some betting odds for the upcoming week (please note that odds are for entertainment purposes only, I'm not responsible for your gambling problem):

Our flight will be delayed on Sunday due to Saturday's snow: 10 to 1

Pete will cause us to miss the flight on Sunday by not waking up on time: 7 to 1

Pete will cause us to miss the flight on Sunday by waking up on time but insisting that we "still have plenty of time": 6 to 1

We will be offered drugs in Montego Bay: 7 to 1

Pete will get off the boat in Montego Bay and forget to get back on before it leaves: 5 to 1

Pete will pay for a shore excursion and not wake up in time to go on it: 3 to 1

There will be at least one nasty topless woman in Cozumel: 3 to 1

We will be offered fake silver trinkets during the ferry ride to Cozumel: 1.5 to 1

Nick, Michael, and David will finish WUGrade while I'm gone: 12 to 1

Pete will be detained by customs for try arch nemesis the National Forests rep was at his new post outside of Mallinckrodt yesterday in the bitter cold, but he had a new song and dance. Instead of trying to get me to save our national forests, he now is putting his heart and soul into getting postcards signed to "stop air pollution and get cleaner air". Different rhetoric, same questions about whether this is the best way for him to go about achieving his goals.

Last night I rehearsed with Dynamix, my girlfriend's show choir. I am playing the guitar during their rendition of the U2 tune With or Without You. It will be my first public guitar performance since last year at Coffee in the Commons in my dorm. I am looking forward to showcasing my skills in the public eye once again, where by "skills" I really mean "ability to play four chords over and over again".

2 days until cruise time...