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The 432 Nov 9, 2000

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Array VOLUME FOURTEEN ISSUE FIVE
9 NOVEMBER 2000
In this Issue:
s      Sacrificial Virgins!
/ Monkeys!
and so much more...
Stockwell Day!
I like long walks, especially when they are taken by people who annoy me.
Noel Coward
U.S. Presidential Elections
Result in Tie!
Ralph Nader Demands Defective Ball ott Recall!
(AP) Washington D.C.
The closest U.S. Presidential race in
history has played itself out to the
most improbable of conclusions: an
exact tie in the number of seats won by the
Republican candidate George W. Bush and
the Democrat candidate Al Gore.
Electoral officials have confirmed that
after recounting the ballots three times
over, that Bush and Gore have each
claimed 173 of the 347 seats available in the
presidential race. Ralph Nader claimed one
consolatory seat by winning the most votes
among Pearl Jam fans.
"It was up and down all day, but when the
dust settled, Gore and Bush finished neck
and neck like a couple of racehorses
hopped up on amphetamines; tired,
sweaty, and dead at the finish line"
exclaimed political commentator George
Stephanopolous. "No, wait, I'm getting that
mixed up with the Kentucky Derby."
"Well, we expected a close election, what
with the closest candidates in years" said
ex-Clinton political aide James Carville
"but, jeez, a tie! I mean, fer Chrissakes, it's
not as if the handlers couldn't have put a
more different spin on each candidate:
Bush was the drunken frat boy, catering to
the jock vote, and Gore was the emotionless, Spock-like figure, obviously meant to
pander to the nerds. What more could have
been simpler? I blame this all on the American voting public, all 23% of you!"
The U.S. public responded these allegations, and to the results of the elections in
general with the anticipated looting. Storefront windows were smashed in New York,
Chicago and Los Angeles, and many valuable items were pulled from the smoky carcasses of burning buildings.
"Hell yeah!" cried an unidentified gang
leader of the LA. branch of the Crips. "We
gotta have one of these every year. Man,
nothin' like an election to bring all the people of this great nation together, to smash,
loot, pillage and burn! Hey, hey, Joaquim,
it's pillage before burn!"
Even the Senate got involved in the
riotous response to the travesty that was
the Presidential elections. All day, up and
down Washington mall, gangs of Congressmen and Senators prowled the avenues,
mugging innocent people and overturning
cars.
At the White House, present U.S. President Bill Clinton responded to the results
with laughter. "My good friend Al 'rod-ass'
Gore fought a valiant battle, but was
unable to vanquish that crack-pipe-smoking, drunk-driving, inmate-toasting, Furious George. Fuck them both. They displease me."
Meanwhile, back at the Green Party headquarters, Ralph Nader called for stringent
measures to be enacted.
"This entire political process has been
proven to be a farce. Look at those obviously broken ballots they sent to the American Public. Not only are they defective, in
that the election results were badly skewed
in favour of these so-called 'popular' parties, but they can also cause serious
injuries to the voting public"
Nader then demonstrated by inflicting a
paper cut upon himself with one of the ballots.
"Ow." He exclaimed. "Ow, ow, ow, ow,
ow!"
The ACLU and the NAACP stand firmly
behind Nader's proclamations. "We believe
that Ralph Nader can bring about the kinds
of necessary reforms so desperately needed
by this country," said Jesse Cook,
spokesperson for the Washington Chapter
of the ACLU. "I mean, look at the appalling
conditions in this nation. Under the helms-
manship' of President Nader, we could
raise the minimum sweatshop wage
from$2 to $2.10 and hour!"
Reaction from the Democrat and Republican camps was decidedly mixed. Over at
Bush Headquarters, George W's political
handlers declared the results of the election to be "A resounding vote for the future
of the Republican Party".
"Nyah nyah nyah-nyah! Gore sucks!
Where's that fancy smarty-pants education
of your now, eh Gore-sy?" cried an obviously inebriated Bush, before mooning
reporters from the window of his limousine.
In response to Bush's comments, Gore
declared a victory of his own.
"This is a great day for America," Gore
proclaimed from his podium to a cheering
throng of supporters. "It is also a great day
for our the great white race. With the people's mandate, we now have the authority
to carry out our program of genetic cleansing! You humans will bow before our logical might!"
The fate of the American Presidency will
be decided in a by-election, to be held on
November 27th.
A New Generation
Remembers
* V '
s iiJ*'*™
As Remembrance Day 2000 nears, we
are forced to examine our youths'
attitude towards the meaning of
Remembrance Day. Recent surveys show
groundbreaking levels of ignorance and
apathy in our youngest generation. In 1999
alone, some twelve thousand young people
all across this country managed to fail such
basic knowledge tests as "Who is our Minister of Health?", "Where is the nation's
capital?" and "Is Saskatchwan flat?"
Wanting to find out exactly what was
known by those to whom we shall entrust
the future of our glorious nation, The 432's
investigative team headed out to Metro-
town Mall last Monday and decided to look
at the hard question of whether our kids
were receiving the lessons that Remembrance Day is supposed to be teaching
them..
Ten hours later, our field team managed to
accumulate some rather surprising results:
The youth of today were anything but apathetic. Ignorant, hell, yes, but not apathetic.
The in-depth survey of the adolescent
population revealed the following thought
provoking opinions:
'I know I remember we kicked those
Krauts up and down the mid-continent.
Just like that 'Ryan's Privates' movie. Did
you see the scene when the guy got blown
in half? That was awesome!'
Jack MacLeod, 16, from Quebec, when
asked about the meaning behind the slogans used by the War Vets, replied: "Ah
yes, Je me souvients. Je me souvients que
nous avez tear-ez Jerry a new a-hole when
he tried to take what wasn't his. N'oublie
pas que we'll do it again if you so much as
look twice at Czechoslovakia, you dirty
Hun bastards."
In conclusion, it can be said of our young
people that what they lack in knowledge,
talent, or skill, they more than make up for
in terms of enthusiam and sheer, bloody-
minded persistence, and an almost shocking willingness to appropriate the more
viscerally appealling yet socially reprehensible parts of our collective history. Page Two
THE FOUR THIRTY TWO
25 Oktober 2000
Volume Fourteen
Issue Five
9 November 2000
Iron Chef Philippino
Jay Garcia
jgarcia@interchange.ubc.ca
Iron Chef Scottish
Andy Martin
Alton Brown
Matt Wiggin
Emeril Lagassi
Chris Weston
Printed by
College Printers, Vancouver, BC
Food Critics
Jay Garcia
Jo Krack
Grace Lam
Andy Martin
mYk
Alisma Perry
Ajay Puri
Kat Scotton
Reka Sztopa
Ben Tipett
Ben Warrington
Matt Wiggin
Egraine Yuh
Web Sites
http://www.ams.ubc.ca/sus/
http://seercom.com/sus/432/
Legal Information
The 432 managed to slip behind
the oppressive Imperial Blockade.
Dark Emperor, my Aunt Beru's
heiney.
Whilst fleeing Imperial persecution. The 432 somehow manages to
get published twice-monthly from a
vastly networked warren deep
within the bowels of the Hennings
building. Yes, we've moved. Come
and find us, or be thrown into the
Pit of Despair!
All views expressed in this issue
are strictly those of the individual
writers, and as such are not the
responsibility of The 432, The Science Undergraduate Society, or the
Faculty of Science. Writers and cartoonists are encouraged to submit
their material to The 432. Submissions must meet the requirements
of making the editor chuckle thrice,
and contain the author's name and
contact information.
Election Fever!
Matt Wiggin
Slide Ruler!
I'm not a political guy, in general, mainly since I'm receiving ample sex without having to enter office. As such, I'd
rather leave the leading to the people who
actually want to do it. I don't believe in
bashing politicians (or at least most of
them). The way I see it, people's discontent
with politics comes from their forgetting
that politicians, like them are normal
human beings. Think about it. If you were
running the country, had minions to do
your bidding, and had ample chances to
abuse your power to further your own
ends, wouldn't you make the most of that?
If you answered no, you're either a) lying,
orb) stupid. (Answering "idealistic" counts
as b, just in case you were wondering.)
Aside from their lack of moral fibre,
politicians are no smarter than you or
I. It's a scary idea, but you have to
admit, it explains a lot.
However, in Stockwell Day's
case, I've gotta speak out. I was
listening to CBC the other day,
and heard a farmer from Manitoba call in to say he "can't
wait for Stockwell Day to be
elected so that he'll stand up
for the white Christians <his
words, not mine> of the country who  have  been  kicked
around    and    discriminated
against for long enough" (??) the
call rapidly degenerated into a
rant against daylight saving time
and how his crops "couldn't handle
the extra sunlight." This is the sort of
person who supports the Reform Party.
And if the polls are any indication, there
are enough of them out there to think twice
before heading out for hunting season
again...
In his favour, Stockwell Day does have
media savvy. So far he's managed to convince the moral conservatives that he's
against anyone whose religious, sexual, or
fiscal preferences deviate even slightly
from those of a 17th century hermit-monk.
He has managed to do all this without
actually saying any of it out loud; he knows
that comments like that will get in the way
of his quest for world domination. (Okay,
Canadian domination, but you have to
admit "Canadian domination" doesn't have
quite the same ring to it... but I digress.)
This is what scares me most about him. I
once read that Joseph Stalin successfully
evaded the question "do you plan have millions    of
innocent citizens executed on nothing
more than a suspicion of subversion?" regularly at press conferences, prior to his
installment as ruler of the Soviet Union.
Stockwell Day may have a Sea-Doo™, but
in his heart, he's a Neo-Luddite. Let's for a
moment assume a meteorite plummets
from the sky, and randomly impacts the
campaign bus of Jean Chretien. In the
power vacuum that ensues (stop thinking
about the meteorite crushing Jean), Stock-
well Day is able to pull something out of his
ass, and wins the election (stop thinking
about Stockwell's ass). We would have a
leader who doesn't believe in evolution.
Now is this a man you want to lead the
country into the next millennium? Bye-
bye, science and technology research funding. And do you really think this man will
be interested in leading thought-provoking
dialogue about genetically modified foods
or farmed salmon? I can hear it now:
"Bad scientists. Stop playing God or I'll
have you all smitten. No more experiments for you. Bad."
I never thought I'd see the day
that I'd Preston Manning as a
figure on the Canadian political landscape. Hell, I never
thought I'd feel compelled to
vote. But that day has finally
arrived, and the greatest reason is simple. As a country,
Canada has always had a bit
of an  international  image
problem. People love us for
our abundant food crops, fresh
water, and good nature, but they
don't really take us seriously. Do
you really think that's going to
improve if our main representative to
the outside world is a man named
Stockwell Day?
It's All About Pride, Baby
Jay Garcia
Absolut Power
I'd like to take this opportunity to congratulate all you people reading the
432, and specifically reading this editorial. Why? Because you are all so wonderfully, goddamn sexy, virile, intelligent,
charming and tasteful. That's why. And you
have to good sense to know that I'm ripping off Scott Adams (of Dilbert fame), and
not really caring. After all, imitation is the
sincerest form of flattery. So go ahead and
copy that segment straight out of the New
England Journal of Medicine. Remember,
it isn't plagiarism if you attribute it correct-
ly-
Returning now to the subject of flattery
and praise, I've got to say it outright: I'm
really proud of Science Council this year.
I'm not exactly a font of sweetness and
light; most people who know me would categorize my personality somewhere
between "lazy, paranoid, cynic" and
"velociraptoricious" (whatever the latter
may actually mean).
But the new Science Councilors really outdid themselves this year. I have to admit, I
was originally really pessimistic about the
fate of Science Council, and of SUS in general. I wasn't.too inclined to believe that
the place would ever be rescued from its
ever-sinking downwards death spiral.
Then came the Whistler Retreat - a weekend ostensibly for team building and getting familiar with council procedures. Fully
two score and more councilors showed up.
Say it with me now, Awwwwwbjyeah!
Despite the various lame team-building
exercises (sorry Reka), the weekend was
hella fun, and it was the councilors who
made it that way. Mad props go to Janelle,
Julia, Cori (Permafrosh!) and Natasha, the
ever-smilin' Jag, crazy Myk and a whole
horde of. people who'll probably want to
open up a can o' whup-ass on me because I
haven't mentioned them. Thanks to all of
you anyway. Many of you came out to help
Kat with her Nothing Ever Happens in
November Beer Garden a week later, showing us all that it's not just about scamming
a free weekend at Whistler, all expenses
paid. These people have shown a level of
involvement and spirit that should stand as
a bright example against the crushing
forces of apathy inherent in the vast majority of the student body of this campus.
Kinda like them Duke Boys versus 01' Boss
Hogg, or Godzilla versus Monster Zero.
Godzilla!
Now, continuing in this vein of embarrassing displays of gushiness, we move on to
the real business at hand: The 432. Yes
we've also got a few new writers who are
doing well (Jo and Alisma come to mind, as
do Grace); we've got a possible new cartoonist. Many, many people have contacted
me with material; don't worry guys, we'll
put you to good use for the paper.
I'm planning to have a new writer's meeting. Any of you general reading public are
welcome to attend, but this is primarily
geared for people who want to contribute
to The 432. How does Thursday, November
9 at 3:30 in Hennings 102 sound? Punch
and pie, um, make that beverages of choice
and some form of pie-based substance will
be provided. We'll briefly touch on the history of the 432, to put things into perspective, before launching into the meat of the
matter: submissions guidelines, graphic
design, and layout. You'll also get to meet
the new Director of Publications, Chris
Weston (big hand of applause, folks) and
you can ask him all sorts of embarrassing
questions. You can even meet such 432
luminaries as Matt Wiggin, Ben Tippett
(arguably the strangest man I know; and
that's saying a lot for a guy whose friends
have been known to demolish entire buildings completely by accident), and Myk,
who seems to be a living example of Chaos
Theory.
If I haven't completely managed to scare
you off, then you should be able to relax
and enjoy yourselves. Since I have Friday's
off, I'm hoping to turn every Friday when
I'm doing production into DVD Friday,
allowing for the viewing of such fine
movies as Heat, The Professional, Fight
Club, Ghostbusters, Starship Troopers, and
whatever DVD's anyone else feels like
bringing in, after which, we work on the
paper.
Remember kids, you only get out of University what you put into it. It's not as if
you're going to be able to apply those
library skills you've acquired to terribly
good use in whatever field you're heading
into (unless, of course, it's one of those
research oriented professions, or library
studies). Much more valuable will be those
skills you've cultivated while dead roaring
drunk; nothing says "hire me" on a resume
as does the resourcefulness of being able to
navigate yourself and your fifteen closest
drinking associates to a safe, warm place
(defined as any place where you're not likely to be mugged, rained on, or assaulted by
unattractive members of the opposite sex)
after getting ripped out of your gills. But I
digress...
sieve, al, bob, joe
tim, John, fred, tod, greg, chuck, jay, mutt,
are all names of guys 9 November 2000
THE FOUR THIRTY TWO
Page Three
What's in a Name?
Eg mine Yuh
Not An Evil Sorceress
"«■ * -jrhen Shakespeare wrote, "a rose by
\/\/ any other name would smell as
V V sweet," do you think he actually
thought about that? Yes, it's in iambic pentameter and it sounds kind of nice, but is it
true? Imagine a tuxedo-wearing, gun-
wielding guy saying "Bingle. Wade Bingle."
Really. Not quite the same.
So when you name a kid, do you pre-deter-
mine their life, lifestyle and popularity? I,
for one, have never met a cool guy named
Seymour. Or Clyde. When I hear the name
Simon, I picture a tall, skinny guy with
glasses. He has a bad haircut, acne, and
poor table manners. He wears his pants
too high. And laughs at his own jokes.
Now let's try...Dean. Dean is tall, well-
built, and not bad looking. Not necessarily
good-looking, but not bad. He's cocky,
tends to be a flirt, and parties too much.
You can do the same thing with girls'
names. For example, Alice. Alice is short,
shy, quiet, and studies too much. She
doesn't talk in class, she doesn't talk to
people, and she has few friends. Jessica,
on the other hand, is a party girl who has
tons of friends, is a huge flirt, and is really
funny when drunk. She isn't necessarily
pretty (although she can be), but people
gravitate to her because she's fun to be
with.
Now you're thinking that I've just made
huge generalities. Maybe your name is
Simon, and you're the complete opposite of
what I've described. Fine. I have been
known to be wrong (but only on occasion).
But haven't you ever met someone and
known his or her name before being introduced? Or, having been introduced to
someone, calling him or her by another,
more "suitable" name? I've done it lots of
times. I met a guy in first year, and he
looked like a Troy. I've never met anyone
named Troy, and all I can picture right now
is Troy McLure. This guy looked nothing
like Troy McLure, but for some reason he
looked like a Troy. Every time I see him, I
call him Troy instead of his real name,
which I can't even remember right now. Or
like that scene in Being John Malkovitch,
where John Cusack guesses that slut's
name. I've tried guessing people's names,
and I've been right a couple of times. Yay
for me.
So, you ask, how can I predict someone's
name? Or, how can I assume to know
things about someone based on their
name? Let's break things down a little...
Certain names mean outgoing people.
Names like Peter, Bryan, Jessica,
Stephanie...you get the idea. These people
are at the Pit every Wednesday. These people join fraternities and sororities. These
people have to use their first initial (Steph
J., Steph A., etc.) because there are so
many that they have to distinguish between
themselves. I personally know seven Jessica's. It gets confusing sometimes. Last
names come in really handy.
Or random personality traits. Like "Jessica who dated that gross engineer" or "Jessica who broke her hip trying to climb over
a chain link fence at 5 in the morning". You
get the idea.
Weird names generally mean weird people. Myself included. Do you know anyone
else named Eagranie? I sure as hell
don't...and if you do, I'd like to meet this
wonderful person. Ask anyone who knows
me well. I'm not a normal person. I may
appear to be, but I'm not. I met a guy
named Dugan, and he's really really
strange. Almost like a cartoon character.
He  basically  is  a  cartoon  character,
dammit. He also happens to be obsessed
with Japanese porn, which may contribute
to his condition.
Then there are the inevitable "geek"
names. Not to say that if your name falls
into this category that you are then automatically a geek. It's always possible to
break the mould of any of these categories.
But if your name is Wilson, Curtis, Betty,
Verina...you get the picture. Maybe it isn't
as bad as pocket protectors and wedgies,
but the words "socially inadequate" come
to mind. Shy, awkward, and studious people, those cursed (or blessed, depending on
your point of view) with names in this category are usually those without a date on
Friday night. Or without a friend. There's
always the oddball who doesn't really fit in.
Like my engineer friend Adam, who's the
biggest pothead I know.
Finally, the weird, can't-predict-behaviour
group. People named Megan, Andrew,
Chris, Sarah, or Sean can be at either
extreme, or anywhere in the middle. For
instance: my friend Sean is a biology major
who's never had a date in his life; Shaun is
a drafting student at BCIT who is the life of
the party; and Shawn is married with 6
cats. Aside from the fact that all their
names sound the same, they're completely
different people. If we were studying
French, this group would be the "irregular
verb" equivalent of names.
There you go. Next time you meet someone, don't judge them on their appearance,
their age, what they're wearing...make the
effort to judge them on something they
really, truly have no control over: their
name. 'Cos you know what? They're probably doing the same thing to you. People
are funny that way.
In Gage tower
ladifbugs swarmed in mu. window
new roomates hoorau,!
We are now located
in Hennings 102.
Come check out the
new office and use
our $0.05
photocopier, $0.75
pop, free water,
free phone, free
computers etc.
Also, check out the
next issue of The
432 for contact info
for all of the
councillors and a
schedule of their
office hours!
A short Play entitled
riCR&hacj?
bujake Grai/
(Indian Correspondent)
Indian
- Hello
Jake -
Hello
Indian
- Where are you from?
Jake ■
Canada
Indian
- What is your name
sir?
Jake -
John
- t/i'-
h ^
Indian - And where are you
going today?
Jake ■ To the Taj Mahal.
Indian - Do you need a
rickshaw?
Jake • No thank you.
Indian - It is very far.
Jake - That's okay I like to
walk.
Indian - Only 40 rupees.
Jake - No thank you. I
would like to walk as I
have been on a train for
very long.
Indian - Okay okay sir, 35
rupees.
Jake - Perhaps I wasn't
clear, I would like to
walk.
Indian - Why do wan't to
walk?
Jake -1 like walking*
Indian - Okay 30 rupees.
Jake - No we don't need a
rickshaw.
Indian - Sir, why don't you
just get in and I will take
you to the Taj for only
twenty rupees.
Jake - How about you go
away.
Indian - OKay fifteen rupees.
Jake - Get lost.
Indian - Sir why do you insult
me? v
Jake - Allright, let me
make myself clear, I do
not for any price want
a rickshaw to any
destination in Agra. I do
hot want to see any
family rock carving
shops, carpet weavers,
miniature paintings,
restaurants, brass
monkeys, zoos, or any
muslim, Hindu, Jain or
any other religious
monuments. I will not
not get into your
rickshaw, I will not come
with you, and i do not
want to visit the school
where you are learning
how to make and sell
pottery. Co away.
Indian - Okay 10 rupees?
[enter left] fifteen more
rickshaw wallahs - do you
need a rickshaw?
[enter right] fifteen more
rickshaw wallahs - do you
need a rickshaw?
Jake - Arrghghhh! Page Four
THE FOUR THIRTY TWO
9 November 2000
The New Fall Lineup
Jay Garcia
Absolut Power
These are the times that try men's
souls. Or at least their pocketbooks. I
mean, all summer and early fall, the
vast majority of purchases fall into the
"eating-out" category; nights spent at
Elwoods, or Nevermind, or Fatso's, blowing your hard-earned cash on such things
as a few pitchers for you and ten of your
best friends, or some heart-attack and
tongue-destroying hot wings, courtesy of
Marks Wings Wednesday. Then, out of the
blue, like a Tomahawk missile fired at a
Chinese embassy, comes the fall / winter
spending season, a money drain like no,
other money drain.
I mean, you can get away without a new
spring or summer wardrobe, on occasion.
They're less taxing on the kinds and numbers of clothes that you have to wear in
order to endure our chilly northern climate
(or rather, dank oppressive one, since this
is the Pacific Rainforest of which I am
speaking). Try getting away with this kind
of sartorial mentality in the winter months,
and you'll end up with nothing but double
pneumonia and a case of the chills to show
for it. "Show me a man who lets a smile be
his umbrella, and I'll show you a man
who's going to get wet". I believe the ever-
reliable Groucho Marx said that, and he
was a wise, wise man. After all, it was he
who coined that wonderful, almost koan-
like statement: "I want no part of any organization that will let me become a member". Think on that, if you will, and reflect
on the nature of the economic conspiracy.
Personally, I blame the media. It's a massive conspiracy, I tell you. Look at the facts:
It is in these dark, fall months, when people are more inclined to stay indoors that
the major media conglomerates begin their
push to peddle their product at you. Cable
fees notwithstanding, you don't pay a single, red cent towards any of the television
programmes that you watch. Basically, all
these actors, writers, directors, best boys,
grips, and caterers are making their money
somehow, and it's advertising that provides the grease which keeps the wheels a-
moving. You think that it's any coincidence
that commercials are getting better? We're
a more sophisticated audience now; we
won't stand for cheezy spots where some
housewife de-stains the pits of her absent
husband's golf shirts with New Miracle
Powdered Bleach. We expect chainsaw-
wielding monkeys to terrorize the modern-
day housewife equivalent (who keeps getting younger and younger, mind you, and
what does that say about our "progressive"
stances towards women?) into cleaning
their boyfriend's lucky cliff-jumping shirt
with NanoTech Liquid Crystal Bleach. In
short, to lapse into scientific analogy here,
the earlier adverts were the simplistic, pre-
Cambrian ancestors to today's' lean, mean,
predatory, highly evolved advertising spot.
Fer Chrissakes, there's even a website
devoted to archiving the best commercials
out there (www.adcritic.com, if you must
know: but then you're only pandering to
the establishment, aren't you, you little
media junkie?) Advertising as entertainment; it's only a matter of time before we
no longer will be able to tell, nor will we
care about, the difference between a show
and its advertising.
This influence has also reached out into
other facets of everyday life. It's no wonder
that most car manufacturers release their
newest, sexiest models in the fall months.
Forget the fact that these blindingly cool
roadsters would look so much better in
bright blue sunshine, on a warm summer's
day. No, if you're an early-adopter who
purchases one of these surrogate penises in
the fall months, you'll have to wait an agonizing nine more months before the weather gets nice enough to show them off in
their full glory. If you're lucky, you'll have
up to sixteen weeks to get maximum cruis-
age-value out of your wheels, and then it's
time for next year's model to be unveiled
again.
It's a vicious cycle designed to capture eyeballs and hold on to your pocketbook with
a strength equivalent to that of a Kung-Fu
action Death Grip.
And then there's Christmas and New
Years. Putting aside for now the concept of
crass materialism contaminating what was
once a holy day for millions of people who
believe in the nativity of a God who, ultimately, shuffled off this dusty coil after
being nailed to a plank of wood, Christmas
is a time for holiday travelling. And who
hear doesn't fear the concept of being
trapped in an airport terminal on Christmas Eve, with their flights back to Toronto,
or Asslord, Idaho delayed or cancelled due
to inclement weather? How many more of (
us have had to reach deep into our pockets
to purchase another flight (yes, I know the
airlines refund you or try to place you on
another flight, but that's small comfort
when you've been spending ten to fourteen
hours in a waiting lounge, staring at the
Arrivals / Departures screen as if it were
some prophetic device that Would, oracularly, pronounce that you were free to visit
your loved ones in whatever godforsaken
corner of the globe that they live).
Moving back onto the subject of presents,
notice too that the items being purchased
are more sophisticated and, commensu-
rately, more expensive, than were available
previously. Kids want Aibo's; wouldn't a
real puppy (or better yet, a dog rescued
from a shelter) be a better gift? How about
the time when you could give a blank journal, and people actually thought that it was
a nice present? Now, if it isn't a Palm VI
with a full-color screen and wireless
modem-enabled (allowing for the seamless
transmission of pornography to your very
hands), then it really isn't much of a present, is it?
Personally, I say we do away with fall and
winter, and replace it with a second spring
and summer. But that opens up another
can o' worms entirely. I mean, who needs
to suffer through two Valentine's Days?
has won a DVD of his choice for writing some
really awful poetry incorporating the names of
the last six 432 Editors! Bravo!
Not So Easy Contest # 2:
Name the two SUS Councillors involved in "acts of depravity"
as shown on the back page of this paper. The winner gets
the choice of a Rex Morgann T-Shirt or a SUS Beer Mug.
Drop off your answers at SUS (Hennings 102) or email them
to jgarcta#home.com. First one to respond wins it all!
SUS hacks and councillors are ineligible to take part in this contest.
Hey, are you sick of paying $1.45
for eight measly ounces of coffee
goodness? You're in Luck! SUS is
once again hai/ing its cheap cheap
coffee! 504 will net you a cup of
coffee. You bring the cup, you pay
the money, and ei/eryone is happy.
8:30 am in SUS, in Hennings 102,
ei/ery morning!
(please bring quarters, we like
quarters)
(all proceeds to charity)
.science Swag!
Kick-Ass!
Ov fi
Mugs $4
Coffee Mugs $15
T-S flirts $12
Toques $12
Coffee mugs ore on sale for $15 for a
limited time. Come into SUS or e-mail
wafild@intercdange.u6c.ca to buy yours
today!
L Dream
of Becom
ician
Your Future
lis in Your Hands.
V"
Southern California University of
Health Sciences is:
• the leader in scientifically-based
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• the only chiropractic college
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• state-of-the-art audio/visual
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plans to bring the same innovative
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starting January, 2001.
Contact us today to
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Canadian Tuition Discount Available Page Six
THE FOUR THIRTY TWO
9 November 2000
But the Pagans have Better Sex...
Jo Krack
Hare, Hare, Hare!
WARNING: I'm going to ramble
about squirrels, Christianity,
Jesus, and bad relationships, with
an emphasis on virginity. This is an unholy
combination, and the results ain't pretty.
You've been warned...
Today I went to see a display by the Christians on Campus. There's a lot of those
groups, more than any other club, and each
one has become quite specialized... I think
perhaps this one was aimed at middle-
class, rap-music-hating, slogan-lovin'
Christians who favour the colour blue, have
shoe sizes between 8 1/2 and 12, and harbour secret squirrel-sympathizing tendencies. Those squirrels are mighty influential
these days.
Anyway, I was busy being awed by the circular logic of some of the posters, which
were trying to debunk "myths" (i.e., criticisms) of Christianity but weren't doing a
very convincing job, when I got bombarded
by the breed of Christian I'll call Perky
Christian. Perky had a questionnaire for
me, and it gave enough non-Jesus lovin'
answer options so as to keep non-believers
from running away screaming, holding
onto their souls. In short, the questions
could be answered without revealing your
religious leanings, if you didn't want such
information exposed. So I answered it,
although she took down the answers, so I
didn't get to see what she wrote. (This concerns me somewhat...) At the end, she
asked me if there were any really tough
questions I'd like to ask Jesus. I thought:
what, is he like a Magic 8 ball or something? Will she pull out a little Jesus figurine, get me to ask my question, shake it
up, and then it will say 'Not likely' or something equally ambiguous? Cool!! But I didn't feel in the mood to come up with a good
question, even though I wanted to see what
method she would use to get Jesus to
answer (I kinda guessed that it would be
praying, which is not nearly as cool as
either channeling Jesus, or using a holy
Magic 8 ball). In fact, I didn't even take one
of the tempting accounts of Jesus's life,
which was Perky's mission. However, I did
take a cookie, as I am partial to peanut butter and dammit, I earned it by taking that
survey! I probably just sold my soul right
there, by divulging sensitive information
about us "undecided" (read: non Christian)
students, so that our ways can be studied
and methods to convert us will be perfected. Eep.
My soul is extremely cheap (food and/or
sex will do it; a combination of the two is
best) so I don't know why I haven't just voluntarily handed it over to the Campus
Christians. Probably because I like to play
hard to get. You see, certain Campus Chris
tians are like other somewhat fanatical
groups: they want people to do what they
say, but as soon as they've converted someone, BANG! it's onto chasing yet another
non-believer, and there you are, cold and
alone, clutching a bible when you'd much
rather be clutching that Suzy or Jimmy
who was so seductively explaining its
virtues to you.
Personally, it seems a bit like virgin-chasing. Just like those guys who will only sleep
with virgins, but can only ever sleep with a
virgin once, because after that she's not a
virgin anymore. So I am the perpetual
Christianity-virgin, answering the very
familiar "Do you know Jesus?" with a wide-
eyed, "Jesus? Who's that?" They swarm to
me, eager to deflower me and force me into
a codefied behaviour that will agree with
theirs, so that they can convert the whole
world and thus finally be sure that their
religion is
the right one after all. Just like the kind of
guy who tries to get you to let your guard
down, relax, because "Baby, I'll be there for
you". Really, all they want to do is brag to
all their other virgin-hunters that they
bagged a fresh one. And now I mean the
Christians, not the guys.
So I am a tease. Sometimes, I listen wholeheartedly, like the wholesome person I am,
until they get to the end, and invite me to a
bible study group, which is when I politely
inform them that sorry, I don't believe in
your religion. It's like giving a guy the
green light, only to inform him minutes
short of first base that sorry, you play for
the other team. The look on their faces is
priceless, as you watch their brains hard at
work: "But I know I was onto something!
Could I have phrased it all differently?
Where did I screw up? I... was... sooo...
close...!!"
Other times I am a little more fun. Sometimes I inform them that Jesus has personally warned me about their organizations,
so I'm staying away. Of course, if I say I
hear Jesus in my head (which is mean, I
know) they try to prove to me that it's the
devil speaking. Gee, could they be jealous?
Having a little crisis of faith, worried that
Jesus has never really spoken to them, only
given them signs?
Signs can be ambiguous too, like one guy I
met who was thanking God for a scholarship and informed me that God wanted
him to be a doctor. I tried not to be cynical,
because he was so happy about it, but I
wondered if he would still be a hardcore
Christian if God had decided to make him a
McGreaseGrill boy for the rest of his life...
I'm not even going to get into THAT question...
Well, as I wind up, I can only say that I'm
holding onto my religious virginity, so all
you virgin-hungry Christians out there...
why don't you try to come and get it, baby!
iNext JJeacume: iNovemner I4tn, ZUUU
First hit's always free.
All articles and cartoons welcome. Must make the editor laugh at least thrice, contain your full
contact information, and should be around 700 words.
Write about chickens with gills, or free-range dolphins. Or not.
All contributions must be made by 4:32pm, November 1st. Email to jgarcia@interchange.ubc.ca
Never Taunt a Monkey
Alisma Perry
Wild and Crazy Gal
A year or two ago, my best friend, who
was a UBC science student at the
time (and is now in a remote and
certainly crazy part of Nova Scotia where
she'll be exiled from her Universite if she
speaks any language other than French),
mentioned that she wanted to pick up a
copy of The 432.
"The who what now?" I asked.
"The 432," she repeated, adding a rather
scathing and holier-than-thou, "Oh yeah,
you wouldn't know."
Why on earth, you ask, wouldn't I know?
For one thing, I didn't go to UBC at the
time. For another, I'm an Arts student. Yes,
that's right. One of them. But we'll get back
to that little issue after these messages...
One or two years later, on the sunny but
chilly afternoon of October the nth, I
strolledinnocently into the Henry Angus
building with hopes of finding a free
National Post lying on the floor. This would
provide me with a homework-free hour of
reading, which could nonetheless be justified by the fact that I was making an effort
to be informed(which is supposedly an
essential part of studying Political Science,
because one must beup on which river
Stockwell Day is planning to reverse the
direction of this week).
Unfortunately, all of the National Posts
had been gobbled up by the hordes of students who were understandably eager to
find out the latest rumours on whether
Jean Chretien was going to call a fall election (which, as I truly hope you are aware,
he now has). I was left with a rather sad
looking pile of the September 27th issue of
The 432. Having a good memory for trivial
things like the fact that my friend likes the
SUS newspaper, and a not-so-good memory for more useful things like the difference
between a turnip and a rutabega, I picked
up a copy. My original intention was to
mail it directly to my friend, who I supposed would appreciate it more than I
would; but later that day I found myself
reading it, and, to my surprise, I was even
chuckling. After thoroughly enjoying the
paper, I sent it to my friend, well aware
that possession of an English newspaper
could get her kicked out of school, and that
she might prefer a more suitable gift, such
as a rutabega or that book I ordered from
Chapters for her birthday in AUGUST and
it STILL hasn't come yet.
Unfortunately, they did not send her back
to the West Coast where she belongs. I
received an e-mail in which she thanked
me for the paper and made fun of me
because, and I quote, I am "not a Science
student" so I "can't write for The 432. HA
HA HAA!" What a little witch (and she
does, actually, remind me of one Hermione
Granger...). SoI'm afraid, my friends, that
the reason I'm writing, this article is not
because I believe Ihave the ability to genuinely please you with this tale. Nor is it
because I have three essays due next week
and I'm not quite ready to begin them
(well, okay, that's maybe20% of it). My
ultimate reason, though, is pure, unadulterated vengeance. I'm not sure if
vengeance is the word I'm looking for here,
so let's throw in contempt, spite, and
malevolence for good measure. Yes, I did
use the thesaurus for some of those, but
not all.
My dear friend has given me a huge challenge, without even realizing it, and I am
always(though especially at essay time) up
for a good defi! My only problem is this:
I'm not sure whether or not you will allow
an Arts student to write for you. Here are
my reasons why you should (other than to
help me in my quest for revenge):
(1) I may not be a Science student, but at
least I'm in Political Science. You've got to
give me some credit for having that magic
word in there. Although, quite frankly, I'm
of the mindset that would be more inclined
to name the field "Political Studies", or
simply "Politics". I guess I've sufficiently
murdered that reason. We can argue about
whether there is science in Political Science
some other time. Onwards!...
(2) I know that most of you believe that we
Arts students have all the fun classes at
University, then afterwards you'll be the
ones with the jobs, and therefore we'll be of
no threat to you whatsoever. To some
extent I agree with you, but in my case that
is not at all true. My future is bright, and
you might not want to piss me off. I'm talking world domination, people. I've already
got my army of killer pink bunnies training
for the coming anarchy in the forests of
central B.C.
Beware.
Please note that anything said in Reason #2 was solely for dramatic effect and not intended to be taken as a
real threat. And if you don't believe me, I swear, 111...
(3) I'm a Science student at heart. Proof? -
I worship Bill Nye the Science Guy just as
much as, if not more than you do. -1 was in
the Science Explorations Group in high
school (it was called that rather than plain
old "Science Club" because somebody
thought it would sound less geeky...
mmmhmm). We didn't do much except
watch movies about the Solar System that
were narrated by Patrick Stewart and go to
Science World (and we also planned a trip
to Seattle so we could stalk Bill Nye but it
never came to fruition) - but still, I was in
the club. - My current job was meant for a
social sciences student, but somehow,
when I slept in one day, it managed to
evolve into something completely different
that involves a whole lot of scary knowledge about computers and nothing about
politics. And I still work there. And they
love me and think that I'm doing a great
job (they better! — for more details on
vengeance, see Reason #2). In fact, due to
this job I even briefly considered taking
some Comp Sci classes. Then I woke up
screaming. - I am utterly fascinated by
those signs all over the basement of the
Chemistry building that say "CAUTION:
Strong magnetic fields present. Do not
enter the indicated area." Now THAT is
education.
In sum, please print this article so that my
friend can see that even though she is
snobbish about her Science background,
not all Science students are. And Jacqui, if
you're reading this, you can kiss mon denier. And if you're not reading this, I guess I
didn't get published, and that means I have
to get you something else for Christmas.
Like a monkey. I bet you've always wanted
a monkey.
Ah, yes, bloody vengeance. If free beer,
wild offers of sex from smoulderingly
attractive members of the opposite sex, or
the opportunity to seam some free swag
doesn't entice you to write for this paper,
then perhaps the ability to smite your
foes in a public forum will... Ah, the
power!
-ed 9 November 2000
THE FOUR THIRTY TWO
Physics Phun
Page Seven
Ben Warrington
Phucker
I often see the words "Physics Sucks"
inscribed on desks around the Hennings and Hebb buildings, particularly
in places where first year classes and tutorials tend to be held. First of all, if you hate
physics so much, why take it? In university,
believe it or not, you get to choose your
own classes and programs. But secondly, I
wonder why anyone hates physics that
much anyway.
Physics does not seem to enjoy great popularity. Admittedly, I can understand a certain amount of trepidation at the sight of
Schrodinger's equation, but what's so scary
about Ek=V2(mv2) or p=mv? It is Grade
seven algebra, and so many useful things
can be done with it.
For example, I estimate my Editor's mass
at 100 kg (-220 lbs -1 picked the number
for ease of calculation; I have no idea how
much he actually weighs). Then say I wanted to suspend him above a twelve foot pit
by sticking some sort of vacuum hose to his
ample belly (let's make the hose circular
and locm in diameter). How much pressure would the vacuum have to maintain to
support him? Well, let's start at the beginning: F=ma. In order to keep the editor
suspended, the upward force of the air
pressure must equal the downward force of
gravity. Secondly, pressure is a measure of
force divided by area, so we have
P=ioog/o.oo25p=392.4kPa. The ambient
air pressure is about lookPa, and we cannot do any better than a perfect vacuum
inside of the hose, so I guess the editor falls
in the pit.
After pulling this nasty trick, I get a long
head start while Jay figures out how to get
out of a twelve foot pit, but he owns a car.
Despite the faulty battery connection, he is
soon trying to run me down. Let's say the
car masses around 1600kg including the
weight of the driver. Let's estimate my
mass as about 6okg (hey, I am not very
big). Let's, also say that Jay is traveling the
speed limit (so.4km/h or i4m/s), and I am
standing still sh*tting my pants. The question is: will Jay get whiplash when he hits
me?
This calls for conservation of momentum.
Total momentum before the collision will
equal the same after the collision:
2240oN?s=i66ov (assuming I get splattered all over the front of his car - a completely inelastic collision). The velocity (v)
comes out to i3.49m/s or 48.6km/h. He
loses nearly .5im/s. I am maybe 30cm
thick, so he only has about 0.02 seconds in
which to lose the velocity, meaning he
undergoes an acceleration of about
25m/s2. This is more than 2.5CS and let's
face it, Jay's no fighter pilot. It won't hurt
him too much, but there is a risk of
whiplash. It would probably set off the air
bag. If Jay were to come after me in a 10
tonne bus, however, he would only feel a
slight 4.2m/s2 acceleration, not even 0.5G
- a small jolt. This just goes to show that
when you want to run someone down,
think big. How would you knowthat without even the most basic physics?
The fun doesn't stop there, but the really
interesting things happen when you get
into higher level physics. Physicists get all
the cool toys.
While Ben makes a lot of very salient
points in his article, he forgets a few,
important facts:
1.1 have my Number One; as Riker to
Picard, as Sancho Panza to Don Quixote,
and as peanut butter to chocolate, so
Andy is to me. It's his job to handle all
- hits, assasinations, and the like.
2. Man, my car never runs, even when
the battery does work. I do have a 5 kg,
8" wheel-brake lime green scooter,
though...
-ed
Capture
Wednesday,
November 15th
3:45 pm
Meet in B7 Parkins Lot
$2 (includes Pizza
and Pop)
register by emailing us at
sus_fyc@hotmail.com
sign up individually or as a group?
Vox Populii
C/^z-I-J   Cr^rxrA'm^+rw    things g0 much smoother> and l didn,t
JUL I G. I   V>UU lUII I ClLU I      have to yell at anyone. So, other than
ust Katharine Scotton
J
quick report from me this issue. Friday, Nov. 3rd, we had our Nothing Ever
Happens in November bzzr garden. Small
turnout, but it was all right. We had Victory Gin, and DJ Dr. Dobson (from England!)
and plenty of alcohol (screw the liquor policy!). Thanks to those who came out and
got pissed, and huge thanks to my amazing
bunch of minions, I mean, volunteers. I
had plenty of help this time, and it made
the small turnout, it went well. Nothing
is planned for the next couple weeks, so be
sure to check out the next issue for an
update. Come by and visit in the new
room, and talk to me if you want to join my
social committee, I have a great group
started. We got that group together up at
the retreat, which was a total blast! I'm
sure that there are some incriminating pictures throughout this issue. Really, it's not
me...
Until next time,
Party on!!
Editor
Jay Garcia
It has
come
to my attention that my opening statements in this here ex-officio report (calling
my position "executive" would be an
affront, but I'm not sure exactly to whom;
the executives, or myself) are somewhat
lacking in charm, vim, or vigor of any kind.
Due to this inexcusible use of proper English grammar and spelling, I'd like to
switch over entirely to 31337.
Don't worry, we understand joo. Ph33r
my 'I337 skinz, biznatch!
Damn, that's way too hard to do on a reg
ular basis. My brain just ain't configured
for '1337.
On to news, then. We have a hew DoP, and
it should really be his words gracing this
section of the paper. His name is Chris
Weston, and we keep him around to fetch
us food, restock our drinks, and sign our
checks. You know, the usual.
But until he starts writing reports, this
space is mine! Mine, do you hear me! So
write for this paper! Draw for this paper!
Do as I say, and my minions of super-powered lawn gnomes will spare your lives,
nay, even serve you when I command them
to take over the world on behalf of the 432!
Sic Transit Mundi!
External VP
Ajay Puri
editor's
note: Ajay
actually
game me something resembling an exec
report, but it was hastilly scribbled on the
back of an envelope. Bad, bad Ajay. As
such, it was promptly lost, so I'll see if I
can regenerate it from memory, knowing
what I do about Ajay's personality and
writing style...
•yr * -rhazzap, bitches! This is your
l/\/ favorite porn king External Vice
V-  ▼   here, comin' at choo wit' the
Word: Bickety-BAM!
Science Week Meetings are in Hennings
102, Tuesdays at 4:32. Show up, else I
might have to unleash some Wu-Tang on
yo' punk-ass!
Internal Vice-Prez
Reka Sztopa
Hi everyone. There isn't too much to
report this time (thank goodness).
Basically, all of our council is in
place, so watch for a list of the councillors,
their contact info and their office hours in
the next issue of the 432.
Also, FYC is hosting a huge game of Capture the Flag on Wednesday NOvember
15th. Email us at sus_fyc@hotmail.com if
you are interested.
AND...We are in our new office in
Hennngs 102 so stop buy and say hello!
TTFN.TaTaForNow.
The 432 would like to present a new segment, covering the wide world of (non-campus based) sports... Since I know as much about sports as I do about superstring theory, I thought that I should turn to somebody else for a column; thus we bring you...
Ringside!
§   with
Grace Lam
Most of my hockey pals from elsewhere have asked me: Who the
hell are the guys in the blue,
what/black and maroon jerseys??! They
certainly aren't the CANUCKS, are they??
Well, I aptly reply, I guess when you hit
rock bottom like the Canucks did in the
past 4-5 years, you really got nowhere else
to go but up. The Canucks are now, incredibly, skating, checking, hitting, passing,
scoring and most of all, they're actually
EARNING their million dollar paychecks!
The Canucks look like Stanley Cup
Champs! (Ok, fine, so I over did the pot last
night...but that's besides the point.) After 6
years of waiting, and waiting and waiting
some more, the Canucks are finally winning!!! But what brought about this amazing transformation, you ask. Well, we owe
it all to a man named Brian Burke. Love
him or hate him, all I can say is that the guy
knows hockey.
First, it was the Bure trade. We all booed
him and threw rotten eggs at his front
porch. (Admit it, u smart asses.) I mean,
who was this Ed Jovanovski guy, the fans
asked angrily. Well, we certainly got our
answers Wednesday night when the
Canucks put on a nail biting show as we
edged   the   league   leading   Colorado
Avalanche. (Holy cow...did you guys see
that bone crushing hit he gave to Dead-
marsh?!) Jovo Cop (that's his nickname)
was named the first star of the game as he
played like a Norris Trophy candidate.
Then there was the draft. 01' Burkie
picked up those young Sedin twins from
Sweden. The pessimists came out and
doubted their ability to survive in this
league. Well, looks like they're eating crow
now as Daniel and Henrik are tied in second and third respectively, in Rookie
points. They have also played against the
likes of Tie Domi and actually walked away
from the game in one piece. Every time
they stop on the ice, they just look so
poised and calm, like a couple of veterans.
How's that for a bunch of rookies, eh?
And not to mention the defensive play of
Scott LeChance and our face-off specialist,
Brendan Morrison both of which have been
awesome for the Canucks. But perhaps
Burke's greatest contribution of all is getting rid of the evil mastermind, Mike Kee-
nen and bringing in the young Stanley Cup
winning coach, Marc Crawford.
So what should we all do in the light of the
recent Canucks success? Hell, bring back
the white towels of '94, because we are in
for an exciting ride this year! Page Eight
THE FOUR THIRTY TWO
9 November 2000
Gimme the Knuckles of Frisco
Andy Martin
Head for a Century
Nothing ruins a good groove like realizing everything one has accomplished means so little to the very
people you've been doing it to impress. If
there is one unifying theme to my life,
that's probably it. And if there's one unifying theme to my writing, it's futility-
themed rants about everything from jobs to
women to God. Let's add a new one to the
list: Grad School.
I took a little trip to Northern California
last week to have a look at the Hellbent
Snowball Division of grad schools I'm looking at attending for the further excavation
of the hole that's already too deep to climb
out of that is my academic career. Specifically, I visited the campuses of Stanford
and UC Berkley. Two weeks of research of
Profs in the area came up with rather few
Profs with similar research interest to my
own and even fewer that were also even
willing to take the 30 seconds to hit the
'Reply' button and type 'Bugger off.'
Anyways, I went down with five interviews
in my pocket. I departed immediately to
Stanford from San Fran International Airport. Stanford is an amazing campus in
many ways. First off, the campus is twice
the size of UBC, with half the number of
students. The campus architecture is reminiscent of 19th Century Spanish / Drug
Lord Villa design. The campus probably
spent more on the entrances to their buildings than UBC spent on the buildings
themselves. Fountains and courtyards
everywhere, and an actual ivory tower
(okay, okay...it was more like a Chromium
Yellow tower, but if I squinted it looked
ivory). The observation deck of said tower
was closed during first week of term and
during exams. You ain't takin' the easy way
out buster.
The Registrar's office is a building right
■ out of an American civil war movie. Fitting,
as the Registrar's office is the theatre to
some of the most gruelling battles of my
life.
Lush crops of tree worms and the carpet of
1 rotting maple leaves were replaced by palm
trees and a general desert-scape.
The other amazing part was revealed
when I asked a random student where the
nearest bar was. He casually answered:
'The Oasis in Palo Alto [the nearby town],
it's about a forty-minute walk that way. But
they have a great deal on Coors Light on
Mondays.'
I just kept screaming.
Bzzr Gardens are replaced by 'Sculpture
Gardens', which sound like I'd be much
less likely to get drunk at.
The library smelt like a urinal puck.
Stanford also has the Bill Gates Computer
Research Centre. Bill Gates never went to
Stanford. The story goes that a Prof, at
Stanford testified against Gates/was a
vocal Microsoft opposer/Linux disciple.
This displeased The Man, and his retribution took the form of a $80 million donation for the sole purpose of making the
Prof, have to work in the Bill Gates Centre
for the rest of his life. Now THAT's evil.
While touring Stanford, I stayed at the
one, the only, Hotel California! There was
evidently a lot of false advertising. No voices down the corridor, no mirrors on the
ceiling, no Champaign on ice, and the
Nightman let me leave anytime I wanted
to. Damn. The only thing they did have was
that they didn't have that spirit here, or any
other Canadian beer for that matter.
Damn.
Two days in Stanford, a nibble to work on
a climate change research project, two I'm
not looking for anyone with your qualifications at this time'-es, and a speech by
Ralph Nader later, I packed my duffel bag
and hopped a train to downtown San Francisco.
I checked into a very boring hostel and
received my first introduction to San Fran's
unique population from the male desk
manager wearing pigtails and lipstick. Who
says gays have great fashion sense?
I dropped my bags in my room and, on the
suggestion of a couple of people I met on
the flight down, took off straight to the legendary (but rather small) Fillmore ballroom to line up for tickets to see some little
known band called the Tragically Hip. They
were so little known that I was able to
ambush and meet them as they strolled
casually from backstage to their tour bus.
[OW! That really hurt! I didn't even know
that it was physically possible to hit me
through the paper. There is no spoon.]
They put on a pretty good show too. I met
a couple other Canadian guys, Peter and
D'arcy, in Leafs jerseys and together we
fortified the front row of the concert hall in
order to enhance the viewing experience.
The ten minute jam on 'New Orleans is
Sinking' also helped. [OW!]
The double set [OW! Quit it or I'm telling
Mom!] was broken by a short intermission
during which the three of us took it upon
ourselves to act as the side stage, singing
'Oh Canada', 'Coo-loo-coo-coo' and encoring with a close harmony rendition of
'Hockey Night in Canada'.
At the end of the second show, the three of
us waited outside the theatre. We were the
only ones. We got our jerseys signed by the
band and were invited to come back to
their tour van to grab Gord Sinclair, who
had evilly sneaked past us. As we followed
Gord Downie to the bus, I turned to Peter
and noted that 'We're following God and
no one else cares. You can't do this in Canada, he'd be mauled.' Getting that fifth signature on the jersey was better than when
we found out that the Internet had porn.
Then, when I got back to Vancouver, I
hear the radio raving about how 'awesome'
it will be to see the Hip in the Pacific Coliseum with only 14,000 other people, no
bar, and non-festival seating at twice the
price. Ha ha.
But I digress to a far more entertaining
and jealousy-causing side story...back to
more of the questionable taste comments
about San Fran: All the white people seem
to live in the subway. I couldn't find any
above ground. Whatever their race, sexual
orientation or shoe size, everybody seemed
very interesting with a neat life story to tell.
It might have something to do with the fact
that there's a liquor store on every corner
in the city.
The UC Berkley campus is very freaky. The
Life Sciences building is about half the size
of the entire UBC campus. The Biology
library has a full sized T-Rex skeleton in
the foyer. The Biology huts bear a closer
resemblance to small castles than to the
decrepit Unibomber cabins of UBC Biology. [The first reader to identify which
department I was looking at wins the once
in a lifetime chance to get rolled up in a
carpet and thrown off a bridge] You can
afford these kinds of luxuries when you
charge undergraduates $30,000 a year in
tuition.
There is one, count it, one, bar on campus.
And even this one bar is a bastard child of
a Starbucks and a bad American bar. The
campus reminded me of UBC with the
trees, the rain, the squirrels, and the copious amounts of yelling arts students.
I weathered my Berkley interviews rather
well despite my haggard appearance due to
the unbelievable rain (and the subsequent
accusations by a Prof, that I had brought it
with me from Vancouver). I was able to get
the interest at least one Prof., and accidentally insulted another when I called his faction of research 'kind of useless'. You think
I would have prevented that from the two
weeks of research. You'd think that, but my
stupidity never ceases to amaze me.
I then came home to a hellacious week
where I had to balance application forms
and course reading with getting drunk on a
nightly basis. And I've got to do them all by
Sunday, 'cuz it's from heaven to hell as I
make another great mistake in my life and
return to the Bering Sea to work once
more. It's all payback, baby.
All payback.
THE WHISTLER ~K RETREAT PROJECT
1 wo weeks. a»o a uinupot science council mciiibeis riUapneaicri into the wild wouils ol Wliisilci Thev ueie rievei tound alive afiain A wtck Intel, incseima^e* \u-ie tiiunii
A
The majority of Si lence Council sits (or stands),
huddled close together in this shut
„ This Is till1 last known picture of this entire
*i irrnup before the mvsierious disappearam rs
began to thin their ranks
This pholoirraph otters up manv mysteries
- what arr thev all staring at with such intrnMtv"
VLhy is (he Phannarolu!fv department
representative dressed in a fireman s outfit''
1 And who was the mysterious photographer who
¥ took these pictures'
i;
1! Iniortunatelv. we will never know the true tate
ot these poor, benighted souls, these
photographs are all we have tu remember them
b>
rZ
In on" or lie few
arts 0 samt.v
displa<cdnirlmi
this ihMicu t lime,
one ol the lounul
memb-Ts aojcar<
tu h;.'.' ckeniip
arms ,oj rx,bl> t
protei- lerM-lt
Drill.' !..■   us'
mav Di   h"-i wci
darki" meshes
HUOl'  '(
This series 01 pictures shows the Socieiv s Internal Vice
President weildini! some sort of whip sadlv trom her
posture, it is plainl) evident that she surelv lai ked the
experiem e to hate used it with anv level ot
effectiveness
Here a picture ot Keri Reka ai'.i
Sherrv In some sort ol 1 nntereni 1
From their close positioning in -1
seem to be uiironuuuslv dispU- i..l
some level ot tear or an\iet>
Note the looming future 111 the inv.er
lell foreground could this be i 1
source ut much ut their emu -mi.
This particular rare series of     1
photos had tn be correi led tor
brightness and intensity so bad
was the quahl> ol the unmnal
shots It s as it ihe photographer
had pami ked or otherwise lost
his nerve when taking ihese
pictures
Ihe tirst set shows ihe *>ocieiv s
Duet tor ot Fmam e. possiblv m
his linal moments Note the look
ot abject tenor on his tace
The second is that ot the
(omputer Sriem e department
representative His expression*
speaks eloquent volumes on the
nature ol true hoi ror
As the end drew near, it appears that
the members of the society sank ever
deeper into depravity and sordid acts of
wanton carnality.
This blurry photograph shows two of
the councillors revelling in their base
natures.

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