UBC Publications

UBC Publications

UBC Publications

The 432 Oct 17, 1994

Item Metadata

Download

Media
the432-1.0000797.pdf
Metadata
JSON: the432-1.0000797.json
JSON-LD: the432-1.0000797-ld.json
RDF/XML (Pretty): the432-1.0000797-rdf.xml
RDF/JSON: the432-1.0000797-rdf.json
Turtle: the432-1.0000797-turtle.txt
N-Triples: the432-1.0000797-rdf-ntriples.txt
Original Record: the432-1.0000797-source.json
Full Text
the432-1.0000797-fulltext.txt
Citation
the432-1.0000797.ris

Full Text

Array Carbon Dating.
New Interactive Media!
With new technology coming into the market, The 432 thought it appropriate to finally unveil the latest innovation in media formats. We've taken our story,
and with the help of state-of-the art equipment personalized several editions for unique segments of our readership. Our writers, Washington Irving and
Fibble (so his ID says) put in the long hours for research and design, resulting in a superior product everyone can enjoy for different reasons. So, simply follow our fictional hero "Bob" through a typical day, depending on your individual faculty. We're so sure you'll love our work, we're offering a money-back guarantee.
Engineering.
Bob, with a feat of personal
strength rarely seen in mere
mortal men, tosses off the
obviously huge hangover
encurred at the Pit the previous night.
Bob hops in his classic red
1975 Ford 4x4 and enjoys the
view from atop his customized
12 inch lift kit. In defiance of
local noise laws designed for
senile old bastards, he revs his
oveHrjored 524 big block to
insane rpm's before laying a
twenty-foot rubber patch over
top of his neighbor's cat.
Bob chats with his hunting
buddies about Friday's plans.
After much discussion, they
decide to buy a flat of Bud and
go down to the local dump to
shoot some rats.
Bob drinks way more bzzr
and enjoys an entire Pie R'
Squared pizza while laughing
out loud at Robotman.
Being unable to avoid his
co-workers on the way to his
office, he is forced into a conversation and feigns interest in
dull office story's long enough
to convince them that he
hasn't been drinking.
Not being able to think long
enough to deal with real
words, Bob stamps and signs
the first piece of semi-official
looking paper that is put in
front of him. He then asks to
be left undisturbed for a couple of hours so he can "do
zometin' emportent."
After curling up on the
couch in his office, Bob grabs a
Calvin and Hobbes book and
reads two pages before the colors mix into one homogenous
whole.
Bob passes out on his couch
in a puddle of his own drool.
Arts.
Science.
Orcadian rythm completed, Bob's sensory organs returned to
full conscious state and he could again hear, see, smell - the latter a source of strong stimuli - and he awoke. Incidentally, urine
is released from the body by contraction of muscles in the bladder, and not by gravity as commonly believed. This means you
can whizz upwards. Try it!
Ignition, here. Internal combustion, the natural successor to
steam power, is a reasonably efficient method of converting
chemical energy (originally fixed by microorganisms in the pre-
cambrian period, which we now burn to a crisp with abandon)
into mechanical energy. It is important when designing a device
of such velocity and mass to incorporate a method of ensuring
safe deceleration. Walls won't do.
Did you know that Alexander Graham Bell was Canadian? It's
a fact! Bob is now using the latest in fiber-optic laser microprocessor-networked communications to summon his secretary
who, incidentally, is within shouting distance. It's nice to have a
president who doesn't shout.
Bob, as any animal will do, must seek his food. More specifically, he stalks and kills a Tex Mex Double Meal. E. Coli is likely a
fundamental ingredient of the meat, and will be on its way to
the Coli Community already homesteading in his bowel.
As the speed of sound is 330m/s in air, if Bob was chucking
wiffleballs to his associates as fast as he was sending words, they
would be really busted up. You never hear the wiffleball that kills
you.
Bob examines numbers that would boggle the economists at
Revenue Canada. Fortunately, they will never see these numbers,
as Bob knows how to save the students money and avoid taxable
income like the plague. Not that it would matter, since he had
calculus IV students cook the books and some batch of economists with their useless B.A.'s would just go into conniptions try-
, ing to find the bottom line.
Offset lithography is a fascinating process, taking advantage of
the fact that oil and water don't mix. This is due to the nonpolair
nature of oily chemicals, contrasted to polar water. Saponification is a process whereby polar phosphorus is bonded to long
fatty acid chains, forming molecules and blah blablah blablah...
As any biologist will tell you, almost all higher mammals require
sleep on a regular basis. After decades of sleep deprivation studies, scientists have concluded that lack of sleep makes people
tired. And grouchy.
Ex-Ubyssey.
Bob wakes up with the
thoughts of his most recent
dream in his head. A source
close to Bob leaked that his
"dream" was a plan to have all
women students at UBC transferred from their current faculty to his own personal harem.
Ignoring the increased need
for role models to use public
transit to set an example, Bob
hops in his gas guzzling car
and drives his way to work.
Mortgaging our children's
future every foot of the way.
We have reports that he also
hit a kindly octogenarian
somewhere near Alma and
didn't stop.
Dialing long distance and
charging it to student funds,
Bob talks to his political
"friends" in order to assure his
re-election this January.
Bob dines extensively on red
meat. This only proves the
inherent desire in every single,
Caucasian male to Bar-b-que
the entire spotted owl population.
He holds a secret meeting
behind closed doors with his
fellow "elected" tyrants and
plans the destruction of more
bastions of student free
speech.
Bob goes over a perfectly
legitimate budget and makes a
few "corrections." Our source
tells us that these corrections
involved the addition of a section titled "Bob's Cut" that
turned a $500,000 profit into a
$200,000 loss.
Bob sits back with a copy of
one of the student newspapers
that conform to his view of
the world. Seeing nothing
objectionable to him, he
decides to let this paper publish for another month.
Bob settles down to a nice
nap in his overly plush bed
while hundreds of homeless
try to stay warm in the rain. Stereotype Genes
Pinpointed!
Ever since Morgan's
famous genetic experiment with fruit flies,
scientists have searched for
the answer to the universe's
most critical question: what
makes the sexes so different? Why does it seem that
a male and female can't
hope to communicate on
any level higher than "Pass
the remote, please."
We at The 432 were just
as baffled as everyone else,
so we put our research labs
to work on the problem
early in the spring of 1990.
Years passed. And the
problem only got worse. We
realized that if a solution
was not found, it could
mean the end of life as we
know it.
But then a breakthrough!
Our team of highly-
trained professionals identified the genetic reason for
the most difficult arguments
men and women have been
forced to endure.
This isn't the final solution. But we hope the next
time your boy/girlfriend
yells at you, you'll have the
basis for an understanding.
You knew it was genetic, and now we have proof!
The age-old mystery has finally been solved!
X Chromosome
Y Chromosome
Stereotype
Refusal to use roadmaps
Inability to read roadmaps
Monday Night Football
Oprah
Remote Channel Surfing
Remote Furniture Arranging
Won't load dishwasher
Won't fix flat tire
Leaves toilet seat up
Needs toilet seat down
Not noticing that something's wrong
Denying that something's wrong
©1994 432 Biomedical Labs, Inc. All rights reserved, and cheques in the mail.
For more information about this or any of the other exciting development from The 432
Research Labs, send $35 payable to Editor, The 432, c/o Science Undergraduate Society
Just in time for the Whistler
deprogramming Weekend, it's
The 432™'s Student
Government Mind
Control Device!
It's fresh from the SUS test labs in Room 101!
It's hip! It's now! It could get you a cool resume!
It really is like those friendly people from
Mindspeak said: your student government really
is here to control you!
■1. Ask Mom for the scissors, and cut along
the dotted line. Careful, now! Remember,
never run with the scissors.
2. Bend a paper clip into the super-secret
shape shown above. Paper clips aren't toys,
kids, and it's dangerous to dare your friends
to see who can shove the most of them up
their noses.
Punch the paper clip through the middle of
the disk, spin the disk in the same direction
as the hands go around a clock, and stare at
it without blinking for at least 30 minutes.
3. Now" you can impress your friends -with
your new 432™-controlled mind and show
off your newfound breezy insouciance!
nnmhor Em-Bare-Assed
Volume &, Number 04
17 October 1994
Editor
Blair McDonald
Assistant Editors
Graeme Kenedy
Roger Watts
Corrtribotors
Kevin Douglas
Jay Garcia
John Hallett
Graeme Kennedy
Tracy MacKinnon
Ryan McCuaig
Blair McDonald
Tessa Moon
Elana Promislow
Glen Stokes
Carin van Zyl
MattWiggm
and Roger Watts
Layout
Blair McDonald
Distribution
Anyone stupid enough
to be standing in the
office when the paper
eom.es In.
Prlrtttri^
4500 from College
Printers of Va&cottver
Ngxtljaqft$che<lMlfe
Oct2ideadHm
Oct 25-2? production
Oct 28 printing
Oct$9 deeplttg
The432iz<tim®mt!ed
every second Monday
i8xt*mMtij(xbiitM~
of the individual iwtit-
m,nottheSU$,AMS,
CSStarGMS.
If you'd Mke to write,
cartoon^ produce, or
distribute the 431%
dropby CHEM \W.
Hesse Ijeep artides to a
Hia»«iumof650
words, proofread and
preferably funny* Drop
offa3.S"<Jisl(atSUS
(Macintosh or IBM)
and include a hard
copy, Please drop by
nM check for other
style constraints, or
risk "editorializing"
Your full name and
phone number roust
be included fox your
article to be printed
'Where's my elephant?"
m;
Embarassment is a part
of life. Unfortunately,
it's a very big part of
my life. Very big. Other
emotions seem to be pretty
much eclipsed.
And I'm always the one
embarrassed.
This situation has persisted from day one. Take my
birthday, for instance.
Sitting in a hospital, buck
naked in front of a dozen
doctors, nurses, floor cleaners... Talk about embarassment. I cried incessantly,
finally falling asleep. Yep,
my nineteenth birthday was
pretty bad.
The Masaud Was Not
Impressed
When you are a lifeguard
at a religious summer camp
(I needed the work) you are
charged with the responsibility of leading by example.
The utmost in decorum and
respect is expected of the
staff, and naturally I was
nothing but a disappointment to my employers.
Seeing that young hormone-saturated teens
abounded at the camp, I
accepted the chore of baring... ah... latex on my days
off. I made a quick duck
into Save-On-Foods for the
Lately, I've beem feeling
rather insecure about
my position in the
grand scheme of the universe and how exactly that
relates to the average price
of carrots in a small outdoor
market in Belgrade.
I considered seeing a
shrink for some advice on
how to proceed, but I didn't
want to spend a small torture being told that additional counselling sessions
would be an excellent idea
for my mental stability. I
also didn't want to run the
risk that the doc would start
prescribing any under-the-
counter drugs.
After pondering the situation at hand, I realized that
the entire problem revolved
around the fact that I had
lost my mental image of
myself.
You see, everyone has a.
mental image. You might
see yourself as an incredibly
cool, suave individual with
women/men hanging on
you every word. That will
change just as soon as your
liver processes the excess
alcohol from your blood,
Or you might see yourself
as a complete nerd, afraid
the one morning you'll
wake up and be unable to
resist the temptation to
stick a pencil behind your
ear and wear a vest that
looks like it might have
KENNEDY
usual surgical strike required
to buy condoms, laxatives,
and Preparation H.
Whizzing past the dairy
isle, I thought "What could
go better on my hot chocolate than whipping cream?"
Picked up a can. You can see
this tragedy developing.
Stop now, if you can't bear
the sight of human suffering.
My plan was to perform a
cashout of military precision. No eye contact, cash
payment. Unfortunately for
me, the conveyor belt didn't
have one of those little
chunks of arborite that hurried customers use to stake
out their possessions. My
condoms ended up in the
bag of the 900 year old man
ahead of me.
"Those aren't my condoms. They're his: the guy
with the whipping cream."
He even pointed. I was the
guy with the whipping
cream staring at my toes.
A Building Fell On Me
Went to 24 Hour Video
with a girlfriend once, and
after applying the usual
divide-and-conquer search
strategy I had pretty much
abandoned the idea of
choosing a film. As a joke, I
sneaked up behind her, and
said: "Screw it! Let's just
rent a porno and wreck the
couch."
I looked at her for a
moment, and determined
that something was definitely wrong. Same hair? Check.
Brown leather bomber jacket? Check. Buffalo jeans?
Five foot nothing? White
sneakers? Check. Check.
Check. Aaaah! I had it.
Wrong face, ie: wrong girl.
My girlfriend was not in this
body, instead it was host to
one very peeved lady.
Another difference
between this woman and
my ex is that she had a
boyfriend who was quite
distinctly tall. Frankly, I
mistook him for part of the
architecture. Some sort of
ceiling support or something.
Caught With My Pants
Down
Quick story. Swim meet.
I'm finished swimming, put
Ahh... dear.
been skinned from a diseased yak.
Everyone has a mental
image, and I had lost mine
somewhere in my ramblings
over the last two weeks.
So I travelled to the self-
help section of the local
bookstore, and luckily
enough found a book entitled "So You've Lost Your
Mental Image?", from the
writers of "25 Fun Things to
do with Wood"
I remembered all the
excitement I had with the
latter book in my youth, so
I knew I had found the
book for me. Opening to
the first page I found the
three major symptoms of
mental imagius misplace-
dus.
1. You hear the words
"Muuuffffinnnn" over
and over.
According to the book,
this represents my inner self
expressing an emotional
hunger that must be fulfilled to regain my equilbri-
um. Right. When I hear
"Muffin" I'm thinking
about a great big bran muffin smothered in low fat
margarine, not the state of
my social life.
2. You think people are following you around.
This shows that my basic
personality type is based on
an egocentric view of the
world. People with that
worldview expect that
everyone and everything
should be describing an
orbit about their cranium.
3. The phrase "-6, -5, -3, -1"
actually means something
to you.
Unless you're in honours
math, there's no way you'll
ever be able to come up
with a logical explanation
of that series. So, either
you're a mathematical
genius moonlighting as a
burger flipper, or you've got
some serious problems that
need to be resolved.
So I needed a mental
image. And I had no idea
how to find one. The search
was on.
Where does one find a
mental image these days,
anyways? Can you find
them in the local supermarket. Or do you have to go to
one of those trendy organic
vegetable stores?
Is a mental image something you can trade your
old model in for? Or do you
just get issued one at birth
and you have to get
through life the best you
can with the one luck dealt
you?
As you can probably tell,
I've got a lot of time to
spend on these deep philosophical questions. Far too
much time.
on my trackpants and am
standing by the side of the
pool watching. Some young
competitor has just had too
much water to breathe and
is heading to the bottom
when I decide to use my
newly-acquired rescue skills
(previously attempted only
on rubber dummies).
I was no longer wearing a
bathing suit. Or underwear.
Just sweatpants suspended
around my knees. For what
seemed like about a minute
but was only about... a
minute. Okay, I was
stunned. Mortified, in fact.
Pulled the kid out, but for
some reason the parents
weren't too enthusiastic
about meeting me in person.
So, Blair, when you think
you've been too embarrassed and you life sucks,
just think about my experiences and your situation
won't seem so bad.
Now, don't print this
note or anything. That
would be embarassing.
Haha.
Um, maybe I shoulda said
that at the beginning?
Mcdonald
So, the obvious solution
is find a new hobby. Maybe
I should take up pigeon
breeding. I hear Switzerland
will be selling off their fleet
sometime soon.
There's not a lot I can
really do about finding my
mental image. I really
should accept the loss and
get going on all the important things coming up.
Or maybe I can steal
someone else's mental
image. All I need is a psychic who'd be willing to
help me out. Then, I'd roam
about campus, stalking likely candidates until, their
guard is down and I can
steal their mental image.
It makes sense that I
would be comfortable with
a mental image close to my
own, so I should be looking
for guys with blond hair,
blue eyes and glasses. Or
was that girls with curly
brown hair, brown eyes and
a really strange sense of
humour?
I can never quite remember that distinction... Carin van Zyl
The Lesson of the Day.
Columnist
Here's a word of
advice: don't leave
inflammatory scientific trivia opening messages
on your machine, and don't
make conspicuous, overt
gestures behind peoples'
backs while walking behind
them.
It all started when my
mom sent in my tuition
cheque by mail and it sat on
the Registrar's desk for two
weeks before they felt like
opening it. In the meantime, I called Telereg every
day to see if it had come
through yet. Well, predictably, Telereg started
blithely telling me that I
was now accruing interest at
the rate of 1.5% per month,
but I figured, like the fool I
am, that any day now, they
would check the mail and
put that cheque through. I
got tired of hearing that
maddening voice, you
know, "please enter your
student number, the star
key, your birth date......" ad
nauseam, so I gave up.
'Round about the same
time, I got my phone
hooked up, and I decided to
go for broke and get that
nifty Call Answer thing.
Well, the novelty of it all
carried me away, and I started recording a new message
every week, and it was, of
course, scientific trivia. The
first week was about how
Polydactyly (a autosomal
dominant gene) gave you
six fingers on each hand.
With a plethora of annoying
messages ahead of me, all
was good until one afternoon I called Telereg just for
the sheer hell of it, and it
told me joyfully that I was
no longer a registered student at this fine institution.
I don't know if you've
ever had your life ruined in
a.   single second, but it's not
pleasant. Well, I reregistered by phone that instant,
and when I asked for a fee
assessment, Telereg ecstatically thanked me for paying
the first installment of fees.
Hell-bent, spitting fury is
not the word I am looking
for to describe my state at
the time. But it got much,
much better then. I was
informed that I owed $16 by
October 7, and it was for
Telereg overuse fees. So,
they expected me to pay for
reregistering after their
monumentally, galactically
daft error, and you might,
say that the sixteen bucks
Me 'n My
Brain.
Matt Wiqqin
Columnist
Ever had the urge to
swerve your car into
the headlights when
you're driving home late at
night? It happens to me
every time I drive. I seem to
spend an unreasonable proportion of my time trying to
curb self destructive, socially
inept, or just plain stupid
urges. I know why, too, and
it's not my fault; it's not me
that has all of these ideas,
it's my brain. I figure that
my brain and I are separate
entities, stuck sharing the
same body. This poses a
rather uncomfortable question, then. If I'm not my
brain, then who the heck
am I? I try not to believe in
an eternal soul, mostly
because if there is one, I'm
in some serious trouble. I
figure "I" am made up of
two things: pain receptors
and my memory.
This is an imperfect relationship at best. Me and my
brain really have no common ground from which to
compare points of View.
Hammy (this is what I call
my brain) comes up with all
of the ideas, and although
very creative, he doesn't
learn very well from his mistakes. This is where I step
in. I spend the better part
of my time asking myself
the age old question "What
is the worst thing that can
happen to me if I do this?"
Hammy is so dumb he helps
me come up with ever more
painful and embarrassing
answers. And so, when I
hear the Hammy telling me
that this would be an excellent time to go rollerblading
across campus naked while
singing Beach Boys tunes, I
remind him that:
a) no clothes equals no protective gear.
b) this is not a good way to
develop a meaningful
relationship with members of the opposite sex,
and
c) what happened last time.
As for who needs whom
worse, it's definitely Hammy
that needs me the most.
Granted, I need my brain to
think, which is always an
advantage come exam week,
but hey, there are always
arts degrees. But without
me, however, poor Hammy
wouldn't last a day. As far
as he is concerned, the following three plans are
equally good for a Saturday
morning:
1) Go down to the aquarium, steal a puffer fish,
and eat it alive. That way
when it's in my stomach,
was not worth the fight, but
it was the principle of the
thing. So I ground my ax in
person the next morning to
a young-looking blondish
boy and he gave me as
much sympathy as I would
give to a Melrose Place fan
whose TV was struck by a
meteorite. I demanded they
get back to me with an apology, and that's where the
inflammatory scientific trivia message comes in.
I concocted a message
explaining in detailed, unassailable scientific language
just what sort of lower life
form the denizens of the
Registrar's were, and suggested an efficient method
of extermination, making
particular reference to the
death of all offspring and
questionable parentage. I
was pleased with myself,
and bided my time. One
afternoon, I got a message
from them saying that the
sixteen bucks had better be
in, or I would find myself
racking up more Telereg
charges trying to reregister.
I'm still trying to figure out
just how much the message
they heard soured them
up...
Which brings me to the
conspicuous gestures behind
someone's back. I have a
few classes in Woodward,
and I noticed not long after
the message incident that
there was a young-looking
blondish boy in many of my
classes, and he looked suspiciously like the twit who
chomped my bit at the
Registrar's. Being the vengeful type, I tried to track him
down so I could tell him off
right proper, but I always
lost him in the crowd that
pours out of lectures. Sol
enlisted the aid of a friend,
hurried after him when the
class was over, and managed
to end up walking right
behind him and to the
right.   My friend hadn't
seen me yet, so I wildly
flailed my arms around and
pointed enthusiastically to
the target. Well, it got her
attention all right, but I
guess I wasn't far enough
out of his peripheral vision,
because I got his undivided
attention too. He turned
around and fixed me with
this withering stare, like I
was losing it or something.
That's when I realized I had
been chasing the wrong
guy. Scrambling to salvage
whatever dignity I had left, I
fled in the opposite direction, feeling like an even
bigger tool than at the Star
Trek convention...I just
can't win at anything, can I?
it would inflate and I
could see what I'd look
like with a pot belly.
2) Stay in bed until noon
get up, eat, and try to
study at least a little bit
for the three midterms I
have on Monday
3) Take my bike up the
biggest, steepest hill I can
find and ride down.
When I hit about 65
MPH, jump off, just to see
if a human being can
actually run that fast. If I
pull this one off, I'll make
Guinness for sure.
I am pretty good at catching those moronic thoughts
that will either kill me or
make me look immeasurably stupid. Again. But
occasionally my brain slips
something truly idiotic by
me, like the time I jumped
out of a second story win
dow to prove that I can't fly.
Or the time I made myself a
flaming hat out of a cornflakes box liberally doused
with lighter fluid (Don't try
this at home. An explosive
fuel/air mixture forms inside
the box, making something
resembling a bomb out of your
hat. Trust me.)
My brain means well;
most of the things it wants
to do are just experiments. I
just wish it would do its
testing on a different subject
than me once in a while.
No, you can't say anything... Look, we already
discussed this. You provide
the ideas and / get to
choose them... No, I won't
write that... Because it's not
nice to kill the pope, that's
why... Oh, all right. And
now, in closing, (and I only
did this so you could see
what I mean,) a heretofore
new and unedited message
from Hammy:
Matt's brain here- You
know what would be really
cool? Cow powered cars.
What you do is get a cow,
and hook up a hose to the
shipping end. That way,
you can trap all the
methane they produce and
use it to power your automobile. Sure, cars would
have to be bigger, but I figure that if you had two in
the back of a vehicle shaped
like cross between a pickup
and a horse trailer, you
would be able to run your
car without ever going to
the gas station. And, you
would be helping the environment by reducing
methane emissions, and the
best part is that methane is
a completely renewable
resource. What? It could
work... John, 4:16
HALLETT
We all do stupid
things from time
to time. I am no
exception. In fact, if you
were to average the stupidity of the population, I'm
pretty sure that I do enough
stupid things in the space of
a week to allow the rest of
us to show excellent judgment for the next seven
years.
For instance, just recently
I decided take it upon
myself to go take in the
view from a rather overgrown hill called Little
Mountain near where I live
on Vancouver Island. I
think the "little" part is
there simple to fool the
weak. Now, it's not such a
monumental task to reach
the summit, in fact, any
vehicle can do it due to the
paved road. (Do you like
how reaching the top is getting to be less of a feat all
the time?) Oh yeah... I
wasn't driving, so it was
even easier. In fact, I was
asleep in the back seat and
just sorta woke up at the
top.
So there I was finally at
the top, after all that work,
peering over the side of
what I would calmly call an
uneasily large cliff at the distant forest floor nearly 100
meters below. At the bottom, a couple of hikers were
making their way along a
winding trail through the
trees. The scene was truly
idyllic.
Suddenly I was filled with
an overwhelming desire to
conduct a short physics
experiment directly related
to the acceleration of the
earth's gravitational field.
(In reality, I just wanted to
hit them with rocks... big
rocks... but this way I can
say that my motive was education.)
I instantly noticed something: there were no rocks
anywhere near the edge, in
fact, the whole mountain
was devoid of any stones
much larger than a grain of
sand. Mostly due to other
people like me.
So I tried to call down the
wrath of God, instead.
After being thwarted in
my attempts to call down
hail from the heavens, I and
my friends decided to hike
to the bottom of the cliff via
a rather steep and exceedingly long trail around the
side. This is where the stupidity comes into play.
Going down was easy,
and thus we were soon
enjoying the complete lack
of view one normally experiences at the bottom of an
extremely large cliff. And I
discovered the only problem
inherent in going down a
very large hill and leaving
your vehicle at the top...
you have to go back
up eventually.
What compounded the
matter was the fact that
another group of rowdy
locals showed up at the top
of the cliff with the same
express intent we had in the
beginning. There was only
one difference... they
brought rocks. So we ran to
the cover of the trail and
were nearly half way up
before two of us dropped
dead from cardiac arrest.
Then it started hailing...
You'd think after that I
would learn from such an
experience to think things
through before I actually
attempt them... not a
chance.
Another topic rattling
around in my head...
After being passed time
and time again at blistering
speed by some fool who
somehow thought it logical
to attach wheels to his feet,
I decided to take it upon
myself to learn how to roller
blade in order to dish out
some well-deserved roller...
er... justice.
So I borrowed my brother's blades and pads and set
about ending my life. First
thing I noticed was the discolouration in my fingers
and toes. I applied strict scientific method, and realized
that the knee and elbow
pads were just a little too
tight. After regaining feeling
in my extremities I came to
the conclusion that those
pads would do more harm
than good, so I ditched
them.
I made my way into the
twisty-turny alley behind
my house and made it about
a hundred feet before self-
preservation kicked in and I
decided to return home.
Now, one thing about
this particular alley is that
it's not safe to travel faster
than 20 kph owing to the
presence of idiots like me in
the neighborhood who can't
seem to find parking lots.
But no one pays attention to
that speed limit, including
the guy that hit me with his
mid 70's Chrysler. In conclusion, I'd like to thank all
my friends for the lovely
smelling flowers and point
out that, on account of me,
people can wander about
making fairly sound decisions for the rest of October.
(See 3rd sentence)
It's actually very simple to
describe John in five words or
less. In fact, only two are normally necessary. Brain and
damaged.
Informal Lunch Meeting For
WOMEN IN SCIENCE
Wednesday, October 26,1994
FNS Room 40, 12:30
(bring your lunch, juice provided)
to lead drop-in sessions for students new to Netinfo,.
The AMS Tutoring Service is looking for
t per hour up to
5 hours a week
Start week of Nov 6.
Positions continue until
Mar 31,1995.
Preferred Availability:
9:30am Mon.Wed, Fri
4:30pm Mon-Thu
6:30pm Mon &Wed
What does a Netinfo Assistant do?
Introduce small groups of students to the basic services netinfo
offers (e-mail, Usenet and Clarinet news,WWW, View UBC
etc.) answer questions and refer students to other resources.
Provide feedback to AMS tutoring and the library about ways
to improve Netinfo.
Skills required:
-Familiarity with computer networks/information systems
(knowledge of netinfo specifics not required—you will
receive training)
-Strong interpersonal skills, good at communicating ideas
-Independent worker.able to encourage self-sufficient
learning
I Drop off a resume with your schedule and e-mail address by Fri, Oct 28 to:
; Assistant Director, Netinfo • AMS Tutoring Service • Room 249D, Student Union Building
§§£[9 P"}1^! ALMA MATER SOCIETY Jointly sponsored by AMS Tutoring Services and
ffHTJ Jn^|J/I UBC Student Government UBC Libraries. Funding provided by the Teaching;
mUff 4   ^jjfir and Learning Enhancement Fund. *
The Drawers.
Kevin Douglas
Science Senator
1|   ^ oesn't that Lloyd Axworthy character just crack you
Tracy MacKinnon
(up? Trying to Americanize the post-secondary educational system here in Canada; so funny the whole
nation is in hysterics. Well, the Student Senate Caucus isn't
taking this lightly, let me assure you. That's just one of the
many issues your 17 student senators are looking at at the
present time. We have recently added Stephanie Chan from
Law to our ranks as a Senator-at-large, so we're now a full
family again.
Last May it was recommended that the faculties try to
reduce the number of departments with very few faculty
members, ie. those with about 15 or less full-time faculty. As
Science students this may affect you if you are in one of
those smaller departments. It is rather nice to see that the
Faculty of Science is handling this better than other faculties
which I won't mention.
Another relevant issue is the Teaching & Learning
Enhancement Fund. The purpose of the fund is to encourage students to propose a project which will be of great benefit to all or at least a handful of students. The AMS has been
considering a proposal to get all undergraduate societies
access to Ethernet. Surely someone out there has a better
idea than that. If you think you've got a good idea, visit the
Office of the President at the Old Administration Building
and pick up a copy of the criteria and guidelines.
One other thing the student senators are trying to do is
create an information pamphlet for any of you out there
unfortunate enough to be caught cheating in a course. Most
students who go through the discipline process are unaware
of what they should do. For now, you should all just be
good students and stay out of trouble, but if something does
happen, JUST SAY NO. See you later.
If anyone out there interprets this article to mean Kevin is saying there's a lot of cheaters out there, I'd like to go on record as
saying "What? Kevin who?"
Public Relations Officer
Another scintillating
AMS meeting has
passed and have
more information to impart
to Science students. First,
the chronic issue of the
Ubyssey is again at the forefront as the second Editor-
in-Chief candidate resigned.
This leaves the AMS in a
quandairy as what to do
with the paper, so we'll be
discussing the options at the
next meeting. Joy.
Anna and I spent a grueling Saturday with the AMS
President scoring the compensation process for the
AMS. Forty-three positions
to evaluate and only one
Saturday to do it.
The '95 Budget passed.
There will be a roundtable
discussion on child care at
UBC in the near future.
Various Science reps were
appointed to AMS
Committees - Blair to chair
Code and Policies, myself to
chair Nominating. Anna is
now on Services and
Appointments, and Laurie's
on Renovations, so you're
well represented. Thanks. Introducing
The 432
Classifieds.
THREE LINES
FREE!
All ads accepted.
Next deadline
Monday, Oct 24
Tie°dye your lab coat day:    Oct. 14.
drop your Idbcoat off ° D222
[the whole process takes 2 days to complete,
so we're doing it over the weekend]
Rext Bllr Garden:      Oct. 31 m 4th floor lounge
[It'll be another steal: I lousy buck°a°bzzn]
[51.25 for sider]
We would like to purchase a
microwave for the club lounge
Would you be interested?
Would you use it?
□ □
YES        NO
Come fey
and te«
usvrfvat
you It**
(we need to know If there Is a demand for the wonderful,
complicated world of Administration to have something to do.)
We were thinking of participating in the
sponsorship of a child in a 3rd-world
country. As a member, you have a say in
this decision, so if you don't think its a good
idea, come discuss it with us
Our meeting* are eweru. Tuesday @ 12:30 in the. lounge,
so come on out to find out what else is going on
( or if you want to kelp out or if you are a creative
genius, with an ower actiwe imagination and an intrinsic, deep
desire to contribute, ... and lot's oF free time....)
GiVe b«<0k %
Blind Date.
Elana Promislow
Columnist
I feel... ill. Maybe it's the way he's shoveling huge pieces of spinach into his mouth, talking incessantly. I can't quite focus on what he's saying because I'm thoroughly engrossed
in watching that spot of dressing slowly glide down his chin. Apparently it doesn't matter
much, since he's directing his entire conversation to my breasts. I feel as though I should
formally introduce them. "This one's Bibsy, and this one's Toodles," I proclaim with a flourish. His face turns as scarlet as my dress, and he wipes his mouth, averting his gaze. He
offers me more wine. I smile demurely and ask him if he usually gets his dates drunk so he
can get laid. He gets that bewildered/offended look all men get when you figure their game
plan before they've had the chance to execute it. The waiter conveniently comes with our
entrees.
This man obviously eats out of a trough on normal occasions. I casually peruse the restaurant to assure myself there is no one I know. He starts telling me about all the politicians
he's met. "How fascinating," I say. "Are they as egocentric in person as they appear in the
media?" I abhor politics. He shifts uncomfortably then digresses to sports. I cut my chicken
slowly, precisely, pretending to be sincerely intrigued with hockey statistics. "I'm afraid I
don't know all that much about sports," I interject. He beams. He is in his element. I don't
believe for a second that he doesn't sense my distaste for him, but I can tell the only sex he's
• been getting lately is ambidextrous. Unfortunately for his libido, I would sooner drown
myself in a pool of chicken livers than get it on with this guy.
"So, Marcia tells me you paint as a hobby." He shoots me a drooly grin. I am going to kill
Marcia for this one. He starts in on how therapeutic watercolours can be. I nod vaguely,
thankful that I can let him drone on for a while. He finally stops talking, and stares at me
intently. "You know," he says, "you have the most incredible eyes." I nearly choke on a
combination of laughter and asparagus. I quickly cover my eyes with my palms and ask him
what colour they are. He pauses before he says, "Green." I take my hands away. "They're
brown," I say. "That's what I meant, " he stammers. "Greeny-brown." Sure.
He tries to press me with dessert, but I make up some excuse about expecting an important
long-distance phone call. He foots the bill, surely motivated more by his gonads than any
chivalrous intentions. I don't say much in the car as he drives me home. He keeps glancing
over at me, but I stare out the rain-spattered window. He plays around with the radio,
changing the station every couple of minutes. I hate it when people do that. We finally
reach my building. "I'll walk you to your apartment," he says. "Oh, that's all right, thank
you," I say, reaching for the door. "No, no, I insist." He slides out and is at my side of the
car before I even have it open.. His attempt to remedy his previous boorishness irks me to no
end.
He walks in the building with me and up the stairs to my apartment, where I say goodnight. He asks if perhaps he could come inside and talk to me until I get my phone call. He
is very anxious. I tell him I forgot my gloves in the car, and could he please go get them.
"I'll make#us a couple of drinks," I add. He gets this "I'm going to get lucky" smile and runs
down the stairs, promising to return in half a minute. I slip inside, bolting the door with a
wry smirk. Less than a minute later, he is knocking on my door, apologizing that he can't
find my gloves. He must have the intellectual capacity of a dead house plant to believe I'd be
wearing gloves in the middle of July. I let him knock and call my name while I plug in a kettle of water to boil. He finally takes the hint and gives up, and I lazily sip my peppermint
tea, vowing never to go on one of these blind dates again.
Amazingly enough, Elana has gone on other dates since this experience, and has considered buying
a set of green contacts to make life easier on all the similar guys out there who make the fatal error of
replying "greeny-brown" to the dreaded "What colour are my eyes?" question.
J>fc. ZAPINSKt!
810 5*3 IN' n*i-
D-ttlHVAS.
A dentistry prof's worst nightmare. Peter Peterson,
Professional Student.
£lEN SToKES
— PRDFESSlONftL
SVUOfcNT
to] o^4
\ri«?VoP€N*D    -—
0 MEW KCCiJ^gM,
Gr A ft. D t
I AM HUfllftN,  w-
to I Hot 8LEE&?
UH... VOU DON'T THIMK rSMSOME
SAW) Pit- b&Nott?
ItoTftW,
ftWAS
WE.OK
The Truth of It All.
jay Garcia
Columnist
Well, it's officially fall The sky's grey and
cloudy most of the time nowadays, and
there's a nip in the air (probably from
all that stray liquid nitrogen leaking from the
tanks just outside Hebb). And the animal species
of UBC are once again engaged in their frenetic
pre-winter activities. The squirrels are starting to
boldly venture out of their trees and into the
Chem buildings in search of munchies (it's pretty
well-known that squirrels are partial to the leftovers found in the SUS fridge). The raccoons are
busy raiding the garbage bins around Gage and
Vanier. And the undergrads are out, wild-eyed
and frantic, muttering incoherently about the various horrors inflicted upon them by Those Who
Stand Between the Projectors.
I speak, of course, of that ever-popular seasonal
activity, Mid-term madness.
Very shortly, many of us are about to experience that, ah, unique thrill of being faced with a
sheaf of papers the size of the New York State
phone directory, upon which will be inscribed the
various arcane formulae which are somewhat tan-
gentially related to those mystifying and obscure
texts which we call lecture notes. Many of lis can
very well envision that ever-so-joyous moment
when we crack open our test booklets and whip
out our nifty four-color pens and pricey scientific
five-thousand function graphic calculators, only
to spend the remainder of the hour staring vacuously at a page filled with incomprehensible symbols. It may even lead to doubts as to whether or
not we are in the proper examination room taking the proper test — after all, we may have wandered into a Grecian Languages class by mistake.
So, as a public service to all those out there paralyzed with visions of impending doom (you'll
never get into med school now!
you'll be forced to be a chiropractor the rest of
your life! you've been a keener and you have
nothing to show for it!), we offer this helpful
guide to cramming.
Firstly, it's nowhere near as bad as it sounds. All
it means is that you'll be losing a little sleep (well,
you'll lose a little sleep and a lot of sanity, plus
any of the social graces that you may have
learned over the years, and, consequently, any
friends that have the misfortune of being around
you after cram night). In exchange, you get the
option of exercising damage control on your
grades! And all for just one night's sleep!
Just one night's sleep, you ask? Well yes. And
here's how:
You'll need drinks. Jolt Cola. Nothing else will
do. Long the secret ingredient behind the late-
night insights that have
led such scientists as Polykarp Kusch and
Hannes Alfven to Nobel Prizes (well, granted, they
were examining Jolt Cola, not guzzling it, but
that's beside the point), it has been widely available to the student body for over two decades.
Jolt Cola will not only keep you awake because of
its caffeine content, but the sugar rush that immediately follows may provide just enough energy
for you to skip breakfast later that morning,
allowing you an extra hour or so to study!
Next comes food. You'll need some salted
peanuts. A high-energy snack guaranteed to keep
you going — to the bathroom, if nothing else,
thus preventing your legs, not to mention your
bladder, from falling asleep on you at a critical
time in your cramming.
So, on to the actual cram. In a word: Chapter
Summaries. Well, okay, two words. But still you
can't deny that almost everything you need is
right there. Even stuff you don't need. Doesn't
matter, memorize it anyway. You could probably
throw them in as answers for any questions that
you didn't understand. Who knows, in five to ten
years, that garbled hodgepodge that you put
down as a response might be proven right by the
finest scientific minds of the twenty-first century!
Then, you'll want telecommunications facilities. In other words, a phone. Don't understand
something? Call up that genius keener in the
front row! (you did get their phone number on
the first day of school, didn't you? didn't you?!)
Who cares that it's three in the morning? Even if
you don't get any useful help out of him (or her,
to be perfectly PC here), it'll still improve your
chances of passing if Those Who Stand Between
the Projectors grade on a curve. If the keener you
called can't sleep, and then does poorly on the
midterm, then goody for you!
On the day of the test, you may want to skip
such extraneous activities such as breakfast (see
above) or baths in order to gain more time. Don't
forget, if Those Who Stand Between the Projectors
grade on a curve, then the more odious you are to
the people around you, and so much the better if
you can distract them away from a better grade.
Finally, you might want to wear sunglasses.
More likely than not, your eyes will be so tired
and sore that light of any intensity might burn
Out your retinas. Plus, sunglasses can hide the
fact that you are crying as you come to realize
that you studied entirely the wrong chapters for
your test. If this happens, buck up, and don't
worry. Finals are only two months away!
fay Garcia recently attempted the first rite of surviving university - the first set of midterms. The results
on whether he passed or not were not available at
press time.
Good luck, Jay... A Tale Of Two Turkeys.
WATTS
Thanksgiving... a
time for being
thankful... a time
for spending precious
moments with loved ones
and friends... a time for
chowing down on a turkey
dinner that could choke a
horse...
There isn't a student out
there that doesn't appreciate
Thanksgiving. After a blissful six weeks of living on
Cup-a-Soup, Kraft Dinner
and the occasional meatball
sub to break the monotony,
you know that there's nothing for which a student
would give more thanks
than a home-cooked meal
par excellence (except, perhaps, a suitcase full of small,
unmarked bills, but that certainly doesn't happen once
a year).
Ah, yes... you feel the
breathless anticipation
explode into a joyous smile
as Mum emerges from the
kitchen with a turkey big
enough to be seen from
space... to say nothing of
the wonderful supporting
cast of mashed potatoes,
stuffing, gravy, vegetables,
pumpkin pie... brings a tear
to the eye, doesn't it?
Actually, what really brings
a tear to the eye is the crowbar they have to use to pry
you out of the chair after
the dust settles, the plates
are cleared and it suddenly
dawns on you that you can
now be seen from space.
Most families have their
own particular
Thanksgiving ritual. We
used to have one when I
was little that also involved
a total of about six or seven
other families that we knew.
Every year, we would all
pack up the kids and head
off to a tiny little fishing
resort at Echo Lake, just east
of Lumby.
(For all of you who aren't
up on your geography of
infinitesimally small B.C.
towns, villages and other
specks of civilization,
Lumby is about 30 clicks
east of Vernon. The place is
so small that they had to
put a mirror at one end just
so you don't miss it as you
drive past. Don't get me
wrong, though; it's a very
nice little place - in fact,
they recently had the whole
town carpeted.)
The Echo Lake resort itself
is even smaller. Situated on
a cozy little bit of Nowhere
on the northwest side of the
lake, the whole joint consists of about a dozen lake-
front cabins, a boat launch,
a couple of little grassy areas
and an itty-bitty office/general store. Now, when I say
cabins, I'm not talkin' about
some posh, milquetoast little condos in the middle of
the sticks. Ooooo no. These
are real fishing cabins - no
electricity, no running
water, no central heating,
and no locks on the doors.
Just cozy little log cabins
with an ancient iron wood
stove, a table and chairs,
two or three sofa-beds and a
mouse hole in the corner.
Now before you get that
look on your face and start
feeling really
confused/repulsed/sorry for
me, allow me to point out
that I quite enjoy this sort
of thing. No, really; Echo
Lake has a lot of good memories for me as a kid. Every
fall, we'd spend three days
up there with all of our
friends, terrorizing the other
resort guests and having a
wonderful time in general.
This usually consisted of
moving around the camp at
ridiculously high speeds
(whether on foot, bikes,
motorboats or tree vines)
until we got tired. At that
point, we would go make a
brief pit stop at the cabin,
fuel up on lunch and cocoa,
and then immediately
resume frenetic activity,
much in the spirit of, say,
Stand By Me meets the
Indianapolis 500. Needless
to say, the re-emergence of
the Junior Hellions on the
scene was always much to
the chagrin of the other
guests, who were just getting used to the remarkable
sense of calm that had suddenly come over the camp
not half an hour before.
A propos racing, the
motorboats were particularly fun. (For any of you out
there who may find the following story offensive in its
impetuous, reckless abandon, keep an open mind
and remember that this was
the Eighties we're talking
about here.) There were five
families that always brought
motorboats with them (ours
included), and it was never
long before the quiet, tranquil lake was beset upon by
the dreaded Western Fleet.
Shortly thereafter, a once-
dulcet fishing area was
instantly transformed into a
blinding cacophony of several kid-commanded motor-
boats careening along at full
tilt (and when you're ten
years old, you'd be surprised
how fast six horsepower
feels), playing Chicken with
each other and making
waves big enough to surf
on. Truth to tell, I don't
think the idea of us screaming around the lake really
worried the resort owner
very much, because every
year several parents would
show up on Saturday afternoon wishing to buy gasoline for their suddenly-
empty boat tanks.
Of course, when we
weren't busy running
around playing Flashlight
Tag and scaring all of the
fish 300 feet deep, there was
that Thanksgiving Dinner
thing to worry about... I
mentioned before that the
cabins were all heated by
wood stoves - you know,
those big ol' iron things that
are roughly the size of
Buicks and which also happen to double as your cooking surface. According to my
mother, cooking a turkey in
one of these things is something of an inexact science -
I believe she described it as
"trying to paint a
Rembrandt with a roller".
Due to the large annual
turnout, there were always
two turkeys cooked, which
actually worked out rather
well, as it happens; you see,
one of the ovens was always
too hot and one was always
too cold. Consequently, we
used to occasionally catch a
Sunday glimpse of two
mothers frantically running
the turkeys back and forth
between the two ovens at
regular intervals, in a desperate effort to avoid having
one turkey still gobbling
and the other looking a
touch more like a hockey
puck than a bird.
And somehow, as only
mothers can, they succeeded, because dinner was
always a huge success. As I
said, I have some great
memories of that place,
which is why I was very
pleased that we decided to
go back this year, after a
seven-year hiatus. It was
good to see everyone again
and rekindle all that old
nostalgia. Needless to say,
we didn't spend the weekend screaming around the
lake this time, but we
weren't bored - there was
something somewhat
appealing about spending
Saturday afternoon quaffing
Caesars and beating the parents at Hearts. So that's
what they've been doing all
these years...
Speak out NOW!
Plenty of time to think about it later.
Wake up, students of UBC! Do
you know that your student
government is attempting to
control you? Its true! It says so,
right there in the AMS
Constitution! We re not exactly
sure how they re controlling
everybody but we know
they re trying, and we re gonna
find out real soon, too!
Uh... until then, make sure you
speak out against those racist
fascist bigots, cause that's what
they are! And one of these days,
we re gonna find the stuff to
prove it! We don t actually
have anything yet - in fact,
we ve never even seen any of it.
But it s out there, man. Trust us
on this one, okay?

Cite

Citation Scheme:

        

Citations by CSL (citeproc-js)

Usage Statistics

Share

Embed

Customize your widget with the following options, then copy and paste the code below into the HTML of your page to embed this item in your website.
                        
                            <div id="ubcOpenCollectionsWidgetDisplay">
                            <script id="ubcOpenCollectionsWidget"
                            src="{[{embed.src}]}"
                            data-item="{[{embed.item}]}"
                            data-collection="{[{embed.collection}]}"
                            data-metadata="{[{embed.showMetadata}]}"
                            data-width="{[{embed.width}]}"
                            async >
                            </script>
                            </div>
                        
                    
IIIF logo Our image viewer uses the IIIF 2.0 standard. To load this item in other compatible viewers, use this url:
http://iiif.library.ubc.ca/presentation/cdm.the432.1-0000797/manifest

Comment

Related Items