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The 432 Feb 14, 1994

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 Events
Botany Seminar
Andre Arscnault
Old-drouth Temperate
Rain Forests"
February 15
'12:30 pm, UK)I. 2000
•
(jeophys/Astro Seminar
Danny Harvey, U of I
"Ihe Potential Impact of
Methane on Clobal
Wanning"
February 16
Microbiology Seminar
Or. Ursula (loodenoujjh
'Ilie Slitting Type locus of
Some Latin Sounding
Same "
February 18
12:00 pm WIS 15 201
•
I'lanl Science Seminar
Dr. Fee Madwijjer
"(ienetic Engineering of
Disease Resistance in
Potatoes"
February 21
12:.JO pu; M.-U \i />!K1)
•
Botany Seminar
Dr. Janet Mat I all
Plant Water Relations
from Roots to Shoots"
February 22
12:30 pm 15!()l. 2000
*
Physics Seminar
F. Faillefer
"Heavy termion
Superconductors"
February 24
4:00 pm, 11 FAN 201
Ingredients
harvested Irom an old-growth
'stain! somewhere in I'iot 7.',-
,H, Maemillan Hlodci. lots ot'
chemicals yon thought yon
saw ihe last ol' in (hem 230.
liiaiant lies, falsehoods, mis-
Isn't tine hot^waier bottle the greatest
invention of all? It keeps yosi warm in
winter and cold if summer. Bow does it
know?
Probably Geoige Burns,
L
The Newspaper for Science Students
Vol 7, No 9 • 14 February 1994
NEW LAWS
PASSED BY
VICTORIA
"Everyone's completely blown away!"
Washington Irving
Raving Correspondent
IN AN UNEXPECTED Valentine's Day Address, the British
Columbian Legislature passed the following proposals into
law today.
Bill 428: Official establishment of BC as a "No Pacer Zone",
effectively banning the use of A MC Pacers in or within 100 miles
of the border, in fact.
Bill 429: Just say no to vacuum. $50 million program to
actively encourage people to sta nd in a region with air. This
"Vacuum Sucks" campaign may likely be a waste of money.
Bill 430: A $5 levy on the action of pushing the locked door at
a 7-11 and bashing your face and knee into the glass.
Bill 431: All condoms ace now to feature a relief of Harcourt's
head. Aside from the sensation enhancing qualities, the Ministry
Of Health can't come up with a better way to induce voluntary
contraception.
Bill 432: AirCare II. Inspections of COz, Methane, and H2S
emissions from organic sources, in particular people, has now
been sanctioned, and will commence next month.
"The process is pretty straightforward," explains Pfaar Tstopp,
technical advisor for the Province. He describes the method as
one of several stages, identical to the auto testing.
1) Warming up. This stage is basically to ensure complete digestion of the previous afternoon's burrito and plate of nachos.
2) Visual inspection. This is where staff use a mirror to examine
the undercarriage and emission system for damage or tampering. Evidence of custom modifications will automatically fail
the individual.
3) Idle test. Once equipment has been installed, the test is done
while sitting in a big comfy sofa in front of Married With
Children reruns. Special dogs are placed nearby, and any allusion that they may be responsible for emissions is, again, an
automatic fail.
4) Rev test. Subject is placed on a treadmill and asked to maintain a good pace for about five minutes. Emissions are tested
and the results calculated for a variety of greenhouse gases.
5) Sound test.
Pfaar has a few tips for BC's commuters. "Well, Beano works,
but it can cause other effects, sue h as diarrhea. Yum. Uh, I mean,
Yuck. On the other hand, you could just avoid the usual culprits:
Mexican, Italian, Burger King, my wife's pot roast.
But don't try to cheat the test. "We're really thorough," claims
line worker Rancit Slackapple. "Oh, we're prepared for all kinds
of deception: sphincter retention, using your appendix to store
the gases like some kind of bird, tapeworms, sticking a firehose
in your mouth just before the test. We know all the tricks."
Government officials also stated that PST and GST would be
applied to the new service, announced the total cost for each test
at $18.56. Spokespeople for the Organization Against Metal
Coinage objected to this price, pointing out that the proposed
price was going to force British Columbians to carry around an
additional 1.6 kg of change per person in order to meet the government's exact change only policy.
So, there you have it. Can't be a worse time for us citizens to
find out about these new regulations, but there you have it. Ya
can't sue.
Science Olympics
Cord van McOlundsky
Roving Correspondent
IN A SURPRISE PRESS CON-
ference today, the
Canadian Olympic
Committee announced the
appointment of several UBC
students to the Canadian team
travelling to Lillehammer next
week.
Officials made the move in
response to allegations that the
Canadian team's requirement
were too stringent for the typical Canadian athlete.
"We felt that this was the
best way to even the playing
field," said Jason Holbrook,
chair of the committee struck
to deal with the press' allegations. "You see, it's been
alleged that our entrance
requirement were far too high.
Completely untrue. Just
because we only accepted people who had already won at
least a dozen medals doesn't
mean our standards were
excessive."
The committee announced,
in order to rectify the situation, they would also include a
group of athletes acknowledged by everyone to be the
worst in the nation.
"This is definitely the way
to correct the problem. We
take the best and the worst.
That way, when you average
their athletic ability, you'll get
a more acceptable standard.
When asked about the
world-class athletes already
rejected by the stringent procedures, Holbrook replied,
"What! Do you actually
think we could possibly send
them? They went through the
process just like everyone else,
and I certainly won't overrule
the committee's verdict. After
all, a decision is a decision. If
we started waffling, all hell
would break loose. It would be
anarchy!"
AMS President Bill Dobie
had no comment on the effect
of waffling on society.
However Dobie did have the
following to offer.
"Well, UBC students certainly qualify for the Olympic
committee's plan. After all, our
athletes regularly hire bumbling oafs to assault their
opponents. In fact, the
demand has been so high this
last year we're looking into the
feasibility of hiring someone
full-time and offering his services to students at a discount.
We'd only consider experienced applicants, and this way
we'd be assured the beatings
are consistent. There wouldn't
any amateur attempts that
land the student in hospital
please see Lillehammer
on page two
Why Igor... you shouldn't have! Gettin' Desjierate
Exes and Ohs.
SO THE NUN SAYS: 'Fifty
bucks, same as in tow—
'". Oh, hi. You're reading my article now. Um,
lesse. Oh, yes. Really serious
this time. It's Valentine's
Day! Time for Graeme to talk
about Love.
What exactly is Love? I
don't know. Nobody does.
It's all in our heads. Probably
seratonins, actually. No, no
that's not it. Deux Ex
Machina. It's more than just
the aggregation of a few million little chemicals floating
around in that brainbucket
upstairs.
Freud has his theories, but
this is a family paper. Love,
as analyzed by the man who
brought you the Oedipal
complex, and the death
drive...
Jung's are better, I think.
He believed in a universal
unconscious. Within this is
an image of our perfect lover.
Naturally, we will never meet
this person, but he believed
that when we fall in love, we
see this 'anima' or 'animus'
in our mate. This explains
the 'Graeme Method' of
falling in love: wandering
about in the moors, lightning, headache, melted
nylon socks. Time is not usually a factor. This is called
'love at first sight'.
Some Hebrews believed
that souls are made in pairs,
and finding your intended
before you die is like getting
bonus points in a video
game.
Many people don't believe
in love at all. I find this particularly difficult to understand. Hell, I believe in leprechauns. At least that's how
I explain the cesspool I try to
pass off as my room.
Which brings me to the
underlying basis of my
beliefs about relationships.
It's all in the genes. Chemists
out there will love this. Look,
like likes like. Face it. If ya
look like Danny DeVito, you
marry Rhea Perlman. This
isn't very encouraging to
somebody like me who has a
gene pool that even my best
friends agree "should be
drained." This does, however, explain why some people
have love lives like the
weather in India. Monsoon,
drought, monsoon,
drought...
At great expense and risk
of embarrassment, I have
managed to take some of my
own drought experiences
from the past few month—I
mean days, heh-heh, um,
and use them to compile a
little test. Motivation? I guess
this is just some way to redirect my libidinal drive.
Anyhoo, sit yerself down and
partake of Graeme's soon-to-
be-patented 'Haven't Had It
In A While Index'. For each
one that applies, give yourself a point:
KENNEDY
Men:
1) Misread title of 'Luck'
magazine while standing in
line at 7-Eleven.
2) Linger over the muscle
mags in the rack at 7-Eleven.
3) Spend more than 5
minutes at 7-Eleven.
4) Think that Kiki Dee just
might be a woman after all.
5) When asked if you
want to 'play around,' think
the interested party is really
into golf. Decline offer and
say T don't have that kind of
time to just waste on a
game.'
6) Read The Ubyssey. Keep
the copy lying around, hoping to inspire.
7) Start watchin' Charlie's
Angels reruns.
8) Notice that Connie
Chung changed her hairstyle. Consider calling the
network and complimenting.
9) Notice all your condoms are past their expiry
date.
10) This is where you give
yourself a handicap point
just for being male.
Women:
1) Develop a serious relationship with the spin cycle
on the clothes drier.
2) Can't look at the letter
'T' without giggling.
3) Wonder if Erkel has a
fan club.
4) Think that Elton John
just might be a man after all.
5) Won't part with your
adjustable shower head.
6) Read The Ubyssey. Keep
the copy lying around to
remind you it couldn't get
that bad.
7) Start watchin' Magnum
PI reruns at 1 AM while eating ice cream straight out of
the bucket.
8) Notice that Sam
Donaldson has new hairpiece. Consider calling the
network and complimenting.
9) Own more than five
dozen Harlequin romances.
Read 'em all. Don't think
there's anything wrong with
this situation.
10) Can't wait until the
day after Valentine's to get in
on those bargain chocolate
sales.
How many apply to you?
0-3: No problems that a
cold shower couldn't fix.
4-7: You'll live. Probably.
8-9: Call 1—800—
TALK2ME.
10: They have 12-step programs for people like you.
Find one, and stay away
from me.
ALL THE GIGGLING,
cooing and exploring
of uncharted territory
(no names mentioned, of
course) that has been going
on in my general surroundings for the past couple of
weeks must mean one of two
things:
a) something has been
slipped into the water supply that our Brita somehow manages to keep out,
or
b) Valentine's day is
approaching.
This year, I have equipped
myself with the best defense:
a Short Attention Span (SAS).
With my newly acquired toy,
which you can order from
Acme Mind Alterations
("We'll blow your mind!") by
calling 1-800-ONSPEED*,
interests have a half-life of
about 24 hours. Gone are the
days (weeks?) of uncertainty
spent trying to figure out
whether or not someone
likes you, because after two
days of unresponsiveness,
you just don't care anymore.
Is that cool or what?
One thing that led me to
pick up my SAS was a total
unwillingness to lower my
standards of personal conduct to a level which my
friends refer to colloquially as
"flirting". For the love of all
things good and sane, how
did batting eyelashes and
winking become signals of
interest? Who came up with
the idea that facial tics would
be a way of saying "I find
you attractive"? Must have
been someone with facial
tics, I guess.
Twirling hair is often
thrown, and unjustly so, into
the same category.
Apparently two of my classmates have decided that this
habit, to which I have been
clinging for the past ten
years, is my way of trying to
attract attention to my beautiful raven locks. But, as my
friend Tom Cochrane would
say: in real life, I try to tell
them, it's not like that at all.
I forgive them this misjudgement, though, because both
of their imaginations have
shorted out since they started
going out.
I shouldn't leave the subject of my hormone-ridden
friends so quickly. A quick
editing job: I should, but I
won't. Their story is much
too complex and surreal to
be explored here in any
noticeable depth, but a brief
plot summary nonetheless:
boy meets girl, boy likes girl,
girl "unsure of boy" ("He's
nice, but..."), girl weighs
options and decides to give
boy the metaphorical finger
(and then when he wasn't
looking, she did it again),
boy gives up, other girl meets
boy, other girl likes boy,
other girl and boy live happily...(yeah, right. Weren't you
listening? I said this story
s
a
p
ADAMS
was complex!), girl takes
delayed interest in boy, boy
and girl get each other, and
they seem to live happily
ever after. It is primarily due
to the influence of these people that I came upon Adams'
Rules of Order, also known as
"All I ever really need to
know about love I learned
from my friends":
1. Singles, forgive thy "couple friends" for groping in
public, for verily, they are
not trying to make you
uncomfortable on purpose. They are simply
happy, and wish everyone
else to know that they are
happy, so that you share
their joy. All of the time.
Couples, if thy single
friends no longer desire
the joy of your company,
they will have subtle, or
even outright blatant,
ways of letting you know.
Try to have an eye.
2. Forgive thy friends for trying to set thee up with
their other single friends,
for they know not what
they do (score: artistic
impression (ie. intentions): 5.9, technical merit
(ie. methods): 4.2).
3. Thou shalt not covet thy
neighbour's roses, or anything else she gets from
her boyfriend or other
assorted gentlemen, for
verily I say unto thee, we
know neither the day nor
the hour, but someday
your time shall come.
Whoops. My attention
span timer just went off.
Apparently I can't tolerate
writing in Middle English
any longer. Back to the twentieth-century.
4. Being friends with people
who are in the midst of
breaking up, whether in
the context of love or
mere friendship, is not
pretty. Although it has
been compared to being
dropped out of a plane
into the middle of Bosnia-
Herzegovina armed only
with a trusty soggy peanut
butter and liverwurst sandwich, it is more closely
akin to being the child of
parents who are undergoing a messy divorce:
a) Just because they don't
love each other anymore
doesn't mean they love
you any less. No matter
what happens they'll
always be your friends.
b) Their break-up was not
(necessarily) your fault. At
least, not unless you're a
real doorknob, in which
case, they're stupid for
hanging out with you anyway.
5. Nothing is ever as
straightforward as it
seems. Take interracial
relationships, for example.
The concept of going out
with someone, or more
specifically, not going out
with someone, purely
because of their racial
standing was never really
an issue in my mind. This
is probably related, even if
minimally, to the fact that
ever since my umpteenth
French great-grandfathers
introduced their Yogic
swimmers to my
umpteenth African great-
grandmothers, I have had
a mixed heritage (It's a
fact!). Somehow, it never
really occurred to me that
people in general, and
some of my friends in particular, would have an
alternate viewpoint.
Sometimes things just
aren't black and white
(Now don't tell me you
didn't see that one coming).
6. Love is not only blind, it is
also deaf. If it seems that
you have to repeat yourself many times to get
your friends not to do
what you want them to
anyway because they're
too busy performing
exploratory dental surgery
using their tongues, you're
probably right.
* Tell them you already'
know the part about the
kaka.
Lillehammer
from page one
for months. It's only one of
the many interesting proposals our Task Force on
Campus Safety came up
with."
The athletes from UBC
would be offered the opportunity to participate in several demonstration events new
to the Olympics this year.
Students originally from
the Prairies would compete
for honours in the Welli
Whinging Competition.
Officials in Norway refused
to release details of the new
event, but hinted it had
something to do with force,
vectors and frozen organic
wastes.
As for local Vancouverites,
they would participate in a
winter sport unique to the
Lower Mainland.
Unfortunately, officials were
unable to think to any suitable winter events indigenous to the area and were
forced to substitute an event
from the Summer Olympics
to keep the competition
even. Olympic officials
decided on synchronized
umbrella poking, making the
point that it was the only
sport locals practiced every
month of the year. TjTVrg     Always Single.
Volume 7, Number 9
14 February 1994
Ryan McCuaig
Captain of the Guard
Graeme Kennedy
Blair McDonald
Roger Watts
Common Foot Soldiers
Opposing Forces
Leona Adams, Steve
Coleman, John Hallett,
Graeme Kennedy, Ryan
McCuaig, Blair
McDonald, Tessa Moon,
Sarah Thornton, Lynn
van Rhijn, Laurie Yee,
and Watts, Roger Stewart
#7534525
Various Cannon Fodder
Jessica Douglas, Moon
Unit, and an army of
thousands
Layout	
Graeme Kennedy, Ryan
McCuaig, Blair
McDonald
Distribution	
Keebler's Elves Local 34
Printing
College Printers,
Vancouver, BC
Technical Info
Newsprint. 300dpi.
Headlines are Stone Sans
36 pt, body is Stone Serif
9 pt. Layout in Quark
XPress on a Mac Quadra
660av&LC.
The 432 is published
biweekly by the Science
Undergrad Society in its
offices located somewhere in the basement of
the Chemistry Building.
77k 432 wholeheartedly welcomes any submissions. Our fervent
thanks to everyone who
submitted stuff this time.
We'd like about 500
words on something
humourous, satirical or
generally mind-twisting.
Please proofread and submit on disk (IBM or
Mac). Include a hard
copy in case our devil
computer decides your
disk tastes good boiled
and served on a bed of
steaming Japanese rice.
7'ry to be funny, people. Or we might track
you across campus, find
out where you live and
burn your house down
while you're sleeping.
Maybe.
®
mi.
VALENTINE'S DAY.
(shudder). Everyone
raise your hand if
you're spending tonight in
front of the TV, watching the
best that Sweeps Week has to
offer. Or in a Microbiology
midterm.
I've never managed to figure out the true purpose of
Valentine's Day really. I've
always seen it as the day all
the rednecks put aside their
chainsaws, John Deere ball-
caps and gun racks to go out
and buy the obligatory roses
for their spouse/mate/hunting buddy. Valentine's Day
shouldn't have-to special.
We, as representatives of
homo sapiens sensitivus,
should always be considerate
of our loved ones. Roses,
chocolates, walks on the
beach at sunset, unexpected
vacations to the Grand
Caymans: all should come
naturally.
If you've managed to spot
my futile attempt to portray
myself as the ideal boyfriend,
give yourself a couple of
points.
But enough about my
inability to find True Love.
On to more pressing challenges to the evolution of
man. Such as, how to keep
my desk at home clear of all
the garbage I manage to produce even when I'm just sitting at my desk, happily
breathing.
I think my desk is a variation of the Perpetual Motion
Machine. Obviously, some
evil scientists got together
one night and invented the
Perpetual Trash Machine just
for spite. They certainly were
clever, because the junk their
infernal contraption produces looks suspiciously like
the things I normally keep in
my drawers. Paper, of course.
Paper clips... about 1.6 million metric tons of them.
Eraser bits. 132 non-functioning blue Bic pens. Empty
pop cans. A small foreign
automobile made of papier-
mache.
But I can deal with the
ever-increasing piles of
garbage. I cannot, however,
handle it when those piles
mutate into a semi-intelligent lifeform and eat my
entire set of Biology notes.
Paper seems to disappear on
one side, and mysteriously
resurface—usually way on
the other side of campus—in
an identical pile living on
top of the desk at SUS. I'm
trying to discover if I can
market this as a viable alternative to walking to the
Chemistry Building.
Unfortunately, the pile
doesn't seem to be able to
translocate anything larger
than a stuffed bandicoot.
People just seem to disappear. I've managed to lose
three roommates that way,
but I think 1 can manage to
convince Steve it's perfectly
Mcdonald
safe to dive headfirst into
my desk.
I'm pretty sure most of
you don't really care about
my desk. Or that weird life-
form occupying my room. Or
about that gigantic hole in
my heart. (Heart-rending
sigh.) In fact, nearly 5000      >
students are going to read
this statement and react in
one of the following ways:
1) This guy is completely
hopeless.
2) This guy obviously needs
to find a life.
3) This guy needs a psychiatric evaluation.
All of the above are true.
In fact, the psychiatric evaluation was recommended to
me, oh, about five minutes
ago. And yes, I am in the
market for a new life. I'm
looking for one with low
mileage, no rust, and at least
a six month guarantee, so if
you see one let me know.
And until 2) and 3) are dealt
with, number 1) is completely valid.
But a lot of you are in
exactly the same boat...
you've been set adrift and
someone forgot to include
the oars. So here we are, just
drifting along, alone in a
crowded marina. (Another
hsart-rending sigh.)
But on a more upbeat
note, I'd like to point out
that... forget it. I don't have
anything really positive to
sa y right now, considering
the depth of melancholy I've
sunk to. I'm ready to attempt
reaching out to humanity.
I'm looking for help here,
fc Iks. (I hear the comment,
"Finally admitted it, did
you" coming from the general background. Thanks,
Jessica!)
I think I'll use the remaining space to place a classified
ad.
1974 Volkswagen Beetle.
Good condition, brakes sometimes work. Only needs three
14 inch tires plus that fourth
cylinder to make it a great commuter car. Painted gray. No
stereo, since that went missing
sometime last winter. Offers.
Call 822-4235 and ask for
Blair.
Oops, wrong ad.
Well-conditioned healthy
young male. Reasonable condition, sensitivity sometimes
works. Only needs a personal
keeper with a strong will to
make him a great boyfriend.
Painted white. No options.
Offers. Call 822-4235 and ask
for Blair.
Wish me luck. I'm about
to get calls from 96% of the
loonies at UBC.
SCIENCE UBC Jackets
Navy Melton
Navy/White Leather
From $150
(incl. taxesl)
Opbons include
Crest $16
Cadet Collar
Leother Waist/Cuffc/Colbr
Name/Dept Flashes s5
Science Soles
CHEM 160
Nuff Sold
John's Twitching.
HAVE YOU EVER LOST
your keys? Oh,
c'mon, be honest.
Everyone's lost them at some
time or other. I think that
we place far too much
importance upon those little
pieces of pressed metal. And
when we do manage to misplace those tiny magical
wonders that hold the key to
life as we know it, how do
you go about looking for
them?
Is the systematic way—
carefully examining each
and every possible nook and
cranny for their presence—
the best choice? Fat chance.
You, like every other being
in civilized society, rampage
around your place of habitation screaming, louder every
time you don't find them in
the same fold of the couch
that you've managed to
search fifty times already.
I would like to suggest a
more efficient method of key
discovery: scream once
(loud) and then kick the dog.
Why kick the dog? Because
it's invariably dear poochie
who took your keys when
you weren't looking and
buried them in the backyard
along side its favorite bone
collection.
Now I will propose a solution to this source of friction
between man and canine:
Get yourself a small chihuahua and use it as your
key ring. Now, when you
lose your keys, just whistle
merrily with the promise of
minty doggy treats and soon
the jingle-jingle of your
rapidly approaching keys
will be heard. This has a
pleasing side effect of never
being required to dig your
keys out of the backyard as
only rarely do dogs manage
to bury themselves, unless...
well... you don't want to
John Hallett
Non-Cupid Correspondent
know that.
I mean, just think of the
pleasant yipping and panting as you swing around
those corners in your car
with Paco swaying lightly
from the steering column.
This could be the beginning of a bold new era of
using animals for various
functions based upon their
exterior qualities! For
instance, if you happen to
have the sniffles, you usually
reach for a Kleenex.
However, if you pause to
think about the "natural"
alternatives to soft and
white, one comes up with...
sheep. Nothing buffers that
sneeze like really fresh wool.
Just think about it:
"Achoooo! (insert disturbing
nasal sound of your choice)!
Hey, I'm not done! Get back
here!"
I could start a revolution
in industry! People using live
animals as environmentally
friendly replacements for
manufactured goods! I'd be a
god! People would worship
me! They would— (ed. At this
point, Mr Hallett had to be
removed to complete his manic
power-oriented rampage in a
safer area. If this were radio,
we would play some relaxing
music... so hum something.
He'll be back as soon as the
electroconvulsive therapy is
complete.)
I see the error in my ways
now... (twitch) I understand.
They didn't attempt (twitch)
to hurt me, they're my
friends who are only (twitch)
trying to help me. I gotta go
now, they're giving me a
special ride to the bank to
relieve the pressure (twitch)
on my account caused by
my savings. The 432'$ Annual
Erotic Haiku Contest
I like it simple.
Without any ties at all,
Unless they're silk ones.
Phil Stringer
If I had my way,
I would be small and blue and
Sleep with Poppa Smurf.
Gargamel
Sleepy, Happy, Doc,
Dopey, Grumpy, Sneezy, Bashful I want you all.
Snow White
I've been a bad girl.
Discipline me, whips and chains.
You are my master.
Anonymous
I said I'd write a
Haiku for Blair and Ryan.
OK, I've done it.
Graeme Kennedy
I'd climb any peak
Swim a boiling sea, for you.
But it's raining now.
Phil Stringer
The second loinmg
Is near. You haven't h.id one
Since you wt i«v 18'
Phil Stringer
Oh blontk I'nsuiVnt
I'm your most humble smjul
Don't hit ii'v.'.ii>jin.
Steve Colt man
"Oh
m\ d.nling Id
I W.I
nt to get von in m\
Ixd
This
IS VVllJl   I'clt  SJ\S
Patn. k 1 um
And the winner is...
Yow low tumpivs ii'i.
I ike .ill ekph.iiit s !u-.; i^t
Ow.' UsOrt' Yi'"«)v"
A ^< Hmm II
Me, chocolate sauce
You, cherries & whipping cream
I et's make a sundae
Jesse Burnett
I want to roll you
I buckles, you make me so hot
\ our cute successor.
/ vnn van Rhijn
■ i» »(ni
i a n't believe you're gone
I'm so lonely without you
Now I must chase Ed.
PatrickLum
Duck k. Miller
Hat sex bed Dik kinky spurs
Nancy Xylaphone.
Unknown
Yukiiuiii!), uh nu!
One more day to think of you
And take cold showers
Jesse Burnett
My wondwlul Pat
I love you so, you must know
Your cute successor.
Lynn van Rhijn
A few brief words on the contest this
year:
First, Phil, ya needs a life.
Second, would Mrs R P Pennopskoffof
Mission please stop sending us those NC-
17-rated haikus. There is no Seniors category this year, Mrs Pennopskoff.
Finally, we'd like to thank all those who
did submit a haiku, especially that Haiku
Action Force in the corner the other day.
Jesse, congrats, you've won a t-shirt,
which you can pick up as soon as they're
printed in CHEM 160.
It never happened
You are sadly mistaken
There are no photos.
Steve Coleman
Lost the election.
Caucus fits in a phone booth.
Better luck next time.
Kim Campbell
My hot jelly roll
I want to roll you so sweet
And eat you. Yum! Yum!
Jesse Burnett
''Valentine's in
the Ozarks"
Special Category
Good legs, nice body.
"She's not bad," I thought,
For my kid sister.
Phillip "Jethro" Stringer
Valentine Classifieds
WANTED: heterosexual man, no
experience preferred. Will train
to tastes. Reply to women of SUS.
FOR SALE: One heart, practically
new. Needs good home to provide lots of love & attention.
Inquire at SUS.
LOST: One boyfriend, somewhere downtown. Sentimental
value only, reward. Pis return
before V-Day. Replies to Box 976,
Totem Park.
WANTED: Left-of-center, vaguely off-kilter, man with decent
intelligence, love for potato bugs
and stuffed bandicoots. See
Ubyssey staffer for details.
LOST: Democracy. Please return
to SUB 241K. Hurry.
WANTED: One blind female.
Contact Brear with a beer.
WANTED: Tall, sensitive man
with sense of humour. Must like
rolling in 45G worth of pennies.
WANTED: Younger, 2201b hock-
ey player team. Must be over 6'3"
with a full set of teeth.
WANTED: Female bathroom
conversation for Ed. Must be able
to answer "herding" question.
NEEDED: Guy who owns cat-o-
nine tails; needed to put up w/
AR tendencies.
NEEDED: McDonald's employ-
ment. Call AUS at 822-4403
WANTED: Good looking, cuddly
man who understands symbiosis
of love, liver and life. Contact
Contact Misunderstood and
Giggling.	
WANTED: Male rugby player
with buns to kill for and kisses to
die for. Dark haired preferred.
Contact Crushed by Elephant.
LOST: One ewe. Please return to
CEME 2206. Reward offered.
LOST: One marmot, made from
weathered cedar. Last seen heading west on Hwy 3.
FOUND: One life, has been fun
but will return if offered fair
exchange. Engineers need not
apply-	
AVAILABLE: SWM with great
sense of humour. Good typist.
Practice makes perfect. Apply c/o
this paper.
NEEDED: Babes to check out.
Desperately. Apply to MCLD 105.
NEEDED: Female, any species.
Will receive lots of attention and
an Instabeer account. Call EE-
Teddy Bear.
Seeking way out of DofF relationship trend. Still need to roll
around in locked vaults.
LOST: A pair of sunglasses. If
found, pis return to SUS. Will
also accept any man attached to
them; height not a requirement.
Contact Ick.
NEEDED: Big, tall, warm-handed
male masseur. Contact Klubroom
Potato.
WANTED: Sweet, sympathetic,
sensitive female for long-lasting
relationship and daily jeUo bath.
LOST: A sense of humour. Please
return to Chuckles ASAP at SUS.
WANTED: A life. Call anyone in
SUS.
LOST: 2 years of life, somewhere
in the AMS Offices. If found,
contact Bill Dobie at 822-3972.
FOUND: Tide of 1993 SAC
Secretary. To claim must describe
accurately. Contact RBFIV c/o
SUS.	
WANTED: Daily donut delivery.
Jelly or glazed preferred. COD.
Contact SUS Internal VP.
WANTED: Softer coins to roll in.
Normal ones hurt. Contact any
of the last three SUS Directors of
Finance.
WANTED: Looking for someone
matching the description of
Jamieson's ideal woman. Contact
him c/o SUS for details.
TO LICA: Love you. The Dog.
I LOVE YOU, SWEETPEA.
Happy Valentines' Day. Love
Monkey-Face.
IN ALL SERIOUSNESS: Happy V-
Day, Sar. Luv ya. R. T~
A Solution to the
World's Biggest
Problem)
Heartbroken? Who hasn't been at some point of our troubled, crazy lives? We,
the staff of The 432, have undergone many quests over the past seven years
in an effort to find how to best serve science students. We've discovered that
the broken heart, shattered by some inconsiderate ex-lover/mate/companion is one
of the most difficult of medical problems to treat, and vowed to find a solution,
since even all the Hagen-Dazs Super Double Chocolate Fudge Brownie Marshmallow
Turbo Butter Brickie and Mint ice cream in the world can not cure the harsh realities
of such a devastating pathology.
This week, your humble, yet prideful staff put their collective (ed: we are NOT a
collective!!!) heads down on our cluttered desk and dived straight into that most difficult of degrees: The MD. The 432 (MD) now believe ourself perfectly qualified to
procure medical advice. The question: Can you die from a broken heart? Or do you
just want to? Follow this simple surgical procedure and maybe you'll never have to
find out again. We'll just send our astronomically-large bill along in the mail later.
Superior vena cava
Sinoatrial node
Left atrium    -
Left pulmonary veins
Atrioventricular node
Inferior vena cava
Tricuspid valve
Bicuspid valve
Myocardium
Papillary muscle (Heart strings)
Epicardium — —^
Endocardium
Right ventricle
Atriaventricular bundle
Bundle branches
Ventricular septum
Left ventricle
Purkinje fibers
For a Do-It-Yourself Broken Heart Mending, just follow these easy steps:
1. Clean off table.
2. Clean off hands.
3. Empty bowel and bladder. This means go to the bathroom. You won't need an ice
cream scoop or anything.
4. Clean hands again.
5. Fill out will. Make sure you leave everything to The 432.
6. Clean off shoes.
7. Clean off hands again. You keep getting them dirty, ya dolt!
8. Rummage around the kitchen for sharp cutting instruments. Edges of tin cans are
not acceptable.
9. Boil water.
10. Sterilize all instruments. Not the banjo.
11. Put out the cat.
12. Crack open a flat of Lucky Lager.
13. Anaesthetize esophagus and stomach lining with aforementioned fluid.
14. At this point the room should be spinning. Scream "Make it stop! Make it stop!"
15. Tell the neighbours everything is okay.
16. This is where you start cutting.
17. Remove sternum.
18. Eeeew.
19. Okay, now pay attention: ya grab the macaroni stuff and move it over to the
fan-belt affair. Try not to rip the cottony goop.
20. Staple.
21. Done! Stitch up.
22. No, no. Back up. Grab the cat and wrestle the sternum out of its mouth. Bad cat.
23. Replace sternum.
24. Suture up. (Careful to avoid the mouth)
25. Call Coroner. See if he has AirMiles.
See... that wasn't too difficult, was it? No screams or anything, right? That can
mean only one thing - you're ready for the next level of home repair.
Coming next week: Electro-vascular neurosurgery. 'The 432 takes you step by step
through a procedure most mortals fear to tread, using only a tin can of boiling
water, an Electrolux vacumn, and a broom to sweep up the mess afterwards.
Service
Message
Class Act is here!
A wildly ambitious fundraising campaign obsessed with
benefiting students has joined the campus community.
We're asking each grad to pledge some amount of money,
to be squeezed out over the next three years into a bursary
fund for Science students. Here's a plus: if you pledge, the
Development Office will not phone you trying to shake
you down for more money for the next three years. You'll
escape the clutches of Strangway's second World of
Opportunity campaign...
We're sorry, that sounds horrid. Much as we might hate
to admit it, this school has done its floundering best for
us. We've got an education now—courtesy of some blood,
sweat, tears, patient TA's, lab instructors, profs, and fellow
students. We should give something back.
If you don't agree with that line of reasoning, try this
one. The University has done everything in its power to
thwart every last one of our efforts to get ahead. Therefore,
out of the goodness of our hearts, let's rescue a fellow student from indefinite detention in this institute of higher
learning. Give to the bursary. Give early. Give often.
The saving grace of Class Act: no administrative conspiracy. They will never get their clammy little hands on our
money. It will go by insured courier service to some student in need.
So, what will happen?
Sometime in the next few weeks, a member of the Class
Act committee will come give you a pre-lecture lecture.
We'll have pledge forms with us for you to fill out, and
we'll be able to answer any of your questions. All you'll
have to do is fill out the pledge form under their watchful
eyes, deciding how much, if anything, you can afford to
give. Then, in October or November you'll be sent a
reminder and advised to submit your first installment.
You'll be mailed a tax receipt upon payment. A reminder
will be mailed each fall, just so you can't claim memory
failure.
People have been asking me certain questions:
What if I have student loans and can't afford this much?
If everyone gives the suggested amount, we'll be able to
reach our goal. If you can't afford to give the suggested
amount, give what you can filch from your parents, sibling, roommate, or dog. Payment is not due until the fall
after graduation, so you have plenty of time to shove off
into denial. If you get truly stuck, you can defer payment
or throw yourself under a passing truck.
What if I don't get a job after I graduate?
Don't worry. With chemical aid if necessary, be happy
in the belief that you will have a job before the first installment is due. If you are still vocationally challenged when
the pledge reminder arrives, you can either defer your first
payment or edit the amount to match reality.
How do I know the money will be well spent?
You don't. But try and trust the Development Office,
which collects the pledge payment and sends you a tax
receipt. The money will reach a student account in our
Faculty and a student chairperson chosen from your very
own student society will monitor the account.
So when you're asked to pledge, think about it seriously.
Please.
Upcoming Pre-Med
Events
SKIN DEEP
Dr. Julie Prediville
Dermatologist
Tuesday, Feb 15
12:30 FNSC Room 60
MED STUDENTS FORUM
First and Second Year
Med Students Reveal
How They Really Got In
Tuesday, Feb 22
12:30 FNSC Room 60
GYM NITE
Free pizza and pop
Tuesday, Feb 25
9:00-11:30 OSBOB The Drawers of SUS.
Sarah's Skivvies
Sarah Thornton
This article may end up sounding rather strange, as I just
finished my Fishes midterm. I had to identify 30 BC
freshwater fish, to order, family, genus, and/or species
in both Latin and common names. So now my hands smell
like formalin and isopropyl alcohol, and I have names like
Pomoxis nigromaculatus and Oncorhynchus tshawytscha ringing
through my head. Such is the life of a fourth year Bi major.
Some people (the non-squishy science types) ask how we
manage to memorize all the Latin names... It's easy—all you
do is pick out some strange characteristic of the fish and
make it correspond to a part of the name. Take the
Pumpkinseed: its name is Lepomis gibbosis . So I remembered
it due to the adjective gibbous, which can be used to describe
the moon, and the moon is round like a pumpkin, (ed: Latin
schmatin. Ask me about C++, stdio.h, BNDLs, FREFs, tcsh or
packet-switching sometime). Oh, our minds do strange things.
So, "What is SUS up to?" you say, trying to get me off
such a strange subject. Nice subtle switch. Good transition
statement.
Well, SUS is in the midst of nominations for next year's
executive. As you read this, nominations are closing, and
campaigning will begin soon. Please try to find out about the
candidates and get out and vote (Feb 28, Mar 1-2). It does
make us feel much more better if at least 10% of you care
enough to let us know whether we're doing a good job.
Also ongoing is some constitutional reform. No, we're not
CORP, and we're not changing anything drastically, but we
would like to clean things up a bit. Let me know if there is
something you think needs changing.
We're just starting up the Class Act campaign for this year.
All you fourth years should have received a letter in the mail
by now, which details a bit about the program. There's an
article elsewhere that gives a few more details.
And then there are those pesky Teaching Awards. Both
SUS and the Faculty of Science offer awards for outstanding
teaching. The nominations for the SUS ones are due on
Wednesday (the 16th) and the Faculty ones were due Feb 14
(today). Laurie and I are both sitting on the Faculty committee to evaluate these outstanding profs. We sit in on classes
and ask students their opinions on the prof. I've actually
learned some really neat things by going to geology and
computer science classes.
On a final note, I'll let everyone know right now that I'm
in the middle of two weeks off. That's right — you won't be
able to find me around the office much until 28 Feb. But the
other execs will know how to find me. I'm going into hiding
because of what Steve calls the "damn crappy honours thesis!"
Bye!
Laurie's Lingerie
Laurie Yee
The Teaching Excellence Award nominations for this
term will close this Wednesday (February 16) so fill out
one of those forms from the last issue of The 432 or get
one from the SUS office.
If you want to meet some enthusiastic, naive first years,
come out to our first ever First Year Committee's mocktail
dance. Come on out and ummm.... do whatever it is you
would do at a dance with first years—presumably drink in
the bathrooms like back in high school and haul out the
Frisk. It's on Wednesday, 23 Feb from 7-11 PM in the SUB
Partyroom. While I'm on the topic of first years, if anyone is
interested in becoming a Frosh Week guide for next year
please contact me or leave a message at the office. You must
be a returning student and be available in August.
I don't really understand why I'm writing in an issue totally devoted to Valentine's Day and the "happy being part of a
couple thing". General consensus about the office tells me
that neither males nor females know what "they're looking
for in a potential". I suppose that all the single people in SUS
can start looking upon all the coupled ones and write up
some more erotic/gag wrenching haiku or something.
On the SUS (not soaps) side of things Executive election
nominations are due in today (the 14th, hopefully). Though
there isn't much time until, uh, now. If you're interested in
becoming the Internal VP come talk to me during my office
hours or call me at SUS (822-4235). Internal is a job requiring
a lot of organization/planning and realizing that you might
come off a little AR since it's part of the job to be the "party
whip" (ed: That is not a Kraft product. It is a job). All in all, it's
oodles of fun and you get to rag on everyone on Council
(with a smile).
Lynn's Lace
Lynn van Rhijn
Hi! My name is Lynn R.
and I am a recovering
alco.... oh. Sorry,
wrong paper.
My name is Lynn van Rhijn
and I'm the new Director of
Finance. I think I am recovering from some form of
dementia, though. I should
have clued in by that look I
saw in Jason's eyes when I
said I was interested in the
position. I should have been
warned when a member of
the council said that
although the SUS has a lot of
fun, this is a serious positionll]
But noooo, I go on ahead and
here I am now, waist deep in
unidentified papers, a load-o-
keys that can open every
building on campus including the Plant Operations coffee room from which no one
has escaped, and a filing system reminiscent of my grade
8 locker.
Ugh.
However, since it is my New
Years resolution to become
more organized, I will know
exactly where everything is
and what I am supposed to
do be the next time you read
this. Not to worry, though,
SUS does have money.
Somewhere.
Social Diseases
Matt Brear
Matt's alcoholic event
of the week: the
world-famous No
Class Bash!
This popular event is happening at 4:32, Wednesday,
February 16 in the SUB
Partyroom
You'll be able to find me
quite easily. I'll be the guy
practising my breast-stroke
in the pool of beer in front of
the bar.
Tryout for the world swim
championships start as soon
as my alcohol level reaches
0.4. (Don't tell the Liquor
Control Board -1 think my
name on's the license.)
(By the way, I'm told I
have syphilis. Or was that
Civils? It was something to do
with the Engineers)
Hie!
AMS Briefs
Steve (Ed) Coleman
How many of you out
there are interested in
free food? 3,206 of
you? Good. Now how many
are also willing to sit through
about twenty minutes of
AMS politics? 3? Oh. Well,
I'm still inviting you all to
come out to the AMS Annual
General Meeting, this
Wednesday in council chambers-SUB 206. The deal is
that if we can manage to get
quorum at the meeting, Bill
D'ohbie will have to move
the meeting to another
venue - the War Memorial
Gym. Just another way to
cause trouble at the AMS by
playing within the rules.
By now the Young Women
in Politics Conference is
over, and, strangely enough
I (a male) was the science rep
at the reception. Hmmm.
The highlight had to be former SUS ExVP Antonia
Rozario taking on Betty
Baxter and Hedy Fry in a
debate on minority women
in politics. That, and I'm
convinced that the gentleman sitting beside me was
really Dr. Doug Henning,
incognito.
And now, it's time for the
outgoing AMS Exec Awards.
(I'm trying to revive an old
tradition)
Bill Dobie - the other
half of Alberta, the other
half of Granville Island for
a summer home. Why?
Manifest Destiny.
Janice Boyle - her own
rebuttal column in the
Ubyssey.
Roger Watts - a watch
set at least one hour ahead
of schedule. Maybe he'll
show up on time once in a
while, (ed. - and a brunette
for a change)
Carole Forsythe - a pair
of ruby slippers to send
her on her way. (And a
bucket o' water.)
Dean Leung-^ budget
and a Commodore Vic-20
as a computer handicap -
so the rest of us can keep
up.
That's it for last year's exec.
And that's it for me for now.
Token Science-Related Filler
Ryan McCuaig
In my travels through Internet the other day, I discovered
that researchers at the Artificial Intelligence lab at MIT have
access to a wonderful UNIX command called xpizza.
It is truly a space-age technology, meshing seamlessly modern telecommunications, computer networking, and pizza
design.
The hungry researcher invokes xpizza, selects his toppings
on an X-Window display, and hits the OK button. Within
nanoseconds, the computer springs into action. It surrenders
its hostname to xpizza, which uses the latest in database
technology to correlate it to an address, thus intuiting the
physical location of the researcher. Simultaneously, it uses the
PostScript page design language to compose a fax cover sheet.
The cover sheet zips at the speed of light to a waiting faxmodem, where it crosses the boundary into the telecommunications system and, from there, is received by a Cambridge,
MA pizzeria. Its sacred duty almost complete, xpizza debits a
pre-paid account, and awaits delivery of a real, steaming pizza.
Virtual foraging. Gotta love it.
Senate Shorts
Chris Woods
Senate meets once per
month, and the paper
comes out biweekly.
Hmmmm. An interesting
dilemma. Do I split the meager reports from Senate, or
write nothing. Well, I'm
good at doing nothing, but
the editors don't like that.
So, how about an election
report?
Oh, you didn't know? I
was appointed Elections
Commissioner a couple of
weeks ago.
Surprised? Me too, but
apparently I am an unbiased,
efficient person with plenty
of time on my hands. Well, I
can attest to the last bit,
(Anyone got any good jobs
going... I can differentiate
the 5 species of Pacific
Salmon, as well as most commercial groundfish and—
ahem.)
Executive nominations are
open until that wonderful
day of flowers, chocolates
and hearts. Yuk!! Which
means if this paper came out
on time, you have until 6:00
PM (assuming it is the 14th)
to get your nomination
forms to me. Hopefully, you
saw the posters and I already
have your form.
For those of you uninterested in devoting large
amounts of time to an... er...
extremely worthwhile cause,
get out and vote, in two
weeks. For those of you with
a little time, and the need for
a little money, sign up to be
a poll clerk for a couple of
hours. (See ad somewhere
else).
To keep this legit, I will
tell you that, as Science senator, I am still working on
Reading Week, and other
things, including improving
the classroom standards on
campus. I think I have more
hours of meetings than classes in a given week. And I
seem to make it to all my
meetings! Funny, that...
Circvs Scientificvs
Delwin Yung
Did you know there's
free skating at the
Winter Sports Center
weekdays from 8:30-12:30?
How about drop-in hockey?
In fact, there's all sorts of
drop-in-sports you can use to
keep in shape.
Badminton: Wed. 9:30-
11:30 pm
Basketball: Tues and Wed,
5:30 -6:30 pm
Table Tennis: Wed, 7:30 -
9:30 pm
Volleyball: Tuesday, 6:30 -
8:30 pm
All at War Memorial.
Finally, Term 2 Sports
Rebates are due by March
21st. Hopefully they'll be
processed before finals.
Forms are available in CHEM
160. Non-Editorial.      We Are Not Amused.
Tessa Moon
Recovering Ubyssey Writer
It happened just about the
time I started believing,
contrary to word of
mouth and my better judgement, that the Editor was
marginally human.
It served me right for not
paying more heed to my
fifth cousin's tentmate's sister. She once wrote for the
<censored> and told me time
and time again that all editors were, by definition, creatures that made the drooling
organisms from Aliens look
like pussycats. And I never
listened.
A pox on treacherous piles
of glass and metal. My user-
friendly, oh-so-convenient
computer finally got me back
for all those punches. Five
hours and fifty-eight minutes
before the deadline, it
winked out on me.
No problem, I told myself
by way of facile reassurance.
"Can I have a 24 hour
extension on my deadline?"
I asked The Editor, prepared
for a jovial "sure, take your
time..."
The phone bucked in my
hand as he screamed a word
you can't say on television.
I started to ask why not,
but my eardrums objected. I
resigned myself to accepting
a compromise. "12 hours," I
offered him.
He offered me a hand
grenade, minus the safety
pin.
"Six?" I said, with an
uncomfortable conviction
that I knew what had happened to those staffers who
had gone missing last week.
He said nothing to me but
shouted something to someone in the background. I
heard the frantic babbling of
The Assistant Editor, cut off
by the thud of a body hitting
the floor, then The Ed was
back.
"If you come in a quarter-
second past 4:32," he said
with the vaguely macabre
cheerfulness of his kind, "I'll
feed you cyanide without a
GI tube."
I offered one final, feeble
objection. "My word-processor is off line and I write like
doctors do on prescriptions."
That got through. There
was a moment of contemplative silence, then I heard the
light bulb go "boing" in his
head.
"Go up to The Ubyssey and
borrow that typewriter they
had on display during Clubs
Days," he said.
Sanity squirmed; I considered departure. I held on,
knowing that if I let go, The
Ed would order me tied to a
gun carriage and left
overnight in the Vancouver
rain. "Yessir," I said.
"Bye," he said sweetly.
"Work hard." He hung up.
Every so often I have delusions of immortality that
would give Saddam Hussein
a run for his money, but not
when it comes to crotchety
editors with locked refrigerators. It didn't take long to
figure out they—the refrigerators, not the editors—contained assorted staffer parts
with which they played Lego
on those long production
nights.
The typewriter lay in The
Ubyssey's balcony, shrouded
by a half inch of dust and
rust. It grinned evilly as I
approached.
I gulped and reconsidered,
but the deadline looming
ahead egged me on.
The thing was an
anachronism. I dusted it off
as best I could and rolled in a
sheet of paper.
Or tried. I watched in disbelief as the typewriter, with
the sort of expressive twang
rusty springs make, spat out
the paper. I caught it in
midair and rolled it in again.
The damnable paper flapped
up into my face like a thing
alive while the typewriter
vibrated with what could
only be described as naked
hostility.
I tried again. And again.
And again, but to no avail.
Viciously, I planted a foot
on the rebellious machine,
clutched the paper and
rolled. But this time, I held
the knob firmly in place. I
could feel it writhing as I
began typing as fast as I
could with one hand.
By the time I was finished,
my hand had turned into a
claw, but I had more than
two minutes to deadline. I let
go and caught the precious
sheet of paper as it flew into
the air, dusty, cramped, but
triumphant.
I arrived in the office with
ten seconds to spare to find
the floor covered with suds.
The Editor was shaking
droplets of beer from a keyboard. The Assistant Editor
was trying to swim in two
inches of liquid, almost successfully. Both were giggling
dementedly.
"Deadline's been extended 'til tomorrow," The
Assistant Ed told me as he
came up for air. "We had a
beer spill and the computer
short-circuited."
And he ducked back
under.
They told me later that
David Strangway called from
home to complain of a
screaming noise coming
from the general direction of
CHEM 160, which went on
for a long, long time.
(ed. Don't believe everything
you see in print. We're actually
quite reasonable and friendly.
We don't usually bite anyone.
Honest!)
I'm depressed this week.
I'm also more than a little
indignant.
Allan Fotheringham—my
former idol and the
Canadian king of political
sarcasm—mentioned me in
one of his opinion pieces in
Macleans (December 6).
He called me, as one of the
council appointees to the
AMS Publications Board, a
"student counsel (sic)
gauleiter".
Yeah, I had to look it up,
too. It wasn't in my (our)
dictionary.
(I did discover, however,
that it would fall somewhere
between Gaul and gaunt if it
were present. Both of those
terms apply quite nicely,
however, as I am both a fan
of Asterix and thin. My
reichsfuhrer Blair tells me the
gauleiters were Nazi censors.
But I digress.)
It's an entertaining article,
^dripping with a brand of
irony that can only spring
from supreme ignorance on
the part of the author.
Dr Foth writes about how
the "Political Correctness
Police" have invaded the
media and are trying to turn
him, a "reporter with strong
views", into "a touchy-feely,
warm-and-fuzzy social worker".
He mentions the latest
example of (buzzword alert!)
PC-muzzling that the "Tiny
Tories who populate campus
politics have castrated The
Ubyssey, the most celebrated
university paper in the
land".
Go ahead. Read it again if
that assessment struck you as
odd.
No, no, not that "most celebrated" bit. I'm referring to
his mistaken impression that
militant political correctness
is something that is imposed
on The Ubyssey from witho«r.
One has first to recognise
that the good doctor's journalistic training was granted
him by the hallowed presses
of The Ubyssey way back in
the fifties. So, it should come
as no surprise that
Fotheringham will spring to
the defence of his "J-school"
at any opposition that rears
its ugly head.
'Cause, hey, if it opposes
The Ubyssey, it opposes everybody and must be stopped,
for the very fabric of society
hangs in the balance.
However, the ol' Fothster
did also give his journalistic
descendants a slap in the
face without knowing it. He
took the student uproar at
the University of New
Brunswick regarding the
temporary reinstatement of
math prof Matin Yaqzan as
proof that students are
"ignorant and intolerant".
Oops. Guess which particular students at this university seemed the most outraged
at the time. Yup, their name
is legion, and it unfortunately rhymes with "Foobyssey".
Then again, Fotheringham
is also still under the impression that the AMS's offices
are still to be found in Brock
Hall. As the Student's Union
Building is celebrating its
twenty-fifth anniversary this
year, I invite the reader to
perform the necessary subtraction and determine how
far out of date his facts seem
to be.
It's sad that such a
"reporter with strong views"
exists as a role model to the
student journalists of today,
and as a patron saint to the
powers that be in SUB 241K.
(along with Joe Schlesinger,
Pat Carney, Katherine Monk,
etcetera ad nauseatum).
The article that you are
McCUAIG
reading right now would
be typical of the drift that
"reporters" have been taking
recently, if I had ever
claimed to be a reporter. For
this article, I conducted no
research, no interviews, and
am attempting to pass off my
own views as fact. Opinion
over news shoots off to infinity. But, hey, this is an editorial. I can say what I want.
I've always thought that the
world would be so much easier to live in if we didn't consider hypocrisy to be a bad
thing.
Sadly, as any avid reader of
The Ubyssey knows, this kind
of "analynews" is its trademark; snarky commentary
masquerades as hard-hitting
investigative journalism.
The Ubyssey, much as they
might like you to believe
otherwise, is not the least bit
exceptional or noteworthy. It
is only one of a pack of publications, Macleans included,
ready to invoke the spirit of
Orwell and cry censorship
should any attempt be made
to apply the reins to their
much-treasured editorial
freedom. The exertion of
outside influence would not,
however, be considered as
urgent if editors would apply
those reins themselves and
steer away from the mass of
irrelevance and unsubstantiated opinion in contemporary journalism. Censorship
is completely superfluous
when journalists themselves
hide what little factual information they have in a
swamp of trivial details.
Oh boy, 1994. A good day
to you, Mr Huxley.
From the First  Ye.
Committee
...columnists
...cartoonists
...humourists
...lackeys
All welcome.
Inquire at SUS
H
ar
£>
Price: $4 ^
DANCE
Wednesday
Feb 23
7-11pm
SUB Partyroom 'Bout this Crummy Cerebrum Ya Sold Me...
Di
o you ever get that
I feeling that maybe, j
ust maybe, your
mind isn't working quite the
way it should?
I have this sinking feeling
that mine should be sent
back to the factory. I'd be
interested to know how it
got by Quality Control in the
first place; I'll bet the inspector on duty was either
intently picking his nose at
the time, too busy putting
out the electrical fire in the
brain they sent to Charles
Manson to notice mine slip
by, or simply endowed with
a similarly useless lump of
goop between his ears.
At any rate, the one I got
has its deficiencies. It's real
slow to start in the morning,
it doesn't seem to fire on all
cylinders, the wiring is bad,
it has no pull at all going
uphill, the accelerator always
gets stuck and the brakes
don't work. To say nothing
of the fact that it can instantly recall such useful items as
the main title theme of the
TV show CHiPs, and yet cannot see its way clear to pull
my fingers out of imminently-closing car doors.
The last time I owned a
product this erratic, temperamental and otherwise broken, I made a doorstop out
of it. The only other useful
applications I could think of
for a defective brain were
either a bath sponge or a
throw pillow, and I'm not
sure any of the three would
leave any house guests I
might receive feeling completely at ease with their surroundings... Hey, Rog, do you
have any dandruff shampoo in
here? I can't find it, but there is
a BRAIN IN YOUR TUB!!! OH
WATTS
MY GOD!! AAAAAAIIIU-
IEEEEEEEGGGGHHHU
As you may well imagine,
the thought of said guest
fleeing naked and soapy
across the front lawn (much
to the chagrin of the neighbors) paints a rather
unsavoury mental picture. So
I'm afraid I'm stuck with the
damn thing as a thinking
device, such as it is.
I must admit, though, that
it does occasinally afford me
a laugh or two when it
screws up in particular ways.
Allow me to explain...
Last week, our residence
was visited by a gentleman
known in professional theatrical circles as Mesmer the
Mentalist. This fellow
seemed to have been
endowed with a rather special brain, which allowed
him to control the brains of
others through their subconscious mind. What a lucky
bastard, thought I. Not only
was I haplessly burdened
with a cheap polyester off-
the-rack brain whose seams
were splitting, but here was a
guy who had his brain
taiolred by the neurological
Giorgio Armani. Not fair at
all.
Anyway, being the skeptical sort that I am, I figured
that I'd go and see this guy's
show, hoping see firsthand if
the power of suggestion
could really influence people's minds. I'm happy to say
that I got instant results; the
INFORMAL LUNCH
MEETING FOR
Wo   men   In  Scien   ce
Thursday, February 24, 1994
12:30 PM
(bring your lunch, juice provided)
FAMILY AND NUTRITIONAL
SCIENCE ROOM 60
Chilly Climate
This lunch hour will focus specifically on the issue
of gender in science and, in feet, in academia as a
whole. \& will watch an excellent halfhour video
called "Chilly Ornate" and discuss the issues that
come up.
NEXT TALK:
Thursday, March 31, ANGU 31
"The Balance"
How to juggle your career, your children, your
home, your life. Is it possible? This discussion will be
raciliated by Dr. Carol Pollock and will focus on
sharing helpful hints.
minute I got there, the
Colossus of Rhodes (posing
as a doorman) suggested that
I pay five bucks to get in, a
request with which I found
myself complying quite readily. Having negotiated the
first hurdle to mental
enlightenment, I sat down
and waited for the show to
begin. Soon, Mesmer himself
appeared, and we got down
to business with the mind-
control thing.
(I mentioned eariler that
my brain doesn't work properly. It was at this point in
the proceedings that it inexplicably directed my legs to
stand me up and walk me up
to the stage as a volunteer for
hypnosis. I'm still not sure
why, but I suspect that my
parietal lobe, which started
belching black smoke the
minute I reached the stage,
might have had something
to do with it.)
And so, instead of being
an interested observer gaining useful insight in to the
workings of the subconscious
mind, I was suddenly transformed into Encephalic
Guinea Pig Numero Uno.
Fortunately, I found myself
joined by about other twenty
other test subjects as well -
which was a very good thing,
as it turns out.
As Mesmer began doing
his thing, I did my best to do
what he said and relax. But I
couldn't do it. While everyone else was being happily
hypnotized, I was busy giving my brain the mental
equivalent of a good swift
kick in the front grille while
cursing it for being so useless
that it couldn't even get hypnotized correctly.
Of course, sitting up on
the stage, pretending to be in
a hyper-relaxed trancelike
state, I now had bigger problems to worry about. As the
others blissfully began performing all manner of silly
things that he told them to
do, I began to debate how I
was going to pull this off
without either making this
poor man look like a quack
or feeling like a complete
idiot when he asked me to
get up and pretend to be
Spider-Man.
All told, I think I did
rather well; I was entertaining if nothing else. Among
the highlights were my stunning rendition of the famous
soliloquy, "BAA HA HA HA
HA! NICE UNIT!" when we
were supposed to think
Mesmer was naked, and a
rather fun little bit where we
had to pretend we were
unsuccessfully trying to perform our favorite professions.
I instantly began typing frantically in the air with my
knuckles, explaining that I
was an Army stenographer.
As if this rather unusual
profession (which, you will
recall, was supposed to be
my subconscious's idea of
the ideal vocation) wasn't
strange enough, I proceeded
to declare that the reason I
was being frustrated in my
efforts to do so was that "I'd
had my fingers blown off in
'Nam." A touch contrived,
perhaps, but it did bring
down the house...
The rest of the night continued much along the same
lines; I crowned the performance with an unsuccessful
search on and around the
stage for my imaginary pet
mouse, Foster. I'm sorry to
say, though, that the whole
experience left me more or
less where I'd begun in my
understanding of hypnosis in
general.
I must admit, however,
that it didn't leave me com^
pletely unaffected; I was
indeed very relaxed, and I
slept like a baby when I went
to bed that night. So I guess
that I can take comfort in the
fact that my brain isn't completely alien to this sphere of
consciousness, or without its
own miniscule measure of
functional merit.
Then again, broken clocks
are right twice a day, too...
The Science Undergrad
4:32-8:00 pm,
February 16.
SUB Partyroom.
SCIENCE
UBC

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