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The 432 Mar 19, 1997

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Array "It seemed the world was divided into good and bad people... the good ones slept better,
while the bad ones seemed to enjoy the waking hours much more." -Woody Allen
Day of Rest
or All Day Booze-Fest?
"Now I don't have to hide my flask!" - Church goer
Curl S. Fibble and Eari Warren
Genetic Correspondents
Lobby groups have increased their
efforts in British Columbia in an
attempt to change the Province's
liquor laws. Key in their proposal is a
change in the laws which would allow
British Columbia's Liquor Distribution
Branches to remain open on Sundays.
This controversial change has brought a
mixed reaction from local Christian
groups, concerned about the effect these
new changes will have on their traditional day of worship.
Bishop William Reese-Griffithson
expressed his "extreme displeasure" with
the proposed changes.
"We already have to compete with football — now we have to compete with
alcohol? Sweet mother of God! We're
fairly sure most of our congregation is
already under the influence. Must we
promote this behavior?"
Baptist Reverend Jimmy Jones-Johnston
(known as J.J J. in his fight against the
K.K.K.) was equally dramatic. "I Tell you,
my brother and sisters...that this is the
single greatest moment in the history of
the church. I can see it now — cheap
spirits  for  the  holy
spirit!      We'll   have
those airline bar carts
runnin' up and down
the pews. We'll have
'em  dancin'  in  the
aisles!     Praise     the
Premier Glen Clarke
admitted that he was
unsure wether or not
serving alcohol during church service
would be legal. When
pressured, he admitted that if the new
laws did go through,
he'd probably be
spending less time in church and more
time "worshipping a different God."
The Panhandler's Association of British
Columbia   is   reported   to   be   "very
We already have to
compete with football — now we have
to compete with
alcohol? Sweet
mother of God!
leader agreed to meet with The 432 in an
exclusive interview last Thursday.
PABC President Jethro Spigget stated
"Liquor Stores are among our single
highest sources of income. You'd tie surprised how much
money a drunken harmonica player can
take in during one
day. And it also makes
it easier on the panhandler's themselves.
I mean, where do you
think we all head after
getting twenty dollars
in change?
"If this legislation
goes through, our
members might be
able to actually pay
their       membership
    fees. Either that or we
could all go to the bar.
Christian fundamentalist
Brothers And Daughters
Sacrilegious Societies, plans to hold a
—Bishop William
— ft	
pleased" with this purposed move. Their    rally dem0nstrating their opposition to
the proposed changes.
"It's bad enough that we have to put up
with drinking on Fridays and Saturdays,"
explains the group's leader, Randy
"Now you expect us to allow sinners to
visit these 'bars'...these places of evil...on
a Sunday? On God's day? I urge all of my
brothers, all of my sisters, all of my children, and any combination of the above
to rise up and fight against this blasphemy!
"God gave to us the seven signs of the
apocalypse, and while this isn't one of
them, it should be! So rise up, my righteous followers, and repent! For the end is
The proposal is scheduled to be debated
in the Legislative Assembly on Monday,
and is expected to meet fierce opposition
from the province's Reform party representatives. 432 reporters have contacted
several prominent political analysts, all
of whom expect the debate to drag on
into the wee hours of the night. Airline
bar carts will be made available to MLAs
who desire refreshment.
AUS Bankrupt!
Earle Warren
"Let me know if you see a good place to take a piss."
Irritating Correspondent
The Arts Undergraduate Society of UBC
announced to the press last week that it
may have to declare bankruptcy this
year, as a result of over-spending on their
annual Arts County Fair.
Members of the Arts Executive told 432
reporters that finances were in "very
serious trouble" and that the Society is
currently investigating the possibility of
declaring bankruptcy in order to escape
their accumulated debts. The over
spending, according to the members
interviewed, was mainly due to the high
profile bands which have been signed on
for this year's fair.
The annual outdoor festival, traditionally held on the last day of classes, in
UBC's Thunderbird Stadium, has recorded a loss in each of the last six years it
has been held.
The difference this year, it seems, is that
the headlining bands have requested significantly more money than in the past.
Indeed, the band which will be appearing on  the top of the bill,  54*40,  is
rumored to be charging nearly twice as
much as bands in the previous years
have been paid. The reason for this new
request? Apparently, the band has been
so successful in their last two appearances on campus (both sponsored by the
Science Undergraduate Society) that
they have decided to increase their fee
by nearly two hundred percent.
Arts officials, however, were confident,
that with the help of the student body,
that they will be able to salvage their
annual event, in one form or another.
Some alternatives, according to our
sources, include cutting some of the
bands from the bill, or moving the entire
event to the SUB Ballroom.
AUS executive was unwilling to comment on any changes which may take
place. They did, however, assure students that they would still be able to get
"really, really drunk." This comment
seemed to calm the press conference,
and several prominent reporters were
heard to emit sighs of relief.
Arts President Jason Murray was quick
to add that though the AUS is short on
funds, they will not be, nor have they
ever   campaigned   door  to   door   for PAGE TWO
19 MARCH 1997
The 432™
Volume 10 IswwtJ
19 March H
© 1997 The!
Undergraduate 5ocMiy|
All rights:
Editor ys^
Assistant I
Blair J
Jeremy Irto^
John Hallet|l
Tracy Marfj
Blair McE
Jason Roblllj
Printers .,.
College Prini«Ht'i
Keebler 1
Attn. Editor,
c/o The Dean ojF!_
The University c-f Bifttfsjfc;*
6270Umver!    "]*
Vancouver, BM
V6T. 124ft
Fax.- (604) 8221
The 432 is the officii
the      Science ,j;
Society, published \
from our offfces inj
the Chemistry 1
All opinions expre
strictly those of the|
ers and not thos&<
Science Undergrade
Writers and i
ulties are enc
material to Trm.,M
sions must meett
exceed 1000'
The 432 is
Science Underg
UBC and may notj
whole or in part,
written consent.?*,.
In 1983, leglon44
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World. As &
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We here at
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While Supplil
Part of being an editor involves making insightful and witty comments
about the goings-on around campus. So I'll start with Arts.
Now, don't get me wrong. I love the Arts
County Fair. It's an institution here on
campus. Granted, I also love it for the
fact that the AUS has accepted responsibility for all damaged incurred on campus during the day of the fair (hint hint,
all you mischievous thugs). It's just the
fact that they have booked 54»40 for the
headlining band.
Once again, don't get me wrong. I
absolutely love 54»40. And I was completely thrilled when they played the
SUB Ballroom for the Science Week Cold
Fusion event this January and I actually
got to meet the band. (It's a long story,
but it has something to do with my ability to get into interesting places while
That's just my point. Arts has always
prided itself on bringing big Canadian
bands to the ACF.-Big Canadian bands
who haven't played UBC recently.
It's not like I'm going to boycott the
biggest beer garden all year just because
I don't agree with the philosophy
behind' signing the headline band. It's
just that I'm not really excited about
going there.
I mean, I've actually met the headlining
band. And, not to mean disrespect to
Neil and the gang, but they just aren't
that huge.
It's not like last year when I was really
looking forward to getting sworn at by
an Easterner in a kilt.
But enough of that. It's not like 90% of
the people at the ACF aren't so drunk
that they can't tell who's on stage when
the headline? starts, anyway.
What's next on my rant list? Let's try
the upcoming APEC conference.
Like many other students, I'm opposed
to the inclusion of notorious human
rights offenders in the conference. And
what's more, I bet they don't like beer.
Isn't it strange that the only people
making a big fuss about this are us university types? Many people figure that
this is because of our idealistic views created by the open atmosphere of higher
The sad truth is that we're still young
enough to care. Sad, isn't it? Something
for you to think about as you sip your
beer at the fair.
Wisdom Teeth.
Jake Gray
Extremely Wise Columnist
I've had my wisdom teeth out, along
with a good chunk of other people,
and I don't think I'm any less wise
because of it. I think I've grown as a person because of the experience. You see,
now I'd actually realize what would be
involved in yanking teeth and would
probably not go through it until I was in
more pain than the operation would
entail. I was lucky, I had mine out two
years ago when I was young and invincible. It took me a grand total of two days
to recover. I have a 21 year old friend,
lets just call him J. Thorp, no that's too
obvious let's call him Jeremy T, who is
currently enduring teething pain as his
wisdom teeth emerge from there oral
cocoon. All I can do is point and laugh at
his imminent pain and suffering.
Whoever came up with the idea that
just because you've got a couple of extra
teeth your supposed to be some big old
wise guy capable of perching atop Mt.
Sinai fielding questions from people
who were probably a little bit delirious
by the time they got to the top of the
mountain, anyway? Thinking about it,
the guru himself has got to be a little
light headed sitting up there breathing
low oxygen air for years on end.
You see my dad still has his wisdom
teeth and he is far from wise. I admit he
has a law degree and is somewhat successful, but sometimes he accomplishes
acts of stupidity beyond the realm of
mortal men. Hence the activities of last
We live out in the toolies, the bush, a
rural area, the back forty, in the middle
of no where, better known as Langley.
We have a few trees that grow on the
borders of our property right next to the
power lines. So we decided (I say 'we'
like the decision was made after careful
consideration by all parties involved) to
take the trees down which were leaning
out over the power lines. This is a very
precarious position.
Luckily for my Dad he has an eager son
who is ready to shiny up the rotten
trunk to tie ropes to the tree so it falls
the right way, the way completely opposite to the way the tree is leaning.
Normally this would be an entirely
acceptable proceeding and I was actually
enjoying myself. Despite the sparrows
trying to peck my eyeballs out with their
kamikaze dives at my head, missing by
mere picometres. Despite the wasps nest
I climbed through releasing hordes of
Lucifer's pride to sting me into a stupor.
Despite the large branch which was right
between my legs when my grip momentarily lapsed, letting me slide down to an
amazingly uncomfortable rest.
Despite all this being outside and at one
with nature was bringing me closer to
that devine state of nirvana, and then
the tree started to crack. This was not a
good thing.
As the tree hurtled to the ground with
me atop, I had a few moments to contemplate a few issues. Number one, I was
really happy we had BC Hydro come and
shut off the fourteen thousand volts that
normally runs through the wire through
which the tree was now hurtling.
Number two seeing how heavy trees
actually are I was really glad I was sitting
on top of it. Number three, why the hell
did I climb up this tree in the first place?
So we could chop it down before it fell
down? There's a brilliant idea.
Now most mortal men, or women it
doesn't really matter, would have fell to
there untimely death among the bramble and large smashing, rib breaking, leg
snapping branches of the alder on which
I was so precariously perched, but not I.
I leaped to the next tree in a very
Cliffhangeresque move just barely able
to grab for my life onto a large branch
with the very tips of my fingers. After
pulling myself up onto the branch my
wise old father, who still has his wisdom
teeth, yelled up at me "Why the hell did
you do that? For Christ's sake you just
took out the power line!" Gee, Pa, ya
don't say. So I started to climb down the
tree only to slip and fall landing in a
very large blackberry bush which I had
so deftly avoided only moments earlier.
Unfortunately I smacked the side of my
face on the way down receiving a bruise
in almost exactly the same position
where my face was swollen when I had
my wisdom teeth out.
Maybe wisdom teeth do give you some
wisdom. My dad was smart enough to
send me up instead of going up himself.
Jake Gray is one of those few people who
will do almost anything that you ask of
We even got him to dance naked on the
Chemistry roof. Well, we didn't really have
to persuade him that much.
Princess Leah changes her hair-do. 19 MARCH 1997
The Triathlon and Me.
Well okay, the event is long over,
now, and I'm having trouble
dealing with the guilt. It's time
I came clean about this damn Triathlon
thing. You see, as much as I would like to
think that I did it because of the challenge, or because I'm really noble and
like to build character, or even because I
like exercise, it's simply not true. I can't
stand exercise. I think of exercise the
same way my ninety year old Wiccan
grandmother thinks of Jehovah's
Witnesses (actually my grandmother was
a real live witch and was to Wiccans
what a newly outfitted Jaguar XJ12 is to
a Lada, but you get the idea).
Actually, I did it for a bet; my soon to be
deceased friend Niko Fleming - it will be
such a tragic accident, a shock to us all
really - promised me all the vodka I
could drink if I managed to complete the
whole thing in less than an hour. This
probably wouldn't have been enough of
an incentive by itself, but then he went
and made it into a challenge, and from
that moment I was suckered.
The problem, as I see it, is that men's
brains have too much wiring in them.
Almost anything can find it's way round
some shorter route that totally avoids
the main cerebral cortex, and there's just
no consultation process. For example,
the phrase "naaaah. You're getting old,
now, and you never work out. You probably couldn't even complete the course"
will route via a testosterone feed straight
down to an auxiliary male processing
unit somewhere between his legs and
the automatic response will be formed.
The fact that the automatic response
only consists of the words "Oh" and
"Yeah?" repeated in various combinations apparently never tips the male off
that this secondary processing unit may
in fact be less effective than the bypassed
"It's not a real swim. It's not a real
triathlon. Who does that damn Niko guy
think he is anyway damn granola
crunching biking hiking damn damn
damn I'll do it in less than an hour
yessirree I'll do it in less than half an
hour and I'll have fried tomatoes and
bacon and mushrooms with fried bread
and black pudding with a side order of
fat on it when I'm done."
The water's cold. It's really, really cold,
and I've got a stupid looking giant blue
condom plastered over my head and my
ears don't seem to fit properly and oh
my god someone's actually going to
blow that whistle in a minute and I'm
really not just having another bad trip.
This is all wrong.
What no one tells you about the swim
part of the triathlon, as you spend a couple of advance days paddling daintily in
the UBC swimming pool, is that come
the actual race day the other contestants
will all have eaten a pound of raw steaming human flesh before breakfast and
will attempt to drown you as soon as
people start moving. Arms, legs, tentacles I could have sworn, seem to come
from nowhere and you're flailing and
you're spluttering and you think that
you just might be about to do a Luke
Skywalker in the Garbage pit and then
it's over and at last you can get out but
the nightmare is just beginning.
"It's just a bike. It's like resting. We go
biking all the time."
Cold cold cold cold cold wet and cold
and more cold and there's no time to dry
and some toss-pot's gone and moved all
my things so I guess I'm doing without a
change of underwear which means I'll be
biking in my wet swimming trunks. No,
wait, found the underwear, but now it's
wet through anyway so it makes no difference but I'm too tired to care and
then it hits me that I'm actually paying
money to be put through this.
You know, my paternal grandmother
used to go on religious "pilgrimages" to
a place called "Lough Derg". It's this little island where they starve you and
make you walk all fourteen stages of the
cross on your knees. I used to laugh at
her because I thought this was stupid.
Why do I bring this up right now? Well,
I'm not sure, but there's a link somewhere. Stupidity runs in our family, a bit
like Cholera through a slum. Anyway,
some while later I get to ditch the bike
back in the same car park that I started
from and begin the final epic leg of this
momentous journey.
"Four kilometres? My ass.  I  can run
twice that easily just catching a bus. I
have contempt for this damn course.
Four measly klicks. Hahaha."
I think.... I think I think I must have
eaten something that took all the vitamin D out of my body, because I have
some kind of bone wasting disease...
rickets. Yep, rickets, I'm pretty damn
sure. Either that or some kind of secret
engineering project has turned the floor
into quicksand, because my legs don't
work. At this point, I have now decided
that this whole damn bet was just not
worth it for any amount of even hard
alcohol, and triathlons suck like Donna
Rice just before a presidential inauguration.
It all goes downhill from there, so I'll
save you the rest of it; the burning lungs,
the sobbing pleas to God, Elvis, the
Energizer Bunny, and finally in a fit of
desperation the Cheetos™ that live
down the sofa1. I lost my bet by a lousy
three minutes, but I gained a lifetime's
bitterness. You'll have to excuse me now,
as I've got to go and do a little rewiring
in a dear friend's house. Until next time.
1 Actually, the Cheetos™ that used to
live down the sofa. As those who
know me are well aware, I don't
presently have anything remotely
resembling a sofa, or even a living
Beyond the B.Sc. Survey.
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19 MARCH 1997
The Dead Pool
Being Well
this week are....
1st  Place(23  Pts):   Jennifer Gardy
Ask not for whom the bell tolls.
It tolls for thee...
Next week is the last Issue of the
432, and it looks as though I'm
going to have to go and
announce prizes. My first choice - a full
sized skeleton - turned out to be beyond
our failing budget and organizational
skills (well, okay, beyond my skills
because I'm a lazy bastard and I have far
too many midterms) so instead the
prizes are going to be as follows:
First Place:
2 arts county fair tickets
2 Arts county Fair Tee shirts
2 432 Tee shirts (for comparison)
2 Arts county fair mugs
2 science mugs (for comparison)
Verrry tasty mugs.
Second Place: Okay, for second place,
you can have the box Hiro-san is bringing down the stairs. Hiro, what's in the
And while nothing is confirmed at this
stage, there's really only a couple of days
left for one of the guys on these lists to
pop their clogs. In all likelihood, first
place now will be first place next week.
So without further ado, the standings for
1. Liam Gallagher
. 2. Ronald Reagan
3. Boris Yeltsin
4. JSeag-5fra©pengL_
(12 Pts)
5. T33^-313
(11 Pts)
6. Kirk Douglas
7. Bob Hope
8. Queen Mother
9. Victor Borge
10. Strom Thurmond
11. Jimmy Carter
12. Tuk the Polar Bear
13. Todd Bridges
14. Jimmy Stewart
15. Jeanne Calment
2nd Place (17 Pts):
Jeremy Thorp
3rd Place(15 Pts):
Taro M. Inoue
Shawn Wowk
Juri's dead politicians:
4th (14 Pts): David
5th (11 Pts): Jason
6th (10 Pts): Duncan Mc Hugh
Less than 10 Points and you're not
worth more tha a mention here anymore. Craig Lessels still, has four points,
but unless a boatload of people pop it
real soon he doesn't really have a hope.
As always, if I've missed something
don't hesitate to let me know. John's
really pissed about Claudia Liz so I'm
going to mention her just one more time
just to piss him off. No voodoo dolls on
campus just because it's the last week.
Don't fear the reaper.
The $<li
Undergraduate Society is currently ftrfag for the
following positions: % \
• Room Manager * .'•*,
• Beer God(ess) t f
• Photo Archivist
All posilof^oJf^iWll" salary of $& per month an<||the sat-
isfactidr^MJhelping out yaw locat student society. ,(*», real-
VI ly, iMods c$*d!) •    #|
24 MARCH   1 997
All submissions should be in
both hard (paper) and soft
(disk) form.
Chem B 1 60 by 4:32pm on the
It's going to be a great summer. I've got a job—and here's where it gets really
bizarre—that's related to my field of study. I guess I shouldn't be too surprised. I had
to get a real job someday, and it's not as if I'm completely unemployable—no art
history or Spanish courses on my transcript. Nope, I'm an Ecology major, and I'll be
spending most of the summer in a forest near Prince George, up to my hips in freezing cold water, counting fish after I've zapped them with my trusty ray gun.
The offer of employment finally came in the mail, after spending three months of
resume updating and cover letter writing. I licked enough envelopes to account for
seventeen horses' worth of glue, and spent enough on postage to pay back most of
the federal debt. Then the rejection letters started pouring in—although most of my
letters were obviously mislabelled for a small village in Outer Mongolia, and thus
were never acknowledged—and all contained a most hated phrase.
"We have no openings at this time for someone of your qualifications," it said,
which everyone knows really means "we've got no openings for a lazy, untalented,
poorly-trained bum like you."
I sent letters to most of the ecological consulting firms in the province, and sent letters to every advertised position I saw, even if they stated they were looking for a Ph.
D. with a minimum of seven years work experience. I called CareersLine every day,
paging through endless postings for student painters and other dead-end Mcjobs,
and once, one early Saturday morning, a ray of light pierced the clouds of what
appeared to be hopeless quest. A firm was looking for ecology-types, and even
though they were looking for an ironman ecologist, capable of carrying small pickup trucks over distant hills, I decided, "What the hell," and sent them the standard
Blair McDonald Mark VII (Please, oh, please, please, pllleeeeassseeee give me a job)™
And they interviewed me. And about three hundred other would-be ecologists—
coincidentally, the exact number of peasants living in that small village in Outer
Mongolia. I didn't have a chance, they said, although not in so many terms. Their
exact statement was "you don't appear to have the basic skills we're looking for, but
we'll give you a call if something comes up." So I returned to the daily grind of licking things in the hope of finding work.
But I got the job—obviously, an event with a probability close to an asteroid smacking dead centre into that village in Outer Mongolia—and one day, a info package
showed up in my mailbox, containing valuable things like the formal offer of
employment, medical data sheets, equipment lists, and an actual job description.
I am now a Scientific Technician—translated into "guy who carries really heavy
things up the side of the mountain." Although, like James Bond, I'll be operating lots
of really cool vehicles: trucks of every shape and size, all-terrain vehicles, and what
really caught my eye, helicopters. But I doubt they'd actually let me fly one.
Another phrase caught my eye. "Warning: work occurs in bear country." In fact, the
president of the company called me one night to politely inquire if I held a current
firearms certificate. When I answered, shocked, in the negative, she quickly added,
"Oh. Well, that's ok, I guess. Bye!" Maybe I'll go get a rifle, now that I'm guessing my
actual job description could be described in one word: bait.
My dad's got a rifle at home, if he could ever find the bolt. He used to hunt, but
when he started his family, he took his rifle to bits and hid the various parts in different locations. This was 1975. He found the stock and barrel in the front closet—
buried behind years of unworn hippie clothing and broken card tables—in 1983, and
a dusty box of shells under the hot water heater in 1994. Not the brightest idea, storing live bullets directly next to a source of heat. He hid the bolt on top of a rafter
somewhere, but despite spending a summer Saturday searching, we've never found
it. But then again, my dad did say to me, "A .22? Don't even bother. It would just
make them bears mad." He suggested a 30-30, or "something that could at least slow
down a charging elephant."
But, alas, I won't be carrying a gun. That's probably for the best. I'd like to have both
feet left intact at the end of the summer. Instead, I'll be carrying a small can of Predlt
bear repellent—10% capsicum. Now, this is where I get confused. If 10% will repel a
bear, why don't we carry 100% capsicum, so we can drop them right on the spot.
Can of Death instead of Can of False Security, for the can I'll be carrying has, in very
small print, the phrase "Each bear attack is different. This product may not be effective under all circumstances." Great. I might as well carry a bottle of Tabasco Sauce,
and try to hold down the bear long enough to get the drops into its eyes. Or at least
carry a bucket of Hot Wings—which double as both repellent and a handy diversion
while I climb the nearest tree. This summer job—bait—is really going to get my
career off on the right track. 19 MARCH 1997
Just another Sunday. (Pt. II)
Last issue John was kidnapped by Alan
Alda and taken to a remote moon of Jupiter
where he was expected to perform a technological miracle. We rejoin our hero as he
cowers on a stage before the machine that
could save or destroy the very planet that he
stands on. Will he survive this test of
courage? Will the world be saved? Will this
introduction ever end?
There are few things that have happened to me in my life that are permanently etched in my memory.
When I was five, I remember seeing the
bottom of the stairs rushing towards me
as I plummeted towards a concussion.
When I was sixteen, I remember seeing a
pack of opposing rugby players charging
me and I braced for three broken ribs.
I was feeling a similar emotion as I
looked out over the thousands of expec
tant faces. They were here for a purpose,
they were here expecting me to perform
a miracle and save their world. A miracle, by the way, that I had absolutely no
ability to pull off.
The arena fell silent. The machine
blinked and emitted a soft whirring
noise. I sweat a lot.
'Better make this look good,' I thought
and confidently walked over to the
machine, smiling and waving at the
The control panel was immense. It
seemed as if thousands of lights were
blinking out of rhythm, confusing and
disorienting me. None of the buttons,
levers or knobs were labeled, and a quick
search failed to find an instruction manual. So I pushed a button. I pushed the
biggest, reddest button that I could see.
Now, several theories exist to help
designers pick relevant and sensible
colouring schemes for control panels.
Almost all of them specifically set aside
both of the attributes 'big' and 'red' to
represent controls that do particularly
nasty things.  Let's just say that The
Button carried by the President of the
United States holds true to this theme.
The designers of this control panel were
no exception.
The machine, a mammoth collection of
instruments that must have weighed
two or three tonnes, leaped skyward
about five metres, paused briefly, and,
having reconsidered its decision to
become airborne, returned to the ground
with a very convincing crashing sound.
Wires spewed forth from behind previously locked panels and it was pretty evident that a major fire of some kind had
started inside the monstrosity.
'Coulda gone smoother, John, but
under the circumstances, I think you did
pretty good. Nice and subtle.' I thought
to myself, and turned smiling to Alan
Alda to receive my praise for a job obviously well done.
"What have you done?" screamed Alan,
"You've destroyed the Ionizier 2000!
We're all doomed to die a horrible
"So, I'm not getting paid, then?" 1 asked,
trying to look shocked and confused.
Pre-Med Hopeful
Last time, a regular chemistry lab began with
foreshadowing of future episodes,
followed by silly antics and minor heroics_
Then suddenly, the fumehoods fell silent'
and deadly gases seeped
into the lab...
His blank stare of disbelief said it all. I
needed an excuse, and a good one at
"Well, you see, the thing is, with all
those buttons, and the things... uh... did
I mention that I'm red/green colour
blind? Yeah, that's the ticket, I couldn't
tell that button from the big green one."
"There were no green buttons." stated
Alan Alda matter-of-factly. Apparently,
this whole death of his planet thing did
not amuse him. I needed another plan. A
cunning plan. A plan so incredibly cunning that you could put a tail on it and
call it a weasel.
"Say... is that Elvis behind you?" He
looked one way. I ran the other.
Pandemonium seemed to be the order
of the day in the streets of this strange
alien city. Odd creatures ran to and forth
screaming and shouting. Apparently
most people here were concerned with
leaving the planet as soon as possible.
Yet none of them tried what I did. I
hailed a cab.
Normally, one would never even consider putting your thumb and forefinger
between your lips, whistling and hollering "Taxi!" on an alien planet a likely
way to get a ride. But then again, most
people would never consider being kidnapped in an UFO by Alan Alda particu-
hirly likely, either. Give me some artistic
license here, people.
A beat up New York Cab screeched to a
halt in front of me. A door popped open,
I hopped in and the cabby said "Where
to, Mac?" in a thick Bronx accent.
"The corner of West Boulevard and 41st
Ave. And make it snappy."
"You got it, Mac."
I won't bother you with the details of
how a yellow cab from the late 60's can
make the interplanetary journey from
Jupiter to Vancouver on one tank of gas.
How it can travel that distance in a comfortable time with a top speed of 60
miles an hour. Or how the same cab can
survive the scorching heat of re-entry.
It'll suffice to say that we made it in one
"That'll be $6,458,123,915.34, Mac.
And don't forget to tip."
"Yikes, that's a little more than I have
on me. I'll have to go to that bank
machine over there."
"Alright, Mac, but make it quick"
snapped the cabby.
Of all the things that I've heard about
New York Cabbies; their tempers, their
legendary knowledge of the city, and
their appetite for chili products; of all
these things, being able to run fast was
not one of them.
Putting all these facts together, combined with the sneaking suspicion that
he took me for a bit of a ride (the last
time I checked, Venus was not between
the Earth and Jupiter) and the fact that
my bank balance was slightly less than
six and half billion dollars the last time I
checked, I decided to stiff him.
I easily outran him and quietly went
home. All in all, it had been a bit of an
interesting Sunday, but nothing too
amazing. I wonder if The Simpsons is a
When John Hallett was 19, his brother
lit his hair on fire. 2 years later, we're still
trying to put it out.
We're not actually sure if John has ever
been to Jupiter, but it would certainly
explain the second object which has been
spotted with Hale-Bopp.
-almost ed. PAGE SIX
19 MARCH 1997
The Income Tax Theme Page.
Ralph Nader
432 Financial Analyst
Well, ladies and gentlemen, it's
tax time again. After receiving
a multitude of phone calls
from friends and relatives, seeking tax
advice, I have decided to publish an easy
to follow tax guide.
1. Assemble all of your receipts. I have
attached a variety of receipts which I
happened to find from several of my
clients (Sorry about the privacy thing,
guys! Discount?)
2. Decide how much tax you want to
pay. If you're feeling lucky, decide how
much money you want the government to pay you. While this may seem
like free money, the government actually hires people to check up on this
type of thing. Why didn't they teach
us that at Harvard?
3. Pick up a tax form. These are
available at the post office, in some
student residences, and in the back
of my van (down by the river.)
4. Make some crap up. While this
may not seem like the most technical term, it's actually what they
taught me at college. Take some
random numbers out of your
head, write them down on a big
piece of paper, and stab at them
with a stick. Whatever numbers
you chose are your new financial  statistics!  It's as easy as
5. Balance the equations. Just like in
first year chemistry! Use the numbers
from step number 2, and the random
number from the last step, and make
sure everything adds up!
6. Mail away your completed form.
7. Cross your fingers. This isn't an exact
science, after all! And, if Revenue
Canada comes knocking on your door,
remember - faking your own death is a
lot easier (and less messy) than it sounds!
Well, that's pretty much it. I'd offer to
do your taxes for you, but I'm just too
damned rich to waste my time.
ifs comi
On March 26th, the Psychology Students
Association will hold the first annual
Come to the Kenny Building between 10:30
and 4:30 to see interesting, informative,
and intruiging displays about psychology
and psych professors! Most importantly,
there will be FREE FOOD \o eat while you
are admiring the displays!
The Faculty of Science Presents
8v   y*
A Lecture Series
for ALL Science
"Molecular Ships in Bottles"
Dr. John Sherman
Department of Chemistry
March 20,1997, Thursday
12:30 p.m.-1:30 p.m.
IRC Lecture Hall 6
QUESTIONS? call 822-9876 19 MARCH 1997
The Drawers of SUS
Tracy MacKinnon
Happy St. Patrick's Day! Only one more holiday to go (said holiday being
Easter) before the end of classes! Stuff happening in SUS: we have elected a
new executive. The 97/98 SUS executive is comprised of:
President - Bella Carvalho
Internal VP - John Fournier
External VP - Phil Ledwith (again)
Director of Finace - Doug Beleznay (for the second time)
Director of Sports - Aarne Hamalainen
Director of Publications - Jer Thorp
Executive Secretary - Henry Wong
Public Relations Officer - Edrick Yu
Social Coordinator - Mike Boetzkes (another re-elect)
They will become executives on April 3rd, 1997 (the same day the outgoing executive become completely carefree - a coincidence?). I'd like to take this opportunity
to congratulate the new executive, and their opponents, especially since the elections results were very close on most positions.
By the time this goes to print most things in Grad Class Council will be completed,
so I don't have much to report about that. However, I might still need convocations
speakers for Science ceremonies, so if you're interested come into SUS (Chem Bl 60),
and talk to me.
One report to go, and then my three year career of writing for the Drawers of SUS
will come to an end.
Despite how Tracy may seem, she really enjoys writing for The 432. In fact, I'd say that,
like everyone else here, she gets a little kick out of being printed 4500 times every two
Phil Ledwith
External Vice President
Got a summer job yet? Want one? Go apply for a directorship position with the
AMS right now. There's a bucketful of things you could do: Tutoring Director,
Volunteer Services Director, Safewalk, Speakeasy and.... oh, hell, they're all in
The Ubyssey as well as on forms in the AMS Business Office (second floor SUB), and
you can probably come talk to me in person in Chem B160 or leave a message. It's
gotta be better than tree planting or selling those damn books for SW again, and it
pays better too. Look into it.
Also happening this week: there's a questionnaire for Beyond the B.Sc. somewhere
in this paper that I want you to fill in. In case you don't know what Beyond the B.Sc.
is, it's a program for Science students about to graduate and looking for that extra
edge to get them moving towards their eventual career, to get them into grad school,
or to get them wherever the hell else they want to go.
If you don't feel like getting paid but really care about the campus we're planning
for Orientation Day '97. It's going to be a huge event, with speeches by the presidents and Deans and workshops and all kinds of extravaganza for incoming first year
students. It needs your help, desperately: We need volunteers for planning and making sure the food arrives on time, to handle mailout and communications, to organize the workshops, to be group leaders and talk to the arriving first years and make
them feel at home. If you can do anything, I mean any damn thing at all, then we
want you. Again, come and look for the bald guy in Chem B160.
That about covers it for this week. Slainte.
Aside from being the strangest bald triathlete I know (and believe me, I've met more than
one), Phil Ledwith rings in as the most unusual homeless international student from
Europe that I know (and 1 know more than one, believe me). Man, being an editor just
plain old introduces you to weird people.
Not Mikey Boetzkes
Sodal Coordinator
Well, this is the part of the paper where Mikey comes in and pipes up about
exactly how fantastic the last beer garden was. Hmmm, Mikey doesn't
seem to be around right now, so I guess that it's my job to tell all of you
Science students out there how much you missed by not coming to our St. Patrick's
Day Bash last Friday.
For the 200+ of you who did, however, you realize that it was a great event that will
not see it's equal until well into the next year. The Malchiks put on a stellar show. I
have to comment that I have never seen that many people dancing and just generally having a good time at a beer garden, ever. Nor have I ever seen a SUS Soco as
inebriated as Mikey obviously was (Do you remember the part with the lead singer
of the band, Mikey? I don't think he appreciated that.)
I guess that the big surprise of the evening came when some 50 odd people found
out the hard way that our dark beer selection was actually 8.5% winter ale. Sorry
gang, we meant to put up signs warning you, really! I guess that this oversight goes
a long way to explaining all the stories around campus starting with "But I only had
four beers..." (Say, did you all know that Mikey wears plaid boxers? We didn't.)
As for future social events from SUS? We're sad to announce that while Mikey managed to only lose $75 on this event, he's still exceeded his budget by, oh, let's see
now, $1075 dollars. Terribly sorry, Mikey, but the next bash will have to wait until
September, when Mikey will start his second reign of terror as SUS SoCo. (Did you
know that Mikey can recite the plots from 101 separate porno videos. We didn't.
Frankly, we didn't want to know.)
1997 SUS Executive
Election Results
Bella Carvalho
John Hallett
Troy Loss
Internal Vice Preadent
John Fournier
Executive Secretary
Henry Wong
Rishell O'Brien
Director of Sports
.Aarne Hamalainen
Warrick Yu
External "Wee Preadent
Phillip Ledwith	
Public Relations Officer
Edrick Yu
Social Coordinator
Mikey Boetzkes
Director of Finance
Doug Beleznay
Director of Publications
Jeremy Thorp	
Total Votes Cast
19 MARCH 1997
Things Chris Carter
does not want you to do.
If Vancouver can be called Hollywood
North, I propose to change the name
of the University of British Columbia
to the Universal Studios of British
Now,  I don't mind  having  to walk
around a movie set every once in a
while, but in the last month, the situation has been getting truly ridiculous.
Last Thursday, on the way to school, I
walked around FBI crime lab, nearly collided with an inter-dimensional portal,
and stumbled past a super-cop and his
wise-cracking sidekick. (An aside — has
anyone ever watched this show,  The
Sentinel? Apparently, it's about a street-
toughened cop who possesses eerie powers. This guy, it seems, can see, hear, and
smell ten times better than a normal
human. Now, this doesn't sound like too
good of a deal to me. Beer gardens generally smell pretty bad as it is, and the
last thing I want to hear before I go to
bed are the sounds of passion emanating
from the 84 year old teamster's bedroom, three blocks down the street.)
It's hard to get anywhere on campus
these days without tripping over an
extension cord, being blinded by a spotlight, or having to deal with an overpaid, under-bathed roadie named Bob.
I'm sure the University is making a
killing by letting these cheap fantasy-
peddlers use our campus like a glorified
Gilligan's Island, but I'm equally sure that
I will never see a shiny penny of the loot.
In an attempt to salvage some small bit
of retribution, I've decided to launch my
own personal war against the movie
crews which, as we speak, are invading
our campus. I present to you, without
further ado, Jer's Official List of Fun
Things to Do on Movie Set (When You're
1. The X-Files is a veritable treasure
trove of inebriated fun. Remember when
Mulder used to tape a masking tape X on
his window, to attract his mysterious
informant? Here's my version, which I'm
sure you'll admit is a lot more fun. First,
find out where they're filming. Break
into the building directly behind the
actors, and find a window which is visible in the camera shot, but not too obvious. Then, make like the set designer of
Tatooine and give the cameras a second
moon. Congratulations! Your naked ass
is on one of the highest rated programs
in America! You're instantly an Internet
star (or at least, your posterior half is.)
2. Loosen screws on props. Extra points
for scaffolding and very tall structures of
any kind. Watch the look on the director's face as the giant model of the
Golden Gate bridge actually falls on the
group from Sliders. They'll be in another
dimension, all right. A very flat one.
3. You're probably hungry by now, and
trust me — you'll need the energy later.
Luckily, movie sets are an endless supply
of free food, as long as you know the
trick. It seems that, as part of the deal
with the University, our fine President
David Strangeway gets unlimited free
food at all of the catered movie sets.
Break into one of the costume trucks,
and put on several (okay, several dozen)
layers of clothing, topped off with a
smart-looking suit. Your goal here is to
look somewhat like a re-animated version of Jabba the Hut. Waddle confidently up to the catering trunk, tell
them you're Dave Strangeway, and ask
for a hot dog or eight. Works every time.
4. Mingle with the pyrotechnics crew. It
helps to use big words like 'detonation'
and 'phosphorous loading.' When
they're not looking, pour a whole bottle
of Bailey's into their coffee pot. Wait for
about half an hour, then suggest that
they make the set-up for the next shot
'just a tad bigger.' Remind them how
cool it was when the big ship in
Independence Day blew up. This works
even better when they're filming family
productions such as Fly Away Home II:
The Search for Flock.
5. Find an indoor set, and replace the
prop phone with a real one. Three seconds after they begin every take, call the
number for the phone from a nearby
location (even better, use a cellular).
When the confused actor picks up the
phone, ask for your friend-Bob, who's a
roadie on the set. Repeat until they
remove the fake phone.
Call the nearest pizza place. Ask for a
pizza for Bob, and get them to deliver it
to the set. Wait until everyone has gone
to yell at Bob, and put the phone back.
Call back and ask for Ted. You'll be surprised how many times this one can be
repeated. This is even more fun with a
unionized crew, where they can't actually fire anyone.
6. Quite often, actors on set will drink
copious quantities of water, in order to
avoid dehydration from the bright
lights. Find the actors' water, and spike it
with acid, or some other suitable hallucinogen. Set up some block heaters to
heat up the place a bit more, and convince the lighting crew to add a strobe
light or two. Although this certainly
makes the filming of Law and Order more
interesting, you'll be surprised at how
small of an effect it has on the filming of
the Outer Limits.
7. While the crew is setting up in the
beginning of the take, break into the various trailers, and modify the scripts. See
how many times you can slip in the
word 'penis' without being caught. A
modification on this plan is to replace
various pages of the scripts with pages
form a porno involving inter-racial
threesomes, or farm animals. The director tends to catch on to this one pretty
quickly, but it makes for one hell of an
entertaining five minutes.
Well, that's it for now. As always, I
accept no responsibility for the actions
of my readers. Nor do I, in any way, promote behavior which is against the law,
or irresponsible in any way. (Do it. I
know you want to.)
Despite what he may claim in person, Jer
Thorp has never seen David Duchovny
nude. Nope, never. Uh huh.


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