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Array VOLUME THIRTEEN ISSUE ONE
07 SEPTEMBER 1999
In this issue:
Boatloads of Immigrants!
The Wheel of Booze!
The Official Death Pool Returns!
and much more...
"Politics can't be left in the hands of the people. The people are, en mass, fucking morons."
Glen Clark, Former British Columbia Premier.
Fifth Immigrant Boatload
Approaches Coast!
Increased coastai surveillance blamed for recent flood of illegal vessels.
PORT HARDY (AP)
Early Sunday morning, a fifth boatload of illegal immigrants was spotted one hundred miles off the West
coast of Vancouver Island, putting more
pressure on newly sworn-in Premier Dan
Miller to resolve the ongoing saga.
"What the hell do you want me to do?"
responded   Miller   when   questioned
about his government's stance.  "Sink
them? Jesus, our navy couldn't sober up
long enough to put a torpedo into the
Charlottes, let alone a moving vessel.
"Nope. We gotta stop this thing at the
source. Let's nuke China... What do you
mean  'We don't have nukes?' Aren't
there some in Nanoose? Well, get me
some! Damn the f—ing treaties!"
The immigrants, some of whom have
spent their entire life savings (upwards
of US $40,000) for a spot on the rickity
boat, are attempting to trade a life of
substandard living and socio-economic
oppression for a new life in a prosperous
capitalist society. Unfounded rumours of
Canada's prosperity and relaxed refugee
laws have prompted this recent influx.
"This is clearly a large problem. British
Columbia cannot keep supporting these
unproductive people. We have to continue the NDP's policies of producing
human machines for business. We want
to make it clear to the people of Asia that
Canada is not the haven of democracy,
freedom and prosperity that it is widely
believed to be," stated B.C. Minister
Responsible for Multiculturalism,
Human Rights and Immigration Ujjal
Dosanjh. "To this end, the RCMP will
begin a harsh program of oppression and
random beatings of the ethnic populace,
bringing us more in-line with the United
States."
This recent influx of immigrants has
taxed Immigration Canada's west coast
infrastructure to the brink of collapse.
The latest boatload has had to be billeted out to residents in Port Hardy. "Sure
I'll put them up," said local resident
Rosie Jacobsen, "But they'll have to earn
their keep." In an unrelated story, Gucci
has announced plans to manufacture a
new line of designer wallets on the
North Island.
Reaction to the refugees has been
mixed, ranging from the high school
sign stating "Welcome to Canada, Eh!"
to the band of drunken unemployed
Port Hardy fisherman chanting "Hell no!
We won't go!"
"I don't want them yellow red commies
in my back yard, eating my dog or whatever. They should just round em' all up
and send em' back to Iwo Jima," said a
concerned Paul Timmons. "God put
them in China and in China they should
stay. My parents came here from Wales
with nothing and I'll be damned if I'll let
some Japs take what's rightfully mine."
RCMP presence was intense at the landing of the fifth boat which took place at
one o'clock Monday afternoon. Thirty-
eight Mounties from as far away as
Smithers, B.C. were flown in Sunday
night to ensure that any possible militant refugees could be contained, as well
as to prevent possible violent reactions
by the locals.
"Port Hardy is a strange little community," commented Port Hardy Constable
Sasha Peters after six pints in the Seagate, a bar conveniently located next to
the dock where the refugees would be
landing in a few hours. "I can't figure
out how a town of only three thousand
manages to support eight cop cars, two
drunk tanks, six bars and three liquor
stores. For Christ's sake, you can walk to
all three liquor stores in under five minutes from anywhere in town. Who
knows what this bunch of drunken
yokals are capable of."
The immigrants were obviously
impressed with the presence of mounted
police at the landing of their derelict
craft. Cries of "ooh", "ahh", and
"Mmm" could be heard when the Chinese nationals caught sight of the thirty-
eight horses upon which the police were
seated.
A study commissioned by the Premier's
Office concluded that there is a direct
correlation between the increase in discovered incoming immigrant vessels and
recent increases in Coast Guard surveillance funding.
"This report provides a clear solution for
our current problem," stated Lori Mel-
ner, a representative from the Premier's
Office. "If we cut Coast Guard funding,
then the number of incoming immigrant vessels should drop accordingly."
Jesus gay,
Pope "shocked.
99
Artist's Impression.   Okay, we need better artists, so sue us
JERUSALEM (REUTERS)
A study of recently discovered
scrolls and books dating to 20 AD
commissioned by the Israel government published its findings today.
Among the many results was what
researchers claimed was official proof
that Jesus Christ was gay.
"One document in particular was of
great interest in this matter," said
researcher Dr. Ben Eisenstein. "In this
particular scroll, we see repeated references to a messiah who preferred the
company of men."
"And lo, he did sit and dine with twelve
of his closest companions, of whom
none were woman" is one of many passages that indicate Jesus' marked preference for men and dinner engagements.
The study further points to repeated references to "wine" and "love" in the
texts. "Jesus and his followers had a love
for  wine," Dr.   Eisenstein  continued.
"And a main theme behind the accepted
teachings of Jesus was that every man
should love his brother."
It is expected that church attendance
will sky rocket with the recent findings
involving Jesus' torrid lifestyle. "Maybe
they won't fall asleep this week," said
Rev. John Dunns of Eastport Virginia.
The United Church, which has allowed
homosexual ministers for serveral years,
was elated.  Reverend Eric  Dundas,  a
spokesman for the United Church, commented "Thank God we hedged our bets
like that! This marks a glorious new age
of acceptance and tolerance. I know people will make a big deal about this, but in
the end it doesn't change Jesus' message
of love and peace. Who cares if Our Lord
was gay? I don't."
New details involving John the Baptist's
"Baptising Ceremonies" have yet to be
released. PAGE TWO
THE FOUR THIRTY TWO
07 SEPTEMBER 1999
Volume Thirteen
Issue One
07 September 1999
Editor
John Hallett
hallett@cs.ubc.ca
Copy Editor
Bree Baxter
bmonique@interchange.ubc.ca
Assistant Editors
Jake Gray
jakeg@interchange.ubc.ca
Andy Martin
spacemoose@bc.sympatico.ca
Printed by
College Printers, Vancouver, BC
Contributors
Bree Baxter
Elvis (really)
Jay Garcia
Jake Gray
John Hallett
Andy Martin (Not a wrestler, really)
Amanda Seymour
Test the Wrestler
Your Name Here
Legal Information
The 432 is published fortnightly from
our derelict Korean Fishing boat in the
basement of the Chemistry Building.
The 432 is the official publication of
the Science Undergraduate Society, but
does not represent the views or opinions of the Science Undergraduate
Society. Figure that one out.
All views in this issue are strictly those
of the individual writers, and as such
are not the responsibility of The 432
(except for the editor's. Everyone must
believe what he writes. John is good.
John is god). Should any need arise for
you to see the writers, we have them
locked in a box in the office.
Writers and cartoonists from each and
every faculty are encouraged to submit
their material to The 432. Submissions
must meet the strict requirements of
making the editor chuckle thrice upon
first reading, and contain the real
name of the writer (or a really creative
pseudonom and thirty bucks cash.
We're really not that picky).
Ahh, Pixie Dust.
Jake Gray
Survivor of Sodom
ii
rou'll love the life of a pirate,
you'll love the life of a
crook," sang Abe the fisherman as he untied his rickity old troller
from the government wharf. I was beginning to think that hiring an out of work
fisherman with beer to take me to the
local fishing holes wasn't such a good
idea. I looked at our supply of booze and
realised we wouldn't make it out of the
bay.
I had found Abe the night before languidly rolling a prairie fire around the
Seagate Bar and Grill, a small town
speak-easy trying to be a big town nightclub. He smelled of fish. He didn't just
have the smell in his clothes, he oozed it
like a duck oozes oil onto his feathers for
water proofness. Abe oozed fish oil to
keep himself dry when fishing.
After I bought him a chaser, I asked him
if he was interested in taking on a charter to go sport fishing in the local coho
infested waters. He laughed like a small
child laughs when others are laughing
around them and they don't understand
the joke.
"You want me to take you out on my
thirty six foot commercial trawler to
catch one little salmon?"
"Sure"
"How much?"
"How's fifty bucks and a case of beer?"
" Fifty bucks?! It'll cost me fifty bucks in
fuel to get to the gas dock!"
"Fifty bucks, 3 cases of beer and the
entire set of Playboy Magazine from
1983 to 1992?"
"Done. But you bring the* magazines
with you tomorrow morning. Be at the
dock at 5:30."
I left the bar at 1:43 am with two cases
of off-sales under my arm and a bottle of
gin I'd bought from the bartender.
Abe had left vodka behind and moved
on to rye whiskey, the Canadian solution to so many of life's large problems.
At 6:23, I started pounding on the side
of the Enola May. Abe opened the back
hatch and I found myself staring down
the barrel of a Browning 12 gauge slug
gun; riffled barrel and all. The only possible use for a weapon such as this is tearing holes the size of tennis balls through
large animals' flesh.
A look of dangerous animal confusion
clouded Abe's one good eye. However he
quickly realised I had come bearing
booze and porn. Even a bear will eat the
bait before ripping your arm off.
Abe started laughing again in his nervous, disturbing way while putting his
rifle back into his cabin. The years of
working only two months of the year
had left his liver waiting in a cat like
state of readiness. He had the coke can of
a fishing boat ready to go in under ten
minutes.
My nervousness quickly faded as I
realised how relaxing it is to fish with a
twelve gauge shotgun. We blasted a driftwood log into about forty thousand
pieces. Unfortunately we didn't catch
much that day, but I got a wonderful tattoo of Abe's ex-wife and possibly a minor
case of tetanus.
The Government is now accepting applications for the position of The Man.
The successful applicant will be a WASP
male, between the ages of 35-60;
will have 10-20 years experience in
Keeping People Down and
General Oppression.
We are not an equal opportunity employer.
Ye Ole Editorial.
John Hallett
Chief Editor. Fear him.
You know, I never would have predicted being back in the driver's
seat of this old rag. Never. Well,
once in '97 but then I woke up covered
in a thin layer of sweat.
As some of you might be surmissing,
I've been around this here university for
quite a while. Seven years, to be exact. I
have my degree (my girlfriend's hung it
on the wall in my den) and I thought
that I was out of here. No such luck. The
SUS came to me with a desperate plee:
"We tlon't have an experienced editor.
We need your help."
A plea from the dark, eh? Hard to resist.
So here I sit in the ancient seat of power
(a beat up blue chair on wheels) spewing
forth this rambling stream of semi-
coherent babble in a desperate attempt
to fill up the last few column-inches of
this issue.
Actually, I kind of like editorials.
They're my chance to ramble on about
almost any topic that I see fit, and put
my extremist views in  print for the
world to see. So here goes.
School
Live it, breath it, love it. Life sucks once
President Piper curses you with your
degree. School is four (or five, or six...)
years of responsibility free living. Don't
screw it up by studying all the time or
never doing something illegal.
The law of the land is much looser here
on campus. People don't look so badly
on petty theft and mischief, so long as
no one was hurt and you either Had lots
of fun doing it or were drunk enough for
it to be an excuse.
So be wild and try stuff that you've
never done before, even if you only do it
once.
Bzzr Gardens
Yes, Virginia, those men are walking
around outside with beer mugs frothing
with the good drink. UBC becomes a private chunk of land after dark and is thus
immune to public laws concerning open
liquor.
Beer runs the social life of this campus.
Everything is based on or built up surrounding beer. We have five fulltime
bars on campus built to serve your every
alcoholic fancy (The Gallery and The Pit
in SUB, Koerner's in the Grad Student
Centre, The Cheeze in GeerLand, The
Thunderbar in the Winter Sports Centre). Then there are bzzr gardens.
Bzzr gardens happen virtually every
week in a number of places. Arts is the
most consistent bzzr garden thrower,
probably due to their $2/beer price tag
(this is expensive for UBC). Arts seems to
have the wacky notion that you should
make money on an alcoholic event.
No one really checks IDs at bzzr gardens
held outside of the SUB (even the ones
in the SUB are pretty lax). Even if there is
a security guard in place, try to get in
anyways; there is no penalty for trying
to get into a bzzr garden and failing.
(Except at the Pit. They take your fake
ID, the bastards.)
Politics
Student politics are important. You can
vote in your Undergraduate Society elections (analogous to provincial elections)
and again in the Alma Mater Society
elections (like the federal government).
Vote. I cannot stress the importance of
voting enough. UBC has a huge apathy
rating (90%). Try and change that. Make
an old editor happy and get that number
below 80% this year.
Journalistic Integrity.
The Relentless Pursuit Of The Truth.
Screw 'em both.
Write for The 432.
Fame!
Fori
Prizes!
Write
l^ first Official 432 contributoiiilfcins of the 1999/2(100 yeafe
,.    A ^   ^pminSUS(ChismB16C^:
M^iiyone who would like to write or draw (Ippi. 1.1IK draw) (or ilu 432 is
WVited to this meeting. Rumor has it the edUfM might juend. Ynu can also
get food (pizza) and pop and beer (bzzr) for/rcc! If you show up.
Too vhjeken to come'to the meeting?'-E-nM J-'i.n Hul'mat ILdlcu'i'i \.ubc.ca,
 i_^  _  . ^ * 'c'yy 07 SEPTEMBER 1999
THE FOUR THIRTY TWO
PAGE THREE
Who needs the Real World?
Wty Jay Garcia
■7
Sugar Daddy
Summer has officially ended. It's
over, kaput, dead and on the slab,
toe tag tied on and staring sightlessly at the ceiling. It's about as distressingly final as a mass extinction, though,
Jurassic Park-like, echoes of summer may
yet rise from the ashes to taunt us, not
with the sharp, violent and undoubtedly
painful gnashing of serrated raptor
teeth, but with bright warm rays of sunshine as we trudge from class to class in
this new school year.
It's not as if I don't feel some sense of
relief that the summer is finally over,
though. It's weird to think of this most
hallowed of seasons in this disrespectful
manner, but really, I can't recall the last
time I had a long and carefree summer.
You know the type; days squandered
doing nothing in particular, hanging out
with your friends, swimming in the lake,
spending time at the local fishing hole ...
hmm, hold on a second, those weren't
my summers, those were reruns from
'Leave it to Beaver'. What I was really
thinking of were long, hot summer days
spent inside darkened rec rooms watching rented movies, bad daytime TV and
playing computer games, all the while
jumping about from the sheer amount
of sugar and caffeine in my system.
The harsh reality was that most summers after my first year were spent in
some form of capitalistic, equity-building endeavour, and this year was no
exception. Although I don't mind
shilling for the Canadian government
(it's fun working for Revenue Canada,
especially if you have the occasional
sadistic tendency that needs to be creatively expressed), work has a habit of
grinding you down, so much so that the
last thing you want to do is go out at
night with your friends. Add to that the
fact that I had decided to have another
kick at the MCAT can, and my fund of
free time looked about as slim as Glen
Clark's chances at re-election. Even in
the two weeks off I've had since work
officially ended and that exam has
passed into memory, I've re-developed a
taste for the scholastic life — or at least
the abridged and modified version of
academia, as seen through the eyes of a
five-year hack.
However, lest ye fall down in disbelief
over the concept of appreciating thi
finer aspects of academia, I must point
out that the five-year vision of university involves spending as little time actually doing things academic whilst maintaining a respectable GPA. And, though
you may doubt that the concept of minimized academic effort with maximized
grade output can be achieved within the
stifling confines of this ossificating institution, lemme tell you that five years of
professional studentship can teach you a
thing or two about shortcuts - like how
to scam the notes off of a smarter, if less
canny, student; or how you can take
advantage of obscure and little-utilized
examination resources (ie, drunken TA's)
in order to ace a midterm. These topics
are best reserved for another article,
however, as our focus is on maximizing
one's personal enjoyment of the campus
experience.
This ethos can be summed up in one
word: Trouble. After all, one of the
things you learn after spending this
much time at one institution can be
expressed very simply: "It's astonishing
how much trouble one can get oneself
into, if one works at it. And astonishing
how much trouble one can get oneself
out of if one simply assumes that everything will, somehow or other, work out
for the best." While trouble-with-a-capi-
tal-T is best avoided in university (and in
life in general, as this sort of Trouble is
pretty much the equivalent of bumping
into an irate Hell's Angel named "Crusher" in a shadowy alley after he's discovered you've been boffing his girlfriend
on the sly), trouble-witn-a-small-t is
what makes the university experience so
much damn fun. Stayed out all night
playing Ultimate with a fluorescent frisbee when you should have been studying for your weekly quiz is trouble. Mistakenly hitting on your chemistry TA's
girlfriend a"t any one of this institution's
fine bzzr gardens is trouble. Being chased
by the Engineers is trouble.
However, with the right frame of mind
(possibly aided by bzzr — "the cause of,
and solution to, all of life's problems"),
then this ain't really trouble, and is part
of the strange merry-go-round that is the
full university experience.
There is some caution to this advice,
though. Longtime readers of this fine
piece of journalism that is The 432 will
have been repeatedly hammered over
the head with the adage that university
is much more than the sum of your
classes. While this may be true, and
despite however enjoyable it may be to
start your morning off sometime around
noon, stumble to your undergrad lounge
and find your friends with their kiesters
parked on the couches which have mysteriously migrated onto the grassy median between Chemistry and Angus and
then spend the rest of the afternoon
swilling copious amounts of fermented
beverages, with an evening capped off
with either steam-tunneling or exploring
the heights of Buchanan Tower, do
remember to actually fit some classes
into that busy extra-curricular schedule.
That being said, there is a lot of latitude
in the way that one can attend university and still make the grade while having
fun. In university, you can bunk off an
afternoon to play miniature golf with
your buddies without having to fake
some sort of debilitating illness or claim
that your great aunt Mathilda has died
(for the ninth time). The same definitely
can't be said of working conditions in
the real world, unless you're in Comp
Sci, or work for the government. In a
similar vein, staring idly into space and
looking dazed and bewildered while
managing to do absolutely nothing pro
ductive would leave you labeled a bum
in the real world, but in university, it's
called "attending class".
Furthermore, there's a rich range of university sponsored activities that can only
enhance your ability to find things that
distract you from the otherwise overwhelming urge to solving complex calculus problems. First off, there's always
intramural sports. Go for tier three if
you're inept and are in it to have fun;
most people in tier three who aren't
competitive ringers are similarly fumble-
digited, and it's always humorous to
watch somebody else sprawl headlong
into an awkward position in an attempt
to catch/throw/hit something. Then
there's the weekly descent into various
and. usually personally incriminating
states of inebriation known as the bzzr
gardens. The frats hold theirs on
Wednesday. Everybody else holds 'em on
Friday (and in Science, that's Friday at
4:32, for some bizarre and inexplicable
reason). Hell, in the first week of classes
alone there's the annual booze-up
known as the Second Class Bash, thrown
together by The 432's parent organization and held on the second day of classes. Sports and drinking not yer thing?
Then yer not reading enough Maxim,
dammit. Still, you can always join a club
where you can meet interesting and
friendly folk who can definitely suggest
ways for you to get into trouble-with-a-
small-t. Find your undergraduate lounge
and talk to the weird bastards who seem
surgically implanted onto those couches. Or wander around SUB during clubs
days and join those which tickle your
fancy (and no; to those who are wondering, UBC doesn't sponsor that kind of
club. Yet.)
The long and short of it is, make the
most out of your four years here, because
if you're really lucky, you can stretch it
out to five (or more), thus managing to
avoid the Real World for a while to
come. Now if only I could find a summer
job where slacking off and being dazed
were requisite characteristics...
Thrift, Horatio
§
w$
Bree Baxter
fJ$Jc||  Princess Warrior
I hate walking past campus garbage
cans late at night. The little holes in
the can doors are just large enough to
fit a slinky, weasel-like squirrel body, and
claws scratching on the plastic door
amplify in the cold, silent campus night.
It's enough to give you nightmares. Picture: Suddenly, the night calm is thrust
asunder, decimated by the release of the
evil squirrel monster, tearing loose in a
rush of birth fluids from the cavernous
womb of the trash can!
Well, that was verbose. My internal
clock has been set to 5:30 am for the
summer, and it is difficult for me to stay
awake past 11:00 pm. I need one good
night of heavy drinking and semi-criminal activity. It was on a night full of such
activities that I once heard the phrase;
"Let's get naked and gyrate!" No, I did
not say it, noT had it said at me. On that
fair eve, we wandered, cold and alone,
through the University Endowment
lands. No flashlight, no map, no hope.
Only when the pale sun rose through
the Vancouver winter fog did we reach
the road. Never again, we swore. Never
again.
The state of radio in this city has gone
to crap in a brown paper bag. Radio stations are fragmentizing into 'genres'.
Tacky pre-teen ear-candy pop, hard-core
electric-guitar metal death, or fey soft
folk rock. The one thing this city needs
is a real Blues and Rock station. What
this city needs is me behind the programming desk, because I am always
right, I will always be right, and if you
disagree with me, you are wrong.
I had a bad dream the other night. I was
trying to get back from home in White
Rock to UBC, and I tried to catch the
bus, but the bus wouldn't come, and
then there was this crazy guy in a white
rabbit suit saying, "Follow me Alice!"
Since my name wasn't Alice, I followed
him. He ran down to Granville Island
Science Ambassadors
Be on the Dean's Team
www.science.ubc.ca/deanteam.htm
and I got lost in the crowds of Canadian
Geese. I woke up, scared, recalling the
strange way in which they would scream
and moan, "Operculum! Operculum!"
It is poor grammar to begin a paragraph
with the pronoun, "I", but after five
straight days of staring at the blank layout sheets for my first 432, a single tear
rolling down my cheek as I realize that
sleep is a distant hashish-induced fantasy, I do not care. Grammar, punctuation
and spelling be damned. If I cannot present navel-gazing, overly wordy trollop
in the newspaper I have been fairly elected to run (into the ground), what good is
this cruel world? If I cannot produce an
issue that, in the light of day, I would be
ashamed to show my soft-spoken mother, what would the crass and hardy university student such as yourself want
with it? I ask of you, where is the justice
in that?
Don't aggravate the weasel.
First Years!
• First Year BBQ!
Friday, Sept. 10th,
11:30 -4:30 pm
Free for First Years!
•First FYC Meetingl
Wednesday, Sept. 15th
5:30 pm
Chem B160 (SUS) PAGE FOUR
THE FOUR THIRTY TWO
07 SEPTEMBER 1999
The 432 Do It Yourself Supplement #24
Ever wondered how you can combined the thrill of Wheel of Fortune with the dulling intoxication of alcohol? Well, we have. And
here is the product of our fevered little minds. It's the...
Wheel of Booze!
It really isn't that hard to turn your basement bar into the most exciting game show/vomitorium on the block.
All it takes is some excess lumber, a couple of power tools and determination! (Well, a couple of beers can't
hurt...)
Here's how it works: You create a vertical version of the Wheel of Fortune, but instead of dollar values you put
various drinks and shooters on it. Put the wheel beside the bar, and charge per spin (we recommend $1).
Good prizes for the wheel are: "Beer", "Vodka Shot", "Praire Fire", "2 Shots of Rum", "Sambuca Shot",
"Nothing" and my favorite: "6 Shots of Tequila".
The "Nothing" allows your bar to recover some money and introduces the element of gambling.
Step One: Collect the lumber.
Depending on the size of wheel
that you'll be making, you need
between one and two sheets of
plywood. These instructions will
create a wheel about six feet in
diameter. Get the following:
• Two sheets of plywood.
• 4 ten foot 2x4s
• A whole sh*tload of nails
• A piece of 1 inch dowel
• Paint (whatever colours you
can get your grubby hands on)
You can either purchase these
items or steal them from a nearby construction site. I recommend the lockdown by Thunderbird Residenses. They have
large piles of lumber in a seldom
locked and poorly lit area.
Step Two: Sucker a friend into helping you.
This is perhaps the single most help you out and cover your ass
difficult stage. Simultaneously, when you screw up. Also, hav-
this is the most important stage, ing a friend help out gives you
It is almost impossible to plenty of chances to get
accomplish this task alone, so liquored when they're not look-
find a knowledgeable and ing;)
extremely  competent  pal  to
Step Three: Cut the plywood into eight wedges.
What we're doing here is creating the main "deck" of the
wheel-the part of the wheel
that will be visible in the final
product. So don't screw up.
Minor scratches are okay, since
you'll be painting it anyway, but
giant holes are more difficult to
cover up with paint and brush.
The wedges should be isocoles
triangles, with the two similar
sides measuring three feet in
length, and the major angle
being 45 degrees (8 wedges, 45
degress each, 360 degrees in a
circle, get it?).
Mark the wedge on the plywood in pencil, then cut it with
a skillsaw. Do this sober. Please.
Step Four: Cut the two by fours.
You want to create a
square onto which you
will nail the eight
wedges. So cut the 2x4s
into three foot lenths
and hammer into a
square, using an alternating joint as per the
illustration.
Step Five: Cut more plywood.
Now you need to cut four
squares from the plywood to
nail onto the 2x4 square. Make
them 3'4" per side. Nail two on
one side of the 2x4 square, then
nail the other two on the opposite side. Drill a large (1") hole in
both plywood surfaces, ensuring that they line up. This is the
hole where you'll be putting
that dowel you stole, which is
how we're going to spin this
thing. Ain't carpentry fun?
Step Six: Put it all together. Paint as desired.
If you can't figure out what to the holes). Drill another 1" hole
do at this point, you're a bloody in the wedges. Skewer the beast
idiot.   Nail  the  eight wedges with the dowel, and afix the
onto the square, with the tips of dowel somewhere secure,
the wedges meeting at the cen- Paint as desired,
ter of the sqaure (over one of
Step Seven: The finishing touches.
Hammer nails, evenly spaced,
into the parimeter of the wheel.
Leave them sticking out about
three inches. These will serve at
the 'tick tick' things on the edge
of the wheel when you spin it
(you know what I mean).
Note: You may have to "round
out" the edge of the wheel for
smooth performance, this will
be dependant on your design.
Now make a bracket on your
wall (or just drill a hole through
it) onto which you will stick the
wheel. You may have to add
graphite to the dowel to make
the spinning a bit easier.
If you want something really
cool, make two of these wheels
and stick them together ala The
Price Is Right
Step Eight: The Challenge.
Now comes the interesting part:
we seriously want to see this
thing built. The first completed
wheel (and fully functional, no
half assed jobs here) will win a
plethora of alcoholic prizes to
help you use it.
The prize is full bottles of a large
variety of "shoot-able" spirits,
from tequila to vodka.
Why do we get the feeling that
we just gave away $100 in
booze to a frat? Frats seem to be
the only organizations on campus with both the manpower
and almost fanatical devotion to
alcohol. Well, them and the
engineers. 07 SEPTEMBER 1999
THE FOUR THIRTY TWO
PAGE FIVE
A Frosh's UBC Dictionary
(Deluxe Edition, now with yokel-speak!)
Action Now (Ack-shun N-ow): Neo-
socialist fascist pinkos. They are an Arts
political party, as well as an AMS party.
Alcohol (al-key-hol): Mmm. The beverage of choice. Is there nothing that the
alcoholic goodness cannot do?
Allen, Nathan: Neo-socialist AMS External Vice President. If not in his office, he
will be in his booth in the Gallery (see
Gallery, The).
Artsies (frut kayk): l.(n) the hot girls in
English 110. 2.(n) young male dressed in
black, smoking Gitanes and spouting off
Proustian communist nonsense in front
of Buchanan.
Arts County Fair (sex, drugs and rock 'n'
roll): Held on the last day of April classes in Thunderbird stadium, there will be
lots of bands and lots of beer and lots of
semi-naked co-eds. (See pissed, Ganja and
venereal disease.
AUS (eh?-you-ess): Arts Undergrad Society, home of the Underground, providers
of Arts County Fair.
B
Bookstore (baa-star-ds): The place where
you buy your books. Your books will be
ludicrously expensive, but you'll have to
buy from this money-sucking monopoly, because what else are you going to
do? Fail?
Brock Hall (bah-star-ds): Ancient temple
to the pagan gods of line-ups and
bureaucracy.
Buchanan (Sh-hit Ho-ell): Built in 1967,
a 'temporary' building for the Faculty of
Arts.
Bzzr (Beer): The reason for the two z's is
the fact that you cannot advertise alcohol on posters due to an old municipal
bylaw. Bastards.
Bzzr Gardens (Mmmmm-oooooo):
Where one goes to cultivate alcohol-
induced short-term sexual relationships.
Cairn, The (Kay-ern): A six-foot white
phallic symbol dedicated to the Faculty
of Applied Science. Psychology has a
pool as to "what they are are compensating for."
Cannabis (Wee-uhd): see 'Ganga'
CCCC (see-see-see-see): Acronym for
Canadian Campus Crusade for Christ.
Kicked off campus for cult-like recruiting
techniques, Jake Grey's mortal nemesis.
Centurion (sen-tury-on): Drinking challenge. 100 shots of beer, one every
minute. No leaving your seat. If your
liver doesn't give out, your bladder will.
Cheeze, The (EE-you): A place to observe
engineers in their natural habitat. Avoid
the puke-stained women's bathroom
and the pimply faced red-coats.
CiTR (see-aye-tee-are): 1. (n) Student
radio station. 2. (n) Group of mental
patients with a bad record collection
who got hold of a microphone.
Cold Fusion (H+H=He): The dance and
beer garden at the end of Science Week
in January, featuring huge bands like 54-
40, Junkhouse and cheap, yummy Russell beer. Don't miss it.
Crawl (Kur-all): 1. One night, Multiple
Bars, Much alcohol. 2. Fun.
D
Dean's Vacation (Deen-se Vay-cay-shun):
l.(n) The year after the dunken year
where you never went to class. 2.(n) 2nd
year. 3.(n) The year that the Dean
"invites you to take off" after failing
every class you took.
Dean Maria Klawe (Dee-n Mah-REE-ah
Claw-VEH): Our Dean. She juggles.
How cool is that?
Drunk (Drr-aw-nk): 1.Blissful state
attained by ingesting much alcohol. 2. A
valid legal defence. 3. Preferred.
Drunksville (druhk-s-vil): (phrase)- Man,
you were the Mayor of Drunksville last
night. What about Bob? Bob was the
drunkest guy there. He was the Town
Drunk of Drunksville.
8:30 am (Ate-thur-TAY eh-M): While
unavoidable, one should avoid foolishly
scheduling classes at this time, assuming
that no one gets drunk on Tuesdays.
Engineer (N-juh-nee-ear): A member of
the Faculty of Applied Science, or as it
was once known, 'Engineering'. Most
engineers are nice and complimentary,
but the ones you want to look out for are
the red-jacketed 'Geers.
Exams (Ayn-ull Proob): After three
months, it all comes down to three
hours in Osbourne Gym, breaking into a
cold sweat when you realise that
You...Are... Fucked.
F (ef) - See Fail
Fail (fay-el) : Combined result of Forty
Beer, Arts County Fair, Cold Fusion, and
Bzzr Garden. Mult.: see 'Dean's Vacation'
Fairview (f-err-V-eww): Site of UBC Biology silverfish breeding project.
The 432 (The For-Thir-T-2): In your hot
little hand...no, not that one, the left
one doofus.
(as a note to all of our female readers, I
humbly apologize for this entry of obviously male humor, -copy ed)
Forty Beer (4-T-Beer): Futile attempt by
braindead half-men to immortalize
themselves by drinking forty beers in
under twenty-four hours. See Geer.
Frat: Nickname for 'Fraternities'. Home
of the toga party and all-night orgies. Or
so rumour has it.
Frosh (Fur-osh): see Mirror.
Ganga (Gaaaaan-jah): see 'Hemp'
Gallery, The (Jeesh, you looksh cutesh
tonaght): A large smoky room on the
main floor of the SUB, where 'overage'
people can consume large amount of
alcohol at semi-inflated prices.
Geers (Gi-rs): see Engineers
Guide, The (Guy-dun): What you should
have received weeks ago had SUS not
pursued it's longstanding tradition of
finding the most incompetent person on
campus and putting them in charge of
this publication. It's basically a book of
prof/course reviews to help you pick
their courses.
H
Hammered (Ham-mard): see Drunk
Hemp (H-ayem-p): See Marijauna
High (Hi): Blissful state attained by
much toking."
High balls (Hi-bawe-ls): A state of being
achieved after swimming in the outdoor
pool in February.
Interchange (in-tur-ch-ayn-ge): Bastards
who silently charge eighty bucks for a
very bad online server and limited email
connection. See also Netinfo.
J
lackhammered: See Hammered.
Toint (joy-nt): 1. Small, easily tokable,
amount of pot rolled in paper 2. A
bendy point in your body.
K
Kegov, Beer (KEHG-ov, mmmm): An
actual keg of beer; the second presidential and most successful candidate of the
Radical Beer Faction. See also Radical Beer
Faction.
Kegger (K-gr): A party where the goal is
to empty at least one keg (50L) of beer
List. Top Ten (Lee-st-com-mah-tawep-
teh-n): An outdated and unoriginal
humour method pioneered by David
Letterman. Top Ten lists are the best sign
that a comedian is grappling for material. See also Underground, The.
M
Man, The (Da Mahn): Keeps you down.
Invisible, all-powerful entity that controls the government and is doing everything possible to prevent your success.
Marijuana (Mary Jane): See Oregano,
Funky.
Marshall, Ryan (Mar-SHAL, Reye-Ann):
President of your fine Alma Mater Society. He is the elected 'Man'.
N
Netinfo (Neyt-in-foe): 1. State of utter
frustration. 2. Useless.
O
Outpost (Ow-t-poe-st): A store in the
SUB that sells items most commonly
found in Gastown.
Plastered (Pl-ass-tard): See Pissed.
Pissed (Pss-ed): See Drunk.
Pit, The (Pit): A popular campus pub in
the SUB with the famous Pit Nights on
Wednesday. It's a great spot to form
short term drunken and often sexual
relations.
Piper. Martha (PAI-per, Mar-tha): Pres. of
UBC. You won't see her until you graduate. Powerless figurehead.
Pylon, The (Pie-Ion): The Radical Beer
Faction's most recent attempt at putting
an inanimate object into political office.
R
Radical Beer Faction (R-B-F): Politics
meets a kegger. These pro-democracy
champions sway the electorate each year
by handing out free beer. They call it
election expenses. The AMS believes
them. The AMS pays for it. Coming to an
AMS election near you.
Rose Bowl (roe-suh bole): A foreign term
explainable only by Engineers in the
Cheese. Go ask them one day and find
out. The SUS is not responsible for any
bodily harm done to you as a result of
such inquiries, (snicker snicker)
Singh. laggi (SING, JAH-gi): Protester-
for-hire made famous by his involvement in the recent APEC demonstrations, has never been seen in public
without holding a megaphone.
Students for Students (Wahhh!): UBC's
very own loony, bleeding heart liberal
party. Essentially a bunch of students
running for office for the sole reason of
extending their political careers.
SUS (S-uh-ss): The Science Undergraduate Society, your political tool to fight
'the Man', and to provide cheap bzzr and
entertainment. Famous for the satirical
newspaper the 432 and their AMS Political Party, the Radical Beer Faction.
T&A (Tee and Ay): Not what you think.
The annual Talent and Awards night
held by the Engineers. It's kinda like a
high-school talent show, but with cheap
beer.
TA (Tee-aye): Not T&A. Teaching Assistant. A person a few years older than
yourself with only a slightly better grasp
of the material.
Thorton. lohan (Yo): UBC's very own
legend. He currently holds the record for
longest time taken to complete a degree.
Now at 14 years and counting. He also
holds an almost God-like following
amoung his fellow Geers.
Totem (Tow-tem): An experiment to see
how many frosh you can cram into a
building originally designed to house 40
university students.
Thunderbird (Tee-byrd): 1. The official
mascot of the UBC sports teams. 2. A residence down by Totem Park. 3. A SUB
store that was unceremoniously screwed
over by the AMS; used to reside where
The Outpost is.
To The Empire! (2 D Em-pyre!): Ancient
battle cry of the SUS.
Tanked (Taynk-duh): The act of getting
stripped naked then thrown into a fetid
pool of freezing water by 'Geers. No one
really knows where this practice originated or what possible purpose it could
serve, yet the Geers still do it.
U
Underground, The (K-raap): Started by
the AUS a few years back as a response to
The 432, this newspaper has overcome
its sporadic start and now publishes on a
semi-regular schedule. It has always been
and continues to be a refuge for writers
turned away from The 432.
Venereal Disease  (ven-air-e-1-diz-eeze):
see Editor, 432.
W
Wasted (Way-st-ed): See Drunk.
Weed (We-duh): See Cannabis.
Yo (Yo): See Thorton, Johan.
Zeta(Zay-ta): Letter of the Greek Alphabet. Often used as a 'frat' name. See also
Frat. (Oh c'mon, you try and come up
with something starting with Z)
NEXT ISSUE:
A COMPLETE FROSH'S GUIDE TO
UBC PART II:
LEGENDS OF UBC PAGE SIX
THE FOUR THIRTY TWO
07 SEPTEMBER 1999
The Pain of Materialism.
John Hallett
On fire guy
The 37" TV seemed like a good idea
in the store. Heck, it even seemed
like a good idea once the free delivery was over and it was sitting in the corner of my living, room. It looked great
when we were watching Dazed and Confused later that night. And the next
night. And the night after that. In fact, it
pretty much seemed like one of the best
purchases that I had ever made right up
until last weekend. You see, I decided to
move last weekend.
The problem with 37" TVs is that they
aren't exactly portable. In fact, one could
list off accurate adjectives describing my
TV for quite a few minutes and the word
"portable" wouldn't be found among
them unless immediately preceded by
such words as "definitely not", "anything but", and-my favorite-"so fucking
un-".
Now, you might be thinking that I'm off
my rocker. Your dad has a 60" TV and
nobody has ever lamented about moving it. Heck, it only took Dad and Uncle
Frank to get the thing downstairs and
Uncle Frank had had a few beers. The
difference between that TV and mine is
quite simple: rear projection. Rear projection is a wonderful invention that
allows TVs to get very big and not weigh
very much. The problem is that the picture quality sucks, and purists like myself
wind up shelling out large amounts of
cash for stupidly large Cathode Ray Tube
Televisions,   which   have   competing
screen sizes and picture clarity that is
about as close to divine as you can get
solely with material goods.
So how did I move it? Well, step one
was to put the monolith back in the box
it came from. Yes, Virginia, 37" TVs
come in boxes, but not like the boxes
that microwaves come in. No siree, you
can stand on the top of this box and it
wouldn't collapse. Well, if you could
climb all the way up it without falling,
that is. "This shouldn't be too hard," I
thought, "Just lift with the knees, not
with the back."
There were several warning indicators
that I noted while moving the box into
position. First, the handy diagram on
the side of the box informed me that the
proper method of lifting said TV (once it
was in the box) was to use three strong
men and the handles provided. Hmmm.
Second, the box when on to say that the
preferred method was the use of a small
forklift. O-kaay. Third, the box was
heavy. This was not a good sign. You just
have to know that a TV is very heavy
when the box it came in is heavy to start
with. All of this was adding up to severe
hernia potential. I was going to need
help.
So I went in search of the bravest,
strongest friends I knew in order to plead
my case to them and promise many fine
nights of television viewing at my new
apartment. They weren't home. Well,
either that or they turned off the lights
and hid behind the curtains, kinda like
when Jehovah's Witnesses come around.
"Okay," I thought, "I'll ask my brother.
He's family. He has to help," I called him
up on his cell phone and got a brief,
terse explanation of how he would love
Dead Pool IV:
The Voyage Home
The Reaper
Dead Guy
Once again, we wander ever closer
to the mysterious unknown that
is Death. Over the millennia, the
mere concept of death has been the
cause of awe, fear and panic, most of the
later forming into organized religion. We
at the 432 have our own way of dealing
with our impending mortality.
We mock it.
It's been a killer summer. It was a bad
year to be involved in science or science
fiction or movies. DeForest Kelly,
"Bones" on the Original Start Trek, and
Stanley Kubrick have both passed
beyond. Jean Siskel, the thin one, is
gone. Mario Puzo, the guy who wrote
the Godfather but "had no ties to the
Mafia," is sleeping with the fishes. And
who can forget (I know I'm still trying)
JFK Jr.? There aren't many Kennedys left,
but trust me when I say that Uncle
Teddy isn't going anywhere. He's pickled. Just like the Queen Mum.
These are the rules: List fifteen people-
who you think will be kicking off
between October 1st and the publishing
date of the last issue of the 2000 year.
The order of your list will count. This
means that you should think carefully
about who will die first. If you list Prince
Charles as the first on your list, and he
dies, you get fifteen points. If you list
him 15th, you get one point. And don't
try to fool me, I can at least count to fifteen.
You are not allowed to list any of the
following.
1: Anyone in Turkey.
2: Jesus (He's dead, he's not coming
back, get over it)
3: Anyone caught in an elevator at
11:59pm, December 31st.
4: Ryan Marshall.
5: Dead people.
6: Your math professor.
7: Elvis. For the love of God, stop
obsessing over the ex-King.
You are allowed any celebrity you want.
Choose your own definition of celebrity.
You are not going to get a point for anyone if you are found guilty of the murder.
Some good ideas:
- • Suharto. Karma is a tricky thing.
• Boris Yeltsin. The man guzzles vodka
like it were cheap Evian, and given the
state of the Russian health system...
• Ronald Regan. Ronnie's brain is little
more that a pile of gelatinized goo. The
body can't be far behind.
• The Pope. Watch one of those televised sermons from the Vatican. They
prop him up and tie strings to his hands.
It's Pope on a Rope!
For some strange reason, some people
have a problem with our Dead Pool. If
you are one of them, there is this simple
series of steps to follow: Don't read the
Dead Pool column. Don't enter a list.
Don't complain to us and enjoy your
ever-shortening time on this earth.
Good luck and don't fear the Reaper.
to help but had to go to Whistler for the
weekend on business. Whistler. Business.
Yeah, right.
I was alone. Nobody was going to willingly come to my aid, so I had to resort
to methods better than asking nicely:
treachery, extortion, and blackmail.
(Aside: Kids, extortion and blackmail can
be excellent tools for getting out of bedtimes and homework. You'd be surprised
how much mileage you can get out of
that Fisher Price tape recorder Dad gave
you last Christmas.) A couple of photographic negatives later, I had three
friends standing in front of me willing to
help, and one at home futilely trying to
explain some recently discovered pictures to his girlfriend.
With a great heave and a greater ho, we
managed to lift the mighty box from its
resting place and hoist it into the air. The
psycotically heavy TV was suspended
three feet above my carpeted floor and,
perhaps more importantly, my unshoed
foot. I could feel the mighty power of
gravity trying to yank my arms from
their very sockets. But I would not let my
fingers slip. My TV depended on me, and
I would not let it down. My friends however, felt no such obligation.
Matt let go first. Gravity seized this
opportunity and struck up a brief conversation with the TV that went something like this:
Gravity: "Hey! How's it going?"
TV: "Not bad. Although I'm not quite
sure where I am or who you are."
Gravity: "Well, you're about three feet
in the air with absolutely nothing holding you up. That's why I'm here, I'm
Gravity."
TV: "Oh, I see. So I supposed that you
want me to fall to the ground or some
such thing, right?"
Gravity: "Well, if you want to avoid creating a quantum singularity, it'd be helpful."
TV: "Okay, then. Where should I fall?
How about that wall over there?"
Gravity: "Nope. Try something below
you."
TV: "Oh, I see how this works, now!
How about that guy's foot?"
Gravity: "Excellent, go for it. Oh yeah,
it'd be helpful if you could twist and
land corner-first."
TV: "No problem."
<brief pause>
Me: "AHHHHHH! HOLY F*CKING
SH*T! GOD DAMNED MOTHER-F*CKER.
ARRRRRRGGGGGHHHHHHH! PIECE
OF F*CKING SH*T! AH, F********CCCCK-
KKK!"
Matt: "Gee, sorry man."
Me:   "YOU  STUPID  PIECE  OF
F*CKING..."
Well, from there the conversation deteriorated into something of slightly less
societal value.
What did I learn from this experience?
Well, the smoking remains of my TV
have been escorted to the dump (a poorly lit alley downtown, actually) and my
foot is still in a cast. Maybe none of this
would have happened had I not been so
materialistic and purchased a smaller TV
I would probably not be in this situation.
I might even be better off if I didn't even
own a TV, and just read books instead.
Naaaahhhhh.
Dead Pool IV
Entry Sheet
Your name:
Your email address:
Your phone number:
-Your entries: 07 SEPTEMBER 1999
THE FOUR THIRTY TWO
PAGE SEVEN
What To Do
When You're
Bored: III
Tap into your overly conservative
neighbour's cable. Slowly alter the programming so that his religious channels gradually change to pornography
over two years. See if he notices.
Go to the late showing of the current
Disney flick dressed in pajamas and
holding a teddy bear. Cry during the
scary parts and yell advice to the
people on the screen.
Rent 5 Teletubbie videos and 5 hard
core porn movies. Switch the cases and
return.
Purchase a remote control airplane
and a walkie-talkie. Go to the airport, launch the plane from parking
lot and request to land on main
strip.
Steal Level 3 Biohazard suits from
South Campus. Dress and go to the
Cloud Nine Restaurant. Order the
lamb.
Run surgical tubing and a pump to a
water gun. Put the gun in a toilet.
Surprise unsuspecting patrons.
Attend a taping of 'Jeopardy!'. Heckle
the contestants when they get a question wrong. Preferred heckles include:
'God, that was dumb!' and 'You find
that out from watching squirrels fuck?'
Compliment Alex on his shapely ass.
Pee in the water reservoir.
Build a nuclear bomb out of used
smoke detector parts.
Fill a large, rusted tanker with Jarjar
Binks merchandise. Drive it off the
West Coast of the Queen Charlottes.
Claim refugee status for all 1053
plush dolls.
Start a band called Blink 183.
Enter your dead plants in the obituary. In lieu of flowers, ask people to
send you money to help you through
the grieving process.
Sit on Granville with an empty paper
cup and a sign that reads, "Former
NDP MLA, will work for food."
Chase campus squirrels with a
blender. Smack your lips loudly and
with gusto whenever you come close
to catching one.
Place ground-up mint leaves in a large
glass jar. Place the large glass jar in a
conspicuous place when your SO's parents are scheduled to arrive. Act
stoned. Offer them some.
Carve '666' in the head of a plush
Mickey Mouse doll. Carry it with you
everywhere you go. Converse frequently with the doll, always referring to it as 'Master' or 'My Dark
Lord.'
Randomly wander into classes and yell,
"No it doesn't!". Wander out and
repeat. For variation, use the word "titmouse".
Dress up as a Teletubbie. Visit
Kindergarden classes. After one
minute of mobbing, tell the kids to
'Fuck off' and start laying the smack
down.
Make Wobbly-Pops.
Cook phallic-shaped cookies.   Leave
them in a closed tin on the table during your grandparent's next potluck
dinner.
Walk up to a stranger. Introduce yourself as their personal stalker.
Patrol campus on first day, carrying
an automatic rifle and wearing camouflage with 'Frosh Patrol' across
your front. Ask random people if
they are "in season."
Phone Ujjal Dosanjh. Say you can put
a roof on his house that will really get
him the chicks.
Groom your lab partner. Promise
them that you'll eat any parasites
you find.
Break into the faculty webpage design.
Replace all prof, pictures with pornography. Watch enrollment skyrocket.
Using any and all means possible,
destroy the Cairn.
Rig the Nine O'Clock Gun to pop out
one of those little flags with 'Bang!' on
it.
Fill the power vacuum by staging a
coup d'etat at the provincial Legislature using supersoakers and water
balloons filled with red food colouring.
Call newspapers and give them leads
on a sex scandal involving Martha
Piper, Mordecai Richler, and Maltik the
space monkey.
Conduct a self-help seminar entitled
"Get Off Your Lazy Ass."
Perform home liposuction.
Film a cheap porn flick entitled 'The
Blair Witch Penetration'.
Make napalm out of gasoline and styrofoam. Carry it around in a jar holding your arms out and making airplane
noises. Shriek "It's Do-Long bridge all
over again, man!"
Wear lipstick on your nose.
Fill 2 litre milk cartons with gas. Go to
Chevron and buy some milk, swapping
the cartons when no one is looking.
Fill you tank with the cartons, claiming that you're using a "new type of
engine that runs on calcium and vitamin A."
Ruthless?
Ambitious?
Insatiable Thirst For World
Domination?
Write for The 432.
The drawers of
SUS
External Vice      Internal Vice
H
i, hi. My name is Amanda, aka
Mandy, and I'm the External Vice
President.
Basically I'm in charge of AMS and
interconstituency liaisons as well as Science Week. Science Week is a celebration
of Science Pride (not the gay kind of
Pride -ed) and involves lots of SUB displays, huge bands, beer and movies. It's
during the last week of January, from the
24th-28th. If you can't remember the
dates, it's in your Inside UBC. Anyways,
if you have any concerns you want me
to pass on in AMS meetings, come talk to
me. In related news, the AMS is pursuing
a referendum on the proposed Health &
Dental Plan. Also, the AMS, Western and
Queens student societies are pursuing a
lawsuit that questions the transfer of
ownership of Travel Cuts to CFS, charging that all Canadian schools deserve
shares of Travel Cuts, not just CFS
schools. Spin it how you want, the
Ubyssey certainly did. Come say hi to
me in SUS sometime. Later. :)
Finance
Hi, I'm Jeff Steinbok, and I'm your
new Director of Finance for the
1999/2000 year. Well, given that
the year just started and I haven't actually done anything yet, there's not much
to report, so I'll just waste all your time
and ramble a bit. But before I start, I
have one important thing to say....this is
a rarity, so please read this: If SUS owes
you any money from last year (1998-
99) that you haven't yet picked up
from AMS, please contact me in SUS
ASAP. Ok, that's that...I guess you can
stop reading now. Actually, screw this,
I'm not wasting my time writing a ramble no one's going to read anyway. If you
want to hear me ramble, you can come
find me in SUS. Anyway, pizza's here!
I'm Reka Sztopa, and I'm your new
Internal Vice President for the
1999/2000 school year. This year, I
am a second year general biology student with plans to major in Med Genetics and Physiology. Aside from school,
some of my passions include organizing
events, counseling at summer camps and
dancing. This year, I am responsible for
events such as Meet the Dean at Imagine
UBC, the First Year BBQ (Friday, September 10 at 11:30 am n the lawn outside
SUS) and the SUS Wine and Cheese. I
will also be chairing committees like the
First Year Committee and the Academic
Committee and will be Elections Commissioner for Science Council Elections.
I encourage everyone interested to
become involved with SUS in some way
or other. If you have any questions or
ideas for this year, I would love to hear
from you. Come into SUS, or email me at
rsztopa@interchange.ubc.ca. Good luck
with your classes, have a great week, and
see you soon!
If anyone didn't pick
up their 98/99 sports
rebates or poll clerk
honorarium from
last year, get them in
SUS over the next
four weeks before
Steinbok tears them
up.
Grr
Yes! It's...
Itim
/fhe 1st All You Can Drinl^
/ Bzzr Garden of th© year!  \
i^fhat a deal!
/
\
W\dnesday, Sept 8th, 4:3!^pm
%|nSUg(ChemB160}/
it-
Buy your own 22 oz.mug! PAGE EIGHT
THE FOUR THIRTY TWO
07 SEPTEMBER 1999
Who I Did on my Summer Vacation
Andy Martin
Not Test, really!
It's September and all you peons are
back at school, worrying over marks
that won't come for four month and
lining up for hours to buy overpriced
books for phenomenally boring courses
about stuff that no one gives a flying fornication about anymore. Me, I'm done,
I'm gone. Four and out.
Don't worry, I'm coming back, but only
for two things: cheap beer on Friday
nights, and drunk university girls on Friday nights. And I'll keep writing here
until I get bored with it. I'm working:
making money and being able to enjoy
it because I can drop everything at 5pm.
Of course, work also includes getting to
wade through a multi-coloured rainbow
of sewage types, arguing with pitbulls
and their even more inbred owners,
stumbling into wasp nests and getting so
close to sunstroke that only Ernie the
horny muskrat and his kung-fu action
grip can keep me from falling face first
into the gaping maw of the techni-
colour teletubby that follows me around.
How a teletubby found its way to Chilli-
wak, and what it wants with a shit-
soaked university graduate is beyond
me.
I do this because...well, because...umm,
because it's a degree related job...yeah,
that's it. Of course, between the stolen
5 minutes for lunch and jabbing myself
with noradrenaline to keep myself from
dying from the venom in a fetid
cesspool, I do get to control military
satellites for my own purposes. And you
thought Y2K was dangerous? Try a
severely dehydrated and delirious 432
writer with his finger on the button.
I've met a lot of interesting people on
this job. Like Allison, who reminded me
why I hate Christians so much, and G.I.
John. At the job debriefing, the boss
demanded that we wear a high-visibility
vest, cork boots and a hip chain. G.I.
John showed up to work the next day in
a high-vis vest, cork boots and a hip
chain (the more observant of us would
have by now noticed that I made no
mention of pants of any sort). At least
the Devil's Club, stinging nettle, blackberry bushes and mosquitoes stopped
his nudist binge in one day (and taught
us that not all swelling is a good thing).
The good nudist binge award goes to the
very drunk farmer daughters who rode
around town flashing the very sunburnt
bastards in front of them. Who says
alcohol has no redeeming value (except
my mother)?
I got a good part of my. 15 minutes in. I
got to be in the new Matt Good video
(opposite a pair of lesbian vampires and
exotic dancers). I waited in a hot, sweaty
Rage for eight hours of filming, and
there's a grand total of 5 seconds of
crowd shots (but I'm one of the few who
are actually visible). I also got published
in a major magazine (opposite Shannon
Doherty). I'd tell you even more, but my
lawyer told me not to discuss it until
after the trial.
Well, I guess those of you who don't
know me or anything about this campus
need a little lube to get the apparatus
working (interpret the metaphor as you
will). Let's start with the Do Nots:
1. Do not go to the Cheeze and ask for
a Rose Bowl...EVER!
2. Do not pee into the semi-circle in the
Pit's washroom. Wait for an experienced
adult to show you how to use it.
3. When it says 'Do not inhale fumes,'
man, you better not inhale those fumes.
4. Do not go to Wreck Beach. I know
what you're thinking: fashion models
and Olympic swimmers in the buff.
Sorry. Try Newt Gingrich, Tammy Fae-
Baker and their hideous army of mutant
clones playing beach volleyball with a
limp soccer ball. Jumping and spiking
and making a diving dig
NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! She's still
caught in the net! Oh God, WHY?!
5. Never give your name to a religious
club during club week. You'll be dancing
in lamb's blood by the end of the
month. Just give me twenty bucks a
week and I'll tell you what to do. It'll
save all that church-going and holy
wars. Voila, the perfect solution.
6. And of course, the rule that overrides
all other rules:
PONT GET CAUGHT
And a few other tips:
1. Before even talking to an Artsie, consider the consequences seriously.
2. There really is a such thing as a stupid
question. Someone in each class will
prove this to you by the end of the
month. These people are called keeners.
They are unliked and often the target of
large blunt missiles from the back rows.
3. The stuff that they try to sell at all of
those quaint little bazaars sucks just as
much as the stuff at the big bazaars.
4. Good God people, don't waste the
best years of your life in a classroom. I
know, I almost did. Steady diets of beer
(with an optional side dish of pot) are
required for each student (and please
don't sue me when you take my advice
as gospel and fail out - balance (and mix)
the class and the alcohol).
5. Don't assume we like you, because we
really don't. Several first years have yet
to grasp this. Some fourth years have yet
to grasp this. Hell, I have yet to grasp
this.
6.1 am six-foot four, 22 years old with a
muscular build, a writer, university graduate and enjoy playing guitar and
extreme sports. I am looking for a tall,
short-haired blonde with which to share
love, affection and bondage. Any interested can respond through this paper or
directly by calling, emailing or stalking
me.
Andy seems to think that he narrowly
escaped wasting the best years of his life.
He's wrong, of course. Look at me. I'm
going to be here for a grand total of six
years in the end, I'm broke and editing a
damn newspaper at 10:57 am on a Monday morning. He's wading through shit in
Chilliwack. Ha, ha.
-ed.
Graduated Prom Finger Painting?
Draw For The 432.
Science Student Forum
on the Draft Academic Plan
12:30 pm -2:30 pm
Thursday, September 23rd# 1999
SUB Theatre
The Faculty of Science and the Science Undergraduate Society invite you to join
Dean Maria Klawe, members of the Academic Plan Advisory Committee, and
student and faculty panelists for a discussion on the Draft Academic Plan.
Take this opportunity to have a say in your own future, the future of the Faculty
of Science and the future of UBC!
Copies of the Academic Plan are available at http://www.oldadmin.ubc.ca/apac/
or
Pick up a copy at the Dean's Office, Biological Sciences Building, Room 1505
Co-sponsored by the Faculty of Science and SUS

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