Because I've been on sabbatical, I've made an effort to avoid thinking about next term. It has only been in the past week or two that I've really started gearing up for a new term of teaching. Looking at the schedule of classes, I noticed that I was set to teach my usual course, but in an unfamiliar room. I decided to wander over and check out the room. That's when I experienced a WTF? moment.

For whatever reason, they decided to put me not in a classroom with rows of seats, but in a tutorial room. The room consists of about eight circular tables with chairs, and a raised platform at one end. It's not necessarily entirely unsuited to lecture-style teaching, but it's certainly foreign territory. I can understand being assigned this room if I specifically requested it so that I can try out some more innovative teaching methods, but I'm surprised they'd give it to anyone without specifically obtaining their consent first. Does it seem weird to anyone else? Anyway, I'm thinking simultaneously about how I might use the room, and how I can get a different one.

The room reminds me of two other environments. One is a nightclub. The other is a Kindergarten. If I'm stuck with the room, I may have to modify my teaching style into either dinner theatre or arts and crafts. There may be a reason to keep it after all.

The holiday season is upon us. Today is the official last day of operations at the university. The campus officially shuts down from tomorrow until the first day of school in January. Doors are locked and getting to one's office requires a deliberate, non-trivial effort, which frankly is probably for the best.

I'm feeling the beginning of holidays most acutely. My student and I submitted a paper at 7:30 this evening, and now I can relax momentarily before I have to think about teaching and the big paper deadline in January. Interestingly, today's deadline was originally set for Monday, but got moved to today to give researchers on the west coast an opportunity to dig themselves out of severe storm damage. As Nath observed, I can thank global warming for the few extra days' worth of work we were able to put into the paper.

I was at home when I put the finishing touches on the paper, and a few minutes later the whole family headed out to a holiday party down the street. We had a few hours of good food, good cheer, and friendly neighbours before I was charged with bringing home a very sleepy Vorlon. Nath followed with Zebula about an hour later.

We're seeing holiday activity at home too. We're not traveling this year (yay!), but we're welcoming a steady stream of visitors over the next two weeks. I'm looking forward to seeing everyone, particularly my new nephew.

This holiday season has also made me realize that I'm a lousy faculty member. Apparently, this is the time of year when faculty all lavish gifts on their staff to thank them for a year's worth of dedicated service. I don't do that, because I'm an idiot. I suppose I don't have much experience with lavishing. Note to self: gifts for staff next year, to express gratitude to those without whom you wouldn't survive for a second.

Finally, let me take this opportunity to wish all of you happy holidays, and a great new year. Together, we can make 2007 the Year of the Thingo.

The other day, my dad sent out a mass email with the subject "Darwin Awards". To quote the message, it described "the 2005 Darwin Awards, the annual honour given to the person who improved the 'gene pool' the most by killing themselves in the most extraordinarily stupid way." Those of you familiar with the awards can probably guess that a bunch of absurd stories followed.

The email reported that the winner of the 2005 Darwin Award was zookeeper Friedrich Riesfeldt of Paderborn, who died buried in a mountain of poo, trying to come to the aid of a constipated elephant. Apparently, he was administering an enema after feeding the elephant laxative and fruit, and was caught in a literal shitstorm.

Now, this story turns out to be an urban legend, as can easily be verified by doing a web search on "Friedrich Riesfeldt". Apparently, Paderborn doesn't even have a zoo. I suspected the story was apocryphal as soon as I read it. Not because it's so improbable -- surely the history of civilization must contain at least one example of death-by-poo. No, I rejected the story because it wasn't in the spirit of the Darwin Awards. Remember that the award is bestowed (posthumously) on someone who did the rest of us a service by ceasing to exist. This sort of death typically requires a monumental act of stupidity; many of the stories start with someone saying "Hey guys, check this out!". But poor Friedrich didn't suffer this kind of fate at all. From the description, it sounds like he was just doing his job in a caring and skilled way, and was the victim of an unfortunate accident. That is surely a noble (albeit undignified) death. So let's not insult Friedrich's fictional memory by associating him with the generations of legitimate morons who have earned the Award. Please, a moment of silence in his honour.

Speaking of legitimate morons, I don't know why the author of the message my dad sent out felt it necessary to assemble a list of urban legends when the real Darwin Awards already make for compelling reading. Enjoy the list of 2005 winners (including two elephant-related stories) here.

Yesterday was one of those days that will make those of you who have chosen to remain childless feel validated about your decision. The following is not for the faint of stomach. Seriously, stop reading now.

It started innocently enough. For the past little while, Nath and I have been trying to have an adults-only dinner on Fridays. We get take-out food and eat it after the kids are in bed. We also recently observed that we haven't been taking the kids out for dinner very often; that's fine in and of itself, except that you don't want to let their manners atrophy. Yesterday we suspected that Vorlon wasn't going to go to bed until fairly late, and so Nath suggested that we all go out to dinner. After some deliberation, we settled on an all-you-can-eat sushi restaurant downtown.

I met everyone else at the restaurant, and in fact we proceeded to have a lovely and delicious dinner: gyoza, maki, miso, skewers, tempura, and plenty of cold, raw fish for Nath. Zebula, ever picky, nibbled on some rice and edamame. Vorlon ate bits of this and that. Zebula's energy seemed to be flagging, but apart from that everyone was having a fine time.

Things started to go downhill as we were wrapping up. Vorlon, sitting in his high chair, coughed once loudly, drooled for a moment, and then vomited impressively all over the floor in front of him. I should stress that he wasn't the least bit bothered by this experience. He was smiling up until that moment, was smiling immediately after, and for all I know was smiling during the act, to the extent that one can. Zebula was nonplussed, and went a little pale. We, and the staff, began the unfortunate clean-up process, with Zebula standing on a chair so as to be out of the way. It was from this elevated position, while I was at the register settling the bill, that she proceeded to emulate her brother.

There wasn't much we could do at that point apart from fleeing the restaurant. Of course, we still faced the prospect of getting across town without a car (one of those rare occasions where it really would be better to have one). The restaurant called us a taxi and we cleared our heads in the cool air while we waited for it to arrive. We even made it almost all the way home before each of them gave us a repeat performance, one right after the other. Amazingly, the taxi suffered almost no damage (don't ask how). But we've run several pieces of winter outerwear through the wash multiple times since last night.

Here's the best part. Apart from being wigged out, they were fine. They had baths, got to sleep on time, and in fact both slept more soundly than normal. They woke up and had big breakfasts without incident. Today has passed with perfect normality. Not that I'm ungrateful, but what gives? Theories are a bit thin on the ground:

• They ate something earlier in the day that disagreed with them. Possible. They spent a portion of the morning at a friend's house with other kids. We should find out if those kids were sick at all during the day.
• They ate something at the restaurant that disagreed with them. Possible. They both had edamame and Nath and I didn't. They shared some bottled apple juice. But that's a sudden reaction, no? And surely others at the restaurant would have been feeling sick.
• Vorlon did something that made him vomit, and Zebula decided to copy him. Weird, but possible. Vorlon had, in fact, been eating a pencil eraser a couple of minutes before the dam broke. Perhaps he choked on a bit of eraser and threw up. Conceivably, Zebula's reaction was a reflex (heck, she always copies him). On the other hand, she had mentioned a tummyache before things started happening.
• It's just a freak occurence, and I should probably get used to it. Yeah. Funny world, isn't it. But not funny ha ha.

This is one of those Tales of Deep Irony, I suppose. Nath and I decide it would dandy to take the family out for dinner, and this is what happens. But don't worry, we haven't been broken yet. I'm sure we'll try this whole dining out experiment again in four or five years.