Derelict of the Year 1996
Winner
Congratulations to Nick Ercolani.
Party
Thursday, 2 May 1996, 4:00 – 7:00 p.m., Dr. Greenlee's house.
Nominations
- Brooke McGuire: The Bra Waver
- Francisco Bido: Geek X-ing
- Craig Hyde: The Mad Sprayer
- Brooke McGuire: Burbling Brooke
- John Goshy: The Great Defender
- Orna Amir: Speed Racer
- Don Stark: Grad Student Emeritus
- Dave Ropp: Leaving Las Vegas
- Nick Ercolani: Derelict of the Year 1996 [WINNER]
While working on this website in 2004 and digging through our archives, we came across the following nomination, which for reasons unknown was left off the official 1996 ballot.
Brooke McGuire: The Bra Waver
B.R.O.O.K.E, a heartfelt poem for Brooke McGuire
<with embellishments by a soulful audience>
“B” IS FOR YOUR BRA, WHICH YOU CARRY EVERYWHERE...
<woo, yeah! Tell it like it IS! She be talking to big honcho math profs with that sucker right there in her HAND!>
“R” IS FOR THE RESTAURANT, WHERE YOU GAVE YOUR BRA A CHAIR.
<she just laid that sucker RIGHT ON the chair...waitress done near asked it to ORDER!>
“O” IS FOR YOUR OFFICE, WHERE YOUR UNDERWEAR'S DISPLAYED...
<layin' out to dry, baby...she layin' it ALL out to dry!>
“O” IS FOR OFF, HOW YOUR BRA ENDS UP EACH DAY.
“check out the SHOW, baby! 'bout 3:00 every day in th' LIBRARY...shirt stays on, bra come off. DIG IT!”
“K” IS FOR KANSAS, WHERE YOU MUST HAVE LEARNED THIS TRICK...
<yeah, man, the WHEAT state. Now it's ALL makin' sense!>
“E” IS FOR ECCENTRIC...HEY! YOU'D MAKE A GREAT DERELICT!
<she's one WEIRD chick...make a SMOKIN' derelict!>
Francisco Bido: Geek X-ing
(Loosely based on Lewis Carroll's “The Hunting of the Snark” and events that we swear really happened.)
“THE HUNTING OF THE GEEK”
“Just the place for a geek,” the belly-dancer cried
As she sought to track down her prize,
“From the Student Showcase,”she said with pride,
And Lois, she just rolled her eyes.
He's one who's famous for not remembering things,
“He forgot that he voted for me,
And I hear that geeks can be found in math buildings,
And I've come for Francisco, you see.
“He said he would be here,” she said quite befuddled,
Lois saw the problem and did speak,
“If the geek is a Bido its thinking is muddled,
And he must then have been here last week.
“It's tough to find this geek, my dear,
Others have tried and have failed,
The trouble is just that when you come near,
He loses his way on the trail.
“He will lose his way in all kinds of terrain,
In the Rincons and Catalina's, I hear,
His friends call his name, but it's all in vain,
For a geek that's a bido disappears.
He loses his way on the city concrete,
When he see's a sign that is yellow,
When he reads `Ped Xing' he thinks it's a street,
That's named after a Chinese fellow.
“It's hard to track someone who loses his shoes,
Like he did at the Santana show,
Where, as if just to make his hunters confused,
Barefoot all the way home did he go.”
The Brown-Bag speaker then came in rather _ _ _ _ _ _,
and said angrily “Where is the geek?
He put not my talk in the famed yellow list,
But rather the talk of next week.”
“If this is the same geek,” the secretary drawled,
With a knowing look on her face,
“You can search in the halls that on every floor sprawl,
But he's thrown off in time and in space.
“This geek likes to wander about like a pup,
Perpetually cool and carefree,
You just never know where this geek will show up,
How could you, when neither does he?
“Sometimes he sees bands that nobody knows,
Like Loverboy - they're so out of date,
And you can't track him down at these rock and roll shows,
For he arrives one week early or late”
The belly-dancer, the speaker, and the secretary searched,
In the X-shaped maze they called “Math”,
And others joined in, in the place where geeks lurch,
But alas, could not find the geek's path.
Then someone came shouting, “I've found what we've sought,
I just saw the geek over there,
There was a loud crash and there he was caught,
He has his leg stuck in a chair.”
They all went running, in hopes they would find,
The geek who had been such a riddle,
But at the scene of the crime all he left behind,
Was a chair with a hole in the middle.
They stood there in shock, then filled with dismay,
For they knew what the answer must be,
He had softly and suddenly vanished away,
For the geek was a Bido, you see.
Craig Hyde: The Mad Sprayer
Look up in the sky! It's a bird! It's a plane! No! It's Super Humming Man! That's right - after drinking Humming bird syrup, having mistaken it for GatorAde, Craig Hyde has transformed into the superhero that is striking fear into the hearts of villains everywhere! With his ability to fly in all directions, no evil is too great for his amazing powers!
No, not even a barnacle covered buoy could stop him as he wrestled the wicked bobber in the rolling waves! Sure he walked out bleeding head to toe and caused squeamish people to faint up and down the beach, but it was all in the name of good, justice and Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream!
This amazing super hero's resourcefulness never ends! Once on a covert mission to catch a Dave Ropp impersonator at a party, he cleverly disguised himself as a blind scuba-diver with a seeing-eye fish. He got his man and even beat the Tick to him!
All you wrong doers beware, lest The Super Humming Man throw his wallet at you! That secret weapon has been known to topple buildings - or at least spinal columns! Even if you think you can survive the "massive wallet", you'll never survive his machine-gun-like spray of obscenities or his crater making backpack!
Yes, The Super Humming Man is well worthy of the derelict title! If you believe in all that is wholesome and sweet - well, you better vote for someone else, but otherwise Craig is your derelict! Heck, he even peed on the side of the Math building! Some even say that if it wasn't for the calming effect of his sweet wife this super hero could have gone the unabomber route - he's that amazing!
Brooke McGuire: Burbling Brooke
ONCE upon a time, in a happy kingdom far, far away from the hustle and bustle of modern life, there meandered a burbling BROOKE, carrying pure clear water wherever she went. One day, the BROOKE decided to change her direction in life. She began to flow up a steep, dark hill. The farther up the hill that the BROOKE got, the harder the going was. She began to lose water, and she started to slow down.
Slower and slower.
Less and less water.
But the BROOKE was strong and she pushed on.
At the top of the hill, she came to a sign that read, “Beware all who enter! The Mathemagicians are loose!” Undaunted, she continued her journey. But the farther she got, the darker the woods around her became. A chill filled air, threatening to freeze the happy BROOKE into ice. She became sluggish and strayed from the edge of the forest, deep into the waiting darkness.
Up ahead loomed a terrible WORKSTATION where she would be forced to write coded information for the evil overseers, the MATHEMAGICIANS. In an effort to completely avert this disaster, she changed course again. She tried to escape the terrible pull of the WORKSTATIONS, but their magic was strong, and she was pulled in.
The MATHEMAGICIANS penned in the formerly happy BROOKE, forcing her to work. As she flowed among the many WORKSTATIONS, she left little bits and pieces of herself everywhere, but she was still trapped. Dark blackboards loomed on all sides, filled with symbols of the dark necromancy of the MATHEMAGICIANS.
Suddenly, one of the chalkboards burst asunder, revealing a savior. The knight reched into his pocket protector, and drew out a mighty pen. With four colors of ink, he was well equipped to vanquish the WORKSTATIONS. When his work was complete, the warrior, slayer of equations, picked his hair out and led the BROOKE to a way out.
And so the little BROOKE moved on. She flowed forth and quickly found another path to follow. But the path was a steep downhill run, and while looking at all the other brookes that had been captured by the MATHMAGICIANS, she failed to notice that up ahead was the wall of the tower of the dreaded ROBAT, leader of the MATHEMAGICIANS. As the tower loomed overhead, she took note of her fate, and for one BRIEF instant, worried. “Oh . . . MY GOD!” she squeaked, “I'm not even wearing any underwear!” At this, her downward trip ended in a loud crash as she collided with the wall of the tower.
And so, today, the little BROOKE is trapped. Always flowing busily around the base of the tower, her escape is but a MOAT point.
John Goshy: The Great Defender
Gun owners of the world, unite!
That could very well be the motto of our department's leading advocate of the NRA and Libertarianism, John Goshy. Generally soft-spoken and easy going, John assumes a near Ayn Rand-ish persona when expounding on the failure of government to promote the common good and of the need to promote the individual over the state. In line with this, John is quick to point out the benefits of owning a gun, purely for home defense or recreation. While I've never seen John pack a pistol or any other type of firearm, his comments might suggest that he has a sizeable arsenal somewhere.
None of this is worthy of dereliction per se; our department, like the Republican party, should be large enough encompass those with views outside the norm. What allows him to have a nomination here, though, is clear to everyone who has logged onto one of the Suns on the first floor after John has been there. Such a lucky individual will be greeted by an onslaught of quotes from past leaders of our country, each promoting gun ownership as an excellent sport and as a means of protection, either from hoodlums or from government. The stress of work is usually enough, and need not have added to it unsolicited political views. We do not want to limit freedom of expression, except in a .logout file.
Orna Amir: Speed Racer
Throwing caution to the wind, Orna gets behind the wheel of her little red “hell-mobile” and proceeds to impersonate the infamous Evel Knievel all over Tucson! She hits record speeds of 35 mph on I-10, and only looks three times in both directions before pulling out into traffic!! Watch out Anu — Orna's out to usurp your “crazy driver” reputation!
Don Stark: Grad Student Emeritus
In the last year we've seen many longtime members of our department leave or make plans to do so. This is only natural, and we often develop a callousness to insulate ourselves from such change. Even so, we still assume that some things will always be with us. Such was the case with Don Stark. No matter what changes there were among students, faculty, or staff (and there have been several while Don's been here), we always knew that Don was still around. Even during these last 4 years while he was up in Magic Mountains of Los Alamos, we who knew him knew that while you could take Don out of the grad school, you couldn't take the grad school out of Don. Those of us who saw him, either here or there, watched his ponytail extend further down his back while his hairline receeded almost as quickly, as Don would constantly prepare for a defense that was always “a few months away”. Don could regale us with stories of now-tenured professors, and provide a historical view of the department, often with the introductory line, “when I took the quals...”. But now Don has answered a higher calling and has crossed that great divide. There are already students who know him only by his picture by the applied math office, who do not know what the acronyms “CGL” or “NLS” stand for. But Don's presence will be felt long after his passing, especially by those of us who are accused of procrastination.
Don, Don, we hardly knew you.
Don Stark, 1988 - 1995
Dave Ropp: Leaving Las Vegas
The following is an excerpt from an actual conversation. Names have not been changed to protect the innocent.
Jim: Who is this man, David L. Ropp?
Stacey: Picture a nerd.
Jim: Glasses?
Stacey: Yup.
Jim: Pocket protector?
Stacey: Of course.
Jim: Polyester?
Stacey: You bet. Now picture him with an afro, dancing like John Travolta.
Jim: Does this guy ever go to the Wildcat House?
Stacey: Why yes, yes he does.
Jim: I've seen him there before! He's a really interesting dancer. A real
crowd pleaser in those skin tight bell bottoms that leave nothing to the
imagination. They're the male equivalent of a tight sweater!
Dave Ropp has indeed made a name for himself, not only in Tucson, but throughout the state of Arizona and parts of New Mexico. That name is: the DISCO KING.
Case in point: While admiring a car-art exhibit, he was recognized instantly by a middle aged woman from Bisbee, Arizona. “Hey, aren't you Disco Man?” she exclaimed. This is not an uncommon occurrence for David L. Ropp.
This alone is both necessary and sufficient for a derelict nomination. But wait, there's more!!
Imagine a beautiful fall day. Your vocubulary words for the day, “tup” and “calapigious,” are inscribed on your hand. Everything you own is in your car. You're driving along. There's no traffic. The road is straight and well maintained. What could POSSIBLY go wrong? All Dave wanted to do was change the radio station...
And to this day, 8 months later, he is still finding glass from the windshield of that car in his belongings. On a REALLY good day, he even finds glass in his hair.
Now, imagine a beautiful winter day. Your vocabulary words for the day, “rotenone” and “mangel-wurzel,” are inscribed on your hand. You and your friend have just spent a weekend in Las Vegas, and now it's time to go to the airport...
“Let's walk to the airport,” suggests Dave.
“I guess we can walk for a while and catch the next bus that passes by,” replies Wayne.
“FAN-tastic!” says Dave.
They begin to walk.
“Oh, I see an empty Marlboro pack! You go on ahead. I'll collect the Marlboro Miles and catch up with you.” As Dave heads off to collect his Marlboro Miles, the next bus passes by.
“Oh well,” says Dave. “Let's just keep walking. We'll catch the next bus.”
They continue to walk.
“Oh, I see an empty Marlboro pack! You go on ahead. I'll collect the Marlboro Miles and catch up with you.” As Dave heads off to collect his Marlboro Miles, the NEXT bus passes by.
“Oh well,” says Dave. “Let's just keep walking. We'll catch the next bus.”
They continue to walk.
Several buses and many Marlboro Miles later... a bus is coming as both Dave and Wayne approach the bus stop.
“We're almost there. Only a mile and a half to go!” says Dave. “Let's walk the rest of the way and save the 50 cents.” Wayne reluctantly agrees.
They continue to walk, luggage and all.
The sidewalk is straight and well maintained. Wayne and Dave are walking and talking, but keep their eyes on the path to avoid any possible mishaps, or so they thought... What could POSSIBLY go wrong?
“Surely Dave must see that HUGE sign directly in front of him. It's the size of a bus!” Wayne thought. “He's looking straight at it ...” BAM!
“I guess he DIDN'T see the sign...”
After Dave regains consciousness and the bleeding is under control... they continue to walk.
Now you've heard a few of the adventures of the man, known to so many only as: THE DISCO KING. So, if you happen to be at the Wildcat House and you see the Disco King, don't be afraid to ask him to dance, and maybe even ask him for a little kiss! You never know what might happen in the presence of ... the DISCO KING!
Nick Ercolani: Derelict of the Year 1996
“Ercolani lurching right
In the realms of Cochise's might
What mortal rescue company
Could port his kilos one-one-three?”
by Alan C. Newell
Alas, this was only the latest episode, dear friends, in a life consumed with dereliction. This poor, poor well brought up soul, last of a proud mother's brood, decent to the core of his being, yet yearning to unleash his streak of baaad! Big bad Nick. Probably now responsible for a whole new training regimen for mountain rescue teams. No longer will they blindly send out the pot-bellied crew but, when the call comes, they will ask: How big on the Ercolani scale? Any more than .9 will mean a call to Fort Huachuca and the big whirlybird.
But, friends, Nick's predilection for breaking lower limbs in times of stress goes back a long way. Not many know of the heart wrenching adventures of Nick, the dancer, and his attempts to win the hearts and breech the defenses of the fairer sex. One little episode comes to mind. Picture 1984 and a younger Nick, slimmer but still lean on the top enriching the wolfish Italian grin. Nick, the guest of ITP. Friday night. Hotel California, Santa Barbara, swings to the fierce gyrations of mating wannabees and there we find our good friend in orbit about one long legged, luscious California blonde called Boopsie. Their paths circle one the other. Several near collisions up the temperature in our hero's loins. Hormones are churning. Ready for the coup de gras, the kill, when disaster suddenly strikes. In his great excitement, our hero has danced off the edge of the floor and goes down poleaxed like a Ram's quarterback. Writhing in the agony of a twisted limb, giving Boopsie every opportunity to reveal compassion to match the generous bosom which suggests all the delights of maternal sweetness. But alas, dead friends, Boopsie is no Florence Nightingale. Hardly breaking stride, she nimbly leaps over the fallen Roman and dances her way back into the crowd of swaying bodies and out of his life forever. On hands and knees, dear friends, hand and knees, our hero claws his way back to his abode, where he is found groaning at the loss of opportunity by the writer of this tale. “Pain, what pain,” he roars at the swollen ankle, “I was so close, so close!” using upper limbs to explain to what in well known Italian gestures.
My friends, how can we deny yet once again the noblest of all prizes to this would-be derelict doomed by decency? His name will be known to mountain rescue teams forever. His name is associated with one of the abiding principles of policy of the Mathematics Department, the Ercolani-Friedlander Principle. And, in the Hotel California, now gone to seed and catering to lost souls stands a slightly plump and hair-dyed blonde, several times divorced, who remembers a time when an Italian stallion disappeared so suddenly from her view. And she wipes a regretful tear from mascarad eyes.
Mark Hays
(to the tune of Mr. Roboto, by STYX) You're wond'ring who is (degree, degree, he's got a degree) And what the heck's his biz? (degree, degree, he's got a degree) With time to waste in spades (degree, degree, he's got a degree) He is computer man! He's got a secret, he's been hiding, up in his fridge. His lungs're darkening, his blood is thinning, his liver aflame, So if you see him, acting strangely, don't be surprised He's just a man who needed someone, and somewhere to hide to avoid life, to avoid life. Somewhere to hide, to avoid life. He's not a math man, without emotions he's not what you see He comes to help you, with you UNIX So you can code C. He's not a teacher, he's not an adjunct, forget what you know He's just a man whose career goals, went under the ground, under the ground. We all need a plan, yes he needs a .plan. He's a computer man Who hides behind a flask So no one else can see His derelictity. Domo arigato Mr. Unixo, domo, domo, Domo arigato Mr. Unixo, domo, domo, Domo arigato Mr. Unixo, domo, domo, Domo arigato Mr. Unixo, domo, domo. Thank you very much, Mr. Unixo, for doing a "job" everybody wants to, Thank you very much, Mr. Unixo, for not escaping when Bob needed you. Thank you. Thank you, thank you. The problem's plain to see, too much technology, machines to waste his time, machines xbill-ized. The time has come this week, To vote him in to lead, Now everyone can see His derelictity. He's Mark Hays! Mark Hays! Mark Hays! Mark Hays!