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Array Events
SUS Executive Elections
Nominations open
Wed, Ich 2.
CSC Annual Table
Tennis Tourney.
Jan 31-let) 1 I,
CHl-M 1)222.
Register ASM'.
•
Oceanography Seminar
"Seasonal Cycle of Mixed
Layer Temperatures in an
OGCM with a specified
Canadian Climate Centre.
Tuesday, l-'eb 1
3:30 PM/Rm 1465
Maya Cosmos:
3000 Years on the
Shaman's Path
Wednesday, i el) 2
7:30 I'M, The Orpheun
Tickets available at the
Microbiology Seminar
"IfCMV and I MY-6 genes
issociated with transforma-
tion or transactivtition of
IIIY-I"
Thursday, l-'eb 17
12:00-1:00 PM
Wesbrook Km 201
Ingredients
Approximately 30 tons of
99.95% pulped, bleached and
flattened Clayoquot trees.
'Callous of black ink that will
smudge all over your fingertips. The dreams, hopes arid
wishes of the editorial staff.
Various attempts to brain
wash the entire Western
hemisphere with Science propaganda, Two large Sasamat
pizzas at one in the morning.
Other stuff.
time. You better enjoy this.-
Or else we'll just take our toys
back and go home. Nvahh!
"I'd like evejryoj^e to give a warm welcome to ourrjiewcjst member, Marc S.
Now, everybody s^y hello to Marc..."
Jason S., President
UBC Young Pariahs.
The Newspaper for Science Students
Vol 7, N<t 8 f 31 January 1994
ELECTIONS
SHOCKER!
"Experience" Slate sweeps
all five spots. Wow.
Cord van MacOlundsky
Roaming Correspondent
VANCOUVER (CPI)
To no one's surprise,
William Francis
Alexander Dobie III and
his cohorts were elected to the
AMS Executive last week. In
his victory speech, Dobie was
overheard "promising to continue his eternal quest for utter
and complete world domination."
Fellow executive-elect Tim
Lo refused to comment if he
shared Dobie's plans, but did
say one of his first priorities
"would be to insist on the
removal of the obscene posters
in the President's office." Lo
made the point that any picture of the President's naked
legs would be considered
obscene, and suggested that
the photos be submitted to the
Ubyssey for the upcoming Sex
Issue.
Although the election of the
Experience slate came as no big
shock, the elections confirmed
the growing belief that a new
power bloc is emerging in AMS
politics, as the Spoils slate
made an extremely strong
showing at all polls.
Elections Commissioner
Cheryl Ainslie had the following statement, "It's not surprising that Spoils did so well. Last
year, candidates were allowed
to run for more than one position at a time, and Edmund
Spoils ran as an Ironman candidate. He stretched his vote a
bit thin though, and didn't do
all that great. This year, we
changed the rules, to prevent
anyone from running as
Ironman. This obviously didn't
slow down Edmund, since he
gathered all his siblings to
form the Spoils slate. You can
see the results for yourself. I
wouldn't be surprised if the
Spoils actually swept the elections next year."
Edmund Spoils opted to run
for the position of Director of
Finance, where he placed second behind Romero by a mere
317 votes. Other members of
the Spoils slate did quite well;
Elizabeth Spoils making a good
showing at 411 votes in the
election for Coordinator of
External Affairs, which was
won by Leah Fluffy Costello.
For Director of
Administration, formerly held
by Radical Beer Faction candidate Roger Watts, Jackson
Spoils placed third, easily passing Watts' fellow RBF candidate Stephen (Ed) Coleman.
Coleman expressed his concerns: "I'm scared for all the
established politicians here on
campus. We all plastered the
entire campus with reams of
poorly designed multicoloured posters, and for
what? The Spoils slate relied
entirely on word-on-mouth. I
never saw a single one of their
posters. And look! They came
damn close to winning a place
or two. I don't know what
strategy will work against that.
Maybe if we gave away even
more beer."
Montague Spoils, the Vice-
Presidential candidate and a
relative newcomer to the AMS
political scene, placed second
to incumbent juggernaut
Janice Boyle with 457 votes, or
almost 14.3% of the total votes
cast.
Victoria Spoils-Smythe IV,
self-styled Duchess of New
Westminster, was one of only
two female candidates in the
crowded presidential race. She
conceded an honourable
defeat with 241 votes, and
wished the best of luck to the
winner, current President Bill
Dobie.
"1 knew that my chances
against Bill were not good, but
I had a lot of fun on the campaign trail, refined my goals
for when I try again next year,
... and hey, at least I managed
to snag that fifth Senate seat."
Members of the Spoils slate
could not be reached for comment, but one of their campaign managers revealed that
plans are already underway for
the 1995/96 AMS elections.
Black Holes Synthesized!
Washington Irving
Raving Correspondent
Dr. Cavite Empter, of
Cambridge, announced
the results of his 12-
year research into the nature
of 'black holes' today.
"Clearly, the best way to
study this phenomenon is to
try to reproduce it," explains
Empter. "So that's just what
we did!" Defying professional
skepticism and financial difficulties, Empter and his team
succeded in developing a procedure with a fascinating
result: a tiny, manageable
black hole.
"Most people think that
black holes are dangerous,"
laughs Emptor, "well, um, they
are. I mean they're really dangerous. More dangerous than
you can possible imagine. One
of these suckers the size of a
walnut could squash you, me
and the whole world into the
middle of next Tuesday. So we
knew we had to take some
safety measures."
Empter's team came up with
an elegant solution: make a
black hole, but only in two
dimensions! Safe, portable, and
manageable, these little suckers, dubbed 'black wafers', consume light in a diameter of
only two inches and can be
used to study luminous phenomena.
The only problems so far
have been those of storage.
Lab assistant Carp Dyong
explains: "Oh, sure, at first we
just left them lying around,
but for some reason the whole
place just started to smell
funny. Like burnt toast.
Anyway, I can't explain it, but
they seem to last much longer
if we place them in an open
envionment with some music.
Barry Manilow seems to work
best. Other than the smell,
they're quite harmless."
Being "harmless" is their
greatest property. Now, for the
first time, the novelty of the
black hole can be made readily
available to all who are curious, with no risk of collapsing
the universe as we know it.
"Ya," relates associate dean
E. Tubrute, "we put some in ol'
Cavite's Spam the other day!
You should've seen the expression on his face when he just
kept eating and eating. He
thought he was going crazy,
always hungry while pigging
out! First we told him it was a
tapeworm, but after a couple
of days we let him in on the
joke.He just laughed and
laughed. 'Course he had lost a
little weight. It was a pretty
good giggle all the same, until
the doctors lost track of his
duodenum. Or was it his
please see BLACK WAFER
continued next page.
One of the less-publicized Titanic fatalities. Graemdler's List
February is just around
the corner, and that
means it's time for me
to start considering my New
Year's Resolutions! I'm one of
those weird people who, due
to a computer science background, just hates off-by-one
errors. Because of this anal
desire for a sense of neatness,
I make my New Year's
Resolutions on my birthday,
instead of January 1. This
means that I have a set of resolutions for each year in my
life, and also gives me no
excuse to slack off for my
birthday. So, why am I making my NYRs in February?
Um, I'm a kettle behind. Here
they are.
1) No more procrastinating.
(See above.)
2) No more Bacardi 151.
Come up with something
better. (Like Scottish
food, this stuff is neither
sustenance nor beverage:
clear and simple, it is a
dare.)
3) Get all my assignments
done on time. In fact,
actually strive to get them
all done.(See #1)
4) Brew some beer so vile
and nasty that mothers
hide their children from
the sight of me. Then,
ignoring the shame, distill it into a Scotch. (See
#2)
5) Ignore the advice of minions who try to erode my
confidence. They're
everywhere, I tell you!
Every single time I turn
on the TV there they are,
telling me my teeth aren't
white enough, my muscles aren't big enough
and that stuff on my
head isn't a quaff: it's an
experiment! Oh, wait a
minute, those're my
friends. Well anyway,
they count, too. (See #2)
6) Get organized. Drive a
taxi.
7) Take steps to reduce the
number of editors who
tell me that I "...look like
shit." This may include
better eye protection
when cycling, or sticking
to resolution #2.
8) This is the last time I dabble in politics. (Imagine
having a flashlight
shoved up your bottom,
to assuage the curiosity of
passers-by)
9) Get a motorcycle license.
(I've been riding motorcycles for oooh, about
five years now, and
haven't actually got
around to the license
thing yet. Legally, I need
one. It's true! I looked it
up!)
10) Hire a double to do my
grunt work. I would like
to subcontract my life so I
can bask in the Fijian
sun. This is not bloody
likely, but I put it in for a
lark. Same with #1.
KENNEDY
2)
3)
4)
5)
11) I'll get to this one later.
(See #1)
Things that I've learned in
the past year:
1)  Women are enigmas.
Actually, I learned this
early in life, but I just to
keep relearning this lesson over and over and
over again.
Pandas are not necessarily
bears. Neither are they
really big raccoons.
Nothing is really level. I
first observed this while
playing pool. Either I
have some sort of weird
field around my body
which distorts time and
space or the tables are all
totally warped. Take yer
pick.
Not only does Spam exist,
but it's pretty good fried
up in a skillet. I even
tripped over some Spam
Lite this summer, though
I really don't think it has
that special something that
could make it live up to
the Spam name.
The voice of Shaggy in
Scooby Doo is Casey
Casum. Have a listen.
Also, the voice of the
Cylon Commander in
Battlestar Galactica is
Patrick McNee, of
Avengers fame.
They can make Invasion
Of The Body Snatchers
three times and still come
up with a pretty dippy
movie.
If you are forced to lay on
the couch at home for
long periods of time
because you have staples
in your back, Matlock and
Divorce Court can be captivating. At least for the
first two weeks. Other
than that...
There is NO good daytime TV.
The 'life-like remote control ghost' advertised in
most comic books is, in
fact, a white balloon with
about three feet of fishing
line. You would have a
little trouble trying to
sue, as the only disputable point is how 'lifelike' the ghost should
look.
10) Returning to a competitive sport, such as swimming, after a three-month
hiatus can result in a difficult adjustment period.
This may involve complete exhaustion, plunging one to those murky,
silent depths at the bottom of the pool.
11) It's hard to breathe when
you have sunk to the bottom in the middle of the
pool.
6)
BLACK WAFER
7)
8)
9)
continued from p.l
ileum? Ah, well..."
The only potential danger
with such a tool is the risk
that they might be stacked in
large numbers and in close
proximity. For example, placing a hundred or so identical
black wafers, one on top of
the other, might generate
enough strain in the third
dimension to spontaneously
fuse the black wafers into a
black hole in our own space.
"(That) would be bad,"
explains Empter, "Trust me.
But nobody would be stupid
enough to, say, press them
onto paper and then stack
the sheets a few inches high.
That would be too risky, and
no moron could be that negligent."
In related news, the fourth
floor of Biosci disappeared
tomorrow in what experts
are calling "a bizarre mathematical time-space singularity."
Look kids! It's your very own,
completely authentic...
WARNING : DO NOT STACK
MORE THAN FIVE HIGH.
SANITIZED FOR YOUR COMFORT.
A guide to the great
Chick Flicks of our time.
Here's yet another thing
that males, particularly a
bunch of them wired on
Coca-Cola, with no girlfriends in
the vicinity to serve as checks
and/or balances, at three in the
morning, can't quite grasp: the
box office success of Chick
Flicks.
What is the magic formula that
seems to activate some recessive
X-chromosome-based gene and
catapult examples of this generally dull genre into the annals of
Box Office Legend?
Who knows?
But, based on painstaking
research (and following the lead
of the father of modem genetics,
Gregor Mendel, by junking anything that didn't quite fit the
model, and fudging virtually
everything else), we discovered
the calculus of the Chick Flick.
Any combination, linear or otherwise, of the factors depicted
along the vertical of the chart at
right, will result in a film that is
guaranteed to pack the theatres
with hordes of women, with
boyfriends in tow.
Next issue: the higher mathematics surrounding the simulation
of a "caring, nurturing andAlda-
esque" male response to the
Chick Flick you just ignored
because you were too busy trying
to do that ever-so-subtle but timeless "yawn thing" in the theatre.
(Astute readers may notice that
Philadelphia appears in the chart
at right. They might also remember that the last issue contained
"humour" pertaining to the film
Schindler's List, and jump to the
conclusion that The 432's editorial staff is nothing but a bunch of
insensitive Boers. Don't worry,
the British will be arriving shortly
to put us in our proper pla—Oh,
hold on. I think I meant boors.
Damned UK spellchecker. In that
case, the presently snoozing girlfriends of the editors responsible
would likely agree with you. Live
with it, eh. They do.)
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1	
>l Tffcj     The Keys to Progress
Volume 7, Number 8
31 January 1994
Ryan McCuaig
Sensei
Graeme Kennedy
Blair McDonald
Roger Watts
Would-be Ninja
Cadets
Contributors
Anna-Leoha Adams,
Anna-Steve Coleman,
Anna-John Hallett,
Anna-Graeme Kennedy,
Anna-Ryan McCuaig,
Anna-Blab:; McDonald,
Anna-Derek K. Miller,
Anna-Fylactte Schpck,
Anna-Bawlic Steroid,
Anna-Sarah Thornton,
Anna-Laurie Yee, Anna-
Delwin Yung, and the
ex-AMS D of A : Anna-
Roger Watts
Layout
Graeme Kennedy, Ryan
McCuaig, Blair
McDonald
Distribution	
Keebler's Elves Local 34
Printing	
College Printers,
Vancouver, BC
Technical info	
Newsprint. 300dpi.
Headlines are Stone
Sans, body is Stone
Serif. Layout in XPress
on a Mac Quadra 660av
&LC.
The 432 is published
by the Science
Undergrad Society in its
offices located somewhere In the basement
of the Chemistry
Building. Opinions
expressed are entirely
those of the respective
authors, unless they get
us in trouble, in which
case we say the Prez
made us write that
story.
The 432 wholeheartedly welcomes any submissions. We'd like
about 500 words on
something humourous,
satirical or generally
mind-twisting. Please
proofread and submit
on disk (IBM or Mac).
Include a hard copy in
case our computer
decides your disk tastes
good with soya sauce.
Remember, if it
doesn't make the Editor
chuckle at least once,
it's not going in. Unless
you come feed him at 2
a.m.
WW
Is society still advancing?
This is a question that has
been plaguing scientists
for years. It's not as easy to
judge progress as it used to
be. We've stopped sending
explorers to the New World,
or criminals to Australia.
There are no more indigenous cultures to rape and pillage. Yes, it's a lot more difficult to decide if life as we
know it is still advancing.
For example... snorkels.
We've passed the era of stapling garden hoses to our
heads, haven't we? Snorkels
are a bit more advanced
nowadays, with self-purging
valves, top and bottom. You
no longer need to remember
to save your last breath of air
to blow a gallon of water out
the top of your tube, knowing that if you forget, you'll
actually drown at the surface
of after battling man-eating
sharks and other dangerous
polkilotherms that could
swallow you whole if the
fancy struck them. No more
imitating Flipper the
Dolphin coming up to
breathe. By now, I thought
self-purging snorkels were an
accepted part of any SCUBA
diver's equipment, but it
seems there a few anarchists
who still insist on a chunk of
black rubber tubing. I'll leave
a short space here for one of
these archaic dinosaurs to
put in a few words (ed. In my
day we used to use copper pipe
from under the sink ya little...)
Thanks for that flash from
the past, Ryan. Speaking of
editors and such, I suppose
that we have advanced in
some ways. Unlike other
campus publications, The
432 has evolved to the point
that we use our computers
for everything from typing to
layout and beyond. No more
glue sticks for us, except
Mcdonald
when we run out of our
fancy, modern spray mount
glue, the stuff that has left a
sticky residue all over the
northeast corner of the
office, and we frantically had
to search through all five
office supplies drawers in
SUS looking for that little
yellow tube. But no glue stick
made an appearance in SUS
that night, so we pasted up
the last four pages of the
Science Week issue with
scotch tape. Progress? Right
back into the Stone Age,
where you first have to
pound your paper flat from
vines and such before you
can actually write it. Nope,
computers are the wave of
the future in desktop publishing, except when you
have the occasional hang-up
with the printer. This causes
m assive problems.
Publishing becomes an exercise in stress management.
The paper is done. We just
have to wait for the sheets to
come rolling out of the printer, We wait. And wait. And
wait for a few more minutes.
The printer flashes us an
occasional PROCESSING...
PROCESSING. Finally the
printer hums into life...
arid... the page didn't print
properly! <Insert screams of
anguish from the editorial
staff hero
Paper is the reason why
society has stopped evolving.
For instance, I needed a key
to SUS. To get a key from
C<impus Security involves
shuffling a lot of useless
paper. First, Sarah, lapresi-
denta, had to sit down and
write an official memorandum authorizing the
Chemistry Department to
authorize the release of a key
requisition form. This key
requisition form was a multicoloured document written
in bureaucratese, in triplicate. After filling out several
lines marked "Do not write
here", I got to keep the white
and pink copies. Chemistry
kept the yellow for some
unknown reason. Next, I had
to decipher the instructions,
written only in French and
Swedish: "Proceed to the farthest corner of the campus",
it said, and with expert help I
understood that meant
Campus Parking and
Security. The ominously
named Key Control Access
Center. Probably deep underground, guarded by half a
legion of Strangway's elite
storm troopers—the dreaded
Housing clerks.
After passing through various checkpoints and ID scanners, I found the mythical
Key Control Center, where I
traded my two pieces of
paper for three others, and
after promising my soul and
my first born child to the
devil Strangway, was given
the key. Number 666.
I've often wondered if
there would be a key labeled
666, and what that key
would open. Is it the fabled
campus master key, the magical piece of metal that opens
every lock on campus, from
the front doors of SUB to my
closet door in res? Or is the
key to the Registrar's dungeons below the Old Admin
Building, where they drag
students kicking and screaming to pay their tuition in
blood. Vice-President
Shylock, recently hired to
collect all the outstanding
fee payments. Keys... for
some, collecting them is a
passion. Such as the AMS
Vice-Prez. Keys for every
door in creation. Four individual key chains, one for
each pocket. Sorted by size,
colour and code numbers.
Labeled with esoteric designations such as "that door I
went through once and
never will again" (Oooo, I better stop abusing punctuation
before the Editor comes out
wielding his red pen.)
As for me, I'm still working
on my first keychain.
Nothing fancy, just the keys
so I can get home without
having to climb through a
window and risk being
caught by the intrepid
Campus Cowboys. Aren't
those guys are bright! I
vaguely remember just barely
dodging Super Sleuth, a
Campus Cowboy gone
undercover, during our
annual hunt for our
Christmas tree. Super Sleuth
was a real pain in the neck.
We weren't doing anything
wrong. We were just trying
to make that perfect little
pine tree in front of that
research building on Marine
Drive disappear, and reappear festooned with red and
green lights minutes later on
our floor. Super Sleuth had
obviously been tipped off,
since he was hiding in an
unmarked van in the parking
lot as we approached our tree
with saws ready. Super Sleuth
came out of nowhere, forcing
us to cut our losses, drop the
saws and walk away very
quickly. We returned a hour
later to recover the saws, but
Super Sleuth was still roaming around the tree. Super
Sleuth—the pride of Campus
Security. He obviously uses a
self-purging snorkel.
You might scream if you saw your prof...
Jm
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Clues
Begging for change
Drinking beer
Rapping equations
Blue
Driving Porsche
Dancing
Heart attack
Dead
Naked
Obviously, you aren't listening to your prof right
about now. In fact, we'd be
willing to bet that you'd
rather forget all about your
prof's existence more than
anything else in the entire
spaceship we call Earth. Too
bad. We're going to force
you to imagine your prof in
ways you never wanted to.
Ways you never thought
you could. Heheheh. Try to
contain your (laughter,
groan, other), eh. The Conspiracy
Continues.
i
ADAMS
Apparently, I spoke too
quickly in my last article.
It would seem that
Physical Plant was not finished having its way with me
when it so generously decided to deprive me of hot
water in December.
This month, I received further incentive to leave my
procrastinating ways forever
(yeah, right. If you believe
that, I'm sure the federal
government is overjoyed to
have you boosting the economy, because it's obvious
that you'll buy anything). I
had just finished proofreading one of my infamous lab
reports when my life flashed
before my eyes. More accurately, my computer screen
flashed before my eyes. Upon
phoning downstairs to the
res desk, where, due to my
various trials with Physical
Plant, I am now on a first-
name basis with all the attendants, I learned that the electricity in my tower had been
temporarily turned off to
deal with a problem of
"brown-outs"(don't ask me: I
just report it).
This noble gesture would
have been more than welcome, were it not for the fact
that my report was due in
two hours, and that Physical
Plant's description of a "temporary inconvenience" generally encompasses five to six
hours. Throw in the fact that
the only accessible people I
knew with a program compatible with mine were a)
two of my roommates, b) a
friend who had prudently
chosen to leave his computer
at home in Langley this year
and c) a classmate who I
knew was still putting the
finishing touches on his
report. One can see how I
almost swore off leaving
things until the last minute.
Nevertheless, it got done,
like it always does, and
hence I insist upon throwing
caution to the wind and
repeating the same mistakes.
Oh well. It's helping me
work well under pressure.
It was recently brought to
my attention that I need to
apply to graduate. Now—I'm
sorry—but this has conspiracy
written all over it. I guarantee you that if at any time
during the course of my four
years at this glorious institution, I had neglected to make
a tuition payment, I
wouldn't have been waiting
too long to hear about it.
Suddenly, now that I want to
graduate, the powers that be
seem to have conveniently
forgotten who I am and the
fact that I've been paying for
this load of credits since God
was a boy.
One last conspiracy theory,
and it has nothing to do
with either the current
whereabouts or the events
leading up to the demise of
any of the following: Elvis
Presley, Michael Jackson,
Marilyn Monroe, Tonya
Harding, JFK, or two of the
teddy bears used in the highly successful Trike Race
(although that last one does
bother me...). I am in fact
concerned about the sudden
disappearance of my short-
term memory capacity. I was
thinking of putting an ad in
the paper: "LOST: one data
bank, capacity 4 MB, more
sentimental than monetary
value. Comfortable reward to
anyone with information
regarding its present location. Please contact... darn,
what was my name again?"
I vaguely remember lightly
ridiculing my roommate for
having lost her point in mid-
conversation. Well, all I can
say is, it's all fun and games
until either a) someone loses
an eye or a useful appendage
(or so I hear) or b) it happens
to you. I was on the verge of
making an incredibly salient
point which would bring to
new heights the level of
mutual understanding
between the sexes, when my
train of thought suddenly
derailed.
It wasn't pretty: mass
death, destruction, and my
beautiful, once salient point
was lying dead and helpless
among the wreckage.
Artificial resuscitation was
attempted unsuccessfully
("oh, for the love of Pete,
Mike and Bob, I just had it!")
We did have people in to
identify it ("yes, I definitely
had a point"), but unfortunately, efforts made to reconstruct the events leading up
to the crash did nothing to
help ("okay, I was talking
about this, then I said that,
and you said this, so what
was I going to say?"). So my
theory is that the part of my
brain which pertains to
memory was kidnapped by
aliens or the CIA or something.
Of course, being a fourth-
year physiology honours student, I should probably
know what this particular
area of the brain is. However,
I can plead temporary insanity on this one, because if my
memory-pertaining area were
actually in my possession, I
could probably quite easily
remember its name. The
vicious cycle expands into a
vicious moped...
The SUS Exec...Exposed.
I have been asked by this
year's President to put
together a piece on the
duties of various Executive
positions, as nominations for
the 94-95 SUS Executive will
be opening shortly (probably
sometime this week, but who
knows? I sure don't...)
At any rate, she wanted to
run the excerpt from our
Code and Bylaws that specifies, among other things,
that I have no choice but to
be here in the middle of the
night typing away—rules are
rules—but I felt that that
would be...boring. So, without further ado, we'll let ya
know what you're letting
yourself in for if you if you
run for one of these jobs:
President: Is, well, the Big
Cheese. Gets to pound a
gavel frequently, takes credit/blame for everything that
goes on 'round here, is all-
seeing and all-knowing as far
as the activities of Executives
and Councilors go (or at
least, that's what sheeeee thii-
inks), gets to hobnob with
other Cheeses from the
Science clubs, and is enforces
attendance at Budget and
Science Week committee
meetings.
External Vice President:
Gets sent on diplomatic missions to the Cheeze whenever the President wants to try
pulling a fast one. Is one of
the pitcher-of-warm-spit
Presidential Deputies, is
Chief AMS Representative
Dude(tte), and is responsible
for coordinating Science
Week. Ironically, also handles external affairs with the
AMS and other undergrad
societies. Who'da thunk it?
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.
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.
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's to prevent
escape during Budget committee meetings. Past holders
of the position have been
known to frolic naked in big
piles of coinage.
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 demonstrated
some interest in having one.
Currently makes an ass of
himself biweekly at AMS
Council meetings.
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. But since the
longest the position has ever
been held is four months, no
one really has any ideas
about this one.
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.
THE EUS UNITY AND GOODWILL COMMITTEE has been formed to address nega
tive attitudes towards people based on race, gender, class, sexual orientation, ability,
and other criteria.
There are funds available for projects whose goal is to change attitudes and promote
acceptance across campus.
We are accepting proposals, containing specific information regarding projects, their
goals, required funding and those involved in the projects.
Proposals will be reviewed by the Committee. Successful applicants will be requested
to make a presentation regarding their project.
Proposals are due February 11, 1994 (SUB Box 151). Late submissions will be
accepted (with priority given to those submitted by the deadline).
CTITIS
Questions and proposals can be addressed to:
EUS Unity.and Goodwill Committee
Alma Mater Society of U.B.C.
SUB Box 151
Vancouver, B.C. V6T 1Z1 Eddie.
John Hallett
Bearded Correspondent
X. re<
lis is a story about one
of my dearest and most
recently sentient
friends, Eddie. Those who
have gathered together
enough bravery and will of
courage to know me are
already familiar with Eddie,
but I thought that it was
high time that the general
populace became aware of
his increasing impact upon
me and my writings, train of
thought, recipes for pizza
(not all of which could be
described as traditional... or
solid, for that matter) and
generally my thought patterns as a whole. No, Eddie
is not some great philosopher that has been misplaced
to our time period by some
sort of cosmic non-goodness
in Hennings somewhere,
Eddie is (are you sitting down?)
my pet cockroach.
Now, I know what you're
thinking, "This guy has gone
for a swim off the deep end
without a life preserver and
has inadvertently missed the
large sign informing passers-
by of the large prevalence of
man-eating sharks in the
area." Believe me, it gets
worse.
You see, Eddie isn't just
any cockroach, he just happens to be 2' 3" long and has
a knack for Tetris. I guess
that I have some explaining
to do: about 3 months ago, I
was experimenting with" "
finding an exact formula for
the time required to pop all
the kernels in a bag of Pop-
Secret without horribly charring and disfiguring a single
kernel before it had the
chance to live its life to the
fullest as a fluffy white movie
treat. Little did I know that
the bag of potential low-cal
shack food was about ten
years old and now the home
to a budding family of cockroaches.
In the resulting confusion
and melee (insects like to
defend their collective
homes, especially when there
is an imminent threat of it
being blanketed in shortwave radiation) all the cockroaches perished except one.
I, feeling a sudden painful
guilt at having eliminated
Mother Roach's ideas for
feet.
In recent times, I have
enjoyed taking Eddie out for
walks on his leash every
other day. The general reaction that we have received
from the neighbours can be
described as... mixed. Well,
that all depends upon your
definition of mixed; you see,
both the mildest and most
exciting reaction was from
an elderly lady who had misplaced her glasses:
"Ah, what a cute little dog!
Are we a good doggie? Are
we?" All this mirth and merriment came to a sudden and
dramatic end when Eddie,
who has a notably low tolerance for high pitched noises
like the kind associated with
the phrase "Are we a good
little doggie?", demonstrated
it by his attempt to plug the
trouble-causing orifice on the
little old lady with his
recently cleaned and polished antennae. (Who am I
kidding? Never cleaned or
polished)
After the ensuing melee, I
took Eddie back home with
me to buff the scratches out
of his now-blemished shell
with my new and improved
Black n' Decker Powermate
Euff-o-matic 2000 that I had
ever-so-recently stol—er, liberated from the oppressive
forces it had encountered
during its internment in the
Home Hardware concentration camp (a little known
subsidiary camp to
Auschwitz).
Ah, but that was a long
time ago. More recently, I
have enjoyed Eddie's increasingly stimulating conversation as he begins to dabble
further and further into the
vastly interesting realm of
sentience. Either that, or I'm
falling further and further
away from the realm of reality.
If, by some weird sort of
chance, this story has moved
you to create poetry for
Eddie (or any other form of
admiration), please stop by
SUS and I will regale you
with more recent tales of
Eddie's most fascinating life,
including the time that he
got drunk and attempted to
mate with my neighbour's
cat.
Mrs. Fleming still won't
talk to me.
M'
Dik Miller,
Parking Attendant
y recent tenure as
an environmental
activist had come
to a swift end when I
hijacked a small plane from
Indonesia and returned to
UBC in order to prevent
myself from being elected
AMS President.
I was now, once again, Dik
Miller, No One In Particular.
But I did need a job, and
si nee only the vast bureaucracy of the University of
British Columbia seemed to
be able to hire me over and
over without noticing that I
had been fired over and over,
I resolved to try my luck
once again.
I found my Dik Miller™
resume in one of the pockets
of my trenchcoat, and went
to make a photocopy of it so
I could apply for yet another
job—who knows what kind
this time?
Arriving at the copy centre
in SUB, I plonked the resume
down on the glass of one of
the machines, pulled out my
Dik Miller™ universal copy
card/throwing star, inserted
it, and made a copy.
I looked at the result and
frowned. Something was
wrong. I pressed the copy
key again. Same problem. I
tried a third time. No
change. Testily, I grabbed the
three copies and marched up
to the desk.
"It's not working properly," I proclaimed.
"Pardon me?" said the
attendant.
"That copier," I pointed,
"is not working properly.
Look." I held up the copies,
which all had dark blotches
in the middle of them.
She walked over to the
copier and examined it.
"Nothing seems to be
wrong," she said, opening
the lid.
"However," she went on,
"this large wad of gum on
the front of your resume
might just have something
to do with it."
I looked blankly at my
original, which did indeed
seem to have a large blob of
bubble gum stuck to it.
"Oh," I said.
y_J^B th
MILLER
copies were done, and I
made my way over to the
University's Human
Resources department.
"Well, Mr. Miller," said the
woman behind the desk after
I had explained my desire for
a job, "we have openings in a
number of departments.
There's Food Services..."
"Done that," I answered.
"...Library monitor..."
"Done it."
"...security patrol..."
"Ditto."
"...Engineering enforc-"
"That too."
"...Arts faculty advisor..."
"Done."
"Mr. Miller, there isn't
much left. All we have
is...um..."
"Yes, yes?" I prodded her.
"What is it?"
"Parking lot attendant."
That was a bit of step
down. Then again, I did have
to eat.
"Deal."
She smiled. "Please fill out
this form."
•••
Little more than a week
later, I was perched in a parking booth about 400 miles
from the centre of campus,
in B-95 Lot, I think. Off in
the distance I could just
make out the lights of the
Forestry Building over the
vast fields of cars.
In order to keep myself
company during the lonely
shift, I had brought my Dik
Miller™ Ultra-Mega-Bass®
Turbo-Treble© ghetto
blaster/fish stunner. I
propped it up on one of the
shelves and powered it up to
listen to the radio.
"WHOOMP! THERE IT IS!"
it blared, instantly shattering
all the windows, sucking dry
its 16 D-cell batteries, and
going dead.
"Damn," I muttered. Then
I realized that I couldn't hear
myself mutter, having been
decided to take it upon  ~	
myself to nurse Eddie back to
health.
For some yet unknown reason (except, maybe, to the
people at Marvel, as this is
surprising similar to the plot
of Spider-Man, only Spider-
Man wasn't half an inch
high and didn't grow exponentially. However...) Eddie
started to grow, slowly at
first, but as time went by his
length began to increase
more everyday until it
planed out at just over two
ROUND TRIP FLIGHT.
In celebration of our imminent stomping of Canadian Airlines into the dirt, we'd like to
offer you a free round trip, anywhere in. Aer Canada's world. Just present this voucher at
your nearest Aer Canada Authorized Agent to receive your ticket. You will be required to
show two valid pieces of identification and a loaded .45 at the security gate.
We're everywhere you want to be. Just do it.
I
Aer Canada
spiring, megawatt-level
power of my stereo.
I shook my head to clear it,
then noticed that screaming
toward me from the region
of the campus were a bunch
of blue and red flashing
lights—police cars, obviously. Soon enough they were
skidding to a halt outside my
booth.
"Hi there," I said, quite
inaudibly to myself. "I'm Dik
Miller, Parking Attendant."
One of the RCMP officers
spoke to me, but, being an
inexperienced lip reader, all I
could get from him was
something resembling "Ous
da cow bah?"
"Ous da cow bah?" I asked
him. "Is that Hungarian or
something?"
He repeated himself, but I
still couldn't hear him properly.
"Whasdee cop bard?" I
asked.
Frustrated, he pulled out a
pad of paper and wrote
something on it, then held it
up for me to see.
"WHERE'S THE CAR
BOMB?" it read.
"Car bomb? What are you
taking about?"
Scribble scribble. "YOUR
WINDOWS ARE ALL SHATTERED. SOMETHING
EXPLODED NEAR HERE.
WHERE IS IT?"
"Oh, that," I said. "That
was just my stereo." I pointed back to the Dik Miller™
Ultra-Mega-Bass® Turbo-
Treble© ghetto blaster/fish
stunner, which was still
smoking slightly.
"What a moron," said the
cop.
"Wait! I heard that!" I
cried. My hearing was slowly
returning.
"You realize that UBC's
Parking and Security division
does not permit parking
attendants to have radios in
their booths?" he said.
"So what am I supposed to
do during the whole night
when there's no one here?" I
wondered.
"Read a book?"
"What a ridiculous idea.
This is a University! Do you
think anyone reads books
here?"
He paused. "I'm afraid
we're going to have to arrest
you."
"For what?" I was
incensed.
"Sheer idiocy, or whatever
else we can figure out. Let's
go."
I followed along.
To be continued next issue.
Same Dik-time. Same Dik-
channel. The Drawers of SUS.
Sarah's Skivvies
Senate Shorts
Sarah Thornton
ank you, everyone, for making Science Week wonderful. It was great.
We have a new Director of Finance!!!!! We were upset to
lose Jason, but now that he's gone, the office is a lot less
grumpy early in the mornings. Our new D of F, Lynn van
Rhijn, sure has her work cut out for her. But, all the club budgets have now been passed, to everyone's a relief. Reworking
Jason's financial spreadsheets will be a chore, though. Joking
aside, Jason, thanks for a great job. Lynn now gets to become
accustomed to Tuesday gripe sessions with the exec, and the
occasional perk of greasy pizza. As Blair is now PRO, we also
needed a Biology rep, so Michelle McLeod was appointed on
Thursday too.
It was a day of full of appointments last Thursday. Chris
Woods was appointed Elections Commissioner. "Why," you
ask, "do we need an Elections Commissioner?" (Did you see
that? I was talking about appointments, which naturally led
into Chris's appointment, which led directly into my next
topic—exec elections). We need an elections commissioner,
because, naturally, we're having elections: Executive elections, in fact.
I know, I know, the AMS elections just finished, but it's
time to think about running for something else. Elections
will take place on Feb 28, Mar 1, and Mar 2, and nominations
open on Feb 2. Think about it. While being a SUS executive
does take a lot of time, it is fun. Plan, however, on either having your marks suffer or turning into a nervous wreck. But,
believe me, it is rewarding. There is an article elsewhere in
this paper to outline all the jobs available.
Speaking of elections, what did you think of the recent
AMS elections? A whopping 9% (approx.) of you voted. Does
that mean only 9% of you care? I hope not. It looks like it
will good year up there in AMS-land.
And our good old RBF—the Natural Beer Party—this year
all received at least 10% of the popular vote (well, Ryan and
Rog got 9.1 and 9.9% respectively, but close enough). Our
own external VP walked away (sorry, staggered away. I forgot...) with 15% of the votes for C of X, and Patrick Lum,
once our own D of F, came a close second to Randy for
Finance with 20% of the vote (661 votes). Oh well, they all
had fun, and brought a little excitement to our mundane little lives.
On a more SUS related note, the proposal for the Martin
Frauendorf Memorial Bursary was passed through council last
Thursday, so I'm now into negotiations with the
Development Office. Class Act is on its way, too, so when all
you fourth years are asked if you'd like to pledge some support over the next few years, please consider it.
Science Week Wet Boxers (?!)	
Steve Coleman
Science Week '94 is over. The big TV has been removed
from SUS, and there is no longer free pizza at lunch. I no
longer have an excuse to yell at anyone I want without
fear of reprisal. I can no longer claim to be stressed about
coordinating science week. The fat lady has sung.
Now, I know you all noticed and/or participated in Science
Week in some way. I managed to make it into SUS one day at
lunch during Science Week, and had to actually push aside
the drooling throngs. Whether they were there for the free
pizza, movies, or cheap bzzr, I don't know, but there were
lots of them.
The concourse was packed with the displays of many of the
Science clubs; the winner of the award for best concourse display went to the Astronomy club. Why? Because they were
always the first display up every morning, their booth was
always manned (wommaned?), and they never once harassed
me about extension cords or anything else.
I saw you at the trike race, I saw you at the dance. I saw
you at the movie night, I saw you at the gallery. I even saw a
few of you (including me) with a blue shooter at the Pit. And
I know there were people at the Microbi home brew contest,
because by the time I got there there was no more beer.
Apparently the student population cares more about the
Star Wars trilogy than about finding a summer job or finding
out about career possibilities. We got a bigger turnout for
Movie Night than for the Beyond the BSc or for the Frosh
Fact Night. Why ? I don't know. Maybe everyone but me has
a secure future, or at least a summer job.
Science Week '94 is dead. Long live Science Week '95.
Chris Woods
I cannot think of a better way of spending my Wednesday
night than sitting discussing the merits of a hundred
pages of curriculum changes to various faculties. It was
the January Senate meeting, and I felt that if Dr. Strangeway
could be there with his broken arm, I should show up (ed.
Broke it in the bathtub, eh? Geez, try getting hit by a bus sometime. Now there's an unpleasant way to break an arm!)
As it turns out, the liveliest discussion regarded the passing
policy for the Faculty of Arts. It seems that the current formula allows one to pass from one year to the next with a minimum average of 34.2%. This isn't theoretical, someone actually did it! Well, this is apparently unacceptable to the
Faculty of Arts, as was the proposed alternative, so the admissions committee has some work to do again!
Of interest to most of you is the potential for a Reading
Week, as in five, not two days. The alternatives are: to start a
week later in January, and avoid those oh-so-rough New
Year's day flights to Vancouver, or to have a full Reading
Week. It's a committee decision, and if I am to reflect the
views of students you had better tell me what you all want.
Soon. And as elections results show, my successor is Kevin
Douglas, and he takes over on April 1st. Good Luck.
Laurie's Lingerie
Laurie Yee
Science Week was great
and everyone had
oodles of fun.
I had had one of those bad
weeks. I realized this at about
midnight when Science
Week started; however, I
managed to survive falling
down the stairs and the
embarrassment of triking
down Main Mall. My own
pride-and-joy-events were
the SUS Open House and
Frosh Fact Night, both of
which went well.
Enough about the past—I
bet you're already looking
forward to next year's
Science Week. I'm finally getting to all my classes, and I
hope that I'll be able to stay
awake for them all this week.
Now it's time for me to start
all those other things that
my job requires me to do.
First of all, now that the
AMS exec elections are over,
it's time for you to decide if
you want to be part of UBC's
best undergraduate society as
an executive next year. If
you've ever wondered what
Social Diseases
SUS council's all about, just
drop by one of our Thursday
meetings and you'll realize
what you've been missing all
this time. Being an exec for
SUS is not just a one-year
commitment: it will follow
you about, nagging you until
you acquire a homing signal
that draws you to the SUS
office and all SUS social
events.
Yes, you too can become a
SUS hack! All you have to do
is fill in a nomination form
and then let the fun begin
(forms are available in SUS).
Just come on out and get
involved.
For those of you who think
that you're going to pass
your courses this year and
it's all due to the extra effort
put in by your profs, then
show that you appreciate
them. The Teaching
Excellence Award nominations for this term close on
February 11th. Just pick up a
nomination form from the
office (Chem 160) or from
this issue of The 432 and
hand them into my mailbox.
Matt Brear
The end of Science
Week '94 found me in
a state of complete
euphoria. Whether this state
of mind was brought about
by the success of the week or
by the success of the Cream
Ale doesn't really matter. In
either case, the Science Week
Dance on the 21st was a
roaring success. The
Ballroom stage was graced by
both the Rose Chronicles
and Ginger (formerly the
Grapes of Wrath). Despite
the bands' insatiable
appetites for free beer, they
both put on a great show.
About 500 peopre-were in
attendance, which rose a few
questions due to the fact that
we had sold less than 400
tickets. Needless to say, the
dance was not a financial
success but, judging by the
number of people found
swimming in the pool of
beer in front of the bar,
everyone seemed to have a
good time.
A sincere thanks goes out
to Pam at AMS Programs and
all those;who came out and
made the dance and all the
Science Week events a success. Hie!
WHY
PAY
THROUGH
THE
NOSE?
Science T Shirts
Looseleaf Paper
Science Jackets
Science Cardigans
Baseball Shirts
Baseball Caps
Team Uniforms
SCIENCE
SALES
CHEM
160
Sales Slips
Graeme Kennedy
What's for sale? We
can never sell
enough jackets.
Navy blue melton with white
and blue split leather sleeves.
Also for sale are the Science
Week t-shirts, now only $12.
They're available in white
and ash.
If you're looking to buy
Entertainment or Gold C
coupon books: too late. We
won't be selling these until
next September, so I guess
you'll just have to wait. Keep
your eyes peeled for the
Valentine's Day Sale:
Barbarian rugby shirts and
cute little teddy bears at real
savings. The SUS would like to thank the following
Science Week sponsors. We missed them last
issue 'cause we had to make our press time.
However, they were nice to us and donated some
prizes. So, as the principle of sponsorship goes
from a business perspective, we should be nice to
them and patronize their businesses (ie. "spend
money...", not "speak condescendingly at...").
C  O   U-V  6   R
OMIIV1AX-
T H E A T R E
AT CANADA PLACE
O MINI I MAX
HEATRESPORTS*.
LEAGUE
SCIENCE WORLD
ClNf PI f X ODEON
riif.Aikis
Karpov v. Kasparov
The Final Chapter
(Excerpt from World Chess
Championship
Game 3)
I.d2-d4g8-f6
2.c2-c4f7-g6
3.bl-c3f8-g7
4. e2-e4 d7-d6
5. gl-f3 Qrs-e5
At this point, Karpov tries a
new tack with Qrs-e5 (Queen
from right sleeve to e5).
6. fl-e2 e7-e5
Kasparov obviously hasn't
noticed Karpov's innovative
move. Karpov returns to traditional play.
Mutual exchange of Queen
to opponent's left nostril.
GAME SUSPENDED FOR TEN
MINUTES BY JUDGE
Il.c3-d5
e7-d8
II: appears the hostility
between the chess masters
has subsided.
12. SsKH
BRHAKH
7. cl-e3
Blb-g3/JbKS
Under the subtle cover of JbS
(Jackboot to Kasparov's
shin), Karpov introduces a
third bishop into play.
8. LIF-KRE
d8-e7
Kasparov responds with his
trademark LIF-KRE (Left
index finger to Karpov's right
eye).
9. d4Xe5
$A$%#$
Karpov instinctively howls in
pain and immediately offers
uncouth theories concerning
the likely species of
Kasparov's parentage to general audience.
10. Q - KLN        Q-KLN
It appears the judge was mistaken. 10-pound sledgehammer swung by Kasparov in a
bold attempt to pin down
Karpov's head.(SsKH)
Karpov immediately falls
back on the classic Beretta
Defense (9mmRc-HsAKH -
9mm pistol removed from
concealed shoulder holster
and aimed at Kasparov's
heart)
13. KRMcC
Kasparov revs hidden
McCulloch chainsaw.
GAME DECLARED A DRA W
BY OFFICIALS
14. KRTT-JF       KRTT-JF
Both express extreme displeasure at judges' decision
and cunningty respond with
the little-known Rin-Tin-Tin
Gambit (politely urinating at
judges' feet)
14. KKRF-AP
Kasparov and Karpov
removed forcibly from arena
by angry policemen.
Game 3 is obviously over.
Now, for a play-by-play analysis, Mikel Erickson and Michel
Joseph from the World Chess
Federation.
Erickson: You know, I really
feel that Kasparov took control of the match when he
attempted to pierce Karpov's
cornea. I thought that took
real determination, and
proved Kasparov's dominance in the cutthroat world
of chess.
Joseph: Unfortunately, I
can't agree with your assessment of the situation. I'm
squarely behind Karpov here.
Kasparov didn't display any
of the personal integrity I
think is critical for a champion. I liked Karpov's honesty
with his fifth move, but the
way Kasparov concealed that
sledgehammer just goes to
prove you can't judge a book
by its cover.
Erickson: Oh yeah! Well, let
me tell you what I think of a
certain chess commentator
I'm being forced to share this
mike with!
1. ERTT-JF
The Always-Popular Annual
Valentine's Day Contest
Send us your best erotic haiku to win enormous
stuffed bandicoot fame and fortune.
Winners receive the brand-new, never-before seen The 432 t-shirt
plus President Strangways' prized parking space.
Submissions due Feb. 8 in Chem 160
Entries will be printed in the Valentine's Dc\y issue of The 432
Editorial.
I
think I finally became a
codger around here.
I
McCUAIC
(Oh, excuse me... battery-
change time for my Walkman.
The trouble with Cohen is that
the only way to tell if your
motor's running down is when he and the female background singers start sounding exactly the same...)
Where was I? Where's my cane? Ah, right...
I get the sense of being something of a sockless-era Einstein
around here. He put out some pretty good stuff in his youth,
so everyone put up with him in his old age when he made a
full-time profession of criticizing various governments.
It seems that that's what I spend most of my time doing
now, too. (However, the most salient difference between
Einstein and myselft is that, as far as I know, Israel has no
plans to offer me its presidency. Ah, well, they'll come
around.)
Now, I want all you young whippersnappers to guess why
I'm bringing all this up.
There are a couple of reasons. The one I'll write about later
(if my train of thought doesn't derail in the meantime...it
happens at my age, you know) is that I probably plan to
bitch about the recent AMS elections and the fact that my
wardrobe consists, suspiciously, of five identical black t-
shirts, two identical pairs of jeans, and no identical pairs of
socks. I did get a haircut recently, though... Where was I?
Oh, yes...
The other is that I've decided, after half of my undergraduate career at the helm, I will not be returning next year as
Ediot-in-Chief of The 432, nor will I be SUS's Director of
Publications. However, I'd like to bring up the fact that I'm
not only the first two-term Editor in The 432's history, I was
also a two-termer before Bill Dobie, and in a far more important position, too. President, schmesident. I bet Bill's never
had the opportunity to meet those dudes from the Sasamat
Pizza Factory at two in the morning. We're just far more
glamorous and cool for words around here. So phpphphphlbbtl
Yup. I've got my own little Heisenbergs and Feynmen running around, eager to usher the old coot out and run the
show—My God! I just realized where this editorial is heading!
It's turning into one of The Infamous Space-Filling 432
Nostalgia Articles, Complete With Dave Barry-Aaron Drake
Capitals™! I apologize profusely. I'll come up with some real
copy for you.
At any rate, I (hint) wouldn't want (hint) anyone to go to
the trouble (hint) of organizing a (hint) gala send-off in my
honour.
In yet another AMS elections shocker, neither referendum
question made quorum. I'm not surprised. I think I might
just keel over from being so not surprised. (Apologies to
Gilbert Gottfried). The only referendum in recent history to
actually make quorum and pass was the "Do you support the
proposed Pit Pub expansion". Nice to see where everyone's
priorities are.
Here's an interesting question, though: Why do we accept
Executive election results but reject the referenda results
when neither mass consultation actually attained quorum?
Hah! Trick question! There is no quorum for Executive elections!
The reasoning behind this (whoa! power-word alarm!)
dichotomy seems sound (if absolutely no one cared enough
to vote, we could not have a legal head of the AMS), but
then, if absolutely no one cared, would we need one? I tell
ya, a guy could go crazy thinking about these things... such
as, to lower quorum such that the AMS could accomplish
more without bending the rules, we need to run a referendum in which we get quorum. (Appreciative whistle). That's
some catch, that Catch-22.
Ah, well. The only thing I find worrisome are the rumours
that Michael "Milo Minderbinder" Chow, the T-Shirt King of
the Lower Mainland, may soon be appointed Lieutenant
Governor...
' other than the fact that Einstein was a genius. ..I, on the
other hand, boast a merely respectable IQ hampered by the fact
that it has a supremely opinionated personality stapled to it. Yet Another Midwinter's Tale...
The meaning of language
is a relative thing. It
makes a world of difference with regards to the
kinds of reactions spoken
words evoke. For example,
the words "You can set your
butt down right here,
ma'am," will get a playful
smile out of your girlfriend.
To anyone else, the same
words are liable to get you
slapped, unless, of course,
you happen to be holding an
ashtray.
Sometimes, the intended
context can be completely
missed by the subject in
question. In the above case,
this would probably result in
your being slapped anyway,
regardless of your possession
of an ashtray, unless you
could somehow manage to
use the ashtray as some sort
of defensive weapon/decoy/
getaway sled.
I bring this up because people here in the Lower
Mainland have an, er, idiosyncratic concept of the word
"winter". Not that it's anyone's fault; people are products of their environment. I
just happen to be the product
of a cold environment stuck
in a warm one.
Winter, as defined by the
average Vancouverite, is
something resembling early
April where I come from.
Mild temperatures, complete
and utter lack of anything
even resembling snow, and
puh-lenty of rain to go
WATTS
around. Nothing terribly
unique about it to distinguish it from, say, summer in
Vancouver.
It's all rather unfortunate.
Call me masochistic, perhaps,
but I've always been a fan of
cold, dry winter weather with
lotsa snow on the ground.
You know, the real minus-fif-
teen-degrees-six-foot-snow-
drifts-wet-snowsuit-over-five-
layers-of-clothing-and-four-
pounds-of-slush-in-the-boots
kind of stuff. Now, depending on your view of this
statement, you will either
consider me:
a) a normal Southern Interior
youth with fond memories
of my past,
b) barking mad, obviously
traumatized beyond reason,
c) someone who obviously
hasn't been anywhere else
in North America in the
last three weeks, or
d) just plain dumb as a post.
I guess the most appealing
aspect of that kind of winter
was the fact that it always
made a very clear distinction
between seasons, which is
very important to a kid when
growing up. Each season,
y'see, would bring with it its
own individual social environment, and more importantly, its own particular
forms of water that one could
use to visit chaos and misfortune upon the lives of the
other kids.
There is no child in the
world that hasn't at least
tried their hand at some sort
of aquatic warfare. Summer
usually affords the widest latitude of opportunity for this,
as the availability of various
garden hoses/swimming
pools/lakes for use is nicely
complemented by the vastly
reduced probability of the
poor sod plummeting
towards the water, bouncing
off the ice once or twice
before plunging through, and
promptly freezing to death.
To say nothing of the fact
that water balloons tend to
be received in far better
humor when they contain
liquid water.
Winter, however, has its
own special charm when it
comes to water warfare. This
is largely because you don't
have to go very far to seek
the water out—you just reach
down wherever you happen
to be standing, pick it up and
open fire. (This procedure,
incidentally, is modeled after
the California Legislature's
policy on obtaining handguns, except for the added
convenience that you don't
have to wait seven days for
Environment Canada to
check you out before it
snows.)
A direct product of this
instant access to frozen
weaponry is the transformation of your average elementary school into the most
incredible war theatre since
Midway Island. Most schools
wisely limit student access to
large quantities of water
wherever possible. Obviously,
there's not a whole lot they
can do about snow.
Combining that with several
hundred imaginatively sadistic children, most of whom
invariably have it in for at
least one other kid, will give
you full-scale war faster than
declaring Newark, N.J. the
new Palestinian homeland.
Sadly for me and my
friends, the opposing forces
always seemed to number
about fifty, which understandably made life a little
difficult when setting foot
outside, or anywhere close
enough to the door to get
jumped and dragged outside.
This would occasionally happen to the poor sucker who
didn't keep his guard up, and
desperate pleas for clemency
due to the fact that he had
no snowclothes or boots on
was usually rewarded with
filling what clothes he was
wearing with several metric
tons of slush before burying
him head-first in the snowdrift behind the gym.
Despite these occasional
war crimes, however, the
fighting stayed pretty even.
We even managed to come
up with the odd arms limitation pact (such as "no ice-
balls", "no gravelballs" or
"no face-washing in yellow
snow"), some of which
would even holdup until the
end of the day now and then.
Ceasefires, though occasionally called by teachers, invariably failed to hold up for any
length of time at all, sometimes even resulting with the
teacher being the first subsequent target. But that was
never any fun at all, as the
teacher would usually
respond not by picking up a
mittful of snow and shouting
"Have at you, knave," but
rather by hauling the offender into the office by his ear
and informing his mother of
what an impudent little turd
her son was today. Unless, as
I said earlier, said offender
happened to be holding an
ashtray (see getaway sled).
The point of this whole
brief is that a lot of people
have different views of the
meaning of words.
Vancouverites don't really
pay the word winter much
mind; conversely, your average small-town Interior
youth would define it as "see
Stalingrad, Battle of". But, it's
certainly worth missing all
the excitement for a university education—especially if it
gives me the chance one day
to regularly define winter as
"Bermuda".
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