All opinions expressed in this website are well-reasoned and insightful. Needless to say, they are not those of the Department of Mathematics at the University of Arizona, nor necessarily those of its staff, faculty, students, and lackeys. Anyone who says otherwise is itchin' for a fight. (This disclaimer shamelessly stolen/adapted from the Whad'Ya Know Quiz.) To protect the innocent and guilty alike, robots like Google are instructed to ignore these pages.

Derelict of the Year 2004

Winner

Congratulations to:

Excluding our winner, the following people received the most votes in their category:

Most popular nomination: Father Alex.

Party Information

Nominations

Where, where the hell is Bill (McCallum)?

For those with a soundcard and speakers: [ogg, wma, wav]
Note extra verses at end.

CHORUS:
Where, where the hell is Bill?
Where, where the hell is Bill?
Where, where the hell is Bill?
Where, where the hell is Bill?

Well, maybe he went to get a sideways haircut
Maybe he went to get a striped shirt
Maybe he went to get some plastic shoes
Maybe he went to get some funny sunglasses
CHORUS

Well, maybe he went to get an Air Force parka
Maybe he went to get a Vespa scooter
Maybe he went to get a British flag
Maybe he went to go Mod Ska dancing
CHORUS

Well, maybe he went to get a mohawk
And maybe he went to get some gnarly thrash boots
Maybe he went to go ride his skateboard
Maybe he went to see the Circle Jerks
CHORUS

Well, maybe he went to go get a coffee
Maybe he went to go pick up his daughter
Maybe he went out of town to a conference
Maybe he went to have a chat with Ulmer
CHORUS

Well, maybe he went across town to the Mac store
And maybe he went to get a brand new cellphone
Maybe he went to pick up Tate at the airport
Maybe he went on a trip to Australia
CHORUS

Well, maybe he went for a hike in the desert
Maybe he went to the Barrier Reef
Maybe he went to go hide from his students
Maybe he went to hang with Nick and Christa
CHORUS

Alexander Perlis: Dirty Al

Once again it's that time of year when thoughts turn to dereliction and we ask ourselves “What essential qualities is it that we look for in our derelict of the year?” A derelict is the kind of person about whom rumors and legends swirl like the mists of time. If we can say nothing else, we can definitely say that rumors swirl around Alex Perlis—or should we say “Dirty Al”?

Nobody is quite sure where he got the moniker “Dirty Al”, but the rumors abound. Some say it happened at Gentle Ben's during Graduate Appreciation week, others that it was on a long hot day in the Grand Canyon. There is speculation that maybe it is due to the wild parties he throws and the wilder get-up he wears to those parties. Nobody knows for sure. The one common thread running through these stories is the fairer sex. Those who might have known have long since graduated and moved on to more illustrious forms of dereliction.

The math department once thought they had lost Alex Perlis to the seduction of Dotcomville and they mourned the loss of a journeyman derelict. But phoenix-like, Dirty Al rose from the ashes of some start-up and is back to show us the way.

A creature of habit, Dirty Al moved back into his old haunts and his old ways. His mentor welcomed the prodigal son back with open arms and was quite happy to while away the rest of eternity with desultory talk of mathematics and dereliction. Unfortunately the gods are not so easily propitiated. Word came down from on high that Dirty Al must make good on his promises. So once more the math department is faced with the inevitable loss of a great disciple of dereliction. It is our honor, nay our duty, to elect him Derelict of the Year before his time here is finally over.

Chris Rasmussen: Other Priorities

In the matter of abundant enthusiasm for extracurricular non-math activities with fellow members of our department (as if being around each other every day on campus isn't enough!), Chris is our very own Ayatollah. For evidence, just think of: softball, video games, mafia, and, of course, the annual events surrounding DOTY.

Now you didn't hear it here first, but the word on the street has it that Chris does not intend on attending this year's Derelict Party, which we all know to be a time-honored and essentially mandatory annual event. Apparently Chris has loftier plans. But try confronting him about this, and no doubt he'll waft Cheneyesque, something about having “other priorities”.

Not wanting to believe this vicious rumor, we recently phoned Chris's house at 3 a.m. and bellowed, “This is the Inquisition: where will you be the evening of Friday, May 7th?” He stumbled along, “ummm, ummm,” and eventually became sufficiently coherent to mumble some kind of obviously made-up excuse, “friend's wedding, ummm, yes, that's it!, very important, must be there”, before his voice trailed into snoozes and we heard the clunk of the dropped receiver.

Apparently our Ayatollah is too good for Derelictus Partius. And this, of course, makes him our prime candidate! [Note: there is a long and honorable history (nay, tradition) of receiving the award in absentia—just ask Nick Ercolani, our very own Italian Stallion!]

But, alas, you may be thinking: well, I sure do agree with this excellent nomination, poor Chris is obviously the one who should receive the Derelict award, but wouldn't we look foolish if we pick him and then he surprises us all by showing up to the party after all?

Dear friends, herein lies the beautiful trap poor Chris has made for himself: if he doesn't show up, then we can all party happily knowing we picked the right guy. Yet, if Chris does show up, then this probably means he skipped out on an important friend's wedding to show up at our party, an ultimate act of dereliction in its own right. Thus, we again can all party happily knowing we picked (perhaps for the wrong reason) the right guy after all!

No matter how ya slice it or dice it, Chris Rasmussen should receive your vote for Derelict!

[You may want to read past nominations: Chris 2002, Chris and Renee 2002, Chris 2000.]

Christina Orringer: Ooops!

In the beginning, back in days of old, when our heroine was not yet so versed in the mysteries of the Linux command-line (having been raised on meatloaf, Windows, mom, GUIs, and apple pie), a despondent user sought her help in a computer-related matter. Always eager to assist, she capably made the requisite changes to the user's machine. These changes required a reboot, but before she could issue the “reboot” command, the user pressed her for an encore performance by mentioning some problems in the user's network account. Christina promptly connected to puma and addressed the user's concern, who left happily. Remembering that necessary reboot, Christina diligently issued the “reboot” command.

“Ah, all is well, I've just resolved multiple issues,” she must have thought as she leaned back in her chair, satisfied at a job well done.

The phone rings. It is Bob.

“Chris, we've got issues! Someone just rebooted puma, users are phoning me with complaints, some are standing outside my door. Help!”

“Oh oh,” thought Christina, “I thought I had logged out of puma.”

Doug Pickrell: Derelict First Class

A play for your enjoyment.

Introduction:

Narrarator: The story before you chronicles an episode of true dereliction. The characters in this timeless tale are the nominee Doug Pickrell, his student Arlo Caine, and Arlo's fiance (now wife) Kat. Many of us know the kind, mellow, hardworking Doug, but few of us have witnessed the mood swings of the baseball fanatic Doug.

Scene 1

The Setting: One month before the wedding, Arlo knocks on Doug's door with a question.

Arlo: Doug? Kat and I wanted to invite you and your wife to our wedding. Would you come or do you have a standing policy about not attending student weddings?

Doug: Go ahead and send us an invitation. I'll have to talk to my wife about it, but we would probably come to the ceremony at least. Oh, hold it. What day is the wedding?

Arlo: April 11.

Doug: I think my wife and kids are going out of town that weekend. Well, send the invitation anyway and we'll sort it out.

Scene 2

The Setting: A few weeks later. Arlo and Kat are at home, opening the mail for the day.

Kat: Look Honey! The Pickrell's response card arrived! They're coming and they both want chicken for dinner at the reception.

Arlo: That's great!

Scene 3

The Setting: A few days before the wedding. The Major League Baseball season is underway, and Greg Maddux (Doug's idol) has started the season 0-2. Arlo bumps into Doug in the hall.

Arlo: Hey Doug. I'm sorry to have to ask, but what is your wife's name again? I want to make sure I get it right on the place card for the reception.

Doug: (Puzzled) Uhhh... I don't think we're going to be able to make it. Didn't I mention a while back that my wife will be out of town?

Arlo: (Very puzzled) Ummm.... But you replied that you were coming and both wanted the chicken for dinner.

Doug: (Caught off guard) I didn't send the response card back. (Dramatic pause) Why did she do that? She and the kids are going to be out of town.

Arlo: (Uncomfortable) Oh well.... Uh.... I guess we'll hope to see you there.

Scene 4

The wedding. No Dr. Pickrell to be found.

Resolution

Narrarator: It turns out that Mrs. Pickrell had canceled her out of town plans and truly intended to attend. She had purchased and wrapped a wedding gift for the young couple, and had chosen an outfit for the occasion. Dr. Pickrell, however, decided to stand up his wife and the young couple and retreat to a bike ride in the wilderness. The strain of Maddux's 0-2 start must have been too much for him. He just needed to get away.

Emily Lane: The Outdoor Enthusiast

In the years that Emily has been in the department she has excelled in the kind of dereliction of duty we expect from DOTY. Her activities often lead us to wonder whether she realizes that she is getting a degree in applied mathematics or that she is of the delusion that people are paying her to have fun in the outdoors.

True to form, now that Emily is in her final year and getting ready to defend she is preparing herself well for this by ... taking up cycle racing. Yes, and she is quite prepared to regale you for hours with tales of her latest race. Chances are that if you do espy her in the department it is running up the stairs in spandex and you'll probably have better luck getting a glimpse of her cresting Gates Pass on her new bike.

Of course, just because she is cycle racing, it doesn't mean that she stopped her other escapades either. She also learned to snowboard this semester, did a week long snowboarding trip in the high Sierras and is planning on competing in some big 24 hour orienteering event (again she will happily regale you with stories of these too). Her defense, when asked about other matters beginning with T, is that she did actually drag her supervisor along on at least one of the trips.

In the words of her supervisor, the only reason Emily achieved anything the summer she spent in Los Alamos was because she broke her arm the first week she was there (while playing soccer) and so had to SCALE BACK (and I do only mean scale back, not stop) her climbing and cycling. Of course, this beats the summer she spent “Exploring Plastic and Brittle Deformations of Ice,” her own euphemistic way of saying she took the whole summer off and went mountaineering in Alaska.

Sometimes the mathematics catches up with her, however. Rumor has it that she was spotted by Maciej Wojtkowski and the colloquium speaker on top of Rincon Peak on an extended weekend jaunt last year. When asked how she had enjoyed the colloquium talk she was forced to admit that this particular trip of hers had started before the colloquium.

Surprisingly enough, she can sometimes even be spotted DOING SOME MATHEMATICS. Usually this involves scrawling illegibly on a scrap of paper that often has already been used several times for the same purpose. Emily seems to think that if you turn a piece of paper 90 degrees and write in a different colored ink it doesn't matter that this is the third time you have used the same piece. While we commend her environmental principles we can only wonder whether she actually achieves anything.

So to sum things up, Emily has devoted many long years to the dereliction of mathematics and because of this we feel she deserves your vote today.

Michael Kuecken: Eggplant Slasher

Michael Kuecken always seems so mild mannered and unassuming, however, he hides a dark secret. There is a reason why he was elected `The Enforcer' for the SIAM student chapter. Beneath the pleasant exterior, Michael is a follower of the sadistic art of Vegetable Mutilation.

Although he claims it is all in the name of teaching, Michael leaves behind a trail of slashed eggplants and diced zucchinis. He may try to tell you that he was just demonstrating contour plots, partial derivatives and other principles of vector calculus, but we know better. We have seen the knowing smile, the gasp of anticipation, the slight quiver of the upper lip as his knife pierces the soft ripe flesh of ... But already I have said too much.

Nakul Chitnis: A Modern Derelict

A man that gets himself into a difficult situation due to his own dereliction deserves to be nominated.

A man that gets himself out of a difficult situation thanks to his own dereliction deserves the award.

In December of 2002, Nakul Chitnis flew into LA to fly into Mexico City. Then, with his friends, he caught a bus to the small town of Pochutla Oaxaca and hired a man to drive a car through a dirt road to finally make it to the rural and lonely beach of Ventanilla. The trip must have taken around 30 hours total but the reward was big: the blue waters of the Pacific, the pelicans and the lovely weather of the tropics were ready to be enjoyed. Nakul helped his friends to set up the tent and decided to go for a swim. The waves were big and dangerous but, as he is brave (and derelict), he went into the sea (with his glasses on). He was cautioned by his friends about the possibility of losing his glasses but, proud of his own dereliction, did not care about the warning. A wave covered his head, he came out to breathe, and everything was blurred. The next hour was spent in the hopeless (and derelict) duty of looking for a pair of glasses on the shoreline. The next hours were spent drinking tequila to lessen the headache produced by a blurred world.

Being a true derelict, our man, managed on his own, to get out of the difficult position of being partially blind and unable to communicate in a foreign language via the following steps:

  1. He went back to Pochutla to learn that the only optician in town lived in a nearby city and wasn't showing up that day. He hired a man to drive him into the city of Puerto Escondido (50 mi away) and drop him off at the office of the only optician in town. He got his glasses but did not have enough money to pay for them.
  2. He went to an ATM only to realize that he did not recall the pin number of his newly acquired card.
  3. He called his bank to get his pin only to learn that he could receive that information only if he called from his home phone (in Tucson).
  4. Nakul then went into a bank to make a withdrawal only to realize that he didn't have his passport with him.
  5. Finally our man, our true derelict, obtained money from a Mexican bank by showing his Arizona driver's license, an extremely rare event. He payed for his glasses and, confident with the sharp resolution of the world around him, found public transportation back to the beginning of the dirt road and proudly hitch hiked the last part of the road to the campsite.

The whole recovery of the glasses adventure took around 7 hours. When asked, he refers to that day as unforgettable and very special.

Bill McCallum: Advisor in Hiding

  1. See destitute graduate student, who hasn't seen Bill in many weeks, sit in meditation reminding self of questions for Bill.
  2. See destitute graduate student trudge up stairs to go meet with Bill.
  3. See destitute graduate student stop at water fountain on 7th floor, preparing mind for meeting.
  4. See destitute graduate student walk along hallway towards Bill's door.
  5. See destitute graduate student stare at closed office door.
  6. See destitute graduate student observe absence of light in crack at bottom of door.
  7. See destitute graduate student stare at bruise on knuckle from previous weeks' knocking on door.
  8. See destitute graduate student grimace in pain while knocking on door some more.
  9. See destitute graduate student stand and wait.
  10. See other professors on same hallway avoid eye contact with destitute graduate student.
  11. See destitute graduate student turn around and trudge back down hallway away from Bill's door.
  12. See destitute graduate student stop at water fountain.
  13. See destitute graduate student mosey down stairs to computer lab.
  14. See destitute graduate student surf world wide web for six days.
  15. See destitute graduate student, who hasn't seen Bill in (many+one) weeks, sit in meditation reminding self of questions (by now an even greater distant memory) for Bill.

Karl “Bash” Newell

Alas, a sad, sad tale... from back when Karl was moving the remaining accounts off sahuarita/ame2 in preparation for retiring those machines.

After suffering for many weeks with the evil C-shell, with only a couple accounts left to go, Karl desperately wanted tab completion and all the other lovable gestures offered by the Bash shell, and he finally decided to do something about it. He edited the appropriate file to change root's shell to Bash, logged out, and was shocked to discover he could not log back in. As it turns out, he accidentally specified a non-existent path to the Bash shell. Oops!

“No problem,” thought he, being industrious with ideas, “I'll go in as another user and fix the file”. This did not work due to a permissions issue. “Okay,” thought our man, “I'll ftp the file to another machine, fix it, and ftp it back.” This too, did not work.

After exhausting some other ideas, a simple Google search on this particular problem revealed that there is nothing one can do in this situation (which apparently has happened to many many people, whose sad tales now litter the internet annals of sysadmin-mistakes-you-do-not-want-to-make!), except the following: physically remove the hard drive, change the jumper settings for its SCSI id, add it into another computer as a secondary drive, mount it, edit the file, remove it, undo the jumper change, put it back in the original computer, and pray that it still works! Considering that our Sun computers hadn't been physically opened in years, this sounded like a rather risky procedure. To further complicate matters, there was no available second working Sun computer to receive sahuarita's precious hard drive.

Poor Karl spent the better part of a weekend first bringing a second Sun computer to life and then carrying out the aforementioned risky procedure. But, we are happy to report, our hero was successful!

With sahuarita back online, Karl could finish the tasks at hand: move the last couple accounts off sahuarita, and permanently retire that machine.

David “Rational” Morales

There are those who know the rationals to be dense in the reals...
And then there are those who intend to prove otherwise!

Mike Heerey: I was just joking...

The setting is Aaron Wootton's bachelor party, or “stag nite”, as our Brit might call it. A good dozen of his British compatriots are in attendance, still woozy from the international flight, many of them for the first time separated from the Queen Mother by a gigantic ocean. Beer is being consumed. The air is dry, the lovely sunset has been snatched by the westward moving sun, the sky is darkening. Obviously shaken by their travels, undoubtedly scared to be here, the Brits are also excited at the possibilities, and periodically one of them can be heard to challenge us locals, “So is the Wild West really still wild?”

Time passes.

I go inside to find some food, and run into Aaron's fiancee who showed up briefly to drop off some things. “Shhh, don't tell Aaron I'm here, I'll be gone in a second. Say, what are you guys still doing here, anyway? You're supposed to go to a strip club or something! Don't you know what a bachelor party is?” Before I could mumble a coherent response, she adds, “Men are so lame. How typical! You know, for my bachelorette party, we had everything completely organized ahead of time. Okay, anyway, I'm here with the van. Let's just all pile in, and I'll take you to a strip club. You can take cabs home afterwards.”

On the ride, a number of our passengers sufficiently wake from their jetlag and alcohol stupor to comment, “Hey, Aaron, this is really embarrassing, being driven to a strip club on your stag night by your future wife!”

These sad but true events are included for your reading amusement. However, this being a nomination for Mike Heerey and not for Aaron (nor for Carla), we must now get back to the rest of the story.

We are dropped off at Curves Cabaret. After an insane hour of checking passports, photocopying passports and licenses, fingerprinting, eye exams, background checks, and whatnot, we finally enter and take our seats. I'll leave the next few parts of the story to your imagination. Not much to tell, really. But many rounds of drinks are, well... going around.

Enter the first moment of dereliction. The bartender has announced “last call”. Mike and the Brits are laughing about something, then Mike leans over to a stripper walking past, and asks, jokingly, “Want to join us at our friend's bachelor party?” Being in earshot, this author expects the stripper to respond, “I don't think so!”, but instead she says, “Sure, buddy, if you're interested, it'll be $200, just pick me up at the Circle K next door.” She immediately disappears and never checks back with us. We chuckle at her brief but deft perpetuation of the joke started with the question. We have a final round of drinks.

Standing outside, Aaron asks, “Where should we find a cab?”

Enter the second moment of dereliction. Mike suggests, “Umm, I think there might be a Circle K next door.”

Picture eleven young men, mostly clueless foreigners, walking along a sketchy part of Oracle to the nearby Circle K. We phone the cab company. They tell us they'll need to send three cabs to hold all of us. One cab shows up and now there are only eight of us, standing around the Circle K parking lot. The mysterious other two cabs are not showing up.

Twenty minutes later, two Tucson police vehicles approach our group slowly from two different sides. One of the Brits exclaims, “Now things are getting exciting!” We explain to the officers our cab situation. They ask where we're from. Turns out, one of the two officers is himself from England! Before you know it, the Brits in our group and the British cop are exchanging stories of England, soccer, the Queen Mother. Simply amazing! Seeing two Tucson police officers walking back towards their separate cars, joyfully exchanging (in British accents—one genuine, the other conjured for effect) all sorts of obscenities (“Bristol is fa luusers, ya faahkin' baastads!”), both with each other and with the Brits in our group, is truly a bizarre moment this author will never forget—but once again, I digress...

We phone the cab company again. They somehow thought we were taken care of. They promise to send a van this time.

The van arrives, we pile in. Just as we tell the driver the address and he is about to drive off, a car pulls up next to us, a woman hops out, opens our van door, and asks, “Hey, guys, so are we still having that party?” After a moment of confusion, we recognize her to be the stripper from the club.

Enter the third moment of dereliction. Mike says, “Uh, no, you disappeared. I wanted to tell you we were just kidding. The bachelor's fiancee wouldn't be too happy if you showed up at his house right now.” She responded, “What? What about my $200? Hang on a second...”, and went to her ride to talk to the giant driver. We tell our cab driver to leave.

Moments later, looking behind, we notice that the car with the man and the stripper is following us. After a few miles of the car taking every turn we're taking, I'm quietly having this sinking feeling, “this is bad... this is really, really, bad... exciting, yes... but bad”, while Mike is saying, “hmmm, how are we going to get out of this one?” Meanwhile, the drunk Brits in our van are exclaiming, “Wow! Not one night in America, and we're already being chased by a pimp! Say, driver, could you lose our tail?” (Having lived neither in England nor inside a James Bond movie, I didn't even know one could say things like that with a serious face!)

Fortunately, after driving around long enough, when we were standing at a red light, our “tail” pulled up next to us, the “pimp” yelled, “Roll down your window! I want to talk to you!”, and we ignored him; eventually, the light turned green, he turned right, while we went straight. There was an audible sigh of relief expressed in unison by all (including the taxi driver!).

And the moral of the story is...

  1. You can talk to strangers, but don't joke with strippers!
  2. Don't rely on Tucson cab companies to send cabs on time!
  3. Tucson police officers have a sense of humor.
  4. If you were present the night of the events described here, don't ever set foot in or near Curves Cabaret again, lest you be recognized by the pimp! He'll want his $200!
  5. Yes, dear Britons, the old Wild West really is still wild.
  6. Vote for Mike Heerey as our Derelict!

Eric Forgoston: Humble Idealist

A sad tale in which our hero and future grad rep decided to single-handedly take on the (well-documented to be) corrupt UA Police Department. Why'd he do it? Out of principle, dammit!

After having some drinks with friends (fellow witnesses in this department, their identity sworn to secrecy), this responsible and upstanding applied student deemed it too unsafe to ride bicycles on city streets—not wanting to endanger the lives of innocent pedestrians and all—so he phoned a friend to pick them (and their bicycles) up.

The friend shows up. They are shoving their bicycles into the back of the friend's car. The UA Police show up and start questioning these suspicious activities. The officers are not pleased. Neither is Eric.

But Eric knows his rights, and asserts them smartly, informing the officers just how far they may take their questioning. Some verbal sparring ensues. After taking down Eric's identification, eventually the officers leave.

The next day, Eric is called to the Dean of Students. Upon arriving, Eric is handed the Police Report the Dean received earlier that morning: talking back to an officer, resisting arrest, screaming obscenities (ones that would offend even Howard Stern), disorderly conduct, attempted theft (bicycles?), indecent exposure, impersonation, public intoxication, inciting a riot, carrying a concealed weapon, propelling an object, failing to comply... the full nine yards went on and on and on. The totally bogus report was corroborated by a second and a third officer (one of whom was not even present at the scene)! The Dean is not pleased. Neither is Eric.

But Eric knows his rights, and asserts them smartly, informing the Dean just how far this corrupt UAPD thing may go. Some verbal sparring ensues. After the Dean informs Eric about being on probation, eventually Eric leaves.

Today, our reformed grad rep has mended his ways. He is properly humbled by the power of a corrupt police department. He now knows, when talking with a Dean, the old maxim, “the customer is always right” does not apply.

Eric still knows his rights, and asserts them smartly: quietly in the privacy of his own mind.

The true derelict in this story, of course, is the UAPD! (And the Dean!) However, in a continuation of institutional corruption, allow Eric to be our winner! Let us rally behind our idealist, our hero, disgraced by a university that twice could not handle his fervent assertions! For trying to make the world a better place for the rest of us, we owe our man a drink (and our vote!).

Juan Restrepo: He's still Dr. August!

Editor's note: It seems, when Juan was nominated in 1998, in a one-line nomination of nominations to end all nominations, few took notice. Well, who can compete with that year's winner? Fortunately for Juan's current prospect at becoming Derelict, his competition is long gone, and so we repeat the 1998 nomination:

Because a picture is worth 1000 words, check out: Dr. August.

Travis “not shirking anything” Heath

The fact remains that even though most of the candidates for derelict of the year have goals that they are in some way shirking, this candidate far supercedes all the rest. Travis in fact doesn't have any goals for which he can be accused of shirking.

It all began last semester when he realized that he didn't want to continue on and get a PhD. This knowledge led him to do things to get out as fast and as easily as possible with his hard-earned Masters degree.

This semester he is only taking two classes. One of them is an independant study class which he was trying to get through just one book, but it turns out he will not even get through half of it. The other class is an education class where the instructor had to tell the students the first day how to operate the CD-ROM drive.

As another example, last semester, even though he was “teaching” College Algebra for the first time, he would often be found preparing his lesson for his class during lunch about ten minutes before the class was to begin. There are many more of these types of examples which could be shared, but we won't waste the space in this forum to do so.

He does gain some positive points however, from all his extra time due to lack of schooling. He has been very useful to the department intermural teams by playing on both flag football teams (Mens & Co-rec), the basketball team, and all four softball teams (Mens & Co-rec for both seasons). He has also been found to be a contributing member to the Trivia group which is often ranked nationally.

Let this be a lesson to everyone. Even if the competitive teams benefit from your time and do better than they have in many years, a lack of motivation can be a dangerous thing. It can cause you to win nominations for derelict of the year.

William Carlos McCallum

(With apologies to William Carlos Williams.)

This Is Just to Say

I have cancelled
our appointment

the one that is
a reschedule from
last week

that was
a reschedule from
the week before

Forgive me
the conference is
so inviting
and so far away

Sandy Braun: Virus? Huh?

Ever diligent to use computers properly lest she receive the wrath of the computer staff, Sandy of course always follows the standard instructions: never open email attachments from an unknown sender, and if you know the sender, verify they intended to send an attachment before opening it.

Sandy was in fact expecting an attachment from a friend. When an email from that friend arrived, with the subject ID gwhueono... thanks [j234398sdfe], Sandy briefly thought to herself, “Hmmm, that's a strange subject, my friend never does weird things like that,” and proceeded to open the attachment, launching the largest virus outbreak ever seen at the U of A!

Bob Borys: Departmental Penny Pincher

“Bob, we need replacement northbridge fans for the ASUS motherboard.”

“How many do we need?”

“Three machines are broken right now.”

A week passes.

“Bob, where are those northbridge fans?”

“I've been searching all over. The usual suppliers no longer carry them.”

Another week passes.

“Bob, we really need those fans!”

“I finally found them. I went ahead and ordered four, so that we'll have an extra one in case another computer breaks.”

A few weeks pass.

“Bob, two more northbridge fans are out. You need to order more.”

“Darn, I don't remember where I ordered them from. I'll go look again.”

Weeks pass.

“Bob, another machine died. So we need at least two fans right now. There are ten more machines of that type in the building which might need replacement fans in the coming year. I suggest ordering 20 of those fans—if money is tight, then order only 15.”

“They're just a few dollars a piece. I'll see what I can find.”

A week passes.

“Bob, those two machines... where are the fans?”

“Okay, I found them again. You only need two, but I went ahead and ordered four again, so that we'll have some extra.”

(Repeat above story two more times—seriously!)

Months later...

“Bob, we're out of fans again, and one more of those machines broke. This is actually the last of that type of machine we have, so this time around, we really do only need one more fan. If you go ahead and order four of them again, we'll definitely be covered for the next few years!”

“I'll see what I can find.”

A few days pass.

“Bob, did you find the fans?”

“I found them again, and you'll be very pleased. I know you're tired of asking me to order these fans all the time, so I went ahead and ordered 20!”

(Today, half a year later, 19 of these fine fans still adorn our supply shelf.)

Juan Restrepo: Pet Sitter?

Juan Restrepo was spending the summer in Los Alamos. He had an ex-girlfriend who worked there. He had a student who was working with his ex-girlfriend that summer. His ex-girlfriend was going out of town. Juan needed a place to live. His ex-girlfriend needed someone to take care of her pets. It seemed a perfect arrangement.

So she happily left Juan with 2 dogs and 1 cat to take care of. Ten days later, Juan was waiting for her with 1 happy and healthy dog. “Well....what can I do? A coyote ran off with the cat. Your dogs were very happy to see you. They ran to greet you. A car hit one of them. What could I do?”

“So,” she said, “perhaps it's best if you don't live here any more.”

“I agree.”

Alexander Perlis: Father Alex

(with apologies to Lewis Carroll)

“You are old, Father Alex,” the first-year said,
“your quals and your orals long passed.
Yet you TeX at a speed that befuddles my head.
Pray what made you so terribly fast?”

“In my youth,” said the sage, “I looked at Knuth's text,
and learned macros and styles and notation.
I learned Emacs and Unix (though my advisor was vexed
that I neglected my own dissertation).”

“You are old,” said the youth, “you've been here for ages
and your knowledge of jacobians is copious.
So why, late at night, do you still turn the pages
of Grothendieck's maximum opus?”

“In my youth,” quoth the seer, “I studied the Core,
and conceived of a simple ambition:
To know all about everything, understand every law,
and hypothesis, lemma, condition.”

“You are old,” said the youth, “the last of your year,
your classmates dispersed long ago.
And yet you continue to polish your theor-
ems. Pray tell me sire, why is this so?”

“In my youth,” said the wise one, “I chose an advisor,
who seemed helpful, warm, and inviting.
It was only much later, older and wiser,
that I found he won't read what I'm writing.”

Said the youth, “Father Alex, I mean no offense,
and enquire without any derision.
But I hear that you've scheduled a thesis defense.
Pray what caused this momentous decision?”

“I have answered three questions, and you ll find that of patience
I have only a finite amount.
Pray cease these impertinent interrogations
Or I'll cancel your email account!”

Mystery nomination

Four simple questions:

  1. Who, at some conference in Oklahoma long since forgotten, helped a number of innocent graduate students from a few different institutions put together the world's largest collection of recently emptied Bass bottles?
  2. Who, at some conference in Maryland long since forgotten, sitting on the porch of a posch hotel at three in the morning with his three graduate students, in response to his one student's comment about “not getting this scheme stuff being propounded by Dr. Kim”, put down his beer, took a long drag off his cigarette, and pensively announced, “To get schemes, first and foremost, you have to really believe they exist!”
  3. Who, having repeatedly assured his student the last couple years to stop worrying about the details concerning a certain map, to just get over it and use the damn thing, when finally pressed about it again recently, got irritated and said, “Look, what's the problem? You just take this, and, ... huh? Wait...” and the next day admitted, “That map does not exist.”
  4. Who has assuredly attended every math department party ever hosted by Bill McCallum?

Alexander Perlis: Our Dedicated Derelict

The plethora of criticism aimed at our (soon to be?) graduate cries out for a defense. Alex has been, and remains, a mentor to the younger (way younger!) students. His continual presence in the department has served to motivate and encourage many stressed first-years. He has, in fact, always been willing to drop work on his own thesis in order to counsel, to teach, to advise, and to take one for the team.

To Counsel:

While some think that Alex occasionally forgets his priorities, Alex is never derelict in his duty as the older, more experienced student. One night last year I was faced with a difficult challenge. I was working on two problems. The first I was required to write up to turn in the next day; I didn't know how I would face my professor without it. The second was a digression: an exciting problem that was helping me to understand a concept completely unrelated to the homework due the next afternoon.

Alex immediately stopped working on his thesis to offer counsel. He assured me that my initial intuition was correct: I should pursue the interesting problem!!!

Sometimes I have difficulty selecting my courses. There are so many great classes taught by motivated instructors. “We can't take them all—we have to focus!” my other friends say. But then I recall Alex's smiling words from 1999, “I may not finish on time, but I'm learning so much interesting math from all of these great classes!” Alex's passion for mathematics for the sake of mathematics is contagious; he should be credited, not mocked, for his encouragement of other students.

To Teach:

Rather than consider Alex for dereliction, we should instead recognize him as one the most patient and dedicated teachers in this department. He has, countless times this year, dropped work on his own thesis to help me with math. He will select just one minute and seemingly trivial fragment of the problem I desperately just want to solve, and spend the next four hours energetically discussing it with me. He refuses to let me move on until I understand every last detail of that fragment of the problem.

To Advise:

As advisor to his fellow students, Alex has been anything but derelict. Early this year I went to Alex with a very serious problem. “I want to change my research focus,” I asserted, “but what if I can't finish on time.” Alex immediately stops work on his own thesis to to assure me that my worry should be at the very bottom of my long list of concerns: “Math should be the focus. All else will follow. Stay in school as long as it takes!”

To Take One For The Team:

Finally, we should recognize Alex's steadfast commitment to the entire community that is the mathematics department.

For example, when TeX on our computer systems wasn't working properly last year, Alex put aside his thesis and got TeX working again.

For another example: while Chris, Katrina, and Tom are all probably up late tonight, selfishly working on their dissertations, letting this whole Derelict-nomination-thing fall apart, Alex is sitting at a computer, furiously typing up, and editing, all the nominations that have been submitted. When I asked Alex how long he planned to spend typing up incoming nominations, he assured me, “as long as it takes.” Committed, to the end.

I think we should all thank Alex, and stop these absurd nominations. When it comes to weighing his own thesis against the needs of his fellow students and the department as a whole, it is clear that Alex has the right priorities!

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