Whilst I am not finished school yet, the grad ball was my second taste of the beginning of the end. The first taste was graduation photos!

Years of seeing my friends and colleagues dressed in anything ranging from pyjamas to sweat pants, unshaven, dishevelled and fatigued in the drab, light-less lecture halls of the Math and Computer building set me up for quite a surprise on Friday night. Math students can actually look quite sharp!

Held at The Waterloo Inn on Friday March 5th, expectant graduates, guests, and party crashers gathered to celebrate a few years of blood, toil, tears, and math.

My table was a good mix of people: Yang, Philip, Haran, Ram, Shima, Paul, my date Judy, and myself. We had a few jokers and a bottle of wine to keep the conversation fluid and entertaining.

As Alan George, dean of the venerable Faculty of Mathematics, with trimmed white hair, a beard, and a quaint bow-tie, appeared to present the "Alan George" award, I crossed my fingers in futility as Haran remarked "Hey, it's the dad from Family Ties!".

Ram, to the chagrin of his date, applauded Alan's dry and predictable speech with hip hop style "gunshots". The "brap! brap!" sound used in pop culture to cheer on rappers, breakdancers, and turntablists. Haran suggested that, as soon as the award is announced, I stand up to go to the washroom.

Needless to say, none of us won.

Dancing followed dinner as the DJ pumped a selection of pop music from the 1980's that gradually blended into a mix of ear splitting gangsta rap and slow rock ballads. My generation's music of choice for any formal occasion. Dark suits, long gowns, polished shoes, and immaculate hair placed in juxtaposition with crude lyrics and pounding bass.

The party began really early, at 6:00 PM, and therefore ended early. We made our way to Yang's place for some champagne before proceeding to Revolution Night Club to continue the celebration. The line at Rev looked an hour deep, so we re-routed to Philthy McNasty's.

We changed, of course, before proceeding to the club and, after we entered, I decided it would have been best to leave my jacket in the car. I borrowed the car keys from Paul, ran outside, dropped off my jacket and ran back to the door.

"You have sleeves right? You can't go in wearing that." said the bouncer.

"What?"

"I can't let you in without sleeves."

"Is that a dress code?" I asked incredulously.

"Yeah."

Rather than put up a fight, I ran back to the car, got my jacket, and ran back to the club. How they can permit jeans, sneakers, T-shirts, ball caps, golf shirts, buttoned shirts, plaid shirts, sports jerseys or any other element of the suburban white male's wardrobe and exclude sleeveless shirts is absolutely beyond me.

The shirt issue was, however, a small blemish on an excellent night.

I will have some photos posted when I can. Until I replace my digital camera, I have to steal most of them from my friends!