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The 432 Jan 10, 2000

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 VOLUME THIRTEEN ISSUE SEVEN
10 JANUARY 2000
"Smoking is one of the leading causes of statistics."
-Fletcher Knebel
BC Government Lifts
Smoking Ban in BC Bars
Smokers Across the Province Rejoice, Cough
Vancouver, CP
In a stunning move late Friday, the
NDP cabinet passed legislation that
will cancel the authority of the Workers Compensation Board of Canada in all
British Colombian bars and restaurants.
This latest action is in response to the
recent enactment of WCB policies,
which for a brief time did not allow the
smoking of cigarettes in "public places",
ranging from hospital chemotherapy
wards to local bars.
"It's obvious to everyone that this
smoking ban can do no good for the
common British Colombian," said BC
Premier Dan Miller. "The NDP government must do its best to protect the
interests of working people, and those
interests are not served by the firings of
staff from bars." He went on further to
say that there was no conclusive medical
proof that second-hand smoke was dangerous to workers health, and that the
WCB had 'overstepped' their bounds
with their polices.
Christopher Bruce, spokesman for the
WCB, refutes the Premier's comments.
"Everybody knows that  second-hand
smoke is bad for you, just as everyone
knows that Dan Miller is a nicotine
junkie. Come on, he called twelve smoke
breaks yesterday alone! The WCB acted
to protect the health of the WCB members. If we don't have to pay out any
more lung cancer claims to 20-some-
thing bar servers, so much the better for
us."
The smoking ban, which went into
effect on January 1, 2000, was met with
hostility from bar and pub owners, elation by health care workers, and confusion by smokers everywhere. Many New
Year's revellers lit their first cigarette of
the new year in blatant violation of the
WCB regulations. Throughout the week
when the regulation was in effect, there
was a publicity blaze around a few locations in the Vancouver core that tried
radical ways to skirt the regulations and
still allow their patrons to smoke. Fred's
Tavern gave its servers gas masks to in
order to point out to the WCB the silliness of their regulations. When news of
the NDP legislation came down, the
owner of the pub cheered, then demanded the gas masks back.
"Damn," said William Devay, a 23 year
ftitKD...
old BCIT student and part time staff
member. "Does this mean I can't keep
the mask? I finally got rid of that persistent hacking cough."
Sources close to the premier suggest that
his move was a knee-jerk reaction to
intense pressure from a few select business owners. Victoria, which has been
smoke-free for a year, has had no noticeable reduction in business  from  the
smoking ban. California, which has had
such policies since January 1st, 1998, has
actually seen an increase of 6% in state
bar and restaurant revenue. "Dan Miller
is obviously out of his freaking tree,"
said Leslie Smith, a recent legal emigrant
from Silicon Valley. "It's better this way.
But I've never been partial to inhaling
burning toxins, so you may want to ask
some smoking butt-head their opinion,
too."
Workers in two SUB facilities impacted
by the smoking ban had mixed reactions
when told of the news. Some workers
were glad they no longer had to stand
outside for their nicotine breaks like
every other worker in SUB, but most
were despondent. "We spent four days
over  the break  scrubbing  the place
down! Do you know how much industrial strength Pine Sol it takes to get fifty
years of cigarette smoke off the walls? I
still can't feel my thumbs! All that work
was for nothing? I'm filling a grievance!"
said a worker from the Pit Pub, who
asked not to be identified.
"In the end, if the BC government
wants smoking in the bars, there is not a
thing we can do to stop it," commented
the WCB's Bruce. "All we wanted to do
was clean up BC for the more than 70
percent of citizens who don't smoke. In
Ontario, where the exact same legislation was enacted on the exact same date,
there have been no complaints. The only
difference was that there, no publicity
was generated, which shows another difference between BC and the East.
"We were created by the BC government, the NDP by the way, to improve
working conditions for the unionized
workers. If the NDP thinks that most
BC'ers don't like what we did, I suggest
they pull their head from their collective
leaderless ass, and wait until the next
provincial election. If Miller thinks it's
another four years of 'Miller Time', he
needs to get on the patch."
Yeltsin Eats Former
Heads of KGB, CIA
Moscow, REUTERS
Former Russian President Boris
Yeltsin was arrested by European
Union police on Saturday at his
Moscow residence for the deaths and
subsequent cannibalism of former KGB
head Victor Ivanovich and CIA head Bob
Smith. After interrogation, Yeltsin confessed that he ate Smith and Ivanovich
in an attempt to secure secret Cold War
documents.
After a lengthy investigation, European
police, in conjunction with Scotland
Yard and the FBI, served a search warrant
on Yeltsin's residence. Inside, they discovered several boxes of documents
from the Cold War period, from both
CIA and KGB sources, all covered in
blood. DNA identification matched the
samples to Smith and Ivanovich.
FBI head Guy McFall said that the documents were classified state secrets of
Yeltsin and many USSR bureaucrats. "I
understand why [Yeltsin] didn't want
the secrets to come to light, but there
was no need to eat Smith and Ivanovich.
I worked with Smith; he was one tough
sonufabitch. Even with tenderizer, he
couldn't have gone down easy."
In a statement by the Russian government, acting president Vladmir Putin
denied all involvement. "Former president Yeltsin was acting on his own, and
had no direction from the Russian government. His resignation on New Year's
Eve was in no way linked to this recent
arrest."
American president Bill Clinton
expressed deep regret at the actions of
Yeltsin. "Had he only asked, we would
have helped him get those documents
under control. But by acting out as he
did, he threw away any chance of American assistance. I'll always remember
those state steak dinners we had in
Moscow. What a shame."
Alcohol was determined to not be a
contributing factor. PAGE TWO
THE FOUR THIRTY TWO
10 JANUARY 2000
Volume Thirteen
Issue Seven
10 January 2000
Editor
Bree Baxter
bmonique@interchange.ubc.ca
Assistant Editor
Jay Garcia
jgarcia@interchange.ubc.ca
Printed by
College Printers, Vancouver, BC
Contributors
Bree Baxter
Mike Boestzkes (not)
Jag Dost (not)
Keri Gammon (not)
Jay Garcia
Andy Martin
Jake McKinlay
Kiri Nichol
Trevor Presley
Ajay Puri (not)
Kate Saenko (not)
Mandy Seymour (not)
Sara Stamm
Reka Sztopa
Andrew Tinka
Laura Yang
Legal Information
The 432 is published fortnightly from
the basement of the Chemistry Building. The 432 is the official publication
of the Science Undergraduate Society
and science students in general.
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 from each and
every faculty are encouraged to submit
their material to The 432. Submissions
must meet the strict requirements of
making the editor chuckle at least
thrice , and contain the author's name
and contact information.
All information herein is strictly
informative, and is in no way to be
confused with the information found
therein. All smoking done before this
issue was done in local pubs and bars
in complete violation of the WCB regulations. Next thing you know, they'll
be banning outdoor public consumption of alcohol! What? They already
did that? Never mind.
Special thanks must go out to the Arts
Undergraduate Society and Karen Benson, Owen Chan and Kevin MacDon-
ald for being so very helpful in the
printing of this issue. As you may have
read in the editorial, some bastard
stole the printer in SUS. The AUS graciously allowed us to use theirs, and
gave us helpful tips in how to install a
very nice security system. Thanks,
guys.
Paid My Union Dues
Andrew Tinka
Local 1-888-Shoot-Me
Listen up, I'm only saying this once.
The next time I hear someone say
the word "Y2K" I swear there's going
to be a beatdown. Got it? Good. Now
let us never speak of it again.
Now then, on to my regularly scheduled
column, which, as you can guess from
the title, will be a rational and well-reasoned commentary on the current
labour situation with C.U.P.E. Local 116.
Sweet holy Jesus on a broomstick, could
those Plant Ops wingnuts get any more
stupid? Honestly now, did they actually
sit down and plan this "strike" of theirs,
or was it just a knee-jerk attempt to
prove that they've got dicks as big as the
real unions?
Quick, name the vital duties that Plant
Ops performs. Here's what I can come
up with:
1) Cruise for campus hotties in those
bitchin' green battery powered six-
wheelers.
2) Dig meaningless holes. Stand
around holes. Talk. Fill holes back in.
3) Write parking tickets and tow cars.
Now, if Plant Ops were to stop doing all
those things, would you notice? Would
you care? Well, you would if you drive a
car to school, since you'd no longer be
getting tickets. In fact, if you drive,
you're happy that Plant Ops is on strike.
And that's the heart of the matter:
Going on strike only works if it pisses
people off. That's why airline pilots'
strikes make national news, while Plant
Ops' grievance is going to get bumped to
page 59 of the Province to make room
for the story of Spunker the naughty dog
versus Glen Clark's freshly cleaned
trousers.
But what elevates this little fiasco from
an amusing side note to a case study in
sheer, monumental, sledgehammer-to-
the-head stupidity is the fact that Plant
Ops got the bus drivers to "show their
solidarity" by not crossing the picket
lines. News flash for the Clueless: UBC
students are lazy. One of the very few
things... no, the ONLY thing... that can
get us enraged is to make us do extra
work. And walking into campus from
Blanca is extra work. I mean, c'mon! It's,
like, over a kilometer to walk! And it has
uphill bits! Isn't there, like, something
in the Geneva convention about this?
(In case you haven't noticed, the last few
sentences were written in my "outraged
Arts student" voice. Just driving the
offensiveness home, folks.)
Before they made students/walk into
campus, I'd bet that about half of us
sympathized with Plant Ops. It was an
arbitrary struggle, didn't have much to
do with us, it really came down to who
you disliked more: Campus Cowboys or
Martha Piper. But as soon as Plant Ops
inconvenienced us, all that latent student outrage focused on the Glorified
Janitor Squad. Now, the only person on
campus still supporting the union is that
smelly guy who tries to sell me the
Socialist Vanguard every so often. (Hey,
Comrade. More Showers equals More
Sales. Just a hint.)
If you ask me, UBC's got a golden
opportunity to lose some dead weight
and lighten its financial burden. Just let
the strike drag. I can guarantee that the
worker's need for paychecks will peak
faster than UBC's need for empty
garbage bins. Plus, it would be a great
chance for Martha to earn some respect.
We need less stories about imaginary
childhood friends and more iron-fisted
tyranny. Think about that.
Knowing my luck, of course, by the
time this issue actually goes to print the
entire strike thing will have blown over,
and I'll still be rambling offensively
about this union crap. Well serves me
right for trying to be topical. Next time,
I'm going back to the basics: frat boys,
necrophilia, and why you shouldn't confuse crystal meth with Drano.
Andrew will spend the next few weeks getting run over by buses, cars and Sky trains.
So, in essence, it's just like every other
week, right Andrew?
-ed.
Wow! Brand New Year!
Bree Baxter
fj5^5j|  Too Much Sugar
T
o the bastard who stole my printer:
You suck.
To everyone else, I love you. Welcome
back to the new year of the 432. It's a
bright new year, of light and hope and
fairy-tales. What can this year possibly
have in store for us?
For one thing, rotating strike action.
Mmm, strikes
That's right. In case you missed it, Local
116 was picketing in front of the Bookstore and the Hockey Rink Wednesday
morning. Normally, students wouldn't
have cared much, but there is that pesky
union solidarity. BC Transit (or are we
supposed to call them Coast Mountain
Bus Link now?) wasn't passing picket
lines. That meant some students had to
walk in from Blanca and WlOth. Do I
complain? No, I live on campus. Even if
I didn't, you have to look at it this way:
It wasn't raining, and you need the exercise. Listen to your local radio station
from now on to get the low-down. Can
anyone say BCIT?
A New Semester
I've been to the classes I have this term,
and am as shocked as always at a) the
keeners, b) the cold classrooms (I know
there is no money, but can't you tap
some of the steam on campus? Please?)
and c) the cost of textbooks. We are living in a technological age, can't we
please just pay $20 for the textbook on
CD and not kill three trees? If I can get a
CD burned for next to nothing from a
friend, can't a legitimate firm press 5000
copies of the same thing for less cost
than three hundred and six sheets of full
glossy colour?
UBC Bookstore
Has no one discovered a way around
this greedy monopoly? Back when the
post office still lived within its wallowed
walls, one industrious student smuggled
a packing box inside, packaged and
taped his four hundred dollars of computer science texts, walked into the post
office and mailed the box to himself for
$34.81 by weight. Because once it is in
the Canadian postal system, it is a federal offense to open the box. It's just an
urban legend, they say. But it gave hope
to thousands of students standing in the
line of death. No longer. Damn.
Big Brother
Where is my Big Brother implant? The
Man promised me a microchip, implanted in my head for him to track my
movements by 1997. It's 2000 now and I
still can escape into the wilderness undetected. If big business and government
want to conspire to track my purchases
and movements, they have to be faster
than this.
Y2K
Microsoft and Hotmail had some of the
only reported Y2K glitches last week.
Can anyone say "situational irony?"
Radio in 'da hood
I'm more than a little bit irritated at the
chauvinistic attitudes of Vancouver marketers. XFM 104.9, a radio station that
was once soft rock before the change to
"hard rock", at least according to the
Vancouver Sun (our own font of information and non-partisanship) is aimed
at a "young, mostly male" demographic
who like alternative rock. Are females
suddenly not fans of Live, Blink 182 and
Nickelback (who, by the way, are playing
at Cold Fusion 2000, January 28th!)? Do
we have no opinions or purchasing
power? I'm annoyed. I can't stand sexism in the media. It's one thing to say
that the people who listen the the station are mostly male, but why do they
have to tell me that the owners of the
station want the listening audience to be
mostly male? There is no modern music
for persons of our age demographic that
isn't rock. Backstreet Boys and Brittnay
Spears are not aimed at our demographic. I'll exhale now. Rant off.
The 432
This issue of the 432, blessed as it may
be, has less content than in past issues.
In place of text articles by my writers are
advertisements for various events put on
by Science clubs, information about Science Week, and the return of Rex Morgan. What do you think of this issue? Do
you like the "no content, all eye-candy"
format of this issue? Email me at
bmonique@interchange.ubc.ca with your
comments, ideas and credit card numbers.
Rex Morgann
He's back. UBC's favourite pre-med
keener has returned from the great
beyond with his keeper, Jake McKinlay.
Our man Jake was Down Under for a
year of exchange. We thought he would
never return. He has returned. He has a
beard and a psychotic gleam in his eye,
but the rest of him looks to be the same.
Rex has his very own two page spread,
complete with an article by Jake himself.
Read and enjoy! Rex shall be with us for
the remainder of the year. After that,
only Jake knows...
My New Year's Resolutions
I resolve to stop quoting Nathan Allen
out of context all the time. I resolve to
buy more carrots. I resolve to purchase
my text books before April exams. I
resolve to stop biting my nails. I resolve
to stop drink less coffee. Finally, I resolve
to break each and every one of these revolutions at least twice before February
29th, 2000.
"We cannot afford to
misrepresent our goods.
We are in business to
stay."
-Eaton's Spring and
Summer Catologue,
1901 10 JANUARY 2000
THE FOUR THIRTY TWO
PAGE THREE
Once More Into Y2K or Not 2K?
the Breach...
Kiri Nichol
Meteorologist
Victoria (Reuters)
In a statement to the press yesterday,
Brad Majors, a spokesman with the
Canadian Geological Survey,
expressed concern for the seismic stability of the Point Grey region. "We are
somewhat worried that in the event of a
major earthquake, portions of this area,
including Kitsilano and the campus of
the University of British Columbia, may
shift or sink up to twenty metres. Further
more, our research indicates that the
West Coast experiences a major earthquake every 300 to 350 years and we're
nearly due for another one. In light of
the recent activity in Victoria, we can't
be too careful."
The earthquakes experienced are centered around a subduction zone just off
Vancouver Island where the North
American and Juan de Fucan plates
intersect. Juaft \de Fuca is married to
weather phenom El Nina and now
makes his living appearing in  coffee
commercials. The plates lie on the back
of a constipated tortoise and the resultant straining causes the tremors.
RCMP Constable Avi Harrison was gleeful. "If the quake does strike it'll be the
first time since the FLQ crisis that we'll
be able to kick the bums off Wreck
Beach."
Place Vanier resident Jonathan Hapshat
wasn't taking any chances: "I'm moving
all my beer to my girlfriend's place in
Langley next weekend." His roommate,
Ben Miller, in his fifth year of combined
honours in geophysics and computer science, was reluctant to comment on the
seismograph installed in his closet but
did concede that he had hacked into the
Canadian Geological Survey computers
in order to obtain data for his own early
warning system.
Science One student, Kiri Nichol, was
quick to see the good side of the prophesied quake: "Maybe if there is one
they'll move the X-Files back [to Vancouver]. We can't do much about the
rain, but a few points on the Richter
scale here and there would make the cast
feel more at home."
You need to opt-out of the AMS/GSS Health Plan by Jan.
22nd. Think of all the bzzr you can buy with that $112!
(offer not valid in Quebec or to members of Extreme Spots learns)
This public-service announcment brought to you by the letter K and the number 8
Things To Do
When You're
Bored: IV
Tie little bundles of twigs together and slip them into your roommate's bed. Claim the Blair Witch
dropped by when they were out.
Change the date on your roommate's computer to read January
12th, 1900. Hide all icons under the
trash bin.
Empty a ginfeqjtje, refjjl.it with
water and take it to class. Chug.
Act belligerent when asked to
leave.
Find the jackass who stole my printer.
Call false news tips into the
Ubyssey.
Ticket parked cars.
Lie down.  Don't  move  for  36
hours.
Strike up conversations with squirrels.
Wear a pylon as a hat. Claim it's
to prevent traffic violations.
Smoke pot in the Gallery. If you're
going to break the law, go for broke.
Rod a bank.
Give me all your money
Sit on a crowded Robson sidewalk with a kazoo and a hat. Play
"Sexual Healing" over and over.
Do   someone   else's  biochemisty
homework,  if you know what I
mean.
Stand on the roof of a tall building. Drop a heavy object from the
roof to determine the gravitational pull of Conrad Black's ego.
Name eleven faculties on campus.
Streak each one.
Write to your honey back home,
detailing all about your wild sex
life on campus. Affix excessive
postage and mail to the wrong
address.
Buzz the coffee tower.
Recreate the Battle of Waterloo in
your side salad.
Donate blood.
Sneak into a commencement.
Heckle Martha Piper.
Protest the WTO in your economics
class.
Wash your hair obsessively.
Enter the provincial NDP Leadership race. Pledge to solve the
province's financial troubles with a
swift and decisive kick to Glen
Clark's ass.
When someone in one of your
tutorials asks a really, really dumb
question, ask if that is their final
answer.
Trevor Presley
I
Rides a Hobby Horse
am disappointed that Armageddon has
not paid us a visit at the start of the new
millennium. Instead of rampant terrorism, crazed doomsday cults and massive
 computer crashes, we have the same old
"boring society plugging along, nothing has
really changed, except the date. Now don't get me wrong, I don't wish ill on anyone,
but frankly our society needs a little shake up and Michael Moore and Noam Chomsky just aren't doing their job fast enough. Luckily, I've pinpointed the groups that
are directly responsible for Y2K being about as exciting as a CHEM 316 "The Mysteries of Butter" lecture. Here they are in no particular order:
Fundamental religious groups: I am quite disappointed in all fundamental religious groups worldwide. Okay sure, this millennium only registers on the Christian
calendar; for Muslims, Buddhists and other assorted religions, it's just another day
on which their Christian neighbors consume large amounts of alcohol, thereby
assuring their seat on the Express Bullet-Train to Hell. Still, with the worldwide millennium parties and unprecedented media coverage, this would have been an excellent time for a fringe religious sect to make itself known. I mean, look at what the
Branch Davidian did in Waco, and that was just to celebrate a Tuesday. There was
also that cult in Switzerland that got dressed up in gym clothes and took the new
"Lethal Dose Tylenol" just to celebrate the arrival of a comet. They knew how to take
care of business. It appears that all the surviving cults/fundamentalist groups were
just too lazy or disorganized to make an effective statement to the world. I know if I
was their God, I would be disappointed.
Various terrorist organizations: Following the religious freaks, there has to be mention of the abysmal failure of any terrorist organization to make an effective statement to the world as the millennium arrived. With the recent capture of several
prominent terrorists on the US border, I was hoping to see a flaming Dick Clark running around Times Square after terrorists struck. It's not like the removal of the two
million Americans celebrating in Times Square would be a huge loss to the gene-
pool. I was sure that between the various crazed militias running around the US and
the all the outside Islamic fundamentalist groups declaring a Holy War on America,
we would see some action. But alas, I was disappointed once again. Listen guys, Jihad
means "Holy War" not "Stay in bed all day and put Holy war on tomorrow's to-do
list". Perhaps all the world's terrorists are stuck at bus-station in Idaho asking for
directions to Time Square, "Excuse me, Yankee Imperialist Pig, could you tell me how
to your bacon infested New York city from here?"
Computer Programmers: Thanks to these guys, everything seems be running fine.
That's right, no power outages, no water shortages, and no waffle makers that start
attacking their owners. I don't know about you, but I was planning to do a little looting after the power failed on New Year's day, but alas I just I will have to save my
pennies to buy the last remaining Pokemon figures to complete my collection. I was
also hoping that a US nuclear missile would misfire and slam into the nearest Backstreet Boys or Brittany Spears concert. I'm sure if that had happened; the American
government would have called it an "unfortunate accident". I would have just called
it an "accident".
Happy New Year!
Dumb Assed Easy Contest #4
Winners!
Kathleen D
•War - Napoleon
•Famine - Kate Moss
•Pestilence - Martha
Stewart
•Death - Elvis
Josh Fuller
•White Horse: Antichrist
•Red Horse: War
•Black Horse: Famine
(Pestilence)
•Pale Horse: Death
Kevin Nottle
•Death rides "Binky"
•Famine rides "Larcl Ass"
•Pestilence rides "Pasteur"
War rides "Jesus"
Roop Nanuwa
We asked: List ihe names of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse and their steeds
You said:
Ben Tippett
From the King James version of the Bible
(well, that translation... From the internet
actually)
•Horseman #1: Guy in white robes... The Antichrisi
I guess (???) and he is riding a white horse that talks..
What color was Mr. Ed?
•Horseman #2: Guy on the red horse, which also
talks. This guy is War... what's it good for? Absolutely
nothing!
•Horseman#3: Guy on a black talking horse... Why
don't the horsemen talk? Oh, well... I guess you gott£
trust it from the horse's mouth. Ok. This guy is
Famine, yeah. Evil capitalism. He tells us his price,
but it is pretty steep...
•I lorseman #4: A guy riding a pale horse (What's th*
difference between pale and white? I'm sure the horst
would tell me if I asked...) which also talks... But al:
Pestilence (White Horse) the horses say the same thing. Anyhow, this cat is
•Death (Pale Horse)        DEATH... and I guess he kills people, but doesn't
•Famine (Black Horse)    everyone kill people?
•War (Red Horse)
The steeds were only known To recap, the winners are Kathleen D,
7oZ%^\he°w%ftein JoshFufier,K€VlnNottie,RoopNanuwa;
Horse is called 'integrity'  Amanda Hallman and Ben Tippett!
usUschrisfy ridden     Come into $u$ a*1*1 Bree wiH £ive You
Arrfanda Hallman chocolate! Wheel
•Conquest (white horse)
•War (red horse;
•Famine/Pestilence (black
horse),
•Death (pale horse).
There has also been an
argument made that
Muhammed of Mecca = first
horseman, George
Washington - second
horseman, and Adolf Hitler
= third horseman.
Dumb Assed Contest
#5!    ,  L
The SUS Exec reports (page 7) are, in fact, the contest.
Identify the TV snow by the theme song for every
executive, and win a prize!
Email bmonique@interchange.ubc.cabe\oie January
17th to win.	 PAGE FOUR
THE FOUR THIRTY TWO
10 JANUARY 2000
Rex Morgann Returns to UBC!
Jake McKinlay
s
S
From Down Under
bout half way through the first
semester in 1996, I walked into
lSUS as a plucky, dimwitted little
shit trying to work up the nerve to propose a cartoon idea to the intimidating,
■———---———-«--«-—-—^^—^—^^^— yet not overly muscular, staff of the 432.
Those were the days when I believed the 432 articles. Did you here? "No more beer
gardens!" -Man, I was gullible. After a few times of getting some of the staff to look
at me then getting scared and running away, I showed a rough outline of a Rex Morgann cartoon I had drawn to John Hallett and Jer Thorpe. The adventure had begun.
In the first year I struggled to regain my misplaced artistic skills as Rex saved people
from falling axes, death puddles, and discovered the hardships of love when one's
heart is literally torn from one's chest. The episodes had no direction yet, but characters began to emerge that showed some potential to build an actual plot around.
The love interest Wanda, the ugly kid Ratboy, the violent teaching assistant Kapows-
ki, and the drop out Fred Smith. By the end of first year Rex had Wanda, Ratboy was
definitely strange and all of a sudden a plot showed some skin. Rex Morgann was
sucked through a transdimensional vortex or something to meet a strange being
named Stan in an uncanny realm. Stan revealed some chilling hints of Rex's future
and indeed his doom, but unfortunately
most of it passed over the head of Rex and
confused most of the readers.
In second year, tragedy struck. Our young
doctor-to-be was outdone by the child
prodigy Boogie Trousers. Wanda left Rex
for Boogie. No one could resist association
with the fame of the dashing young toddler as even Rex's Mom disowned her own
son to pretend to be Boogie's Mom. It was
so realistic! People were all sad for Rex. I
saw many a soggy 432 lying around campus that year. Rex could not get the upper
hand. As he struggled to defeat Boogie, he
also became obsessed with why former
tyrant TA Kapowski was being so nice to
him. It ended in a big chase where
Kapowski was lost at sea, only to return
after fighting a big octopus, some badass
American fishermen, some anal probing
aliens then being luckily rescued by a magical school of dolphins. At this time Rex
found out he was part of the Secret Order
of the Dean's List for those who do really
well in school. Rex had no idea he had
such cult privileges. Then at the end of the
year party, Rex was attacked by a killer
cyborg, and Boogie Trousers was slain.
While Kapowski fought off the metallic
beast, Rex, now again the best darn pre-
med ever, hooked up with an Arts student
named May. And who sent this killer
cyborg, you ask (please for convenience
sake)? Well it was Fred Smith, now an Arts
student determined to destroy Rex.
In his third year, Fred Smith ran out of
funds and had to settle for trying to ruin
Rex's reputation. But his plans were meddled with by a new medical vigilante, the
Masked Medic. Who is this strange Med-
hack? The mystery remains unsolved.
Soon Rex and Fred became good buddies as
they had been as children and Fred
planned to rejoin Science or Engineering
and maybe wipe out the Arts faculty on the
side. At the same time, the relationship
between Rex and May was getting sour
though both refused to admit it. Just as
things were starting to come together and
Rex's mission to tear away the masks of the
Masked Medic and TA Kapowski became
clear: the story stopped.
Some will say it was that time of the
month and I got all ornery and stormed off
on a year long quest to harm wildlife. But
all I know is that one day I woke up in Australia, then I spent about a year stumbling
Northeast across some great icy land bridge
trying to find my way home. Then I woke
up on another day with my sleeves tied
behind my back in this white room with
no windows and cushions all over the
walls. Oh I had such a jolly time in there
as the walls were ever so bouncy. I had to
talk to several doctors who seemed to be
excited about me sort of having grips on
reality again. They let me go play outside
for a bit and these thugs threw me into a
limo and sped off with me. They started
going on about copyrights and plagerism
and even threatened to kill me. Then I saw
this extra big black "N" on the floor, just
the kind you could tack on to someone's
last name in a sticky situation. I grabbed it
and beat them over their heads with it
then made my escape. I never did find
out where that hospital was with the
nice white room. I would like to go back
there some day. Anyhoo, I'm back now
and ready to tell this final chapter of Rex
MorganN, Pre-Med Hopeful (about 5 or 6
episodes). Join the adventure now in a
historical episode concerning the directions of Fred Smith, TA Kapowski, and
everyone's favourite prick, Rex Morgann.
Wow. It's been almost a full year since the
last issue of Rex Morgann. Do you have
any idea how long I've despaired of ever
seeing my favourite cartoonist back from
the great beyond? We finally get to see
what is in store for our great Pre-Med hero!
-ed.
People tell me one thing
out the other. I feel as much
like I did yesterday as I did
today. I never liked room temperature. My throat is clos~"
than it set-
likes are among my favourito°
No napkin is sanitary enough
for me. I don't like any of my
loved ones.
-Daniel M. WeariL 10 JANUARY 2000
THE FOUR THIRTY TWO
PAGE FIVE
Deader than Vanilla Ice's Career
The Reaper
In it for the Candy
Death strikes again, and he leaves
very few prisoners. The end of
the year is always a good time to
catch up on one's Dead Pool entries, as
newspapers around the world print huge
lists of yearly deaths and all the old people kick off.
Congratulations to the two people who
have points. Walter Payton died in
November of liver cancer, so Andy Martin has nine points. Curtis Mayfield died
on December 26th, so Kathy Lo has four
points. I am sure I have missed many
dead people who were on your lists, so
please write me at bmonique@inter-
change.ubc.ca to allow me to correct
these oversights.
Other recent deaths: Desmond Llewlyn,
"Q" in the Bond movies, passed away
over the break. Was it only coincidence
that John Cleese was introduced as "R"
in the last Bond film? Or was it a cosmic
plot by the Reaper herself? Unfortunately for you all, no one had Sir Desmond
on their list.
Hopefuls: Pierre Elliott Trudeau was in
the hospital recently with pneumonia.
They say that he is home now, but who
knows how long that will last? Puff
Daddy was recently arrested for weapons
possession, and we predict the chance of
his messy demise in the near future.
Pope Johnny, while frail, still has his
God on his side. Perennial favourite
Boris Yelstin has pulled a fast one and
left the Russian presidency. Is it because
of health problems? Only time will tell.
The Queen Mum has been out of the
news for a few weeks, which only means
no more broken hips. Again, only time
will tell. Closer to home, to the five people who listed members of the SUS executive, Bree Baxter and John Hallett: Give
it up. We won't die. Leave, maybe; fail
out, even more possible. But I can only
say this once: We are not going to die in
time for you to win the prize.
Good bye for now, and please don't fear
the Reaper.
Science
Week
Events
All Week:
•SUB concourse displays
•SUS open house (Chem B160)
Toes. Jan. 25th
•Beyond First Year
-   ^|M|pin, 12-1:30
•Prof's Banquet
SUB212A,2-4pm
•Chem Magic Show
ChemfctJ/ra-liSO
Wed. Jan 26th
•Comp Sci Car Rally
4-6pm (TBA)
•Comp Sci Bzzr Garden
6-1 Opm (TBA)
Thurs. Jan 27th
•Physsoc Paper Airplane Contest
SUB Theatre, 11:30-2:30
•Chem Magic Show
Chem BJ50, 12:30-1:30
•Beyond the B.Sc.
Biology 2000 4:30-6pm
Fri. Jan 28th
•Cold Fusion with Nickelback and
Guests! Tix $8, You must be 19. You
will be ID'd at the door.
SUB Ballroom, 8-12pm
Keep in mind our Trike Races and
our Milk Chugging Contest! All this
information and more to be in the
Science Week Issue of ihe 432,
Jan.24-28
2000
Are you cold?
I mean, really cold?
Science Sales is selling gray
.'sweaters, and navy and teal sweaf-
jshirts. Each and every shirt is embroi-
jdered with the Science logo!
Contact Sameer in Chem B160 (822-
■4235) for more information! PAGE SIX
THE FOUR THIRTY TWO
10 JANUARY 2000
Houston, We Have a Problem
Wty |ay Garcia
Mile High
I'd love to be an astronaut. I'd be a
shoe-in if it wasn't for my lack of
coordination, the inability to properly fit into a space suit, and the sheer terror I experience whenever I get stuck
somewhere really, really high with
uncertain odds of being able to get back
down without being turned into some
form of artistic statement strong in
shades of red and resembling a particularly large and inventive gourmet pizza.
Seen in that light, it's highly doubtful
that NASA or our own homegrown
Canadian Space Agency would take me,
unless there happened to be a need for
short, geeky nearsighted astronauts with
a prediliction for video games and a
rather extensive knowledge of early
eighties hair bands and Saturday morning cartoons. But I digress.
I think that it takes a certain kind of person to take the trip into the other side of
the sky. You know the type; adrenaline
jockeys, the kind of person who ran with
the bulls with a bungie cord attached to
his ankles off a three-hundred foot cliff
in Borneo into a raging sea filled with
liesurely cruising Great Whites. These
people are either Air Force types who
used to test-pilot planes nicknamed
"Hurricane", "Hellfire", or "Goddamned brick with a badly-placed ejec-
tioin-seat lever", or else are ex-cast members of The Real World.
Once these people pass the really intensive screening procedures (which delve
into such esoteric detail as whether or
not the candidate ever did anything
questionable, like take mind-altering
substances, be convicted of any federal
offenses, or be known to have voluntarily enjoyed a televised broadcast of the
Grammies) they get herded into intensive training. They get subjected to the
kinds of forces that usually reduce internal organs into representative 2D art
with the consistency of chunky oatmeal.
They get pushed, prodded, injected,
ejected, thrown out of aircraft, drowned
in big tanks of water, squashed beneath
great big weights and thrown into a centrifugal chamber (where the trial does
not come from the crushing acceleration, or the danger of blacking out, but
rather from the awful flapping contortions that happen to your face, making
you resemble a more fleshy version of
Don Knotts).
Granted, they get to enjoy simulated
weightlessness, and the thought of hovering in the air, apparently free from the
tyrannous shackles of gravity seems like
a good idea, until you realize that such a
condition is reached by getting a large
and cumbersome plane execute a controlled dive. That's enough to set your
stomach in an upset; and I don't imagine
that dodging flying vomitous would be
terribly enjoyable.
Then, once all the training's done, they
take these people and shove them into
bulky spacesuits, strap them into bucket
seats with very limited degrees of freedom, and sit them atop a pile of
mechanical and electronic parts made by
a contracter chosen by the government
based on the lowest value of their bid,
attached to several large tubes filled with
sloshy, highly explosive fluids held at
ludicrously low temperatures. Essentially, the essence of modern space missions
can be described as heading into the
wild blue yonder on top of what is essentially a large, controlled explosion.
Once into space, astronauts experience
a life of weird extremes and humorous
privation due to the direct changes in
their environment - namely, that of
microgravity and constant freefall. Toilets have to have some kind of vacuuming force behind their flush. Beds are vel-
cro'd to the walls. The astronauts have to
keep working out, especially on long-
term missions, otherwise they lose the
calcium in their bones, and their muscles will begin to atrophy. Finally,
because we're creatures that evolved in
gravity, quite a large number of our
organ systems are reliant on having a
constant downwards pull. Without this,
astronauts experience bloating and
puffiness as blood pools in their face and
abdominal areas. Quite a few more experience light forms of motion-induced
nausea (despite their rigorous training),
by being unable to reconcile the difference between what they're seeing and
what their inner ear is telling them.
Then there's the food. While millions of
American tax dollars have gone into creating a more palatable outer-spacial dining experience, it still can't keep the food
from looking like a gooey mass of glutinous gruel - though it beats the original
freeze-dried entrees that accompanied
the Gemini and Apollo astronauts. These
days, shuttle missions are a five-star
romp compared to the spartan accomodations aboard the early capsules (or the
currently ailing Mir station, which is,
curiously, the only extra-planetary home
Science Week 2000
t?
<> \
JV
to such vermin as cockroaches and even
mice, which says something about the
supremacy of the Communist space-
borne infestation programme). Back in
the fifties and sixties, the vast majority
of trajectory or control directions were
made by Ground Control, turning the
astronauts into nothing more than well-
trained space monkeys (Multik, rest in
peace). The rise of the "pilot-as-god"
myth may well have resulted in the shuttle programme, which turned space
exploration into a job done by sattelites
and robot probes, and relegated the role
of humans into glorified local-orbit bus
drivers. However, just because the astro-
jock has a joystick in hand and can guide
the crew into a safe re-entry and choose
to deploy the drag chute to slow down
the flight of the shuttle (whose performance dynamics have been likened to
that of a falling brick), the shuttle programme has gained eminence and has
served as our symbol of space exploration for two decades now.
Fer chrissakes, we once sent men to go
play golf on the goddamn moon! They
were tearing about the craters in a
Philippine-designed Moon Buggy. Gy
God, we had hard men in those days.
These days, all we have is stinkin' mediocrity. Once upon a time there was no
middle ground when you talked about
space exploration. Everything was either
a stellar victory or a crushing disappointment. It was a vocation that created either heroes or villains of those who
braved the long and lonely journey out
of our atmosphere. Names like John
Glenn and Yuri Gagarin resonate with
the ferocity of the Cold War. Then there
were those three immortal astronauts of
Apollo 11: Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin,
and that other guy (Michael Collins; and
what a short stick it was that he drew -
the guy who get shafted and had to fly
around the damn thing while his two
partners soak in the glory as the number
one and two men on the moon).
The men of the earlier missions kept the
faith; they were the warrior-heroes and
the boys at ground control were the
mystic priesthood, preaching the glories
of multiple-orbit trajectories, fuel conservation, payload delivery, and gravitational effects.
These days, though, NASA has dwindled
to a shadow of its former self. I still
blame the shuttle missions, with its glorified near earth orbit taxi-service and
the unfortunate 1986 explosion of the
Challenger, taking with it Christie
McAuliffe - a suburban housewife and
I Vk
teacher and symbol of the common man
in space. After that, Congress gutted
NASA's funding with the same kind of
maniacal glee that Hannibal Lector
might have experienced had he stumbled upon a bunch of blind, hobbled
overweight people.
Still, the return of the small-scale near
and outer planet missions have rekindled some of the old hero and villain
classicism. NASA's servers were brought
to a crashing halt when word went out
that the Mars Pathfinder had survived its
landing and was beaming grainy pictures of the Martian surface as it roved
around its ancient streambed. The Martian Orbiter was another wide-reaching
success, exposing such features as a high-
resolution Olympus Mons, a monstrous
extinct volcano that makes Everest and
K2 look like molehills; or the mysterious
Face (which, to me, continously looks as
if it were surprised that something was
taking its picture — a kind of deer-in-the-
headlights look that only seems to happen when you take candid shots of your
drunken friends at parties). Then again,
both the Mars Polar Orbiter and the
Polar Explorer had their share of problems, both of which I blame on the
reduction of NASA's once mythic nature.
The first was an imperial-to-metric mismatch error, proving once again that
American manifest destiny causes more
fumbled missteps than bold strides in
this age of interconnectivity and fluid
borders. Furthermore, both of these Martian Polar missions suffered somewhat
from their association with the American Military Industrial Complex. God
knows that the Americans are pretty
good at hitting things; case in point, the
Gulf War and recent Balkan conflicts,
though they didn't always hit what they
were aiming at, whatever it was that
they did hit blew up good. Same thing
goes for the Mars Polar Orbiter; trajectory errors turned an orbit into a planetary
dive. With the Polar Explorer, the damn
thing landed where it should have, but
the best guesses that anyone's come up
with are that it hit the ice caps too hard
and buried itself too deep to get a transmission back to Ground Control. Typical
American ballistics obsession.
Hell, if I were a Martian, I'd be goddamn
worried about all these weird objects
falling out of my sky and ruining my real
estate values. I might even go so far as to
lob something back in the direction in
which these things came.
Food for thought. Happy New Years,
and keep watching the skies.
NEXT DEADLINE
Give it to us,Quick!
All articles and cartoons welcome.
Must make the editor laugh at least
THRICE;
Write about anything. Anything but
that Grapefruit.
Squirt.
All contributions must
be submitted by 4:32 PM,
Monday, January 17th.
Email to
BMONIQUE@INTERCHANGE.UBC.CA
>
z
c
>
O
O
O 10 JANUARY 2000
THE FOUR THIRTY TWO
PAGE SEVEN
The Stationary Drawers of SUS
President
Mike Boetzkes
Tust the good ol' boys, Never
I meanin' no harm, Beats all you've
I ever saw, been in trouble with the
raw since the day they was born.
Straight'nin' the curve,  Flat'nin' the
Internal Vice
Reka Sztopa
Hi there Science students and welcome back to school!!!! I hope
that your holidays were wonderful and that you are ready to get back to
another term of school.
So, were you as let down by the "millenium thing" as everyone else that I've
talked to? I have to say I told you so. I
knew it would be nothing special and it
turned out that I was right. It was too
built up to be this "huge event," kind of
like a movie that you've have been told
Sports
Sara Stamm
Hey there again all you excited
sports rep fans!!! Heh, heh, just
kidding, but really, good to see
you all back. By the time you read this
PRO
Kate Saenko
J Tust sit right back-and you'll hear a
j tale, A tale of a fateful trip, That
| started from this tropic port Aboard
is tiny ship.
The mate was a mighty sailing man, The
skipper brave and sure. Five passengers
set sail that day For a three hour tour, a
three hour tour.
The weather started getting rough, The
tiny ship was tossed, If not for the
courage of the fearless crew The Minnow
would be lost, the Minnow would be
lost.
The ship set ground on the shore of this
hills. Someday the moutain might get
'em, but the law never will.
Makin' their way, The only way they
know how, That's just a little bit more
than the law will allow.
Just good ol' boys, Wouldn't change if
they could, Fightin' the system like a
true modern day Robin Hood...
Yee haa!
is amazing and after you see it you're
disappointed. At least it's over, because if
I have to hear "Y2K" one more time I
think I will be sick.
Well, things are looking to be pretty
exciting for the next few months on Science Council. Science week is coming up
in the end of January, and many of our
other committees are up and running.
First Year Committee along with MUGs
had an awesome dance on the last day
of school. There was a really good turn
out and the decorations, lighting and
sound were all amazing. Stay tuned for
many more fun things to come from
FYC. Have a wonderful first month back
at school!
the deadline for term 2 league sports sign
ups is over, but I hope you all did that
already anyways. So, let me know if you
need anything, but otherwise I have
nothing useful to say to you.
Oh, except this: those of you who didn't
pick up your rebates before the holidays
can do that now.
uncharted desert isle With Gilligan, The
Skipper too, The millionaire and his
wife, The movie star, The professor and
Mary Ann, Here on Gilligan's Isle.
So this is the tale of the castways,
They're here for a long, long time,
They'll have to make the best of things,
It's an uphill climb.
The first mate and the Skipper too, Will
do their very best, To make the others
comfortable, In the tropic island nest.
No phone, no lights no motor cars, Not
a single luxury, Like Robinson Crusoe, As
primative as can be.
So join us here each week my friends,
You're sure to get a smile, From seven
stranded castways, Here on Gilligan's
Isle!
Paper M^mm, Contest
Thursday, January 27th
^ Injie SUB Theatre
"       12:30pm
Presented by Physsoc
Lots of cool ori;
I   External VP   |
Mandy Seymour
(Spin it!)
Ooh-ooh-ooh-oohooh ... (Let's
begin it) (Bear 'n grin it!) (Spin
it!)
Oh-ee-yeah (Tale Spin) Oh-ee-yoh (Tale
Spin) Friends for life, through thick and
thin With another tale to spin Oh-ee-
yeah (Tale Spin) Oh-ee-yoh (Tale Spin)
All the trouble we get in With another
tale to spin.
(Spin it!) Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh ... (Spin it
Secretary
Keri Gammon
Dashing and daring, Courageous
and caring, Faithful and friendly,
With stories to share. All through
the forest, They sing out in chorus,
Marching along, As their song fills the
air.
Gummi Bears!! Bouncing here and there
SoCo
Ajay Puri
They call him Flipper, Flipper, faster
than lightning, No-one you see, is
smarter than he, And we know
Flipper, lives in a world full of wonder,
Flying there-under, under the sea!
Finance
Jag Dost
There's a man who leads a life of
danger. To everyone he meets he
stays a stranger. With every move
he makes, Another chance he takes.
Odds are he won't live to see tomorrow.
Secret Agent Man. Secret Agent Man.
They've given you a number. And taken
away your name.
Beware of pretty faces that you find. A
pretty face may hide an evil mind. Ooh
again!) Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh ...
Oh-ee-yeah Oh-ee-yoh Oh-ee-yeah Oh-
ee-yoh Hey! Hey! Hey! Spin it. Let's begin
it
Bear 'n grin it When you're in it You can
win it In a minute When you spin it,
spin it, spin it! So spin it! Tale Spin!
Oh-ee-yeah (Tale Spin) Oh-ee-yoh (Tale
Spin) Friends for life, through thick and
thin With another tale to spin Oh-ee-
yeah (Tale Spin) Oh-ee-yoh (Tale Spin)
All the trouble we get in With another
tale to spin
(Spin it!) Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh ... (Spin it
again!) Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh ...
and everywhere. High adventure that's
beyond compare. They are the Gummi
Bears.
Magic and mystery, Are part of their history, Along with the secret, Of gum-
miberry juice. Their legend is growing,
They take pride in knowing, They'll fight
for what's right, In whatever they do.
Gummi Bears!! Bouncing here and there
and everywhere. High adventure that's
beyond compare. They are the Gummi
Bears. They are the Gummi Bears!!
Everyone loves the king of the sea, Ever
so kind and gentle is he, Tricks he will do
when children appear, And how they
laugh when he's near!
They call him Flipper, Flipper, faster
than lightning, No-one you see, is
smarter than he, And we know Flipper,
lives in a world full of wonder, Flying
there, under, under the sea!
be careful what you say. Or you give
yourself away. Odds are you won't live to
see tomorrow.
Secret Agent Man. Secret Agent Man.
They've given you a number. And taken
away your name.
Swinging on the Riviera one day, Layin'
in a Bombay alley the next. Oh don't let
the wrong word slip. While kissin persuasive lips. Odds are you won't live to
see tomorrow.
Secret Agent Man. Secret Agent Man.
They've given you a number. And taken
away your name.
Science Publication
SUS is venturing into the world of real news, rea
information anareal headlines that are relevant
to today's UBC Science studenf. Tlfai's you.
Our new publication needs writers who want to
share their opinions on the scientific world at UBC.
That's you.
Our first-ever deadline for this brand new
publication is Januan^^|hc2000 by 5:00 pm
If you are interested
a stellar newF
fcmon/c/ue@te^77a
information] lllk
i
"While arf
ithus to prsoduce
ree Baxter at
ore
ays We." PAGE EIGHT
THE FOUR THIRTY TWO
10 JANUARY 2000
MakirT It In America
Andy Martin
Foreign Corespondent
Well, something's not right here.
Some sort of loophole in the
universal logic has allowed me
to land a high-paying, permanent job on
the merits of my still-smoking B.Sc. I,
like so many of my computer-geek
friends before me, have a lucrative job
that will give unto me large riches at an
early age. The only catch with my job is
that I have to live on a boat in the middle of the Bering Sea for without seeing
land for months.
I get the honour (mind that 'u') of being
a 'Fisheries Observer' for the Alaskan
fisheries department. I don't know how
it worked. I had plastered the entire
Lower Mainland with my C.V. for a
month and a half, and got squat. Then,
as I was chopping the 'Publications' section off my resume and putting more
emphasis on my 'people skills', I saw the
tiny ad in the Sun, faxed a full resume
and got an interview the next day. The
interview went smooth and the second
interview right after that. I was hired
immediately and booked a flight up for
the training that started the next week.
Wow. Was there really a job that valued
my B.Sc. skills? Maybe the last 17 years
weren't such a waste after all.
The trip up was interesting. The dingy
prop-plane going down to Seattle didn't
seem to be getting enough speed to take
off from the Vancouver runway. I kindly
asked the stewardess "Shouldn't we be
going a little faster if we're going to take
off?"
"Shut up and get me a screwdriver," she
said, choking on the black fumes coming
from the engine. I got a screwdriver for
her, and she swore at me and threw it
back in my face, spilling it down the
front of my shirt. Those OJ stains don't
come out easy either. Oh well, it was better than the 'hold these wires together or
everyone dies' service I got on the Seat
tle-Anchorage flight. While 1 concentrated on not electrocuting myself, my mind
wandered. Wow. Alaska. It must be such
a perfect place. If even an everyday
schmuck like me could get a high paying
biology job, it must be some sort of hidden Shangri-La for biologists.
I imagined what would happen when I
landed at the airport. I would haul my
gear out of the terminal and, as I lined
up for a taxi, two beautiful blondes
would walk up to me. They would fuss
over me and tell me that they appreciated how handsome, strong, intelligent
and just how damn funny I was and how
they'd like me to live as their mansion as
their personal sexual trainer.
Ha.
As I pulled my duffel bag from the terminal, I was greeted by a 3001b octogenarian cab driver who ushered me into a
city that had about a 80:20 male:female
ratio. What had I done? Where were the
fine quality women I was used to being
surrounded and adored by? Why were
there suddenly only six women in a class
of 22? What happened to all the incentives to actually go to all of those fourth
year biology courses? Come back! I have
money now!
Other than the inhospitable gender
ratio, it's a pretty cool place. But you
know what the funniest thing about
Alaska is? It's the little differences. Example: you can walk into a bar and ask for
their finest dark beer...and it'll suck. I
went to the liquor store the day after
arriving and fell to my knees in overwhelming sorrow as walls of Budweiser,
Coors and Miller Lite mercilessly
wracked senses raised on walls of Shafts-
bury, OK Springs, and Granville Island.
However, some things alcohol related
are done right:
1. Liquor stores aren't controlled by the
government, and most are actually part
of the local Safeway. This means they are
'till 11pm and my Safeway Club Card
works for discounts.
2. Every pub seemed to be a brewpub
with 30-something beers available at
each. Some pubs are open for 24hrs.
3. A local brewery had a free night every
Thursday, 6-8pm. Free Beer, all you
could drink, within stumbling distance
from my place. We Canadians may have
the beer, but the Americans, they have
the system.
Other things neat about Alaska: You can
always enjoy a good sunrise...at 10am.
The sun comes up, it rises for three
hours, then it's straight to three hours of
sunset before the sun sets at 4pm. Fucks
up the internal clock something fierce.
Buses are called 'People Movers', are
completely free and anywhere anybody
might need them. How's that for contrast?
The usual temperature is around -15
degrees centigrade, but they don't call it
'fifteen below'. They have the Imperial
system up there, they wouldn't know
what the fuck a centigrade is. They call it
'ten degrees', making it sound warm.
I had to go through a metal detector to
get to the good cafeteria in the government building. Some of my roommates
had guns. Oh, and it was cold and there
was a foot of snow on the ground. That's
kind of different too.
The training itself was quite an experience. The teacher would best be
described as a younger version of
Brewmeister Smith (ask your more Canadian friends who that is if you don't
know) and he was just as sadistic. 75%
on all tests, or you failed the course and
didn't have a job. Other features of the
class, other than the dismal sex ratio,
included the epitome of the Class Keener race. He stuck his hand up every five
minutes (11 hours of class a day), spoke
in a retarded Southerner drawl (think of
the first 5 minutes of Forrest Gump, but
more so), while asking the worst questions ever. Typical questions were along
the lines of: "So...what have we been
talking about for the last ten minutes?
Could you repeat it for me? How does
this relate to something completely
unrelated?" And he had a weird habit of
turning around from his front row seat
and staring at random people with a perverted grin on his face. Where do these
people come from? And how do you kill
them?
Fish ID labs were crowded, smelly and
gooey. There was an industrial strength
vent sucking the formaldehyde vapours
out of the room. And, all of a sudden,
the few female classmates were wearing
thick, neck-tight sweaters. So the cleavage shots while leaning over to inspect
specimens that I had been treated to for
four years were nowhere to be seen. [I'm
gonna get it for that one.] (Oh, yes he is...
ed.)
The job is called the "most dangerous
job in North America". A safety video got
that point across: a highlight reel of
home videos showing ships sinking in
seconds, ships bursting into flames,
ships flipping over, people being washed
overboard into ice floes and almost certain deaths, and other fun-filled, truly
extreme activities that they never show
on Mountain Dew commercials. I was
going through my usual 'damn this is
cool' feeling when I'm watching a disaster movie. Then I realized that those are
real people...real people that were doing
the exact same thing I'd be doing in
mere days.
Then there's the people I shall be working with. I'm told one of the most popular pubs is famous for once putting a
huge line of cocaine from one end of the
bar to the other. I was told by one former
observer that most of the fishermen I'll
be working with are wanted felons in
other states. Mildly concerned, I brought
it up with my employers, to which they
responded: "Well, probably not 'most' of
them..."
Heh. Either way, I'm gonna be buying a
chastity belt and wearing it backwards.
Ah, the life will be cold, lonely, and
hard. But after all: The middle of
nowhere where's I likes it best. Where it's
wave over wave, sea over bow. I'm as
happy a man as the sea will allow...[continue to hundreds of romanticized Celtic
songs about hard-working, hard-drinking, world-travelling sailors]
Alternative and Integrative
Medical Society
Allan Best, PhD
Senior Scientist, Centre for Clinical Epidemiology & Evaluation, Vancouver
Hospital & Health Sciences Centre
BarbFindlay,RN.BSN
Coordinator of Clinical-Research & Professional Practice, Tzu Chi Institute
for Complementary & Alternative Medicine
Hal Gunn, MD
Centre for Integrated Healing
Christopher Lam, MD/TCM
Association of Complementary Physicians (ACP) of BC
Allison McCutcheon, PhD
President, Canadian Herb Society
Stephen Malthouse, MD/Homeopath
President, Canadian Complementary Medical Association
Debbie Monkman, MLS, BSc
Information Services Librarian, Tzu Chi Institute for CAM
Kevin Nolan, MD, ND
MacDonald Medical Centre, ACP of BC
Anthony Ocana, MD, RDN
Director, Healthsmith Community Medical Clinic
Ashley Riskin
President, Alternative & Integrative Medical Society, University of British
Columbia
Lionel Wilson
Maverick Marketing
If on UBC campus, please fill out the registration form (include cheque)
and return to either AIMS office during office hours (or slide under
door during non-hours) or send to our mailbox via FREE campus mail
(address below). You may also hand deliver to our mailbox - Box 81,
AMS office, top floor of SUB (Student Union Building).
AIMS FIRST-ANNUAL CONFERENCE
Practical Applications of Integrative,
Complementary and Alternative Medicine (IC AM)
DATE: January 22, 2000
LOCATION: UBC's Longhouse, First Nation's House of Learning
Late Registration (after December 31,1999)
STUDENTS/FACULTY OF UNIVERSITY/COLLEGE GENERAL PUBLIC
AIMS members: $20
AIMS members: $41
AIMS non-members: $24
AIMS non-members: $50
COSTS INCLUDE
•conference syllabus
NOTE: AIMS MEMBERSHIPS FEES
•continental breakfast
$5 for students/faculty of university/college
•break refreshments
$10 for general public
•lunch
MORNING SESSION:
Kept fairly general, the goal of this session is to provide students with information that will familiarize
them with different types of Integrative, Complementary and Alternative Medicine (ICAM).
8:00-8:30    Sign-in and registration
8:30-8:45    Welcome & Introduction
8:45-9:30    General Overview of ICAM
9:30-10:15  Trends and Marketplace Perspective
10:15-10:30 Break (refreshments provided)
10:30-11:15 Herbs & Botanical Medicine
11:15-12:00 Nutrition & Supplementation
12:00-12:45 Break (lunch provided)
AFTERNOON SESSION:
The goal of this session is to give students information which will help them understand how conventional
and alternative medicine can be integrated into their future practices.
12:45-1:00 Welcome Back Announcements
1:00-1:45 Latest in ICAM Research
1:45-2:15 Finding Additional Information & Resources
2:15-2:30 Break (refreshments provided)
2:30-4:00 Panel Discussion: How to integrate conventional and alternative medicine
4:00-4:15 Closing Remarks

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