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The 432 Oct 18, 1993

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 u     What?      »
432 Editor R. G.
"D-Day" McCuaig
No4» 18 Oct'93
WOMENSPEAK
DECIPHERED!
Tragic loss of life not for nought! Uh, not for nothing. Um, for something," Says Researcher.
 Washington Irving
Not Irving Washington
New York—Countless generations of male confusion, suffering, embarassment and frustni-
tion came to an end this afternoon as Dr. Runnig Skeard
revealed the findings of his lfi
years of research at a teleconference broadcast from his top-
secret hideout at #4-320 Target
Circle, Groundzero, AZ 90432.
(or, 32°42'25.9"N,
99°49'32.3"W for a 40 kiloton
or greater yield).
"Nevermore will malekind
bear the confusion of trying to
decipher those vague hints and
codewords. Let unhindered
communication between the
sexes commence!"
Skeard explains the evems
which set him about his unusual
pursuit: "I knew I was on to
something while dating in my
freshman year at Harvard. The
girls said I was 'understanding'
and a really very nice guy', yet I
never made any progress...never
got a second date. Clearly, this
was a conspiracy."
Miss Rosetta Stone, instrumental in the compilation of
the world's first 'Womenspcak-
English Dictionary', and only
unshackled from her typewriter
early this morning, denies
Skeard's interpretation of his
own freshman year: "We diidn't
date him because he looks like a
cross between Ed Koch and a
rock cod."
Skeard's unorthodox methods
were extremely questionable and
never approved by an ethics
committee, as they employed a
controversial technique sometimes referred to as 'unlawful
confinement.'.
"The scientific community is
of two minds about this. The
information is vital, but can we
use it knowing how it was
obtained?" asks UBC President
David Strangway. "Frankly, I'm
packin' and heading for Whon-
nock 'til this whole thing blows
over."
Translations are provided for
"visitor from out of town,"
"headache," "fresh," "cute", and
that annoying little gesture
involving a pinkie finger. There
are also an astonishingly large
number possible meanings for
the answer to "What's wrong?"
According to Skeard, in this
context "Nothing," has dozens
of interpretations, none of
which actually correspond to
the commonly accepted male
definition of "complete and
utter lack of something amiss".
The book not only provides
translations, but reveals many
facts long suspected—but never
proven— that: Skeard uncovered
in the midst of his research:
• that women actually have
everything men ever ask them
for right in that portable department store called a purse, but
they couldn't really see any reason to lend it out.
• that a typical daily calorie
input is is in fact supplemented
by up to 30% with foodstuffs
hunted and gathered from the
plates of males (as per: "I won't
order anything; I'll just have a
bite of yours.").
• football was actually invented by women to get a little time
to themselves as men remain
glued in a hypnotic, drooling
state to the boob-tube.
• most women's washrooms
are actually cleverly-disguised
bistros, with Chippendale waiters and a blindfolded string
quartet in the corner. This
explains the mass migrations.
Skeard describes the repercussions of his amazing discoveries.
"All the indications are that we
have cracked the code for good.
On the flip side this seems to
suggest that since discovery
took...oh, about six thousand
years that just maybe they really
are the more intelligent of the
sexes."
Skeard must find refuge
quickly, as many members of a
violent splinter group of the
Womenspeak Congress have
called for his...um... head on a
skewer. They are also urging a
temporary switch to Esperanto
while their own euphemism
researchers work around the
clock to drop the curtain of
secrecy once more.
Old comrade and fellow writer Salman Rushdie has refused
to provide shelter for the
Skeard, "I'd be safer if I moved
to Mecca and gave the Ayatollah
a swift smack upside the head
with my latest book," claims the
reclusive writer. "I wish him
luck. He's gonna need it!"
Man trapped by
boulder cuts of
IciioireeMmsdf
? <.**-    —  —
t»W&8 • ?i»«» fat \*ffx&» '* <■'
^Vr Sir *A" tr^ «5»*m m kmi
sfcr m &<> «r<«»« »j»a*. fc^ptts* «>>•
tx.-r.sv;«■*'■*«»'■>" WW to-- iii^wJir-Ax
Now, why would this guy go fishing after
hacking off his own limb? I think I'd consider
Emerg a lovely place to be at that point...
"Thaaat's it! C'mon...just a little closer..." Editorial
Ryan
McCUAIG
I have decided that, as the
publishing magnate that I
am, I have a duty to the citizens of this country to form
my very own political party.
Everyone else has done it, and
I apologize for being so lax in
leaving it this close to the election.
I mean, Mel Hurtig (of
Canadian Encyclopedia fame)
has the National Party, and
Brian Salmi (of, um, Terminal
City fame) has the Gnu
Rhinoceros Party.
So, I am, as of last Thursday
morning, Chief of the Toga
Party of Canada.
Why do I want to be Prime
Minister? Well, a dream that
I've had since childhood
(which can be taken as either
the early eighties or last Tuesday, depending on your criteria) is to one day sit in the
House of Commons in a Puff
the Magic Dragon suit.
For as long as I've actually
noticed politics, we haven't
had any really flamboyant
Prime Ministers. I grow a little
misty-eyed when I think back
on Trudeau's old trademark
"sit-'n-spin" gesture. Now there
was a Prime Minister. Okay,
maybe he didn't do much for
Western Canada, and his final
days in office can be summed
up with the word "Oink!", but
man! He never hesitated to tell
ya exactly where to go and
how you could entertain yourself on the way there.
But let's get back to me and
my fledgling party.
I guess I need some campaign promises that I'll later
pretend I never made. Okay,
now everybody listen closely:
blah blah blah jobs, ummm-
mm, blah blah free the weed
blah blah senate boat races
blah, ummmmm, blah blah
1994 a statutory holiday blah
blah and I hope all Canadians
will share in this vision, which
will result in a brighter and
more prosperous future for us
all. Thank you all!
I should also introduce you
all to the other candidates running under the Toga banner:
Vancouver Centre—Steve!
Coleman
Vancouver Quadra—Well,
me, of course.
Burnaby-Kingsway—
Markus Ragnar Honig
Fraser Valley West—Leona
Adams
Mission-Coquitlam—Jason
"Walkin' on Sunshine"
Holmes
Comox-Alberni—John
"What? Be an MP? Oh, okay,
sure..." Hallett
Ontario-Maritimes-
Saskatchewan-Manitoba—Jon
Campbell-Dinkleheimer-
Smith
Now, you may be saying to
yourselves, "Ryan, don't you
need sixty candidates to actually be a party?". This is true.
So, we've decided to run fermented products in 54 other
ridings. (You will note that
election guidelines are exhaustive as far as citizenship qualifications, but do not discriminate on the "animal, vegetable,
mineral" question.) Here's a
small sampling of the rest of
our candidate list:
Baie Comeau—A keg of
warm Moosehead
Vancouver Centre—A 2L
bottle of peach Canada Cooler
Shawinigan—A keg of Old
Peculier
Yukon—A keg of lite beer.
Any lite beer
Calgary North—A keg of
Okey-Dokey
Bouchard's Riding—A
bushel of hops (Kinda the sour
versus the bitter, no?)
So, what I and the rest of
the Toga Party hope to do is to
get some expensive ad space
(/know, a billboard here, a TV
spot there), use it to give a
superficial, meaningless treatment of trendy issues, and win
on looks. It can be done, you
know...
Anyway, I will now take
some questions from people
around the SUS Office:
Q: What would you do as
Prime Minister?
Umm... I'd have to say I'd
earn six figures and finally get
a corner office.
Q: How would you reform
Medicare?
Well, that's a very interesting question, and I'm glad you
asked that. You see, Canadians
currently enjoy one of the best
health-care plans of any
nation, and I think that's very
important. It's also important
that we examine our Medicare
system, and ask ourselves some
hard questions about what we
plan to do about that particular issue.
Q: How would you reform
Medicare?
Didn't you just ask me that?
Q: What would you do
about the deficit?
You know, that's a very
important issue. It's one that I
hope to make the keystone of
my term as Prime Minister. I
think there are four stages that
we have to go through as far as
that goes. First, there's shock.
Like, "Omigod! That's a
fuckin' huuuuge wad of
money!". Then comes denial,
as in "Deficit? What deficit?".
The next stage is bargaining
with it: "Okay, if we buy the
meat dress and cut some welfare, will you go away?" I hope
to move right on to stage 4: a
healthy acceptance of the
problem. That, and if we act as
if we owe that figure in pesos,
well, the problem is reduced
by three orders of magnitude
in one bold stroke.
Q: How do you plan to
handle the problem of federal
versus provincial jurisdiction?
Boat races.
Q: What about Quebec
sovereignty?
When they get a sovereign,
we'll talk.
Q: Now, as regards
NAFTA, do you feel that the
politicosocioeco-philosophical
issues involved can be properly addressed in trilateral negotiations of this magnitude and
importance?
Umm—(I'll take
tails...cool!)—most assuredly.
Q: Would you favour an
increase in luxury taxes such
as the tobacco and—
Don't even say it.
Q: —liquor tax?
(Scene of wholesale carnage
that cannot be adequately represented in print).
Well, that about wraps up
my very first question period.
I'd just like to remind everyone to vote early and vote
often, and remember, I think it
would be really neat to be
Prime Minister (in fact, even
neater than trying to make a
prof spontaneously combust
through force of collective
will), so keep me in mind on
October 25.
Thanks!
Marfan
MVBN
October 24,7:30 pm
Vancouver Orpheum Theatre
For free tickets, come to
SUS (CHEM 160).
Science students only,
while supplies last.
Presented by:
Institute for Science,
Engineering, and Public
Policy
SCIENCE SPORTS REPS 93-94
Director of Sports
SUS Sports Reps
BioSoc
BPP
Chemistry
Geology
Computer Science
Microbiology
Pre-Dent
Pre-Med
Physics
PSA
Delwin Yung (263-0728)
LailaAbulhusn (937-7121)
Michelle Kim (731-2263)
Bill Collins (221-0344)
Jen Rogerson (274-1843)
Colin Duong (872-4627)
Claire Floriet (736-6590)
Richard So (324-1643)
Bryn Coventry (274-2444)
Berne Dong (221-0742)
Nikki Levis (221-0199)
Winifred Chu (321-1689)
Darin Elliott (987-1644, 2-3116)
Liz McMillan (224-6624)
Fill These Rep Positions!
Positoins will be appointed Oct 21.
Pick up form in CHEM 160
3r<d Year
4th Year
Biochem
Computer Sciences
Geography
Moth
Geology
General Sciences
f3a\es
\h^ On Bread, Bad Paint, And Bullets
Volume 7, Ho 4
18 October 1993
Ryan the Tired
Editor
Roger the Absent
Graeme the Loopy
Assistant Editors
Contributors	
Leona Adams, Matt
Brzzr, Morie Chen, Steve
Coleman, Peter
Cronhelm, Jason Holmes,
Graeme Kennedy, Rysm
McCuaig, Blair
MacDonald, Derek K.
Miller, Trevor Presley,,
Sarah Thornton, Laurie
Yee, Delwin Yung, ami
Rog something-or-other.
Gracious Informing of the
Editor as to his roadkiit-like
appearance by	
Sarah Thornton, Laurie Yee,
Tessa Moon, Jesse Burnett
etal
Layout
Graeme Kennedy, Ryan
McCuaig.
Distribution	
Keebler Elves Local 2461
Printing	
College Printers, Vancouver,
B-C
The 432 is produced in die
Science Undergraduate Society
offices, located between Wreck
Beach and Bumaby
somewhere.
Submissions to The 02
should be about 500
words in length, proofread, and extremely silly
in nature. Serious or
sombre material will be
burned for heat and
mocked for decades by
everyone around here.
Graeme
KENNEDY
Some of you who read my
last column would think
that: I live in a weird neighbourhood. You would be right.
Actually, the strangest thing
about the area where I live is
not so much the neighbours or
the occasional late night
guests. Or the fact that the
trash guys refuse to collect our
garbage and haven't for about
three weeks. (All this despite
repeated calls to city hall:
"Lemme talk to Gordie..,").
No, the strangest aspect of
the immediate surround! ngs is
the undeniable fact that the
whole place smells like toast.
I really can't explain it, and I
don't like it. I mean, it's si. nice
smell at first, my taste buds
used to get jumpin' at the
thought of a nice (toasty)
warm slice with melting butter
or jam, or just (that bachelor's
manna) PB slathered on fop,
but now the ambience hsis
really started to make mc: ill.
I've actually spent a great
deal of time trying to locate
the source of this offensive
odor, but I don't seem to be
able to localize it any mc re
accurately than a four block
radius around Zephyr on
Broadway. I figure this auto
dealership is not the source, so
I'm left with a bunch of tiny
heritage houses in that little
'planned' neighbourhood on
West 10th which are so quaint
and cute that they actually
used one in the movie Another
Stakeout.
In fact, these houses are in a
specially-legislated part of
town where the owners have to
adhere to strict bylaws regarding upkeep or they risk expropriation. I lived in one of
these. I don't live there anymore. Apparently I'm not up
to code.
I was wondering why the
city has such strange legislation, and I figure it like this:
the mayor's window faces out
this-a-way and he just has to
have something nice to look at
for a change, lest the fluorescent lighting in his office combined with the view of Rain-
couver start to get him down.
On the other hand, if he is
peeking out this way, I still
only live a few blocks from
him, and in the same direction, so can't he see that my
garbage is just never getting
picked up? Doesn't exactly fit
in with his anally-retentive
beautification plan, does it?
Neither does this toast
smell.
It's probably just as well that
I can't find this twisted bakery.
I tend to get a little impulsive
at times and who knows, I'd
likely just torch the place out
of frustration. This wouldn't
really change anything, and
might even worsen the situation as the neighbourhood
would simply smell like burnt
toast. So, I figure between this
toast farm or whatever it is, the
legislated paintjobbies on those
decrepit little houses (with the
associated evictions) and the
whole shameful garbage situation, I'm just going to have to
take things into my own
hands.
I'm running for mayor.
Seriously! Ooooh, there will
be changes! Nothing goofy like
changing the municipal language to Esperanto or anything—just some serious fun.
My roommate is a pyrotechni-
cian and I think we could get a
lot of amusement from his special talent. Currently, he's
employed by the Canucks to
set off fireworks whenever they
score a goal.
Clearly, he could use another source of income, so I'll just
modify his current job description: as mayor, I would get
him to blow up one of those
kindling-stacks-cum-heritage
houses every time I sign a
bylaw document.
Better yet; every time somebody's garbage gets missed!
Better still, we could blast
their own homes! That'll keep
those 'sanitary engineers' hop-
pin'! They'll be scrounging
around for garbage better'n
raccoons. ("Ooh, look, there's
some lovely filth over 'ere!")
There's-nothing to stand in
my way, except for those few
other contenders, serious and
otherwise. Mostly otherwise.
From what I understand, the
NDP's "new and open government" has eliminated the $300
deposit previously required to
run for mayor in Vancouver,
and this just might attract a
few., .ah... interesting.. .ah... okay
, a few hundred crackpots
from all over the city.
Remember, this is Vancouver: home and haven for
freaks, flakes, morons and
mimes from across the continent. I'll be running against
friends of Brian (Godzilla)
Salmi, founder of the Gnu
Rhinoceros Party. Yes, it'll be
quite the motley crew clambering for that comfy chair on
Cambie.
But, I think I have as good
or better chance as any. I do,
in fact, have a leg up on my
opponents: I'm a Kennedy.
Now, normally, Kennedies
seem to have a 'name association' advantage when running
for public office. On the flip
side, we seem to attract bullets
like Wile E. Coyote's ACME
Super-magnet, and so there is
also an element of risk. (In
fact, the last Kennedy to serve
in Vancouver council was War-
nett Kennedy, an admirable
man, and you can look him up
in Canada's Who's Who if you
really care about that sort of
thing. It seems he made a really big window for the Canada
Pavilion in the World's Fair
somewhere in Europe sometime in the 60s and it was just
too big for the city streets, so
they had to cut it in two to
install it, lest they slice people
or buildings turning corners
with this thing on the back of
a lorry.)
Anyway, it may be time for
a Kennedy to sit in the corner
office, with those picture windows, and a view of detonating
houses.
I'll just have to arrange for
some leaded glass.
The Crossnerd—uh, word
THIS WEEK'S THEME:
Amino Acids
ACROSS
3. CAU.
7.CAG.
12. UUU.
14. GUU.
15. AUG.
DOWN
17. CCU.
19. GAG.
21.GGU
22. ACU
l.AUU.
2. CGU.
4. UGA.
5. UGG.
6. UUG.
8. UAU.
9. UCU. .
10. UGU.
ll.GAU.
13. AGU.
16. CGU.
18.AAG.
*3UU9$ % 'auisoiXr, '8 'aupn-rj '9 'ireqdoidiOL '5 'l^fi}?^035 'f 'auiui&y ■£'aupnajosj ■ \ :unu>Q
"61 <aun0Jcl 'l\ 'sunjotipa^ -ct '3UTTBA 'f\ ^uwrrBjXuaiij "i\ 'auiumnTrj •/ 'MnppstH € •'KW7K A Field Guide to Professorius Calculus
Blair
McD
Well, the inevitable has
happened. The one
course you hate the most is the
one course you have to repeat.
Not surprisingly, considering
my sterling attendance record
last year, I have gained yet
another all-day ride pass for
MATH 101. The only good
thing about the entire sorry
affair is that I can delay the
pain of MATH 221 for a few
more months.
I'm hoping this time
through will be a little bit easier though. Try, try again and
all that. Hopefully, we'll get
the same assignments and
tests, so the my effort will be
limited to correcting my first-
try stuff. Unfortunately, this
will be just as much work, so I
won't be saving any time that I
could spend in more enjoyable
pursuits such as rollerblading
along in the halls of BioSci or
scuba diving the depths of that
enormous puddle that forms
on the roof of Hebb Theatre.
It's a glorious new term, and
thankfully involves a different
prof. This guy seems more to
my liking, 'cause the days I do
attend he doesn't. He's a bit
more mellow—a mere graduate student, trying to teach a
group of math idiots such as
ourselves ("integrally-challenged" for those who prefer).
This leads me to believe that
he'll be a lot more understanding of my frequent absences.
Another bonus of repeating
a course is that you can recycle
all the old excuses you used on
your last prof. Looks like I'll
be attending a number of
funerals for the second time,
too.
So, anyway, with all the
classes he skips to do whatever
it is that math profs do, we get
to see a series of substitute
profs. This is good. This is
the best thing that ever happened to math courses the
world over. What this means is
that we do no work. None at
all. Each prof proves the same
basic rules of integration and
we sit there pretending it's all
new and wonderfully fascinating information. You also get
to explore the entire range of
math profs available for your
listening pleasure.
Professorius calculus antiq-
uitor. Far and away, the dominant subspecies of professorius
calculus. With a stunningly
long lifespan, and distinctive
white head markings, they can
easily be identified from a distance. Other camouflage patterns usually include a brown
suit and scuffed loafers.
Depending on the time of the
year, there may be a red or
green tie. (This colour change
only happens once or twice a
year. Watch carefully for it!)
At close range, they are easily
confused with professorius
philosophicus, but the slow
walking speed always gives the
true professorius calculus
antiquitor away.
There are a number of other
features that will be immediately noticeable to interested
researchers.
For instance, antiquitor has
a deep mating call that sounds
suspiciously like the throat
clearing of homo sapiens.
Careful dissection of the few
antiquitor specimens still available to scientific sources has
shown this sound can not be
associated with the respiratory
system. Careful measurements
Bounced!
   Peter Cronhelm
Columnist
Last weekend, I went with a
friend to see 54-40 for the first
time. Being a big fan, I had
been looking forward to this
show for weeks. The show
started off superbly, the cheap
import bzzr was heavenly and
the evening was shaping up to
be an extraordinary one, until
some hulking brute of a
bouncer grabbed me by the
shoulder and hauled me off
the dance floor.
There must be some sort of
personality disorder that club
owners look for when hiring
bouncers. The majority of
well-adjusted folks would run
in terror from a job which
requires one to engage in
nightly disputes with drunks.
Happy drunks are more or less
innocuous, but then happy
drunks don't need knuckle-
dragging behemoths to
forcibly escort them to the
nearest exit when they have
ingested more liquor than their
brain can comfortably cope
with. It is the—shall we say—
unhappy drunks who routinely
make use of the bouncer's services that would make the job
so unappealing. They couldn't
pay me enough to manhandle
two hundred and fifty pounds
of sweaty, irate redneck out of
a bar before he is ready and
willing to depart.
Which brings me to my
place in this tale of why I was
being unceremoniously ejected
from a certain popular American club, very close to Vancouver.
I didn't do anything to warrant my expedient removal,
honestly. For the first time in
my life I was innocent of any
misdeeds. Really! The hired
muscle must have mistaken me
for one of the renegade stage
divers, who was a foot shorter
than me and wearing a t-shirt
which closely resembled my
leather jacket. That must be it.
Once judgment had been
passed on me it was time to
go, whether I was ready or not.
Now, I have enough self-
respect and dignity to accept
my fate and walk out the front
doors without a helping hand.
However, several others were
dragged kicking and thrashing
to the sidewalk. Some people
just don't know when to accept
the inevitable. Three large
roughnecks versus one small
mosher has a result that is as
certain as the velociraptor pack
from Jurassic Park versus Barney. Eventually they hauled
out the real stage divers. So,
justice was served, even if it
was at the expense of a few
innocent victims. But hey, it
worked fine for Stalin.
However my story doesn't
end here with a neat and fairly
tidy ending. Remember my
companion? Well, he hadn't
been kicked out, so we now
had a problem. He didn't
want to just give up and leave,
but I was permanently relegated to the parking lot. The
only solution was for him to
also get kicked out, at which
point we could both leave, satisfied that the evening wasn't a
total write-off. At least we
would have a good "I got
kicked out of a bar" story to
tell our friends.
With that thought in mind,
my compadre dove back into
the pit in a frenzied attempt to
of the phlegm glands have
proved that antiquitor has a
phlegm percentage not unlike
other species of professorius.
Therefore, the odd noises emanating from calculus antiquitor
at regular intervals must be a
mating call of some kind.
Another unique trait is the
dependence of antiquitor on
chalk. Antiquitor has shown a
remarkable resistance to adaptation, avoiding overhead pens
and in most cases, all pigmented chalks.
Antiquitor seems to have
developed a complex communication method that defies
comprehension even in this
age of computer-aided analysis. Apart from the aforementioned mating sounds and
resistance to change, there also
seems to be an attempt at
communication. Occasionally,
the intent listener can isolate a
number of individual words,
such as integrate and expand,
but for the most part, speech
slips into unintelligible mumbling. This concludes the analysis of professorius calculus
antiquitor.
Professorius calculus nerdi-
cus This is another subspecies
of professorius calculus known
to UBC researchers. Nerdicus
also has distinctive markings,
usually baggy sweaters in the
neutral blue or green colour
range. It has also shown a
remarkable adaptability to its
environment. Examples of
this include the use of overhead screens with multiple
coloured writing implements,
and a specially-developed calculation device. This complex
piece of machinery, emblazoned with words such as
Casio or Hewlett-Packard
shows nerdicus' latent intelligence.
It has always been known
that nerdicus possesses intelligence. Its vocabulary, for
example, is quite extensive, but
like antiquitor, has not been
able to communicate effectively. In nerdicus' case, this is
due to the tendency to deliver
lectures at a rate much higher
than the human ability to
translate pressure waves into
electrical brain impulses. The
use of words not normally
associated with any known
language has hampered
researchers in the development
of a translation program.
Informal Lunch
Meeting
o F
WOMEN IN SCIENCE
THURSDAY, OCTOBER 28, 1993
12:30 PM
(bring your lunch, juice provided)
Family and Nutritional Sciences
Room 50
(please note room change)
"Post-docs in Science at UBC"
This discussion will be of interest to anyone who might be a
post-doc in the future, who is a post-doc now, or who works with
post-docs. We hope to hear your opinions on a variety of issues
relating to this career stage.
Next talk: Thursday, November 25, FNSC 50
Mary Vickers
"Science Communicator of the Year"
get himself forcibly removed.
The only explanation that
comes to mind for his lack of
success is that the bouncers
had expended themselves in
their original expulsion-o-
rama. He tried everything
short of brandishing a sawed-
off shotgun while wearing
pantyhose on his head. The
best response he was able to
elicit out of security was "Mellow out, buddy." So much for
justice. Mars or Bust!   Dik Miller, Tree Hugger
Trevor Presley
Columnist
I've always wanted to be the
first man to set foot on Mars.
It seemed like a pretty
impossible dream, considering
I'm not an astronaut and I
don't have quite enough
money to start my own space
program.
I though my impossible
dream was going to stay that
way, until last weekend. My
friends and I were drinking in
our rez lounge when the topic
of space travel came up. It
seems my buddies were equally
interested in the concept of
space travel, and we began to
brainstorm about ways to
make our dream come true.
After going through about
six beer apiece a "really
bitchin" idea hit us. We quickly made a list of items we
would need, and proceeded to
round them up. After collecting the various items that
would make our voyage possible, we proceeded to the roof
of Salish house.
Our token rocket scientist
calculated that our space vehicle had to have an velocity of
52 000 000 000 m/s. This calculation was based on the fact
that a normal human could
only hold his breath for 60 seconds and Mars was very far
away. In our drunken state, we
could only think of one way to
overcome this obstacle: one
awesome catapult. The first
item we got was a spring alder
tree and then proceeded to nail
one end to the roof and tied
the other end down with
ropes. We then stole a canopy
from the back of a truck and
nailed it to the tied-down end
of the tree.
The idea was to have someone lie in the canopy as we cut
the ropes and send him on his
way to Mars. Once we got our
catapult set up, we had to
select a volunteer. Now, I
know I said I wanted to be the
first on Mars, but at this point
I was sobering up and beginning to realize that our idea
might have a tiny flaw or two,,
Luckily, everybody else was
still roaring drunk, and my
good friend Jeff quickly volunteered. Just as we were about
to send Jeff on his way into
history, we realized two things;:
it's cold out in space, and
there's not very much oxygen
up there. Again, we brain-
stormed and came up with the
appropriate equipment, which
consisted of a big winter jacket
and an almost empty fishbowl
(well, hey, it worked for
Tintin...). After Jeff donned
these items, we said a little
prayer, closed our eyes and cut
the rope.
After the screaming had
grown faint in the distance, we
opened our eyes and Jeff was
nowhere to be seen. We starting cheering and screaming in
celebration of having sent the
first man to Mars. We talked
about what we'd do with all
the NASA funding, and what
we would wear when we were
on the cover of TIME. After
this moment of celebration, we
idly wandered how Jeff would
get back after he landed on
Mars. We figured that Jeff was
a bright boy and he would figure out a way.
It was a great moment in
space exploration, and we w ent
back to our lounge to celebrate. After about twenty minutes of boasting of bragging
about how smart we were, Jeff
walked through the door. He
was covered in mud and there
were big bruises all over his
body, which didn't really seem
consistent with a reentry into
the atmosphere. He didn't look
very happy, either. He then
attempted to choke the living
shit out of me, and almost succeeded until my friends pulled
him off.
Apparently the launch had
been only partially successful.
The problem had been in the
trajectory; while we had all
had our eyes closed, Jeff had
slammed into the fifty foot
clay mound opposite Salish.
We were a little bit dismayed to find out that we
weren't going to be famous
anytime soon, but hey, these
things happen. We managed to
calm Jeff down with a few
beers and by the end of the
night he promised to tear off
only one of my limbs. I guess
the moral to this story is:
Please, don't drink and attempt
high velocity interplanetary
space travel.
MILLER
The scene: A forest near Clayoquot Sound. Our intrepid hero,
Dik Miller, has just fallen out of
a tree. The sounds of approaching logging equipment can be
heard through the undergrowth.
I was still somewhat in shock,
lying on my back on top of
my inflated Dik Miller™ suitcase/emergency life raft/satellite tracking station. Not far
away, I could hear the growling and snapping of branches
that announced the imminent
arrival of large, yellow
machines bent on turning the
surrounding forest into indistinguishable middle-income
row houses and badly-edited
university newspapers.
"Ow," I said softly.
"Get up!" cried a tree sitter
in the branches from which I
had fallen. "They're moving in.
We have to get them to stop."
"Ow," I repeated.
"Come on!" he yelled again.
"Ow," I grunted.
I was about to say "Ow"
again when a nearby small tree
shook and collapsed, trampled
under the tread of a fume-
belching bulldozer. It squeaked
to a stop, squatting ominously
on a bed of conifer needles.
The hard-hatted operator
looked strangely familiar as he
stepped down from the cab.
Tall, lanky, and bespectacled,
he turned to address a huge
crowd of reporters, who were
even now emerging from
behind the machine like crabs
from under a seaside rock.
Hmm, maybe my similes
are getting a little out of hand,
I thought.
"What you see here," the
iuence.
Power.
Gffeine.
Next 432 deadline:
2 November.
man began in a smarmy
twang, "is a good representation of what we will do to the
national deficit."
What?
"Indeed, we will reduce it as
this forest will be reduced: cut,
cut, cut, until it is totally flat,
in three years. You can bet
your bippy on that."
Then it dawned on me.
"Hey!" came the surprised
call from one of the tree sitters
high above. "That's Preston
Manning!"
Damn, I thought. He got to
say it before I did.
Manning turned to look up.
He still hadn't noticed me
lying nearby, probably because
I hadn't said "Ow" since he
arrived.
"Well, what have we here?"
he wondered, shading his eyes.
The next few moments ran
through my mind in the same
kind of slow motion car accidents, dropped coffee mugs,
and federal all-candidates'
meetings do. I saw a large,
turgid water balloon fly from
the hands of the tree sitter. It
traced a graceful, wonderfully
Newtonian arc from the high
branches of the fir tree, and as
I watched I could calculate
from its trajectory that Preston's head lay firmly in its
path.
He didn't seem to realize
what was happening, and the
word "here?" was still on his
lips as advisers, reporters, and
miscellaneous placard-waving
hangers-on scattered wildly for
cover.
The balloon hit square on
the hard hat, deforming
grotesquely before it exploded,
sending pure, clean, old-
growth-filtered (and very cold)
water in a chaotic wave across
the forest floor.
I was shielded from the blast
by the body of one of the
reporters, who subsequently
landed quite squarely not a
foot away from me in a frantic
(and quite futile) attempt to
escape the splash.
As he lay on the ground, I
introduced myself. "Hi," I
said. "I'm Dik Miller, Private
Eye, and you're standing on
my hand."
This, I knew, could not turn
out well.
"Oh, brilliant, just bloody
brilliant," said the voice of
Peter Garrett, lead singer for
the Australian band Midnight
Oil and Clayoquot protest
supporter, from the receiver.
"But..." said one of the
protesters, talking to him from
the pay phone near the highway.
"I have here today's
Province, which has a picture
of a sopping wet Preston Manning and the headline, 'Presto
Pasted With Projectile!' Do
you really think people are
going to rally to your cause
because of this?!"
"But..."
"I mean, yes, it was a fairly
inane stunt on his part, promoting his election platform
by equating deficit cutting
with tree cutting, but that was
no reason for one of you people to drop a water balloon on
him..."
"But..."
"...though I do admit," Garrett chuckled, "it was pretty
funny."
The protester laughed nervously.
"Nevertheless, you have
managed to get him to change
his main campaign focus from
eliminating the Canadian federal deficit in three years, to
cutting down every square
inch of timber in British
Columbia and then dealing
with the deficit whenever he
gets around to it. Not exactly a
strategically wise move."
Er...
"Anyway, I have a concert in
five minutes, so I have to go
Turtle Wax my head. Bye."
Garrett hung up, leaving the
protester, his friends, and me
standing by the phone.
"Well, he sounded a bit
testy," I said.
"I think the footage of Manning grabbing that chainsaw
and personally cutting down
six trees before his advisers
could stop him may have gotten Peter riled up," suggested
one bystander.
"Well, you can't win them
all," I suggested wanly.
"Shut up," said everyone
else in unison.
Will Dik be able to save the
forests of Clayoquot Sound from
a rampaging Preston Manning?
Tune in next issue to find out.
Or don't. Whatever. Why Be Happy, Anyway? A Minute in SUS
Leona
ADAMS
One thing that's particularly interesting about being
a pessimist is that it also makes
you highly egocentric. Instead
of believing as the rest of the
world apparently does, that
anything which happens is
pure chance, we believe that
things which go wrong are the
direct result of the forces of the
universe conspiring against us.
Well, not all the forces. I don't
think gravity has it in for me
personally. Not so much as it
does for Wile E. Coyote and
other characters who always
seem to get assorted objects
dropped on their heads, at
least.
Pessimism has its perks,
though, as much as it may
seem like a contradiction in
terms. If you have no expectations, then you are easily
impressed by anything good
which happens to you. On the
other hand, if something bad
happens, you fail to be surprised. For example, I am not
even minimally fazed by the
fact that I have three finals in
four days, in spite of the fact
that only four of my courses
have exams. It just leaves me
all the more time to spend at
home watching hockey and
basketball.
As half of North America
has probably forgotten by now,
Michael Jordan retired from
professional basketball a couple of weeks ago. It shouldn't
really surprise you that I'm a
basketball fanatic, because it
has been observed by a certain
nameless classmate that girls in
Science are less feminine than
girls in Arts. Since my gut
reaction was less than feminine, and more specifically,
involved intimate contact
between my foot and a sensitive area of his body, I asked
him to expand upon this concept. Not content with his
current tracheal foot massage,
he explained that we (Science
girls) are less concerned with
our appearance or how others
perceive us.
The statement itself is fairly
accurate.
I mean, when the success of
a whole month of work is
dependent upon whether or
not something is inserted,
pulled out, decanted, vortexed,
measured, centrifuged, injected or filtered at exactly the
right moment, the concept
that your hair may not have
quite as much bounce as usual
just doesn't cross your mind all
that often.
However, there is that problem of connotation. Remember if-then statements? IF girls
in Science are less feminine
because they don't care about
their appearance, THEN an
aspect of femininity must be
caring about one's appearance.
Eventually, an agreement was
reached before anyone was
accidentally maimed. That
would have been a pity.
***
I had my cousin over for the
weekend so that I could extol
to her (on her?) the virtues of
living in residence. It's always
nice having her over in spite of
the fact that she is a stunningly
beautiful 17-year-old model
whom acquaintances of mine
have been known to hit on.
But I'm not upset. I wouldn't
even be upset if the guy I was
madly in love with asked her
out. Of course, that would
never happen. Of course not..
But seriously, it was a good
excuse for avoiding the lab for
the weekend, so she can't be all
bad.
One of my friends even
showed her how to make Wax
Fingers. This is apparently
some sort of primitive rite of
passage which involves sticking
your hand in a pot of hot wax
and letting it harden on your
fingers. I asked my friend why
he insisted upon torturing my
poor cousin. His only reply
was "It's Wax Fingers!" I think
it has some sort of hallucinatory effect.
Not that I'm one to talk
about mental coherence anyway. A friend of mine asked
me recently if I had worked
out a problem I allegedly had
with a mutual friend at the
end of April. Unfortunately, I
don't seem to remember
whether or not the problem
was resolved or what the problem was. Heck, I'm having
trouble remembering the
mutual friend. Maybe I
should ditch those aluminum
pots.
Stupidity seems to be going
around. After a second inmate
escaped from a minimum-
security prison in Burnaby, an
inquiry was ordered. Apparently the escape of a man who,
while on leave, managed to
add a sexual assault to his list
of offences, just didn't cut it.
They needed that second guy
to clue into the fact that the
picket fence wasn't quite the
security feature they needed.
Oh well, this is how we separate the brains from the duds.
why? 'Cuz Everyone
Loves a Toga Party
T°&
_a Party
oi Canada
October 14, 1993
CALL TO ORDER: 1:35pm
APPROVAL OF MINUTES:
The SUS Council Minutes dated October 7, 1993.
UNFINISHED BUSINESS: none
NEW BUSINESS:
1. Moved Terence Fan, Seconded Tracy MacKinnon
"That council appoint Keith Banerjee as PRO." ...carried
2. Moved Laurie Yee, Seconded Delwin Yung,
"That council accept the Year and Department Election Results as presented:
First Year Rep Election Results:
Jesse Burnett 41 votes
Anna-Bella Carvalho 34 votes
Dianna Kyles 15 votes
Tessa Moon 51 votes
BYACCLAIMATION:
Second Year Rep: Connie Luk, Tracy MacKinnon, Maggie Yuen
Third Year Reps: Anna-Maria Carvalho, Roderick Ofroneo
Fourth Year Reps: Leona Adams, Andrea Buker
Department Reps:
Geophys-Astro: Kevin Douglas
Oceanography: Sean Galway
Physics: Jessica Douglas
Psychology: Amy Siegenthaler."
Biology: Blair McDonald
Microbiology: Mitra Mehin
Pharmacology: Terence Fan
Physiology: Robert Pauly
...carried
3. Moved Tim Lam, Seconded Kevin Douglas,
"That council open nominations for:
3rd Year Rep( 1) Biochemistry
General Science Mathematics
4th Year Rep(l) Chemistry
Geography
Computer Science Geology."
...carried
4. Moved Delwin Yung, Seconded Farheen Rawji,
"That council appoint Terence Lai as Sales Bookkeeper."
...carried
5. Moved Laurie Yee, Seconded Colin Duong,
"That council appoint Adrian Azin, Anna-Bella Carvalho, Wendy
Chui, Dianna Kyles and Elaine She to the FYC."
...carried
6. Moved Farheen Rawji, Seconded Keith Banerjee
"That council appoint Graeme Kennedy as Archivist."  ...carried
DISCUSSION:
1. Physiology 301 Exam Sales (by BPP)
An anonymous group sold incomplete and inaccurate PHYL 301 past
exam packets for $7 each in PHYL 301 class on Oct. 13th. The group
was not associated with the BPP. If anyone has any information on
this matter, please contact David Loewen.
OTHER BUSINESS:
1. Moved Terence Fan, Seconded Blair McDonald,
"That council appoint Jesse Burnett, Anna Carvalho, Terence Fan,
Tracy MacKinnon, Blair McDonald, Tessa Moon and Nathan Ng to
Science Week Committee." ...carried
2. Moved Kevin Douglas, Seconded Tim Lam,
"That council appoint Jesse Burnett, Anna Carvalho, Jessica Douglas,
Kevin Douglas, Sean Galway, Connie Luk, Mitra Mehin, Tessa Moon,
Amy Siegenthaler and Maggie Yuen to Social Committee."
...carried
3.Moved Jason Holmes, Seconded Delwin Yung,
'That council appoint Leona Adams, Andrea Buker, Terence Fan,
David Loewen, Tracy MacKinnon and Robert Pauly to Budget Committee." ...carried
4. Moved David Loewen, Seconded Colin Duong,
"That council appoint Jesse Burnett to Sales Committee."
...carried
NOTICE OF MOTIONS:
1. Moved         . Seconded     ____,
"That council appoint as Food Drive Coordinator."
2.Moved__ __, Seconded  ,
"That council appoint  as Academic Committee Coordinator."
3.Moved ^ Seconded ,
"That council accept the resignation of Angela Kay as Sales Manager."
REMINDERS:
1. Wine and Cheese this Friday at 4:32pm in SUS (Chem 160)
2. Hallowe'en Food Drive for Food Bank
3. Poster Party Oct. 21st at 6:00pm at SUS (Chem 160)
4. All club budgets are due Oct. 24th.
ADJOURNMENT: 2:22pm The Drawers of SUS
Sarah's Skivvies
Sarah Thornton
The SUS elections went
OK, Oct 6-8. There were
some minor irregularities that
caused the PRO By-election to
be invalidated, but the First
Year rep election went fine.
Almost 10% of the frosh voted
— relatively good turn out. So
PRO was appointed in council
on Thursday, as our constitution dictates. The problem,
well...
butl
whereas
There... does that clear things
up?
We now have our new
Council. There are still a few
department rep positions available, so see the ad elsewhere
for info. Last Friday, we had a
great Wine and Cheese for all
the incoming and outgoing
council members. Department
heads and people from the
Dean's office showed up, and
we all had fun. See what you
miss by not getting involved?
Remember last issue...
remember how I said ISEPP
had given us tickets for the
Cousteau lecture, but probably
wouldn't for the rest? Well,
thanks to the pleading Jason
and I did, we have got tickets
for the Morrison lecture on the
24th. Joy!
Here's the schedule:
Oct 24 Dr. Philip Morrison
Nov 14 Howard Rheingold
Dec 1    Dr. Stephen J. Gould
Feb 2    Dr. Linda Scheie
Apr 17 Dr. Donald Johanson
May 11 Dr. Frank Tipler
I think it's really great that
we finally have something science related for you guys. So
Dr. Morrison, of MIT, will be
talking about dark matter.
While the first lecture
appealed more to the marine
biology types out there, this
one should really turn the
crank of you physicists.
Switching topics entirely, we
are in need of a Sales Manager
(again). Angela Kay has
resigned, and so we desperately
need someone. This is the one
SUS position that actually has
monetary compensation.
There is a commission of up to
5% of all sales merchandise
sold. We're begging. Really.
AMS Brielfs
Steve Coleman
£t Teh bin ein Guinness
JLtester. "
Nothing's happening in thu:
AMS this week. Dull de dull
dull dull.
We gave some of your student fees to the United Way
(no relation to David). The
annual argument on whether
or not it is appropriate to give:
student's fees to charity was
raised, but we gave it anyway.
The United Way now has
$1000 of AMS money, out o'
your $39.50.
This does not mean you are
off the hook for those button!;.
Two dollars apiece, get 'em in
SUS.
For all those concerned
about where your student fees
go, Dean Leung (Finance guy)
presented Council with the
financial statement for the
AMS. Any questions, go see
him or Mayleen Ahoy
(Finance guy wannabe). On
second thought, just go see
them and pester them even if
you don't have any questions
'cause... hey, they're auditing
us, why shouldn't we audit
them?
SAC did a very nice thing
recently. They constituted the
UBC Ultimate Disc Club. (I
would say Frisbee, but the
term Frisbee is not a pan of
the Ultimate lingo. Use the
term disc, plastic, pizza, pie,
etc. but not Frisbee.) The clufci
fee is cheap, the sport is co-ed
and simple to learn, so join
up. No, k is not Frisbee-foot-
ball, this is a non-contact
sport. I know this club has
nothing to do with SUS but I
play it, so the more exposure
the better.
Congratulations to our new
PRO. Keith Banerjee is the
second person to be Public
Relations Officer in only the
first term of the position's existence. The job involves sitting
on AMS Council, and coordinating our student employment board, Red Cross Blood
Drive, Food Drive, and—wait
for it—all other charity events.
This means someone new gets
to handle those %!*$@ United
(not Dave) Way buttons.
Two dollars apiece, get 'em
in SUS or we hunt down your
family.
We will hunt down the clerk
that processed your parents'
marriage licence.
We will—(Mmpthl Leggo!)
Ballot Boxers
Laurie Yee
Here I am again with news
of your new reps on SUS
council. This election, that
started out so many weeks ago
like a spring stroll through the
woods has finally come to a
resounding... um... well,
something.
All you first-year voters out
there (we had 103 come out),
thanks a lot and your new
first-year reps are... (drum roll
please) Jesse Burnett and Tessa
Moon. By the way, to whoever
that was who was unfortunate
enough to congratulate Tessa
while she was still in the throes
of ecstasy, I hope your ribs heal
before exams.
To all those that actually
voted for a new PRO, I'm glad
to announce that Keith Banerjee is now a member of AMS
council.
As for me, with all this election stuff no longer turning
me into an absolute basket
case around the office, I can
start looking for a new excuse
to go berserk.
Come out, come out if you
still want to get involved with
SUS, if you're reading this fine
publication (rag), I want you
to get up and ... give your butt
a rest by becoming an active
member of the Science Under-
Social Diseases
Matt Brzzr
In the last issue of The 432 I
was misquoted as saying,
"Mmmmrumplesteelskinwuza-
wesomemmmnodonwannago-
toschoolwannasleepzzzzz." To
set the record straight, I cannot, in fact, recall saying anything resembling the previous
quote, nor do I know what a
rumplesteelskin is or have any
recollection of an Oktoberfest
dance allegedly occurring on
the first day of this month.
Upon research as to my
whereabouts on the day in
question, I came up with some
startling clues.
1) Upon analysis of the cotton fibers of my T-shirt it was
discovered that they were
stained with four different
varieties of draught bzzr.
Upon further analysis it was
discovered that these bzzr types
corresponded exactly with
those allegedly served at the
SUS function.
2) It was reported that a
bottle of Grand Marnier went
missing from the alleged function. I do, in fact, recall waking up on October 2nd with
an empty bottle of the orange
liqueur stuck to the side of my
face. Coincidence?
3) The first thing I remember seeing upon the opening
my eyes on the afternoon of
October 2nd was the ceiling of
the SUB Ballroom, the room
in which the event allegedly
took place.
Although many would say
that these clues act as evidence
confirming my attendance at
the SUS Oktoberfest, I remain
unconvinced. Anyone with
further information concerning my whereabouts on October 1st, 1993 is urged to contact me in CHEM 160.
Hie.
graduate Society.
For my next spiel, I had a
fun day last Friday. Our Wine
and Cheese was great, and
Matt even managed to get me
a liquor license. Smile, smile,
smile.
Oh, by the way, just to be a
little keen (since I don't do so
in class) the results of elections
are:
Tessa Moon
51
Jesse Burnett
41
Anna-Bella Carvalho
34
Dianna Kyles
15
Treasurers Trunks
Jason S Holmes
Does anyone remember
that song "Missionary
Man" by the Eurythmics,
specifically the line "And if I
had a dollar bill for all the
things I've done / there'd be a
mountain of money piled up
to my chin. Hey!" (insert cool
harmonica solo here)? I've
updated it for SUS: "And if we
had a dollar bill for all the
things we've done / we'd still
be in a hole up to our chin.
Hey!" (insert pathetic alpen-
horn solo here). Yes, I'm harping again about the fact that
we still haven't got our money
from der AMS.
However, I have been
assured by the highest authority in the land 0oan Brookes,
AMS Business Office Demi-
Goddess and She-Who-
Knows-All) that student funding should be arriving in the
middle of October. At that
point, we'll only be buried up
to our hips.
On a cheery note, the annual Hello-Goodbye SUS Wine
and Cheese went quite well as
there was only one minor case
of food poisoning involving
some Gorganzola cheese and a
member of the Dean's office.
We managed to have a good
time without getting totally
smashed (all of those who normally attend SUS liquor functions, please ignore the preceding comment), and then we
invited some (gasp!) engineers
to the office to finish off" everything that did hadn't: already
given our original guests
botulism. There's just one fact
that I must clear up for all of
those who know me: I do not
skimp when I am selecting a
bottle of wine! If I did that,
the Dean and the rest of our
company would have been
drinking Chinese cooking
wine, because there's no point
in going half-assed about
choosing a cheap bottle of
booze: if it still has some discernible quality to it, it's too
expensive.
Oh, back to business for a
sec. For all those club presidents and/or treasurers who
are reading this article, a
reminder that all club budgets
are due on the 24TH OF
OCTOBER! Yes, I am aware
that the 24th of October is a
Sunday, so that would logically
mean that they should be submitted on Friday, the 22nd.
However, if you are really late
and desperate, you could drop
it off at my home (I know I
am going to pay for this one)
at the front desk of the Vancouver School of Theology
Iona Building, 6000 Iona
Drive. That's the rather old
stone building right behind
Gage. Make sure MY name
appears on the envelope and
remember to tell me which
club you are. If budgets are
NOT submitted by the 24th
of October, don't say I didn't
warn you, as there will be a cut
in your funding. (Oib'-tted-f ).
I was just reminded of an
interesting point. Men have
this curious propensity to talk
in sound effects. No kidding.
Listen to one of the guys talk
sometime. It's one big Ono-
matopoeia-O-Rama, interspersed by the occasional
(optional) bit of the King's
English: "Yeah, man, I was
cruisin' along BBRRROMM-
MMMM and all of a sudden
RRRRRRRRRCCCH! had to
swerve for this frog goin'
PHTHLUMP PHTHLUMP
PHTHLUMP just about
SPWACK right on the grille.
Pass me a brew GLUG GLUG
GLUG GLUG BUUUUUR-
RRRRRPAaaaaahhhh!"
Really interesting. I think
it's something to do with the Y
chromosome that allows one
to produce the protein needed
to make an intelligible, illustrative sound out of something
that would, in any other situation or context, sound like a
hyena with a serious gastric
problem or three.
Speaking of gastric problems, I guess Hallowe'en's
coming up again. I gotta say
that I'm a little confused about
the logic of the guys that
cooked this one up. I mean, it
originally started out with a
couple of poor sods trying to
figure out a way to get rid of
all the creeps and ghouls that
would scare the bejeezus out of
them and cast bad omens on
them and make off with their
Sears Christmas Wish Books
in the middle of the night on a
perennial basis in the fall. So
what do they do? They try to
scare them away by dressing
up as creepy things!
Faculty of Science Call for Nominations
Teaching Awards
The Faculty Of Science will award three Teaching
Awards for 1993 / 94 to acknowledge outstanding
contributions made in teaching in the Faculty of
Science and to promote a greater appreciation of the
importance of teaching in the Faculty of Science.
Each award carries a cash award of $5,000.
Full-time members of the Faculty of Science
appointed on or before July 1,1993 in any of the
Faculty's departments are eligible to be nominated
for the awards. Nominations may be made by
students, alumni or faculty.
Among the criteria taken into consideration in
making the awards will be ability to motivate
students and stimulate critical thinking, sustained
teaching excellence and development of innovative
approaches to teaching methodology and curricula.
The awards will be mad on recommendation by a
committee of faculty and students appointed by teh
Dean of Science. Members of the committee will
attend nominees' teaching sessions and interview
nominees' students as well as review all supporting
documentation.
Nominations should be made in writing to:
Committee on Teaching
Awards
Dean's Office
Faculty Of Science
The deadline for nominations is Monday, November
8, 1993 for nomnees teaching first term courses and
Monday, February 14, 1994 for nominees teaching
full term and second term courses.
The awards will be announced and presented by the
Dean of Science at Spring Congregation.
Office Of The Dean
Faculty Of Science
Rm 1507 Biological Sciences Building
6270 University Boulevard
Vancouver, BC V6T 1Z4
Rule Number 1: You do not
try to get rid of a ghost by trying to outscare it. Not clever.
I'm sorry, but this seems about
as logical to me as trying to
chase Charles Manson out of
your house with a butter knife.
Actually, I should qualify
that rule: a proven modern
solution to scare off the creepy
dudes is to stand fast before
the ghouls and shout, "LOOK!
ROSEANNE ARNOLD
NAKED!" If they don't flee
screaming, they'll probably at
least look around in abject disbelief, allowing you to reach
for your handy string of garlic
/ silver cross / Weed Eater (for
those pesky hard-to-reach
demons).
So anyhoo, there they are,
these two guys dressed up like
idiots and thoroughly convinced that the ghost of
Whatchamahoozit will now
refrain from showing up and
wreaking all manner of havoc
upon the good little people of
Earth. Having accomplished
that, they probably got bored
and decided to start scaring
everyone else while they had
the stuff on.
Which, of course, brings me
to my latest theory about Hallowe'en. They weren't trying to
scare any heebie-jeebies away
at all. What happened was a
couple of enterprising young
guys who were sick of working
for a living decided to dress up
and scare the rest of the townsfolk out of their wits—and
their food. Picture this scenario:
(knock knock knock)
OLD LADY: Yes?
ENTERPRISING
YOUNG GUYS: BOO!
GRRR! BOOGABOOGA-
BOOGA!
(As you can tell, these guys
were also pretty proficient with
the speaking-in-sound-effects
thing.)
OLD LADY: YIPE! Hey...
waitest thou just a cottonest-
pickinest minute. Thou guys
be not ghosts.
GUYS: Uh... sure we art!
BOO!
OLD LADY: Oh, comest
thou off it... methinks those
sheets art off my clothesline.
Now givest thou 'em back
before I callest the cops.
(uneasy pause)
GUYS: Er... okay... Givest
us thou each a pig giblet for
'em?
OLD LADY: Deal. Now
scrammest thou.
Of course, Hallowe'en's
changed a tad since then, what
with Tootsie Rolls being a
touch more marketable to the
between-2-and-98 crowd than
pig giblets. But I do kinda feel
sorry for those guys who
invented Hallowe'en, though;
they must be rollin' in their
graves. I mean, here's a couple
of crooks workin' their butts
off for a few scraps to eat, and
their art form has now evolved
into kids going out dressed up
as such blood-curdling scum as
Care Bears and Barney The
Testosterone-Deficient
Dinosaur, and coming back
with a haul o' loot big enough
to send their collective pancreas into glucose shock every
night for a month.
Ah, those were the days,
though. I fondly recall the
seemingly endless gorging on
goodies that would take place
at school through most of
November. And anyone who
says Hallowe'en's gotten completely campy and doesn't scare
anyone anymore obviously
never ran into this nifty little
post-Hallow's Eve fright:
KID (with impaled cheek):
"OW! HEELLLP! SOMEONE PUT A NEEDLE IN A
Term One Sports
Rebate application
deadline:
Nov 22nd
No late applications
will be accepted.
PIECE OF MY CANDY!
AAAUUUUUGH!!"
TEACHER (takes a gander
at kid's mouth): No, you just
ate too fast. In your haste, you
tried to choke down your
Remembrance Day poppy."
(Okay, that never happened,
but don't tell me that it
wouldn't have made an incredible story to tell at six years
old. "No fake blood or knives,
no way. You should have seen
it, Mum- Kevin had a real
steak knife stuck in his head!")
Personally, I always thought
that the biggest paradox about
the whole thing was that for all
the effort that I would put into
making my costumes utterly
horrific and depraved, I usually had to wait a while before
I'd get the desired response of
fear and revulsion. Usually
about two months, in fact,
until I'd visit the dentist. I
must have given that poor guy
a couple of big-time
aneurysms over the years.
Eventually, he'd get over it,
and proceed to dig foundations, fill holes and lay bridge-
work in my mouth on a scale
roughly akin to that of, say,
the SkyDome, before sending
me on my way, numb from
the nose down and drooling all
over hell's half acre. And if you
thought the dentist was
scared... you shoulda seen
Mum when she saw the bill.
So there you have it... those
two managed to create a holiday where people get scared
after all. Guess their efforts
weren't wasted.
Happy hauntin'! (Oh... and
if you see those two old guys
lurking around looking for
food on Hallowe'en night...
throw a firecracker at 'em. Bet
they didn't have those back in
the Middle Ages.)
Don't you hate it when
it's four in the morning,
you're on the last page,
and there's this stupid little space that won't take
any of the stuff you have?
I mean, you have to use it
for say, recruitment, or
even just printing something completely gratuitous—
Oo, will you look at
the time! Bye.

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