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The 432 Feb 12, 1997

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Array 'Hmmm... could be a good thing, could he a bad thing." - Bill Gates on Microsoft Armageddon 97
AMS Elections a Farce!
Democracy Falls on Face!
"The NDP was not involved!" states shocked AMS Ombudsperson.
Jacques Q. Fibble and Earle Warren
Raving Correspondents
In a shocking move last week, the
AMS council of UBC voted 18-6 in
favor of accepting the results of their
recent elections, despite standing multiple claims of fraud, mismanagement and
general incompetence.
Several instances of multiple voting by
both UBC and non-UBC students were
reported. Some voter sign-in sheets
showed multiple votes cast by fictional
characters like Mickey Mouse, I. P. Freely
and Chuck Wagon, as well as multiple
votes by existing students.
AMS student cards were marked at several polling booths with water-based
markers, overhead projector pens, and
even wax crayons. Voters who wished to
exercise their democratic rights more
than once were easily able to wipe their
cards clean, enabling them to prey
repeatedly on unsuspecting poll clerks.
Complaints were also launched in
regards to the existence of undermanned,    poorly   advertised    polling
booths in remote areas of campus.
Locations in the University Hospital,
and Regent College experienced shockingly low voter turnouts, and the poll
booth located in the steam tunnels
beneath Woodward Library only recorded three eligible votes.
On several days during
the voting process,
polling stations at the
SUB were manned by
people directly associated with candidates,
and in some cases, by
candidates themselves.   	
Radical Beer Faction
Candidate Jake Gray assured reporters
that he was "simply helping out the voters," as he was concerned that students
from the Faculty of Arts may have had
difficulty operating the writing implements provided.
As per usual in politics, the losing candidates were quick to place blame.
Representatives of one of the losing
slates assured our reporters that the election results represented a "conspiracy of
the greatest magnitude." Jack
Reitzenberg, one of the losing candi
dates, explained:
"Clearly the fraudulent votes did not
come from within the SUB." Mr.
Reitzenberg produced several photographs of the polling booth located
beside the Bus Loop. "These photographs clearly
show several figures
standing on the
grassy knoll in front
of SUB. Computer
enhancement identifies one of the figures as former AMS
President Janice
Boyle. This is definitive evidence of a massive conspiracy."
Representatives for Students for Students
were quick to reply. "That could be: anyone's ass," said AMS President-Elect Ryan
Despite these blatant irregularities in
the voting process, and the questionable
results, elections results were passed
comfortably by AMS Council.
Ombudsperson Mike Curry conducted
an exhausting and extensive four (4)
hour investigation, and suggested that
Council accept the results. Mr. Curry
That could be
anyone's ass!
—Ryan Davies
— ft	
assured Council that there was
"absolutely no evidence of improper
procedure or fraudulent results,'" and
that "the 600 names which appeared
multiple times on the voters lists were
purely coincidental." The election
results were accepted by only 18 members of Council, while the 6 sober representatives voted against the results.
The 432 correspondents managed to
track down Mark Williamson, who acted
as campaign manager for one of the
elected candidates. "Sure," he said, "The
results could be thrown out. But who
waints to go through this whole thing
again? I mean, let's face it. Elections are
In an exclusive interview, The 432
talked with an unnamed fourth year
green Jedi Master, who had this advice
for the losing slates:
"Lose elections you will not, when six
hundred times you have voted."
Though our reporters were impressed
with the accuracy of the quote, and the
incredible telekinetic abilities of the
source, his credibility could not be verified by the time this paper went to press.
Rumble in Ottawa!
"Let's go right now!" - Reform MP Mike Stinson
Earie Warren
Cupid's early trials with the pneumatic nail gun.
Disillusioned Correspondent
The following is an accurate, word
for word recreation of the events in
the Canadian House of Commons,
on Wednesday, February 5th, 1996. (No,
Mr. Stinson (Reform, Okanagam-
Shuswap): Oh, yea, I hear extremists from over there. Sure, it is
extremists who worry about the taxpayer in this country. It is
extremeists who worry about the
livelihood and the safety of my
mother. It is extremists. That is
right, you keep it up. That is what
you call extremists. Shame on you. I
hope your parents give you a talking to when you get home. That is
all I can say. You have no more
thought for them.
Mr. Cannis (Liberal, Scarborough):
An hon. member: For shame.
Mr. Stinson: I hear the word "racist"
form that side. Do you have the fortitude or the gonads to stand up
and come across here and say that
to me, you son of a bitch? Come on.
The Acting Speaker (Mr. Milliken,
Liberal): Order.
Mr. Stinson: I will not have some asshole call me a racist.
The Acting Speaker: Order please.
Mr. Stinson: Let's go right now!
The Acting Speaker: Order please!
Mr. Stinson was unavailable for comment. His representatives assured us that
he was s;imply taking a drive in his
Chevy truck, and that he would probably be back "Just as soon as he finishes
his six pack of Bud."
A similar conversation was heard outside a local elementary school, where a
scuffle arose over a dispute about lunch
money. Both combatants were sentenced
to detention for a week, and notes were
sent home to both of their mothers. A
similar punishment has been suggested
for Mr. Stinson and Mr. Cannis. PAGE TWO
12 FEBRUARY 1997
The 432""
Volume 10 Issue 09
12 February 1997
1997 The Science
Undergraduate Society of UBC.
All rights reserved.
|ohn Halleti
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Assistant Editors
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Vancouver. BC
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No minlcs were har mod in the production ol this paper. An elephant
was taunted, a squirrel was chased
and a dog was hit on rhe nose with
a rolled up newspaper, but that's
The432 is tin.* oflicial newspaper of
the Science Undergraduate
Society, published twice monthly
from our offices in the basement of
the Chemistry B-Block.
AH opinions expressed herein are
strictly those of the individual writers and not those of Hie 432 or the
Science Undergrad Society.
Writers and ouroonists from all faculties are encouraged to submit
materi-il io 77ie 432. All submissions must meet the strict deadline
requiiemenrs .ind should not
exceed 1000 words.
The 432 is copyrighted by The
Science Undergraduate Society of
UBC and may not be reproduced in
whole oi in pan without express
written consent.
The Joy of Heckling.
|ake Gray
Annoying Profs for fun.
Some days you wake up in the morning and you feel like from now on
you're going to buckle down,
straighten up and fly right; get down to
the serious business of having an open
mind and learning all there is to learn at
this fine institution of ours. Luckily that
feeling usually goes away by about ten in
the morning. I think it has something to
do with actually getting to a couple of
classes and realizing how boring they
actually are. All right, I admit not all
classes are an experiment in the human
tolerances of boredom, sometimes it's
actually possible to have an interesting
class, but how often does this occur?
Once in ten, a hundred, a thousand?
That's why I'd like to introduce classroom hecklers.
I think Profs, would be much more
interesting if there was potentially someone in amongst the four hundred students just waiting to crack a line about
the relation of the Prof, to a plumber
when said Prof, bends over to pick up his
piece of chalk. I personally would find it
very satisfying to see Dr. Davies (a little
old, but very entertaining, microbi Prof.)
get into a big back and forth festival of
confrontation with a mouthy third year
in the back row. I say there's nothing like
a rousing set of meaningless insults in
the morning to lighten the day. "You
wouldn't know your asymptote from a
hole in the graph!" " Oh Yeah?! Well
you're so dumb you thought cream of
wheat was for artificial insemination."
"Oh Yeah well you're so dumb you
couldn't pour beer out of your shoe
when the instructions are on the bottom." "Well you almost froze to death
standing outside of a brothel waiting for
the light to change." " Ya well your mom
ran the brothel." " Well your mom
worked there, for free."
I think the Profs, would probably enjoy
this form of incentive as well. I mean,
they're always trying to get more student
involvement anyway. It must be pretty
tough coming to school day after day to
talk endlessly about blah blah blah to a
bunch of mindless copying zombies
whom you never get to talk to except for
the few idiots who can never seem to get
the blah blah blahing the first time and
seem to find it necessary to stay after and
ask stupid questions that were gone over
ten times during the hour of repetition.
It's those few goofs asking dumb questions that force Profs, to repeat everything they say six times. Most of my lectures could be cut down to about ten to
fifteen minutes if the teachers didn't
repeat themselves to such an extent. So,
if we started with a good brief insult
exchange the Prof, could focus on what
actual material he'd like to convey for
the rest of the hour instead of just rambling on over and over about the same
old crap.
Look at how much hecklers improve
comedians performances. Because that's
what classes basically are, performances.
So they don't have half naked dancers,
fire or really really big speakers, but
none-the-less we're  all  there  paying
excruciating attention to the most boring comedian we've ever seen. If class
were held in a comedy club I'm sure
there'd be more than a few tomatoes flying, but boy would I pay attention to the
hilarity of tertiary protein structure
interspersed with Gallagher style
humour. I think Big Flames a la Kiss
would allow for much higher turn out to
chemistry class, and when you think
about how many of the displays actually
work, you'd be better off just planning
for the big blue flame before hand. Then
you can have the extinguishers on hand
for the ensuing melee.
How many times have you wanted to
stand up and say out loud to your Prof.
"How exactly did you get a Ph.D.,
through a mail order catalog?" I don't
want to say that Profs, are incompetent,
quite the opposite. I think for the most
part Profs, are exceedingly competent
and I'd like to see how they hold themselves in a down and dirty debate to see
if they actually deserve their positions. If
you can't hold your own against a bunch
of pissy little first years, you really
shouldn't be teaching University classes.
The bottom line is that a good chunk of
professors could use a good couple of
weeks with my family to give them a little personality, either to give them personality or to make them cry. Either way
it would be good for a few laughs.
Jake Gray, despite his denials, desperately
aspires to be a Four Kolour Klicker Keener
and delight Profs, everywhere with his
undivided attention and insightful
questions. Or not.
Something strange has happened. It
used to be the duty of The 432 to
put a strange and humourous twist
on events in the real world. That is no
longer necessary.
Recent events both on and off campus
have proven stranger than fiction. Both
of our cover stories this issue have strong
roots in reality. The last issue of The
Underground made more fun of the
Faculty of Arts in one issue than The 432
has managed in a few years (Thanks,
guys). So what are we to do? All our news
is real news. I guess that I might as well
do a real editorial.
And what is my topic for this week? You
guessed it, the AMS Elections.
I can't believe that AMS Ombudsman
Mike Curry reported that he found no
evidence of voter fraud. Why didn't he
find evidence? Because the evidence didn't find him. In short, he concluded that
no significant fraud happened just
because students were reluctant to
approach an AMS appointed official and
declare "I just defrauded the AMS elections!" Especially considering that AMS
Elections Commissioner Zoe Stronge
had promised to take action against anyone who did vote multiple times.
Although Mr. Curry promised
anonyminity to anyone who came forward, Ms. Stronge's comments probably
scared off the few who were considering
blowing the whistle.
What about the voter sign-in sheets?
Why weren't those examined? The stated reason was that voters could potentially sign the sheets twice, once when
they entered the tuition draw (a vote
wasn't required to do so) and once when
they actually voted.
'Since you missed your last booster shot..."
Mr. Curry stated that examining the
sign-in sheets wouldn't produce an accurate picture of who voted and who didn't, seeing as he himself neglected to
sign the sheet when he voted. Case in
point, non Mike?
Actually examining the sheets would
have revealed that not only did legendary fictional Science student Charles
"Chuck" Wagon vote. He voted several
times. No fraud there. Nope. Uh-uh.
How long would it take to produce evidence of fraud by examining the sheets?
Some say weeks, and that was the main
reason why the sheets weren't examined, but The Ubyssey did it in about an
hour (kinda like Perl Eyewear).
Also, a reported difference of 30 votes
between the sign-in sheets and the ballots cast in the ballot box was discovered
at a single station for a single day. If similar discrepancies existed at the other 14
stations, we're looking at a plus/minus
of 2250 votes over the week. Even first
year physics majors know this is a bad
margin of error, considering that about
3000 votes were cast in total. But once
again, this didn't constitute a problem
for the AMS.
Let's not even get into the issue of a few
poll clerks "helping" students fill out
their ballots.
In defense of the Elections
Commissioner, the elections were run
on a horribly slashed budget. And given
the numbers, she did the best that she
could in the circumstances.
In Mr. Curry's defense, he did present
an excellent, well researched report to
AMS Council Wednesday night. Detailed
research into previous examples of voter
fraud was conducted so he could compare it to this year's election.
The problem was that the one election
that wasn't researched was this year's. 12 FEBRUARY 1997
The Transfer.
Paul Butcher
Roving Correspondent
Throughout history, mankind has
empowered certain pieces of paper
with incredible command and significance. The Declaration of Independence
separated the U.S. from the
Commonwealth, the Magna Carta in
England gave much of the King's power
to the people, and certain scrolls from
the ancient world tell us many vital
things about lost civilizations. How envious are the glorious positions occupied
by such documents. Today, we still grace
certain papers with our laws but more
often than not, we create documents
whose lives are short, and meaningful
for only a brief time. I refer, of course, to
bus transfers.
With a life quality second only to that
of toilet paper, bus transfers are truly at
the bottom of the document hierarchy.
They can have a maximum life-span of
just an hour-and-a-half, hardly sufficient
time to change world history or even get
a student a B in English. The transfer's
life is shallow, limited, and most often
considered as a "waste of paper."
All paper products start out pretty much
the same: as pulp. Pulp may come from
trees or recycling, but pulpitude must be
achieved before any paper can be made.
These tiny fibrous particles lose their
individual identities when they are
assimilated into the all-powerful collective that is paper. One Pulp has some
idea of what will be printed on the collective by how tightly all the Pulp is
crammed into the paper. If the paper
really packs in the Pulp so that there is
hardly room to move, the Pulp can make
a fair assumption that they are members
of a heavy bond paper, likely destined
for greatness as the backing of a new
statute or something. If the Pulp find
that they have plenty of breathing space
and lots of leg room, the collective is
likely to be transfer paper or nightmar-
ishly: toilet paper. At least the Pulp in
toilet paper has several layers of Pulp for
company during the horrendous
assigned task.
Few things have a life-span as short as a
transfer: some experimental radioactive
elements, microscopic bugs, No-Name
deodorants, and those really cheap
Safeway shoes. Unfortunately, even with
all of our technical know-how, the life-
expectancy of transfers remains miserably short. Even milk products are given
a couple of weeks to expire. Just imagine
if we all had "best before" or "alive
until" dates stamped on our foreheads:
as the date drew near, we would have
increasing difficulties making friends or
obtaining health insurance. Transfers are
dated and timed such that even if they
are not ripped on their assigned day,
they are worthless. This fact points to
the phenomenon wherein the quality
and length of a paper's life is highly
dependent on that which is printed on
the paper. You could scrawl the
Notwithstanding Clause on a roll of toilet paper or clean your behind with a
crumpled piece of fifty pound stock
(although this is not recommended): the
paper's true worth ultimately lies in
what goes on.
Granted that life is short and bitter for
all transfers, some get a chance to live it
up the whole time that they're "good." I
refer here to the fraudulent but profitable resale of transfers by vagabonds
and young substance abusers. Here, a
lonely transfer gets the opportunity to
make the acquaintance of more than
one pocket wallet. If the gods are smiling, certain transfers may see the bottom
At the math bar.
of as many as three pockets before croaking and retiring to the great transit paradise in the garbage.
Amazingly, most people hand on to
their transfers long after they have
expired; the greatest problem these people see is finding the transfer that is still
valid when it is required. No thought is
given to the fact that the one "alive"
transfer is having to spend time with
"dead" transfers whose rotting corpses
decomposing in your wallet or school
bag; be kind, toss them in the garbage —
their final resting place.
In consideration of the transfer in your
pocket, always carry something interesting with you, like a shiny marble, a
squished penny, or maybe even a document of arguably even lesser value, such
as the transit Buzzer.
Apart from documenting the lesser known
facts of life as a paper product, Paul
Butcher owns and operates a small Third
World Latin American Dictatorship.
All hail General Butcher!
The Faculty of Science Presents
A Lecture Series for
ALL Science
It's new and it's for you! 	
Fermat's Last Theorem
A Science First! lecture by
Dr. Rajiv Gupta
Department of Mathematics
Thursday, 13 February 1997
12:30-1:30 pm
IRC Lecture Hall #6
QUESTIONS? call 822-9876
Thfi jtfa&'tlub of UBC
Vancouver, Canada
The University of British Columbia Math Club is an organi-y
zation run mainly by mathematics majors and honors students. We provide a variety of vital services for UBC students
enrolled in all areas of math, from single variable calculus to
linear algebra to analysis, the Math Club also sponsors
Intramural sport teams and it is a good place for students to
share their ideas in their respective stvdies.
The Math Club is currently selling packjgos of previous final
exams for first and second year cour.scs and these are made
available to the students at a no liina! msi. [jf you are interested in purchasing any jf these hookMs ox have any questions, please contact us at the add
Address:       The Math Ci ub of UBC ;S.
1984 Mathematics Road .i*
Ron Riddell Reading Room: Math Annex 1119
vrfi'.:■.,-, Vancouver, British Columbia
(TTIck here to lose your mind  )
O    N   L   I   N   E PAGE FOUR
12 FEBRUARY 1997
Dem Bad Daze.
We've all had them. You get out
of bed and step in that little
present Fluffy thoughtfully left
for you on your carpet at 3 AM. Then
you proceed to slip on your brother's
skateboard which he so considerately
placed at the top of your staircase, thereby allowing you to skip all that unnecessary fuss of using each individual stair
lightly with your feet and proceed directly to using the bottom landing just
once... heavily... with your face.
When you regain consciousness, the
first thing that comes to mind is the
midterm today that you forgot about the
second the Prof, informed the class.
Well, not really, the first thing that you
ponder is your neck complaining that it
is quite likely broken in several places.
Your wrist then pipes in with its own
concern about being in a shattered state.
Your neck doesn't like this one bit, seeing as if it were really broken you couldn't feel your wrist, so it triples the pain
to make you forget about everything
below your shoulders. This plan would
work if the family Rottweiler, spurred on
by a strange cat scent, wasn't trying to
amputate your foot in the meanwhile.
You know the days that I'm talking
about. And while they're so horrific in
nature that their very thoughts cause
you to hyperventilate, when they happen to someone else it's quite a different
Case in point: I was waiting for a bus in
Kerrisdale one cold January morning.
The bus was approaching from the East
and was nearly at the stop when a panic
stricken girl round the corner of W.
Boulevard, obviously concerned about
missing said bus. She streaked towards
the bus stop, pausing only to slip on a
sheet of ice and plow head-first into the
locked doors of Hill's Department store.
Not only did this impact shatter a window and set off the burglar alarm in the
store, it also rendered the poor girl completely unconscious, which was probably for the best, seeing as the still
approaching bus now proceeded to
cover her with copious quantities of
slush and water that was a particularly
odd hue of brown.
This situation demanded my immediate
attention and ridicule, so I decided to
wait for the next bus.
She regained consciousness surrounded
by inquisitive police officers and an irate
store manager. After mistaking a bearded
officer for her mother for a short while,
she seemed well on her way to recovery.
Five minutes later, the strobing police
and alarm lights proved too much to
handle when her brain decided that this
whole consciousness gig was overrated
and cut power to her legs for something
amusing to do to break up all this
monotonous standing around. She
crumpled to the ground was quickly
dumped into a waiting ambulance.
See how easy it is for an otherwise fine
looking day with the promise of a latte
and light talk in the conversation pit to
take one bad turn and dump you smack
in the middle of the emergency room at
VGH. Where, by the way, you can catch
red measles and proceed to give everyone else that you know a bad day.
Why do days like these happen? Their
very existence seems to defy the laws of
probability. Is there some sadistic
supreme being sitting up in the heavens
who decided that his Saturday was going
particularly poorly and needed some
spicing up? Is it related to 'what goes
around comes around' and all the bad
stuff you've done comes spectacularly
crashing in on you in some sort of
Karmic Supernova?
I don't know. If I did, I'd never have
these days. All.I do know is that there is
absolutely nothing you can do to avoid
them. If you carefully watch each step
you take, a fragment of metal will break
off the wing of a passing 747 and crush
you horribly from above. If you look up
and down, you'll get nudged by a passing stranger right in front of a brake-less
dump truck.
Even if you give up and hide under the
covers in bed, the mattress will give out
and impale you with twisted • springs.
Let's say that you disappear into the
country to stand in an open field where
nothing can possibly go wrong. That's
the exact moment that a passing meteor
will choose to fall from the sky and create a new lake.
You can't win, so you should choose to
be prepared. Slipping in the shower is
just a warning that something horrible
may happen to you today. Be glad, the
only warning most people get of their
imminent deaths is "Mind that bus."
"What bus?" <splat!>.
So what measures can you take to prevent massive head injuries once you
know that they're coming your way? Try
wearing a helmet. And swimming goggles. And hockey pads. And steel toed
combat boots. And covering your face in
protective lubricant. And wrapping
exposed skin in Saran Wrap. That ough-
ta do it.
Then again, maybe the horrible thing
that's going to happen to you will be
socially oriented, but what would spawn
es! It's...
Season Begins.
Mark Breeder
Espionage Correspondent
The stories you are
about to read are true.
In early January 1997, an elite group
of Science students undertook a hazardous mission at the risk of great
personal danger for the benefit of
Science students across this vast campus,
ney, this entire country. They hunted
down and captured an elusive "engineer." Then, in a feat of espionage worthy of James Bond, they infiltrated the
UBC Engineering Headquarters, the so-
called "Cheeze," and, under the unsuspecting noses of a group of engineers,
proceeded to tank this individual (who
shall remain nameless to preserve any
shred of dignity he may still cling to)
before making a cautious retreat.
Here's how it unfolded: This group of
Scientists, sick and tired of the lack of
response to the ongoing engineer terrorism inflicted on this campus, along with
a traitorous engineer acting as both
guide and interpreter, set a trap for this
despicable engineer. As he entered his
room after his last class of the day, he
was jumped and escorted out to a waiting automobile, with which he was
transported to the Cheeze. A hapless
escape attempt at the point of arrival was
effectively put down by the Scientists,
who then proceeded to convince a group
of groggy engineers that a tanking was
required. The "court of the engineers"
was held, and the
tanking com
On 22 January
1997, in the middle
of Science Week,
when the Engineers
are especially vigilant, three young
Science students
crept through
Engineer territory
and, displaying
great initiative and
no thought of risk
to life or limb,
affixed Science propaganda (a The 432
poster) to the wall
of the Cheeze itself
— while the Cheeze
was   full   of   engi
neers doing whatever it is that engineers
do when they're alone. (Ah, that would be
drinking heavily, Mark - ed.)
What is so remarkable about these activities? They were carried out by a bunch
of First Year Science Students. It seems
that a few first yearers are the only
Science students brave enough to stand
up to the 'geers anymore. What ever
happened to the Science spirit of old,
when the sight of an engineer being
tanked was a common one, and Science
students weren't afraid to show their
colours (blue, in case you didn't know)?
I call upon Science students everywhere
to join the fight against these vile, side-
burn-toting rednecks. Their act of senseless debauchery and destruction can no
longer be tolerated. (Their lack of personal grooming and total ineptness
when it comes to social interaction isn't
so pleasant, either.)
During frosh week, along with other
occasions throughout the year, Science
students (along with students from
other, lesser faculties) become the prey
of roving bands of engineers and are
forced to suffer through the indignity of
a tanking at the hands of these degenerates. No longer can these acts go unrequited. We must band together to crush
the engineers and send them back to the
basement of society where they belong
— before their impact on civilization
becomes too great. It is now prank or be
pranked, tank or be tanked.
We can show the engineers why it is
truly Scientists who rule the world!
The Cheeze late one night in January.
Tired of
Tired of rising pop
prices at UBC?
SUS (CHEM B160) has a toonie
friendly pop machine and pop
at only 75 <! 12 FEBRUARY 1997
The Dead Pool Update
Before I start, I just want to say that
I'm sorry I missed ya in The 432
Superissue™. Y'see, there was this
thing going on that I had to coordinate... what was that, no, no, it escapes
me for the moment. Never mind.
Anyway, the thing is, well, Christmas is
bad for old folks, but great for you. Stiffs
have just been popping up all over the
place. Dead people, that is.
Let's do this in chronological order. First
of all, on November 29 Mark Lennard
popped it: he was an actor (He was more
than an actor, he was a legend. For those of
you that don't know, he was Mr. Spock's
father on Star Trek, Sarek. -ed.), he was 72.
The very next day Tiny Tim elected to
cut a single with the choir invisible,
Giving Jeremy Thorp first blood, so to
speak. The NFL commissioner Pete
Rozelle fumbled the ball next on
December 6, closely followed by Howard
Rollins on December 8 (Lymphoma, in
case you were wondering). But the major
event of the last few weeks has to have
been Carl Sagan's untimely death from
pneumonia on December 20, followed
the very next day by Margaret E. Ray,
author of children's books. 1997 opened
with Colonel Tom Parker (taught Elvis
everything he knew), then on the 17th
Clyde Tombaugh (the astronomer) also
died. Both he' and Carl now see the stars
from the other side. Paul Tsongas, the
politician, bought the farm, or perhaps
was made minister responsible for the
farm, on January 18th; and finally,
Columnist Herb Caen died of lung cancer on February 1st, proving that even
the people who write these dumb things
are not immortal.
Amazingly, despite the fact that so
many people are kicking the bucket they
could practically form their own soccer
team, nobody seems to be cashing in yet.
Many people are really close; between
Yeltsin, Sinatra and Mother Theresa
alone I'll be amazed if there isn't a massive change in the standings soon. But
right now, it's
1st Place (12 Pts): Teremv Thorp.
1. Wilfred Brimley
2 . Frank Sinatra
3. Pope JPII
4. Queen Mum
5. Tuk the Polar Bear
$JT2SS%=-Sscg|[?i   (10 Pts)
7. Ronald Reagan
8. Jimmy Carter
9. Jacques Cousteau
10. Orson Welles
11. Deng Xiaopeng
12. Alec Guinness
13. Abigale Van Buren
t^s, T^HTy^fim.      (2 Pts)
15. Victor Borge
Last place (0 Pts): Everybody else
But don't feel bad about being in last
place. Just remember that it is February,
the month of the year when most people
pop it.
So I suggest curling up every night in
front of the tele for the evening news
with a warm blanky and a hot cup of
Java. Because most of the people on our
lists are about due.
So keep your lists handy and a black felt
marker by your side and remember: in
the words of Fox Mulder, "Everything
And that's just about all there is to say.
If I've missed something don't hesitate
to let me know, and if anyone can confirm that Claudia Liz is, in fact, dead I'd
appreciate it because John's desperate for
the points. Otherwise, it's goodbye until
next week from here at The 432. Don't
fear the reaper.
The 432 would like to take this opportunity to say that despite the fact that The
Dead Pool is currently being won by regular
columnist and assistant editor Jeremy
Thorp, there's no reason to start crying
fowl. We didn't fix this contest, we ran it
better than the AMS elections.
And besides, how does one fix a contest
like this? We know Jer has an uncanny
ability to predict the future on The
Simpsons, but we don't think that this talent extends much past that.
Although he was on vacation around the
time that Carl Sagan died...
After the recent
sfu, the 432 labs. inc.
invested considerable
effort developing a
Measles Inoculation
that can be worn luke a
nicotine patch!
Presenting the
official 432™
BE careful: USE ONLY ONE
J    'lISEAf Ljp;:f>AT6H \ j
\ riyw%:#w'iWcARE«« /
\\ //
The 432
propagating epidemics
12 FEBRUARY 1997
The SUS Executive Elections!
It's election time again! Isn't this so
exciting? It's time to choose who gets
to run SUS next year. It could be Bob
Dole, it could be Barney the Dinosaur, or
it could be you.
SUS has been plagued in past years by a
chronic lack of participation in its electoral process. This year will be different.
If the exciting world of politics appeals
to you, choose a position from the list
below and run a great campaign. And if
you're really keen, drop by SUS (Chem
B160) to talk to the current Exec to find
out more about their exciting job.
So get those nomination forms in by V-
day, and good luck to you in your political future!
President: Power-crazed tin-plated dictator type. Gets to pound a gavel frequently, takes credit/blame for everything that goes on 'round here, and is
all-seeing and all-knowing as far as the
activities of Executives and Councilors.
Also responsible for doing all the other
thankless tasks other Exec manage to
wriggle out of.
External Vice President: Gets sent on
diplomatic missions to the Cheeze
whenever the President wants to try
pulling a fast one. Chief AMS
Representative Dude(tte), and responsible for coordinating Science Week.
Ironically, also handles external affairs
with the AMS and other undergrad societies. Primary interface between SUS
and the AMS Council; expected to
defend Science interest at all costs.
Internal Vice President: Deals with all
academic matters (academic as in
"Faculty-related," not academic as in
"trivial"), runs elections and referenda,
and deals with, well, internal stuff. Is
also stapled to a chair so's to prevent
escape during Academics, Science Week,
and Alumni Committee meetings.
Supervises the Kids (i.e. the First Year
Executive Secretary: Keeps entire SUS
pencil supply behind left ear, as well as
typing agendas, handling all Society
correspondence, keeping minutes up-
to-date, shopping for staples at the
Bookstore, and sitting on AMS Council.
Also responsible for keeping SUS up-to-
date on the activity of favourite sports
Director of Finance: Signs cheques,
counts beans and cooks books. Gets to
grovel to the AMS Director of Finance
once in a while, prepares budgets, and is
stapled to a chair so as to prevent escape
during Budget Committee meetings.
Past holders of the position have been
known to frolic naked in big piles of
Director of Publications: Quite possibly
the most important individual in the
Entire Universe. Gets to refer to himself
in the singular as "we". Causes to be
published this here rag, the summer
Guide, and is not merely stapled to a
chair, but bound, gagged and thrown
on the cold floor to ensure attendance
at Budget and Science Week Committee
meetings. Would probably follow the
rules and have a Science Newspaper
Council if anyone actually demonstrat
ed some interest in having one.
Supposed to hold the fourth AMS
Council seat, but that responsibility is
usually tossed to other Exec like a live
Public Relations Officer: Tends to draw
academic mortar fire like a magnet and
fail out a couple of months after
appointment. Should handle the SUS
Employment board, coordinate SUS
charity efforts, arrange press releases,
and be extremely facetious at AMS
Council. In practice, this is the person
we stick with the Class Act biz.
Sports Director: Maintains Science
supremacy in Intramurals through liberal application of rebates. Yay!
Social Coordinator: Gets to hang out in
the SUB bookings line-up once a term,
be extremely popular by claiming
responsibility for splendiferous social
events at which everybody has a rockin'
time, and be too pickled to really care
about the mandatory Science Week
Committee meetings.
Get Involved.
Run for a SUS Executive Position.
Nomination Deadline: February 14
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* 12 FEBRUARY 1997
The Drawers of SUS
Tracy MacKinnon	
Whew! Science Week is now over and we can all relax. Maybe even go to a
few classes. Imagine! Cold Fusion, featuring 54™40 was an unqualified success, and our opening band speedbump was incredible. Unfortunately, you
didn't find out about many of our events because the multitude of AMS executive
candidates were either covering over our posters or ripping them down. Hopefully
we won't have this problem next year.
Our first Dean's Lunch went off very well. The Dean's Lunch is a chance to come
out to an informal setting and talk with the Dr. McBride, the Dean of Science, as well
as some associate deans. The Dean is interested in finding out things that you think
would improve the science program, or advising, etc. It's a really good opportunity
to voice your concerns to the Dean, and the next opportunity to do so will be in
March. We'll keep you posted.
The deadline for nominations for SUS executive elections is 14 February 97 at 4:32
pm. If you'd like to find out more about any of the executive portfolios, feel free to
come in and talk to me about it. You don't have to have been hanging out here for
years to run in the election. So come on down to Chem 160.
We're friendly, honest. :)
Blair McDonald
The Senatorial Finger (what one senator suggested we give the provincial gov't)
Mad Gowsf
Doss Wat Bfn BAB/esf
Hamsters that Eat 7kem Vwitet
s       26 FEBRUARY  1997
All submissions should be in
CHEM  B 1 60 BY 4:32PM ON THE
It's bloody obvious where the priority
of some UBC professors lie. Last week,
an emergency Senate meeting was
called to discuss the plan to raise tuition
by 2.5x for international graduate students.
Here's the background. The NDP government (bless their weaselly little
hearts) informed UBC that it was clawing back $1.6 mil from this year's operating grant. And probably reducing next
year's grant as well. The government
then went on to tell UBC that the tuition
freeze was never intended to apply to
international students (since international students can't vote NDP!). So, the
resulting math boils down to: minus
$1.6 mil, and exactly one way to raise
those funds—raise international tuition.
Two proposals went to the Board of
Governors: 1) increase international
tuition by 24% (the amount everyone
else would be paying if the NDP didn't
try to buy a vote or two from the PSE
crowd) and 2) increase foreign grad student tuition rates by 2.5x to bring UBC's
fees in line with other Canadian universities (and incidentally, apply the same
rule to all foreign students—foreign
undergrads already pay 2.5x).
What a brouhaha (if that's even a word).
A whole bunch of profs revolted and
called the emergency Senate meeting to
protest "the crippling of their research
programs." That's because lots of profs
go out of their way to recruit the best
and brightest students from all around
the world (a brilliant grad student does
better work for the prof's name to be on).
Everyone on Senate attempted to gaze
into their crystal ball and predict what
effect this would have on enrollment
and scholarships. Eventually, the question was called and passed by a small
majority—Senate asked BoG to rescind
the 2.5x increase—but an amendment to
freeze foreign grad tuition failed.
The net result? If BoG chooses to follow
Senate's advice, a $1.6 mil cut will be
passed on to the faculties proportional
to their percentage of the University's
operating grant. This could mean faculty
layoffs, staff reductions and other nasty
things that will have a huge impact on
undergraduate students, especially those
in the first few years of their degree. The
We at The 432
would like to
take this
opportunity to
the newly
elected AMS
All hail our
new ant
Dean of Arts gave a very impassioned
speech about what would happen to
Arts. I think a similar crisis will occur in
Science: labs are already filled beyond
capacity. Expect some changes in the
future: more late night labs, perhaps
early morning labs as well. Also expect
even larger class sizes, and less TAs.
That's why I think some professors (like
those who voted yes to the Senate
motion) obviously place more importance on foreign grad students instead of
domestic undergrads. But tell me something new.
More Yardstick info. The Yardstick is
apparently alive and well and currently
on vacation somewhere in eastern Zaire.
No, actually, it's supposed to come out in
late March. For Science students, remember that The Guide (published by SUS)
will contain complete, up-to-date teaching stats (The Yardstick will only contain
current Term 1 courses) and will be
mailed to you in late June.
••• -
Graduation. Those of us in our last year
should have gotten our ticket request
forms in by now. I'll be keeping a close
eye on the numbers of people per ceremony, and if needed, I'll ask Ceremonies
to add a sixth ceremony. There's a vacant
slot in Tuesday evening. Grad Class
Council (Gifts, Rebates, etc): Check out
the ad in the last Ubyssey, or contact me
at SUS.
For once, Science has a great showing
on Grad Class Council. Four of the six
Grad Class Exec are from SUS. I'd like to
encourage everyone to get in requests for
Grad Class Gifts, and encourage all graduating students to attend the Grad Class
AGM so we can reach quorum and give
out lots of money this year.
Finally, my two cents about the AMS
Election. This is a message to Mike
Curry: thanks for nothing. Instead
of investigating the problem, you looked
for justification to take the easy way out.
You claimed the sign-in sheets (and lack
or addition of names thereon) was irrelevant because you yourself didn't sign
in. You've just proved the case, buddy.
The AMS sits upon its ivory tower and
thinks it follows due process in consulting the students. But the elections are
the only way students are consulted
directly on how they want the AMS to
work. It's the only way our student government can claim to have a "mandate
from the students," and the only way
students can have faith in the democratic process at UBC.
The old Executive reduced Elections'
budget, and in doing so reduced both
the advertising and poll clerk training. Is
it any wonder people might have a problem when last year's Director of Finance
becomes this year's President?
It's a fact that people voted multiple
times. It's a fact that the sign-in sheets
contain multiple names and don't
match the number of ballots in each
box. AMS Council, the Executive (both
current and elect) and the AMS
Ombudsperson failed to serve the students in their decision not to rerun the
Elections. Saving a few thousand dollars
to be wasted elsewhere was more important than the democratic process.
The Ombudsperson concluded that any
fraud was not organized, and that the
sum of many failures in the electoral
process probably didn't affect the results.
I don't believe that for a minute—many
positions were decided by only 100
votes. It might be true that the Executive-
elect would have won had the Elections
been flawless.
But that's not the point, is it? PAGE EIGHT
12 FEBRUARY 1997
I've had some pretty major disappointments in my life. When I was
five, I discovered that not only did
the Easter Bunny not exist, but also that
it was catabolically impossible for a rabbit to lay foil-covered chocolate eggs. At
the age of ten, I found out the hard way
that, no matter how skinny you may be,
there just isn't enough lift provided by
two aerosol spray cans to produce sustainable flight.
However, without any doubt, the single
most disappointing event of my existence to this point occurred on Sunday,
February 2nd. On this particular day,
you see, the world did not come to a horrible, flaming end.
A little bit of background: Michel de
Nostredame was a French doctor and all
around weirdo, who looked at stars and
things, in the 16th century. Apparently,
by counting the notches on Orion's belt
or something, this guy was able to make
accurate predictions about the future.
Sort of like Jojo, only with a considerably lower voice, and slightly less makeup. Now, when I say that Michel (whose
super alias was Nostradamus) made accurate predictions, I mean it in the way
that Wayne Gretzky has an accurate
cross-ice pass, and not in the way that
the AMS provides accurate election
results. This guy not only predicted such
momentous events as the French revolution, and the Second World War, but he
also predicted with considerable accuracy the assassination of John F. Kennedy,
and the emergence of Elvis Presley as the
king of rock'n'roll.
He also, coincidentally, predicted the
exact time and date of the end of the
world.   According   to   Nostradamus,
Armageddon was to have occurred on
February 2nd, right around midnight.
And I was ready.
How does one prepare for the
Apocalypse? Well, I started with some
beer. After all, it's no fun facing your
maker with a legal blood alcohol level. I
also changed into shorts and a tee shirt,
since by all accounts, biblical destruction
tends to be quite warm. Next, I strapped
on a vail of holy water (you'd be surprised how easy it is to find holy water.
Try Zeller's), found my big pointy stick,
and promptly fell asleep.
I was awakened (or so I thought) by a
bright flash, and a loud explosion.
Hesitantly, I moved aside the curtains
and peered outside. Wow. Fiery. B-lot
had transformed itself into a giant lava
pit, complete with three story flames
and smug-looking demon-folk. The residents of Totem park were pouring, terrorized from their houses, pursued by
thousands off giant rats, angry grasshoppers, and a few more silverfish than
usual. My ears were filled with screams
of anguish and sound of destruction.
Truth be told, it was a lot more like an
Itchy and Scratchy episode than I would
have liked.
Then came the horsemen. War,
Pestilence, Famine, and something to do
with wild animals. Or, in this case,
Margaret Thatcher, Wilt Chamberlain,
Mick Jagger, and Tom Jones. Let me tell
you, there is nothing quite as scary as
the former Prime Minister of Great
Britain, on a pale horse, wielding a flaming red sword. A six-foot ten basketball
player covered head to toe in maggots
comes close, but you have to picture
Mrs. Thatcher in a set of bikini plate
armour taken directly from Heavy Metal
magazine. Mick Jagger was truthfully a
bit hard to see. From a distance, I found
myself wondering why on Earth the
third horse had a toothpick taped to it's
back, and how the toothpick could be
smoking a cigarette. Which brings us to
Tom Jones. If you read the bible, the
fourth horseman is generally associated
with lions, wolves, and other things that
bite. With the onset of modern media,
however, I guess God decided that he
needed something scarier. Tom Jones
was finished his seventy-second nationwide tour, and his agent just happened
to be a good friend of the Pope. In a
manner of speaking, Mr. Jones had his
people call God's people, and they struck
out a deal.
Rather than panic, I decided to engage
in a short period of hysteria. Once that
had abated, I pondered how I would
avoid this rather uncomfortable looking
situation. 1 once talked to a friend of
mine about what he would do if the
world was coming to an end. My friend
was relatively non-chalant — he
explained that he wasn't concerned
about the horsemen, because he was a
fairly good runner. This didn't really
seem to me to sound logical. I've read
the bible a few times, and I'm pretty sure
that I didn't see this passage anywhere:
'And The Lord shall grant salvation to
the faithful, and to those who can run
really, really fast.' In a moment of unheralded ingenuity, I logged onto the
Internet, and joined the IRC channel
iarmageddon. Most of the participants
were exchanging naked pictures of
Margaret Thatcher, but I was able to talk
to a girl from Poland who had some pretty good ideas. She recommended that I
dress up as a devil, act important, and
generally try to be ignored. I figured that
if it worked for Brian Mulroney, I may as
well give it a try.
Ten minutes later, decked out in red
plaid bell bottoms, a stolen engineering
jacket, and a pair of purloined antlers, I
ventured into what was left of the outside world.
Of course, my plan didn't go quite as
smoothly as expected.
"Hey you!" shouted one of the demons,
who bore an uncanny resemblance to
Tom Petty. "What are you doing here?"
I had to think fast. "Just...um...hurting
people and stuff. You know, the usual."
The demon didn't look impressed.
"Why aren't you on fire?" he asked, with
more than a hint of disbelief.
"I am on fire," I said cautiously. "It's just
the really, really hot kind, so you can't
see it. The better to burn people with,
and all. It's all the rage at the beaches on
the Styx."
"Well, alright. You talk the talk," said
my flaming friend. "See those sharp
pieces of metal?" he asked, pointing
towards Osbourne. "Go throw them at
"Right away," I said, and hurried off.
Wow. Not only did my plan work, but I
was also having a pretty good time. Of
course fate being the way it is, my body
chose this opportunity to wake up.
It seems that I had fallen asleep, fallen
off the bed, and wedged myself between
my mattress and my heater. There was a
ruler, a compass, and a pair of scissors
stuck in my wall, and my pillow was on
fire. I had a coat hanger stuck to my
head, and my computer was connected
to #maggienude.
What a disappointment. Nostrodamus
proven wrong, and I no longer had an
excuse to throw scrap metal at my classmates. The world was still in the harassed state that it was in the day before,
and my room was on fire.
Nostrodamus' last prediction may
appear to have been proven false.
Anyone who has taken Physics 100,
however, knows that any calculation has
a margin of error. In this case, it works
out to be plus or minus about a month.
So, if four mounted figures come knocking on your door tonight, don't tell me I
didn't warn you. And don't forget your
The IQQ7 graduating Glass is
looking for innovative legacy
gift proposals to leave for future
students. H maximum of
$3000 per gift is available,
with the number of gifts to be
determined. Skovtlisied ejifts
will be voted on at the gfaa
Glass fl^ffl on Jllarch ~],
IQQ7 in the SUB Vartyroom
proposals are welcome
from individuals, clubs
ana constituencies
send a 150 word
description & budget to:
Grad Class Girts
SUB Room 238
deadline for application
Tuesday Feb 25 @ 4pm


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