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This April will be the end of my 8th year in university schooling.
When I think about it, and all the experience, it doesn't really seem like that long of a time... well, not until I put a number of years to it.

Strangely enough, during my 4 years as a Pure math student I usually enjoyed going to class. Each professor respected student work load and scheduled tests so there wasn't ever a "hell week" per say. I looked forward to seeing my professors, solving some interesting problems,learning new methods and I had a whole slew of electives I could choose from. The bottom line was it was enjoyable.

Contrary to that, school now has become essentially unbearable. The tests are ridiculously hard to the point where "an average student should get 65". I don't want 65, and I don't want to live at my desk. I also get to pick 3 electives, as opposed to the 8 I had in math. I'm having great difficulty motivating myself to learn things I'll never use again. But of course, in the off chance that I did need to solve for the heat transfer from a non-uniform object at transient conditions, well I'd use a computer program, not spend the better of a day scratching through a pad of paper.

Here's to the wonderful feeling of being an engineering student.
and to the feeling associated with generating what may quite possibly be the first test mark I'm ashamed of.
(test just completed.. yet to be graded)

So, instead of relaxing, and comforting myself that the mark will probably be 'curved'.. I have to study for 2 more tests.

Life lesson: Always dress to die

We stood in the Deer Lake airport waiting forever to pass through security. Apparently, the man in front of us wasn't aware of the havoc that steel toe boots could cause a metal detector.

After a few scans, the Security guard asked him to take off his boots and put them through the x-ray. He slid one off after the other, and to the horror of everyone there, his socks were wretched. Holes everywhere. Different toes poking out of different holes, no heels, an ankle showing here, another on the other foot. As I fought back laughing, my Dad leaned over to me.

"There's a life lesson for you, Always wear clean, fit socks, because you never know when you're going to have to take your shoes off." I burst out laughing, the poor guy turned crimson.
...
This morning, I evidently slept through my alarm for 90 minutes. I woke up with just 20 minutes to get ready and run to class. Somehow I managed it, though I was quite hungry during the last stretch of my thermodynamics lecture.

On the walk home, my head swelled with panic from the looming spectre of 3 midterms (weds, thurs, and fri) A voice called out. I looked up and saw a girl, midway in a street crossing. "Hey!! Do you have a second?"

I smiled and stopped, figuring she was going to ask the time. I started to pull my sleeve up to show my watch when she said something totally unexpected.

"I'm... (I didn't catch her name), I'm the fashion reporter for the Daily News..... I write an column every Thursday where I hit the street and snap photos of people the are well dressed.... Do you have time for a couple of questions on your ensemble and some photos?"

I started to flush... "Ummm.. I'm pretty camera shy..." I managed, trying not to let my eyes stray to the visible ends of my mountain of hair, which of course was badly in need cutting.

"Oh come on!!!" She said... "It'll be great!"

Thoughts started to race through my head. 'F---K! The daily news, that's a tabloid, this could be a prank.... shit.. it could be a prank anyways!"

But then a thought came to mind... "Who cares? After you bomb this set of tests, a career in fashion, no matter how shitty it might be... may be all you have left."

"Sure I guess, why not" I said, trying to smile... before I knew it, I was giving my name, describing each piece I was wearing (brand name, place of purchase) and price.

finally, "And Colum... what's your favorite place to shop?"

*PANIC!*.. "Umm.... ummm... *pause*, Le Chateau?" I said, expecting her to laugh.... I waited, and she looked up, actually impressed..

"Excellent. They really do have a lot of great stuff there for guys now don't they?"

After some more small talk, I continued on my walk home to bury myself in the books, but I couldn't help but smile and think what I would say to my brother..

"The real difference between you and me is that I make this look good."

*fingers crossed for it not to be a prank :)*

I was sitting in the one of the most architecturally remarkable places I'd ever been. It was an airport I had once been in for a few hours awaiting the voyage home.

Sure, it could have been named after someone a little more worthy of the distinction, but it didn't take away from its magnificence.

Last night my dream, fueled by intoxication, my stress, or a healthy mix of both placed me there again. Nothing in particular happened, in retrospect it seems like it was quite a short dream. I just sat there really, admiring everything around me, my feet kicked up on the chair opposite of me. "This is what engineering is all about" I thought, or something like it, feeling a peculiar mix of elation and dread.

Curiously enough, last night, before the diversionary drinking started, I calculated my ecological footprint. I did it twice, first using my home away from home as the basis, then using my family home as the base. Strangely, I'm more of an ecological glutton away from home. Of course, I tried my hardest to be accurate, and it might very well have been my 117.5 hours of [accurately] estimated flying time that tipped the balance. Of course, this would more than likely be much worse if I could accurately account for the number of delays I've suffered and the time I've spent in holding patterns over airports for one reason or another. The average Canadian consumes 8.8 Hectares of biologically productive land. I evidently consume 17.3 Hectares and I don't even have a car, I walk everywhere!

Give it a shot. You can calculate your Ecological Footprint right here. It's worth the awareness, or at the least, the surprise.

Somehow, last night over yet another game of Wii Tennis (where I tried unsuccessfully to avenge myself from last week's humiliating defeat) my role in the Earth's ecological devastation entered the conversation. The two of them quickly brought the laptop out into the tv room and plugged in their estimates, 12ish and 9 Hectares each.

"Why are you so high?!" One of them said, somewhat concerned.

Suspecting my flying time as the the source of the anamoly I said"What did you pick for flight hours?"

"10 hours"... "Ya, same for me."

"Oh."

"Why what did you pick?"

"100"

"Jesus."

"You've probably been in more airports than buildings I've been in." He smirked.

"What? so?" I said between groundstrokes, the computer player kicking my ass. "I like air planes."

"I like Planet Earth" he said jokingly. But it still stung.

It's the seventh day of training for a race filled summer and I'm glad to report that I haven't injured myself yet. Of course, today is the first physical day, the first six were spent starting in on a set of new dietary plan and sleeping habits. Unbelievably, the sleeping was much harder to get a hold of; I still want to stay up later and wake up later.

I suppose it is not everyday that one walks away from something they pictured them always doing. Maybe that's why I like this sunrise picture so much. Or maybe it's just the colors.

I had a very "productive" talk yesterday with my partner in crime. After more idea tossing than I care to recount, it would seem that my plans for relocation to the American pacific coast are on hold, at least temporarily for an indefinite stop over in the Canadian rockies. Of course, the idea of a return to Terre Neuve hasn't been completely discharged either. But why not hop into the pool where everyone wants me?... errr.. *cough*.. us,.. I mean why not hop in where everyone wants us?

Also, startling enough, thoughts of fatherhood have begun to creep into the forefront of my mind. No one has really talked about it in seriousness, so I'm beginning to wonder if some sort of genetic alarm clock has suddenly exploded in my head without providing me with the decency of a gentle awakening.

Frighteningly enough, this train of thought hasn't arrived at my station alone. There's been quite a bite of chatter and I suppose that's to be expected when you're first mission out into the real world consists of conquering the world.
Dare I say it?
*gulp*

Marriage...

Home really is a wonderful place, even more so when you haven't been there for some time. But now, after having left again, with my feet squarely on the ground here I'm left thinking it's an entirely different place. With everyone save one of my best friends having moved away, it seems desolate, and somewhat lonely, not to mention all together sleepy and perhaps down right boring. But then again, a civilization crippling 50 cm snowfall didn't help much and I was suffering from a 4 day compound hangover, so I'll reserve judgment until my next passing through.

Last night, during my "last supper", The prospect of an "Austrian Alpine Vacation" presented itself somewhat unexpectedly. I was a little shocked to say, as the idea circled itself around the meatless dinner table. In between embarrassing stories of my untamed childhood, seemingly well researched factoids about Austria were changed.

"When Colum was 3 years old we were flying into New York. We ran into a bit of turbulence and Colum was sitting ahead of us with Dad. He unbuckled his seat belt and stood up on the seat with a big smile on his face. Then he turned around and leaned over the top of the chair and innocently asked, "Dad Ryan, is this plane going to crash?! We're going to crash aren't we?" as the lady sitting across the isle took our her rosary beads.

Then before any rebuttal was allowed, "You know, all of those scenes in the Sound of Music were shot in Salz burg and they have special tours which go around the city and visit all the sites."

"A liter of beer in Austria is cheaper than a bottle of beer here..."

I sat there between sips taking in the conversation, wondering if all my skeletons suddenly got together and decided to burst out of the closet at once.

Misguided Redirection

Over the passed couple of weeks I've logged onto blogger more times than I can count.
I'm generally happy with the appearance of the blog, but that said I've been filling out my "doodle sheet" that sits next to my keyboard.

I've scribbled down a horde of different titles, post ideas, and pictures I should use for this blog. Of course, I haven't actually worked on putting any of my brainstorming products into action yet because every time I think of it, I rethink it, revise it, and I find myself besiged by a whole new armada of ideas.

Come to think of it, I'm happy with this just as it is.
"Don't fix it if it ain't broke"

This is the last day of my [real] break.
I head back to New Scotland in the morning to begin something hopefully not too much like cramming for 3 midterms next week.

It's funny that I always dread the return. But once I'm seated on the place (in a window seat) I'm filled with a sense of adventure and excitement. Not to mention the pleasant memories of attached to some of the sunrise flights I've had fleeing Newfoundland.

Well, since I don't really have any reason in particular for not posting in more than a month, I'm going to ignore that fact completely.

I've just returned home from my most beloved place in Newfoundland; the west cost of the island.

I had remembered it as being an unspoiled place where it was troubling just how easy it was to get lost in the surroundings; green mountains looming on all sides, rivers, wildlife, and the total absence of anyone annoying and otherwise.

Luckily none of that has suddenly changed. However, I was somewhat surprised to see that a British invasion was well underway. Literally 200+ luxury homes have "sprung" up along the Humber river. They dot the shadows of the mountains in tight clusters, having appeared as quickly as one might expect mushrooms to suddenly grow from nothing.

I was awe struck to see it, homes rivaling and exceeding the value of anything in "town" with price tags pushing $2 million.

Well, it's nice to hear the British accents on the ski hill. It adds a certain measure of Classiness to the screams of people as they rush passed out of control, crashing ahead into eruptions of white powder.

Almost hurts to be over...
...actually, it does hurt.