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The 432 Sep 18, 2001

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 VOLUME FIFTEEN ISSUE TWO
18 SEPTEMBER 2001
In this issue:
Stuff
Cute Frosh
Kentucky Fried Chicken
and so very very much more...
'You'd be suprised how much it costs to look this cheap/
-Dolly Parton
USA Bombs Arbitrary Country
Reuters, Vancouver
In a series of tactical strikes against an
arbitrary country that the US thinks
(but isn't completely sure) could be
harbouring terrorists, the nation which
has been described as "the Protector of
the Free World" has had a 100% success
rate, with the US Air Force reporting that
each and every bomb dropped has killed
at least one civilian.
Over 200 barns, houses, apartment complexes, and strip malls have been
destroyed so far. One military officer has
received a broken arm.
The upper echelons of 'their' government seemed strangely unaffected as
their most important installations are
protected by clever camoflage.
"We paint 'school' or 'hospital' on the
roof," said Colonel Saunders. "The
Americans still hit 'em from time to time,
but then we complain bitterly, and the
bombing campaign usually lets up. They
seem to prefer hitting farms and clothing
factories and such."
US President George Bush, with an
amazing lack of grammatical errors, said
in an exclusive 432 interview that
"That'll teach those peasants to live in a
terrorist-friendly country. They thought
Country's Arbitrarily Chosen
gun control dereglation in Texas was a
bad idea, but I proved that wrong. They
think bombing countries that we suspect
are harbouring terrorists is a bad idea
too. We'll show them. Say, aren't you
guys from Canada? We're watching you.
I'm warning you, if you're gathering
intelligence..." at that point, our intrepid
432 reporter had to flee the CIA officers
who were instructed to beat information
out of him. Mr. Garcia is expected to
have a full recovery; donations to the
National Liver Foundation and to his
liquor cabinet are preferred in lieu of
cards and flowers.
A report from our sister news agency,
CNN, gives the sentiment on the street:
"We can't let our children grow up in a
violent world where terrorists could
strike at any moment," said stateside soccer mom Billy-Jane Smith. "It's obvious
that the only way to stop them is to kill
them all."
At that point her five year old daughter
started making "pow" noises, and saying
"Kill the bad brown guys with towels on
their heads, mommy! Oooh, can I help?"
The new US stance on terrorism has had
profound effects on some of its own citizens; Timothy McVeigh's hometown is
now rubble, after a "late but necessary,"
Dictator Strangely Unaffected
TH£, fAKtCING LOT 15 fULL
by Jack McLaren and Pat Spacek
htt p:llwww. plif.com
in the words of Bush, retaliatory air
strike in response to the Oklahoma City
bombings.
Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan has also been
hit. Nobody is sure why.
"Moose Jaw just sounds Russian, and
they've fucked with us before" explained
Bush, "We're covering all of our bases
should war break out".
Canada has no plans for retaliation.
Prime Minister Jean Chretien explained
in a quick press conference when Moose
Jaw was identified as part of Canada,
"We are de friends of de American's and
we are really scared of dem. If we fight
back dey might locate Ottawa an den
we'd be screwed... unless we blame Quebec, hmmm..."
As the United States continues to pursue
"WAR!" with "those who would promote
terror" or rather any country it feels it
can safely pulverize from the air without
actually risking fighting, its government
gains strength.
Support for President Bush within the
general American public has skyrocketed. A recent poll found that Americans
were in favor of anything that involved
guns and explosions and thus adored
their president for his quick and deliber
ate action against those who threaten the
American way, whoever they may actually be.
Canadian Barney Glotz expressed his
opinions of the US government in a
recently released statement:
"I'm starting to wonder about the logic
of the American government striking out
blindly against anything close and easily
crushed but I've decided to be really nice
to them and just give them my lunch
money, just like when I was small. My
mommy always said that bullies had
problems inside them and that's why
they are so mean. Maybe if we just help
them out we will be ok."
Mr. Glotz was unavailable for comment
on his earlier statements as his hometown had been vaporized.
President Bush is expected to announce
further strikes on agricultural land in all
countries whose names he does not like
the sound of.
"We intend to send strong messages to
these people, messages with big explosions, just like in the movies", cried Bush
in one of his only passionate speeches,
"you just don't mess with America. We
are the brightest beacon for freedom in
the world".
UBC Food Services adopts new natural death policy for meat products
Tofu consumption not expected to increase
Determined to save humanity, Ronald McDonald forms
McDonaldism, a religion bent on saving souls by the quarter-pound.
Things go well until the FBI lays siege to the McTemple, killing
Ronald and his followers by burning it to the ground Oops.
(CP) Vancouver
Deep in the recesses of a secret location, said to be on the UBC campus,
a secret meeting of food service
personnel and UBC higher-ups was said to
occur on Thursday September 13. Out of
this clandestine conference comes a
groundbreaking new policy. "UBC Food
Services is instituting a new suggestive
vegetarian initiative", said Food Service
spokesperson Dana Rossenbloom in a brief
press conference after the meeting. "This
new initiative will keep all those whiners
happy," she continued.
The new plan will see only creatures that
died of natural causes winding up on cafeteria menus and plates. "The lack of meat
which meets the new criteria will please
those anemic little vegetarians and our
costs will go down as the demand for cows
that die of old age or disease is not as high
as some would think", Rossenbloom's
statement read.
Some students offered their comments
after the announcement was made.
April Rainbow Spring, a third year Arts
student liked the idea, "Animals are people
too. The deserve to live full lives without
everyday thinking about how their dictators will soon murder them and feast off
their warm bloody flesh", she told the 432
in a candid interview.
The supply of naturally killed meat will
come from many locations across BC,
including the University of British Columbia campus where UBC Plant Ops will be
doing a daily collection of edible rodents
and birds to supplement the program.
Said, Barney Glotz when questioned
about the new policies, "I'm appalled by
the idea of using partially decomposed
squirrels as sustinence for our bright
young students, but I can't deny that it's
been going on for quite a long time. Why I
remember my first year in Place Vanier. It's
true., just about everything tastes a little
like chicken when it's been deep-fried".
UBC Food Services meal plan prices are
not expected to go down as a result of
Thurday's announcements. Page Two
THE FOUR THIRTY TWO
18 SEPTEMBER 2001
It's a bird, it's a plane, oh shit it's not superman
?'*^2?*^ Bon Warrington
Volume Fifteen
Issue Two
18 September 2001
Pointless Figurehead
Ben Warrington
benjawar@interchange.ubc.ca
Editrix
Lana Rupp
lerupp@interchange.ubc.ca
Editor
Dan Anderson
josander@interchange.ubc.ca
Nippleriffic Proofreader
Carol Radford
Minions
Bree Baxter
Albert Chen
Mark Fisher
Andy Martin
Dan Anderson
Lana Rupp
Ben Warrington
Steve Nace
Jay Garcia
Wade Carmicheal
(somuchspaaam@hotmail.com)
Printed by
College Printers, Vancouver, BC
Web Sites
http://www.ams.ubc.ca/sus/
http://seercom.com/sus/432/
Legal Information
The 432 is published fortnightly
from the Colonel Klinck building
Room 202. The 432 is the official
publication of the Science Undergraduate Society.
All views expressed in this issue
are strictly those of the individual
writers and editors, and as such are
not the responsibility of The 432,
The Science Undergraduate Society,
or the Faculty of Science. In fact, we
deny responsibility for everything.
We don't know anything about any
newspaper. There is no spoon,
either. Writers and cartoonists are
encouraged to submit their material to The 432. Submissions must
meet the requirements of making
the editor chuckle at least thrice,
and must contain the author's
name and contact information.
Bribery doesn't hurt.
Beer beer sex beer beer sex beer
beer sex beer beer sex beer beer
sex beer beer sex beer beer sex
beer beer sex beer beer sex beer
beer sex beer beer sex, repeat.
Tuesday is a day that will always stick
in my mind as I imagine it will in the
minds of most of the rest of the people in the world. That is one case of head
lice that I will never forget.
I always set my radio to come on nice and
early, the theory being that it will give me
time to wake up slowly while I listen to the
news. In reality, I usually wake up, see that
I don't have to get up yet, and promptly, I
go back to sleep. This, inevitably, makes
me late every day. Anyway, Tuesday morning, a piece of news made its way into my
fogged brain. I heard something about a
plane crashing into the World Trade Centre, or maybe two. I was quite sketchy on
the details; I don't think any witness would
have accused me of being awake. Hearing
this news kind of amused me in a morbid
sort of way. Even when it was only one
plane, I never suffered under the illusion
that this may have been an accident. Those
twin towers are just a little too easy to spot
from an aircraft which under no circumstances should have been flying that low
over Manhattan anyway. Even if something went terribly wrong and a plane
crashed into a city, the odds of it hitting
that paticular obstacle are just a little too
low to be credible, so I figured it was obviously intentional. As I said, I was mildly
amused, but at this point, I was still picturing a small aircraft like a Cessna, for example. Perhaps 15 minutes later, the news was
repeated. I was a little more awake, so I
realized that I hadn't dreamt it after all.
One or two planes had indeed been
crashed into the World Trade Centre. I
believe that it was also then that the first
rumour of a fire at the Pentagon was
reported as well. The CBC newscaster then
said that they would be going to a national
broadcast in about 15 minutes, which
would have made it 8am MDT. After this
update, CBC Calgary went back to its regular programming which turned out to be
a discussion on the head lice problem that
had recently sprung up at one of Calgary's
schools.
I bolted awake. Being the news junkie that
I am, I wasn't going to miss lying in bed
and listening to details about the attack
just so I could lie in bed and listen to them
talk about head lice. I took this opportunity to get up and have my shower even
though it was earlier than I may normally
have done.
I came back about one minute after eight,
and they were talking about the attacks.
There was now some report from the State
Department as well, but this was not a
plane crash, so what would otherwise have
been front page news was dismissed and
barely ever mentioned again. I kept listening, and I was slowly filled in on the
details. The first real shock came when
they announced that one of the two towers
had just collapsed. Suddenly, this did not
fit at all well with the scenario that I had
been picturing. The World Trade Centre
had been attacked before, and I was picturing a small aircraft diving in a suicide
attack somewhat like the attack that wasn't
on the White House a couple of years back.
A tragedy to be sure, but certainly not
unheard of. There was no way, however,
that a small plane could have taken down
one of those towers. Heck, as we saw, they
even stood up to the initial impact from
commercial jetliners without much trouble.
It was about this time that I woke up my
roomate. She is taking International Relations, so I thought that she would probably
want to hear the news. I think her initial
reaction was kind of similar to mine
because she grinned, and said, "Oh really?" She did get up pretty quick, though,
and she came and watched the news with
me a little later.
Anyway, I went back and listened to the
radio a little while longer, but they soon
lost their cell phone connection to New
York, so they started playing the audio
from CBC Newsworld. I figured that if I
were listening to the TV anyway, I might as
well watch it, so I turned off the radio and
turned on the television. There, I got the
first pictures, which I don't think I have to
describe. You can find almost tasteless pictures plastered throughout any recent
newspaper, and full motion video is still
played every night on TV. All I can say is
that I saw the second tower collapse live.
I said, "Holy fuck."
My roomate said, "Oh my god."
And in an interesting twist, the reporter
was silent.
I just can't believe that the damn thing
came down.
Notice that I didn't use the word "carnage?"
-ed
You Piss Me Off
Lana Rupp
Semen Collector
Hello kids! Today I would like to
talk to you about reality and why
it makes me want to hurt you. In
this world there are several types of common bastards I would like to point out and
possibly train my crosshairs on.
Cell Phone Owners: Good grief! What the
hell is wrong with you people!!! YOU
KNOW WHO YOU ARE!!! You sit next to
me in class and your cell phone keeps ringing while you pretend it's not yours in a
shameless effort to feel above all the other
poor stupid bastards who actually admit to
being morons by answering their cell
phones. Don't think I don't know it's you,
don't think the prof isn't mentally changing the grade on your next paper or
midterm and don't fuck with me!!! TURN
YOUR FUCKING CELL PHONES OFF
when you walk into a class, or say... my
math final!
Front Desk People: Generally I am only
standing at a front desk wheh I need something. The people who continue to converse on the desk phone to their
friends/significant others/sex objects/dealers therefore cause me irritation. The irritation is intensified when it is three in the
morning and I am locked out of my room
and partially naked and some guy named
Mike keeps asking what room I'm in. If
you wish to ignore me and further my
obvious torment or just make me really
late for my midterm at least leave and put
up a sign that says 'back in 15 minutes' and
then just not show up. As a bonus, this tactic will prevent me from recognizing you
and becoming perturbed.
Large Amorphous Globular Groups of
People: So I'm late for class, bleeding from
a head wound, running from a serial killer,
in need of the John or just wandering at a
leisurely pace away from a freshly pulled
fire alarm... it doesn't really matter: there's
you and fifteen of your most slowly
ambling, horizontally gifted friends. And
you're not walking in an orderly fashion or
even aware that there may be other people
in the immediate vicinity listening to your
irritating laugh and desperately trying to
HEY EVERYONE!
Free Admission
y  Friday Sept 21
J 4 to 8 pm
Outside between
Chemistry A-block and Hebb Theatre
get past..It's -like running; in a shimming
pool, filled with a lot of people who won't
get out of your way.
People who don't flush: Enough really
said on this one. Guys., it's not that hard.
See handle. Move handle. Your shit is none
of my business... let's keep it that way.
Laughers: Laughing is good... generally
speaking. Those who have really loud high
pitched feminine (not necessarily female)
laughs and choose to use them at 3 am in
the room next to me, however... Nothing
pierces a good nights sleep like a nice shrill
banshee laugh that just goes on and on and
on, until I silence it.
People who use big words: Big words
suck. (supercalifragilisticexpialidocious
words? Sucky sucky long time? -ed) The make
me sad and lost. I do not like big words. I
do not like teachers who use big words to
make me feel dumb. Me scared. Me not
like school.
I also dislike the bastards, particularly
professors of the species Homo Sapiens
Superiorites, who feel the urge to take, up
an hour and a half of the time I am paying
for to promote their biotech companies and
shamelessly discuss and boast their ability
to carve really neat bowls out of hardwoods. I'll meet you after class bastard...
wanna hear about what I did this summer?
The people who pee anywhere at Beer
Gardens: I'm from a small town but that
doesn't mean that I am in support of individuals who enjoy public urination, I'm
just really used to it. If I get another drop of
beer or urine on my shoes I'm not going to
be very fond of you.
-ed
II you haven't filled out a SUS
survey, yet, come Dick one up
from LSK 202. Every completed
and returned survey is worth an
entry to a mystery draw. 18 SEPTEMBER 2001
THE FOUR THIRTY TWO
Page Three
Frosh Horror-scope
Albert Chen
Prophet of Doom
Aries (Mar 21 - Apr 19)
Now that you are here, UBC can only
mean one thing: cheap booze. In fact, you
can't afford NOT to drink. Look, with
tough work and crummy weather straight
ahead, relaxation is essential. Since alcohol
is cheaper than Prozac but equally pleasant, I say you drink that beer, slurp that
margarita...sex on the beach? Here we
come! (No pun intended.)
Advice: Stick with the basic body functions. Go easy on your brain; it's full. Trust
me.
Taurus (Apr 20 - May 20)
You think you know all the right answers
and say all the right things...guess again.
Something is lurking behind the scene.
Stop being a hotshot (or an asshole.. .1 can't
tell the difference) and listen to what people have to say. I say out with the attitude
and in with your gratitude. Well, if that
doesn't work, I can always slap you with
rubber chickens. That will give you a taste
of humble pie...believe me, reality sets in
VERY SOON at UBC. Lucky charms: Rubber chickens, of course.
Gemini (May 21 - Jun 21)
It's such a nice day and everything is
going so well...wait a minute, did you
have sex? Getting some may be good, but
stay away from your teachers. Yes, sex and
power is a lethal combination, as so many
fearless white-house interns have demonstrated. So while you might want to boost
up your grade within five minutes (it never
goes beyond ten, trust me), think of Martha
Piper sun-bathing in Wreck beach on a
Who the
hell is Ed?
Dan Anderson
Not Ed, Joe, or Bob
Editor -> Power
So, there I was, thinking that maybe I'd
actually be able to grasp power, take over
SUS, and then move on to UBC before conquering the world. Sadly, no. I'm not even
the only editor any more. I even got the
least editorial room. Maybe next year. Or I
could just run for Director of Finance, and
take all your money. Either way. (J suspect
that this person is retarded. And has a small
penis. -Vivieros) (Fuck you, Vivieros. -Dan)
Orgies
Orgies are good. Especially 432 editor
orgies. You wouldn't think Ben, the honours physics major, would have that much
sexual energy, but oh boy, two hours later
you would be rethinking that one. Trust
me. And Lana, wow... she was actually the
secretary of a youth semen donation project in her hometown, and boy oh boy does
it show. You know, the funniest thing is
that it's true, she was. Search google for
"Lana Rupp Semen". That's a picture of her
at the bottom of the page. No shitting.
Donations by mail only, please.
Line taps
The FBI is pushing to get more control
over wiretaps. One of it's directors was on
TV today, pushing this idea. Hmm, let's
think. "We need to be able to tap a phone
line at a moments notice so we can prevent
this from happening again." Umm, How
about 'no'? Big Brother is close enough as it
is (I know - I worked at a company this
summer that has created full people tracking hardware and software). Besides
which, absolute wiretapping power corrupts absolutely, if you'll pardon the
overused (and somewhat mangled) quote.
very cold day. That should do the trick.
Warning: Wipe your own butt; clean up
your own mess.
Cancer (Jun 22 - Jul 22)
Warning, all of you! What you eat on campus is the animal by-products straight
from the Zoology department! Such food
lowers your intelligence and forces you to
pay more tuition! Resistance is
futile...your choice now, did you ask?
What choice? Since when do you have a
choice? "Tuum est" is just a decoy; the real
slogan is "hail money"! If negligence were a
blessing, you'd be in seventh heaven by
now!
Bottom line: Request a tuition refund.
Leo (Jul 23 - Aug 22)
You will wake up tomorrow. You may or
may not brush your teeth. You will walk
and talk. You may or may not come to
school, may or may not do all your work
on time (as you may or may not promise
yourself yet again this year.) Wait a minute,
did I say something? Or, did I not say
something? Ambiguity is the key to great
astrology, my friends. Saying something
out of nothing appeases everyone. But I
can say this: if you are looking for a date,
s/he may or may not have an incurable
STD.
Warning: Stay away from lions. They bite.
Virgo (Aug 23 - Sep 22)
Stop looking at your calendar! There isn't
a course that will automatically send you
to med school. While we are on this subject, you can also delete "med-school-des-
tined" or "doctor material" from your
vocab. Sure, doctors are sexy, as General
Hospital taught us, but don't count on it.
Think pro athletes: do it for fun, not for
money. (Of course, they only say that after
they are filthy rich, but that's another
story.) Study hard, play hard, and come
what may. Do something interesting. You
know what else is interesting? Bilateral
ventromedial hypothalamic lesion on
pedophiles. No, I am not talking about
podophiles. What's the difference? Go figure. Hint: Sexual biopsychology is in, baby,
so get with the groove.
Libra (Sep 23 - Oct 23)
Someone might be the weakest link of the
month...am I talking about a savvy, sexy,
and groovy Libra? No, I am talking to you.
Ladies might have better luck finding
dates this month, but extra tip is the key.
So, am I talking about tipping a handsome,
gorgeous, sincere, funny, and intelligent
Biopsy student/astrologer? No, I am talking about me, unfortunately. Advice: Wait
for your chance, and then go for it. (But if
you are looking for a sign from God, this
isn't it.)
Scorpio (Oct 24 - Nov 21)
I don't know anyone born under this sign,
so what advice can I give? I used to know
one, but she's an ex-Scorpio now. She converted to Pisces. Beside, I don't know if
people faithfully read this horror-scope
column, and I can't underestimate the
power of the placebo effect. Hmm, maybe
my ignorance is your blessing in disguise -
now you won't be misguided! Enjoy your
life (or the lack of now that you're in UBC.)
Bottom line: Live long and prosper.
Sagittarius (Nov 22 - Dec 21)
You may have to work extra hard in order
to get your groove back. Things may not go
well until the end of next month, but your
luck will improve. Of course, if you still
believe me, read the fine prints of this
newspaper now. Facts in my column are
just as important as The Backstreet Boys
switching names with N'SYNC.
Rule of thumb: Carpe diem
Capricorn (Dec 22 - Jan 19)
Drink all you can, because you can get the
stuff easier than you think. Vanilla extract
is vodka-based. Methanol is alcohol, but
it's not booze. Of course, drink the stuff
straight up and you will go blind. What do
you do? Relax, smuggle it to your chem lab
and get ethyl alcohol via distillation. What
if the lab is poorly designed (just like any
other lst-year chem labs) and you end up
drinking methanol? Well, you can always
apply for deferred exams on medical
grounds...
Advice: Be extra nice to 432 editors. Don't
even think about giving them methanol.
Aquarius (Jan 20 - Feb 18)
Learn something new; try something fun.
Want to learn silk painting? Go straight
ahead. Need to speak Swedish? You do
that. Have a craving for air-pumped obese
Pekinese ducks? Be my guest. Just don't
turn pleasure into pain. (Although some
will say that's even better, it's where I draw
the line.) By the way, some chefs do use
pressure-pumps to pump up ducks' skins
while baking...don't ask me why...or why
I know that...
Lucky charm: Air-pumped obese Pekinese
ducks. What else?
Pisces (Feb 19 - Mar 20)
Watch what you wear, as you clothes may
spell t-r-o-u-b-l-e. Wear that unicorn hat
and your new nickname will be "horny."
Wear that green ensemble to your forest
ecosystem field trip and people will call
you "green giant." So use your common
sense and stick with what you know. Don't
forget the details, however, such as
deodorant...
Warning: It takes a small screw to screw
up the whole system.
Easter is Fast Approaching
Mark Fisher
Some gay
Another September has now begun.
Five more courses, 15 more credits, one step closer to becoming a
real boy. People told me that if I survived
the first two years, the third one would
seem like a breeze. At least until I told
them I wasn't an Arts major (well, not yet
at least...).
This semester in of itself looked pretty
easy as my semesters go. I had the standard courses for someone doing a Statistics
Major/Economics Minor, keeping in mind
I'm one of, oh say, three, in the entire university. I never understood why there are
so many Math majors but so few Statistics
majors. I mean, who honestly likes doing
math? Besides the profs, who get paid to
do it?
My plan for this year, and for the rest of
my existence in general, is to take as few
math courses as I could, and thus save
myself from re-living the horror that my
level-200 math courses caused (if you think
it weird that as Statistics major could hate
doing math, I could introduce you to one
of the dozens of Math majors who hate it
even more than I do). But even just doing
the bare minimum required for my major,
I still have to take Math 303 (no problem
because it's really a stat course in Math
clothing), Math 307 (Applied Linear Algebra - applications are always easy, right?)
and any-other Math 300 level course. I had
briefly considered taking Math 312 (Introduction to Number Theory - if it's an
"introduction", it HAS to be easy, right?), or
Math 317 (Calculus IV: the voyage home),
or Math 308 (Euclidean Geometry - the
only type of geometry that makes any
sense).
But finally I decided on Math 342: Special
Topics in Complex Dynamic Linear Differ
ential Harmonic Analysis!
What's that? You've never heard of Math
342?
Well, that's what happens when UBC
decides to discontinue the registration
guide and do everything through the internet instead. No one knows anything anymore. Arts students don't know what
courses they need to take to get their
majors (not that many of them did before),
finding physics labs at the good time slots
takes joules of pointless clicking, and good
luck figuring out which courses you can
actually fit into your schedule without
doing a zillion printouts. And I'm still
don't know if I'm supposed to take Stat 450
or not. Oh well, guess I'll find out when I
get there...
But I digress. Math 342 is one of numerous
"easter-egg" courses, that you can only find
by clicking hidden links in the UBC on-line
calendar. Other "easter-egg" courses
include BIOL 324: How to Pick Up Good-
Looking Biology Majors, PHYS 324: How
to Pick Up Good-looking Physics Majors
(not offered this year), ENGL 423: Gibberish in the 20th Century, and CPSC 243:
How to Cheat in Computer Science Courses (all sections full). The problem with
finding the Easter Egg courses is that the
links are ingeniously hidden in places that
no sane person would consider clicking on,
such as the dot of the "I" in UNIVERSITY,
the 2nd wave on the UBC crest, and the
course description for MATH 321.
There are even some stories of easter-egg
courses being hidden at non-UBC sites.
One unfortunate second-year male science
student was looking at a local BC porn site,
got a little over-excited, and ended up
signing up for ANAT 514. Oh, the irony.
The lessons from this incident are twofold:
1) Always finish your registration BEFORE
you go net surfing, and 2) Avoid internet
porn sites that-are operated in BC, especially if you saw it advertised in The Georgia Straight. Or in The Ubyssey.
I feel sorry for that kid, but at least he'll
learn something that he'll be able to use
later in life. Heck, if he's living at Totem or
Vanier, he'll probably be using it by the end
of the week.
I miss the printed calendar terribly. It
made me feel like an important university
student when I got it in the mail. I got to
show it to all my non-university friends
and impress them with it's glorious thickness and fancy words like registrar, emeritus, and sexitarium. But looking through
the courses on-line makes me feel small
and unimportant, like a cockroach, or one
of the mice that is running around in my
Fairview Crescent apartment. Except that I
know I'm not nearly as cute as the mice are.
I just hope that I graduate before UBC
puts everything on-line, which will eventually happen, mark my words. (Get it?
MARK my words? And who says that the
432 isn't as funny as it used to be?) It's all
about saving the trees. UBC apparently
uses 112,000,000 sheets of 8 x 11" paper
every year, according to INSIDE UBC,
which in of itself was a huge waste of
paper for the most part. Someday it'll be
on-line and the students of the future will
just have to download it in order to read
about all the clubs they won't join, the free-
bies they'll never use, and the AMS executives that they'll never hear about again
and who will never effect their lives in any
meaningful way.
I'm all in favour of saving trees, but the
best way to do that would be to have fewer
textbooks, fewer assignments, and much
fewer tests. But how come no one ever suggests this? Think outside the box, people!
Why is it always the 432 that comes up
with revolutionary ideas like this?
'Cause artsies are too busy painting and engineers are too busy building bridges, silly.
-ed Page Four
THE FOUR THIRTY TWO
18 SEPTEMBER 2001
Welcome Frosh
Ben Warrington
God-like being
At the University of Calgary, class
started a week later than at UBC.
What can I say? I am finding that
the UofC does a lot of strange things. Not
to say that UBC doesn't do stupid things,
but the UofC does a lot.
Anyway, I have seen the new batch of first
years wandering around looking clueless
and yet excited to be there. It is amusing to
see people who have not yet descended
into the state of mind that is required to
survive university: the realization that
their sleepless nights will no longer be a
choice, but a necessity. Some might say it is
a matter of maturity, but I have seen some
very mature high school students, and
quite frankly, no one around here acts
grown-up at all. It is more the realization
that university isn't the same as high
school. You would think that people who
are smart enough to come here would be
bright enough to figure this out, but there
are a lot who don't seem to. It is really quite
simple math. Only the top 10% or so from
high school go to university, so if you were
in the top 5% there, you are only going to
be median here. That's okay; it is nice to be
around so many intelligent people, not to
mention so many 18-25 year old women,
but it suprises me that some people still
think that they are so special because they
got such wonderful marks in high school.
High school wasn't tough, folks.
This is not to say, of course, that we are an
upper class of people sectioning ourselves
off from the world. I have encountered
many genuinely stupid people at University. Sometimes it is a matter of mere ignorance of any fact outside of those in a very
narrow field about their chosen major, or
more often, it is not a lack of knowledge,
but a complete lack of critical thinking
skills that would allow them to figure out
the implications of any fact they manage to
posess. On the other hand, of course, I have
met a large number of genuinely intelligent people who never had any desire to
go to University or to do well in high
school. A lot of them are better informed
and better understand how to use information than the average university student.
For example, how many students outside
of Mechanical Engineering know how a car
works, let alone are able to fix it? Being a
farm boy, I am almost ashamed to say that
I would make a pretty poor mechanic, but
that's the way it goes. The sheer amount of
information that a mechanic, or an electrician, or any construction worker above the
level of hired grunt has in his head is truly
staggering. I have to look up almost everything for my work, but most of them just
know what they need to know. Many of
them can add, subtract, and multiply large
numbers in their heads far quicker than the
people I meet at University.
Speaking of doing math in one's head, a
lot of people are shocked when I tell them
that for one of my Math finals, my calculator didn't work. It was solar powered, and
A Day in the Life
Steve Nace
Not white boy day
Is* Year Computer Science student:
7:00am - open your bloodshot, puffy eyes
and drag your tired ass out of bed to shut
off that fucking alarm clock. Your fingers
are so sore they could fall off. Vow to
break the addiction and go cold turkey.
Absolutely NO MORE all-night Quake 3
binges.
7:05am - realize you've only got a mere 1
hour, 25 minutes, and 42 seconds left
before class starts. You'd better start moving your ass if you hope to get to class a
half hour early and score the sweet seat
right in the very front of class. Vow to not
take any shit from that giant pre-med asshole this time.
7:21am - apply Oxy*™ face wash.
7:53am - finish applying Oxy™ face
wash.
8:00am - run into class panting and sweating from sprinting across campus. That
giant pre- med asshole has taken your seat
again. Sit at the back.
8:21am - break out into a cold sweat as an
actual girl takes the seat next to you. Spend
the rest of class shaking and convulsing.
11:15am - come home during a break
between classes and check your newsgroups. Some asshole posted a message
about how Captain Kirk is WAY better than
Captain Picard. Spend the rest of the day
thinking of a way to fuck the bastard up
good.
12:03pm - eat lunch alone.
1:18pm - wonder aloud why the Math
prof hasn't assigned homework yet.
2:20pm - become intimately acquainted
with the fists and shoes of every student in
your math class.
2:21pm - Cry because they were all girls.
2:31pm - attend the Dungeons & Dragons
club meeting. How come the guys with
the level 40 Battle Gnomes get all the
chicks?
3:15pm - attend the Star Trek club meeting. Those Kirk-loving assholes are all
geeks.
4:00pm - log on to ICQ at home and eagerly sit and stare at your contact list, waiting
for someone to message you.
9:22pm - log off ICQ. Decide that no one
messaged you because they were too busy
with work.
9:30pm - decide that a little Quake 3
couldn't possibly hurt. You'll be responsible this time.
4:42am - finish playing Quake 3. Laugh
uncontrollably at your god-like superiority
over the helpless computer opponents.
Engineering student (any year):
9:57am - wake up to the shrill sound of
your alarm. Realize that it's been going off
for the last 3 hours. First class started at
8:30. Shit.
10:20am - stagger out of bed and wade
through a sea of empty beer bottles and
shot glasses. Vaguely recall consuming
enough alcohol to kill a musk ox last night.
Step in vomit. Shit.
10:35am - stagger into class with a four-
alarm hangover and a nervous twitch in
your arm. Sit down with obvious difficulty. Prof says the midterm is today. Shit.
10:36am - why are all the words on your
paper bouncing around like that? Why
does your pencil make that god-awful
noise when you move it against the paper?
Why are you writing in greek? Stab mercilessly at your paper in order to catch the
letters that are falling off of the page. Realize that you've just stabbed the guy sitting
in front of you right in the back of the head.
Shit.
11:50am - finish midterm. Realize that
you have 6 hours straight of classes left.
Shit.
6:10pm - stagger home and pass out on
your bed. Your pillow smells like an Arts
student. Double shit.
9:17pm - wake up and decide to do homework. Realize that you have 2 weeks worth
of homework to do. Shit.
9:24pm - arrive at the Cheeze. Try to find
a clean spot to either sit or stand on. Step
in someone else's vomit. Shit.
2:44am - stagger home from the Cheeze.
Why won't your fucking key work? Stupid
key, how dare it disobey you? Get
punched in the face by the foUrth-year
bodybuilding Forestry student who lives
in the room you were trying to open. Shit.
2:45am - as you pass out in a pool of your
own blood, wonder why the room num
bers on your door have been rearranged,
and wonder how the guy kicking you in
the testicles managed to get into your
room. Hey, this blood tastes like beer!
Mmmm, beer... Ah, shit!
6™ Year Arts student:
2:33pm - wake up on a bench outside
Buchanan. Quicky check your "secret" pot
stash in your pocket. Whew! Still there.
3:02pm - wander aimlessly between the
SUB and Buchanan.    Resolve to pick a
major  whoa, look at that fly buzzing
around  there  like  that   trippy,  man.
What were you thinking about again? Ah,
fuck it.
3:56pm - wander into your Beginner's Finger Painting Appreciation 101 class 30 minutes late.
4:01pm - decide that the prof just ain't hip
to the shit you're layin' down. Leave class.
5:24pm - arrive at your room in Vanier.
Try to find something to roll a joint in
amongst the debris of Froot Loops, shredded newspaper, coffee stains, and overdue
credit card bills on the floor.
5:26pm - settle on a slightly discoloured
letter from your mother, dated 4 years ago.
7:45pm - go down to Wreck beach to hang
with the beach creatures. Damn, those
guys are SO cool! And man do they know
how to cook a goat!
11:08pm - realize you've smoked away
the rest of your emergency pot. Also realize that you have no job, and therefore
have no money with which to buy more
pot.
11:42pm - realize that you're not smart
enough to figure any of this out, and resort
to gratuitous swearing. No way are you
gonna let the Man take away your right to
roll a joint. Fuck the Man! Fuck the AMS!
Fuck that... guy... who... shit, what were
you talking about? Ah fuck if all, at least
you've got your pot.
Steve's intimate knowledge of the lifestyles of
so many tells me that he is a man of infinite
wisdom or that he secretly possesses an Arts
degree... dear God no!!
-Lana
In Science we smoke crack
-ed
Feed the homeless... to the hungry!
-John Hallett (editor emeritus)
the back-up battery was dead. I have never
had a Math final where a calculator was
much help, though, and this one was no
different. There was only one question
where it was even useful, but I had the idea
right, so I just wrote in the margin that my
calculator wasn't working, and estimated
the answer. I had enough down that any
monkey with a calculator could have calculated the final result, so I really don't
think it hurt me any. What is people's
obsession with calculators? I can tell you
that 11 times 12 is 132 a lot faster than it takes
to push the buttons on the calculator.
Hmmm. What was my point?
Dumb assed easy contest two: figure out what
Ben's point was and tell him.
Oh yes, bright-eyed, blissfully ignorant frosh
I wrote two articles this issue and neither is particularly funny. They aren't even satirical. Well fuck it.
-ed
I still hve you Ben., sortof. -Lana
I want to love you, Ben. All night long. -Dan
Write For
The 432!
Next 432
deadline:
Wed, Sept 26.
The Black
Hand Does
Not Exist
For less
information, do
not go into SUS
in Klinck 202 and
do not read the
orange sheet in
the box with a
black hand on it. 18 SEPTEMBER 2001
THE FOUR THIRTY TWO
Page Five
Dead Pool VI
Still on Crack
The Reaper
Sister Soul
Well, that was quite the week. I'll
be brief. You'll find the Dead
Pool entry form in the paper. Fill
it in and drop it off in the SUS office
(Klinck 202), or email your entries to dead-
pool_432@hotmail.com by October 1st at
4:32pm. Again, list your entries in the order
of importance and if you think I won't
understand what you mean, draw a diagram on the entry form. I suggest green
crayon; green crayons always make me
happy.
And, of course, behave yourself.
Dan Anderson
Nipplicious
Dead Pool VI
Entry Sheet
ciince Gear
Bzzr Mugs $4
Coffee Mugs $ 15
T-shirts $ 12
'' '   . Xi    -Sass'^ Ufa'   * ' tAVHSMSto
To Order email wahid@interchange.ubc.ca or drop by the SUS
office in Klink 202.
I looked up from the table - wait, I thought
I'd asked for a vodka-and-a-coke straight.
Why were both of my hands full?
I took a plug from a bottle of the vilest,
most repulsive stuff you've ever tasted,
and then washed the sweet fizzy taste out
of my mouth with something that tasted
much better, and wasn't quite so sticky.
Where was I?
Oh, right. Drinking.
In my left mind.
The Left Mind is not the name of the
establishment that my decidedly undecided posterior was frequenting this singular
time, if that's what you're wondering.
Rather, I seemed to have replaced my right
mind, and so I have taken to taking my left
mind for walks to ease my loneliness.
Don't worry, I always bring a pooper
scooper, and I keep it on a leash. Besides
which, it's friendly, and doesn't bite. Much.
But... someone was still yelling.
Years of being brainwashed by TV easily
told me what to do.
I sat down and waited to see what would
happen. Perhaps a drama, or a documentary?
After a couple of minutes of watching and
listening to the guy yelling, and asking
"what YOUR opinion" was, I realized
three things.
1) This wasn't ever going to be a prime
time hit.
2) No commercial breaks were coming
anytime soon.
3) This guy wanted an opinion pretty bad.
2) I'd better lay off the hard stuff, because
there weren't any TVs in the room and
said guy was yelling in what could definitely be described as "my direction".
3) I'd better learn to count sometime soon.
Now, the second 2) above means that the
"your" in "YOUR opinion" was alive and
present, and was probably "me". However,
I thought I was referred to as "I". With a
mild headache due to the multiple versions
of "myself" running around in my non-
marathon distance head, I started trying to
form an opinion with respect to my (of
"Me, Myself, and I" fame - perhaps you've
heard of them. They're quite good, if I do
say so Myself. Pardon Me. Oh, forget it.)
own. I started saying "I think... I think
that... um, I think." At which point my
brain started responding by making an
attempt at becoming self aware.
(begin tangent)
As anyone who is anyone is aware (don't
worry, if you weren't anyone before, you
won't be anyone after becoming aware of it
from reading this next paragraph. The
income tax men won't come after you with
shotguns anytime soon, nor will scientists
want to study the Amazing Spontaneously
Someone Person. Even should the transformation occur, you won't be as exciting as
the Amazing Spontaneously Incinerated
Person, or even the Amazing Spontaneously Flatulent Person, who sometimes rears
it's ugly head right after dinner at an
expensive restaurant, and quickly makes
an exit while everyone is looking around
saying "whose Pate Gras went bad, or who
stepped in that?" I shall refrain from comparing you to the Amazing Spontaneously
Larger Penised/Breasted Person, as that
once-popular carnival trick Person has
been shown to be all smoke and mirrors
and silicone.), becoming self aware is quite
the curse. After all, name one self-aware
species that is better off for it. Thought so.
Not a one!
(end tangent)
Anyways, before that little interlude, my
brain was trying to become self aware.
Doh. It went something like this:
Think? I? If "I" references myself, and the
action that "I" am performing is to think, then
"I" must exist, as "I" could not be realizing
this (or anything else) if "I" did not. "I think",
therefore, "I" am?
This was followed by indecipherable rant-
ings about Socrates vs. Kant. Don't ask me.
Finally, starting to get confuzzelled by all
this newfangled philosomophy stuff, I
quelched my brain's rebellion with threats
of moonshine shots. It reverted immediately (thank goodness!) to it's old self, hiding
in the corner of my cranium, a soft pile of
jelly, quivering in fear. Mmm, moonshine.
Nothing like moonshine to halt an uprising. Or to halt thought altogether.
Heck, next time your brain (or any of the
rest of your internal organs, for that matter,
except for the spleen - I like the spleen)
tries to revolt and you start hearing cries of
"Down with the bourgeoisie!" just get out
the old 'shine. Does real wonders. Can't
reccommend it enough for getting rid of
pests. Of course, if you haven't got spare
'shine kicking around, paint thinner works
pretty well too.
Come to think of it, they do come in the
same kind of container from Canadian
Tire. Hmm.
As my brain finally stopped kicking, I
realized that the blasted man was still asking me what my opinion was.
Realizing that thinking about an answer
might get thought processes running
again, I decided to not even try. I finally
said "I don't quite know," causing the man
to get quite a bit more irate.
"How can you not know?" he said, little
driblets of spittle trying to escape from his
mouth to me.
Realizing the full stupidity of his question,
I put forth the full stupidity of an answer,
which went like this: "Are you serious?"
(later sources have designated this answer
a question; I, giving them full credit,
flipped said sources the bird. Good Polly.)
'Am I serious?" He seemed to be making
himself angry; I thought that perhaps he
shouldn't say things that would make him
angry. Realizing that it would be less than
appreciated, I decided to keep that particular thought to myself.
"Dead." I replied.
"Are you dead, or are you serious?"
"Dead serious, you moron!" I yelled back.
Hoping he would realize that I could not
be dead and talking at once - let alone dead
and talking seriously -1 decided to shut up
and stare at my drink. After all, it doesn't
do to talk seriously to seriously mentally ill
people who are yelling at you; you're in
serious danger of getting seriously hurt!
He decided (of course) that my staring at
fizzy bubbles in sugar water (cola, I heard
it called once) was a deep and meaningful
enough answer, and he started hitting his
head against the wall, presumably to try to
fully think out my response the way a
stomach starts digesting new food - by
sloshing it around a bit.
Later, as I paid my tab, I asked the bar-
keep what it had been all about. "Oh," he
said, "he was asking you when you
thought the next 432 would be out."
More on the adventures of me when I'm
drunk next time? We'll see.
You know, we haven't been drunk enough
this weekend, but it doesn't seem that Dan
needs it at the moment. Stress and mental illness seem to be doing the trick just fine. Or,
perhaps he really is just on crack like he
claims.
-ed Page Six
THE FOUR THIRTY TWO
18 SEPTEMBER 2001
1001 Tales from the Hood
Andy Martin
Sword-chuck Master
For all the whiners out there who
think that UBC housing is a joke
and has no concept of even the
most basic needs for human survival, I
invite you to come to my 'hood, and
check out my university-allocated crib.
The late, great Blair McDonald once
said, by a stroke of genius, or just by a
stroke: 'Rez sucks.' Well, Mr. Mc Donald, you never got a taste of Ghetto
Rez., Bronx style.
Ignoring the fact that everyone else in
my rez is an Economics major (and
therefore has a lot of extra time to ask
me what I'm doing researching for the
30% biology paper due Friday when I
could join them in staring at the wall
and babbling incoherently). Ignoring
the fact that rez is barely above poverty
level at $800/month. Ignoring the obvious fact that living with Americans has
a constant, basal rate, of sucking, there
are the times and events when the sucking just goes sky high. Like these, for
example:
"Hi, I need to put my deposit down for
housing"
"Okay, we need your address for that."
"Address   is: Glenwood   Ave,
North Vancouver, B.C., Canada."
"Canada...that's with a 'C, right?"
"Hi Keith, I've been told to talk to you
about checking in early."
"You have to talk to Iris about that."
<click> [dial next number]
"Hi Iris, I have to check in early."
"You have to talk to Keith about that."
I come up to the apartment, having just
weathered an 8 hour flight. I'm in a
place I've never been in, clutching keys
I'm lucky to have. I need a beer and a
bed so badly I could club a baby seal. I
unlock the apartment door. Pushing my
weight against it, I open the heavy,
creaking door about 2 inches before the
chain catches and stops me.
My new roommate comes across the
apartment to stare at this odd man who
seems to be able to open his locked
door.
"Hi. I'm your new roommate."
"Hi."
I let the door loose so he can remove
the chain
[lengthy pause]
"Could you undo the chain?"
"Oh."
"Hmm...Hey Keith, the light doesn't
seem to be working. I'm flicking the
switch, and nothing's coming on."
"No lights in the rooms."
"Who the hell painted over the electrical outlets?!"
"I think we had painters come in this
summer..."
"As the Rez. Manager, wouldn't it be a
good idea to know if that happened?"
"1 guess so."
"And aren't you guys supposed to
CLEAN the apartments over the summer?! I found four-month Old coleslaw
in the fridge, the plumbing leaks and
every surface is caked with insect
turds."
"I guess so."
"Sigh. I'd do what I normally do in this
situation, but wood-chipper access is so
limited in the Bronx."
"Okay roomie, we'll put the cans and
bottles next to the garbage can and we
can recycle them."
"...What is 'recycling'?"
"Hi, I'd like to set up a bank account."
"Okay, we need some ID."
"Here you go [pulling out BC driver's
licence]"
"That's not a local licence"
"Nope, I'm from B.C."
"Just a second...Jenny, this man wants
to set up an account...he's from Washington."
"No, not D.C., B.C."
"Oh [looking at licence], what is
this?...Sorry. British Columbia. Sorry
Jenny, he's from England."
"...Were you born stupid, or was it the
syphilis?"
In the States, they sell spring water in
both bottles and cans. And in the U.S.,
they call spring water: 'Coors Lite'.
Why is Mike's Hard Lemonade 5.2% in
the States, and 7% in Canada? I thought
the exchange rate only applied to fiscal
unit value.
Mmmm...discount liquor store. Finally, a store that panders to the needs of
the true alcoholic! Two Litre jugs of
everything, all around!
This scene would be so cliche with a
drive-by shooting right about now.
"Is it possible to go 5 minutes without
a car alarm, loud, violent threat, or gunfire outside my window?! I've gotta
have Biochemistry Chapter 2 read by
tomorrow!"
"Hello new students. I am the Director
of Campus Security. Now before we
begin with my talk on how you should
arm yourself at university, let me tell
you a little about myself. I am a retired
NYPD officer who spent 25 years on the
homicide squad..."
"Hi."
"Hi there, and what's your name?"
"Billy."
"And how old are you, Billy?"
Artificial Intelligence
Somuchspaaam@hotniail.con!
email him!
Before I start, someone wrote in and
accused me of some kind of weird
hack "thing" about the Chinese
restaurant I mentioned last time. Okay. So
like I'm really getting these huge kickbacks
from the... from... Look, I like don't even
know what the damn place is called, okay?
It's just a place. I wasn't trying to get a free
order of chicken fried rice, or even a cheap
order of chicken fried rice, and I'm not
picking on the Moon - okay, I am picking
on the Moon, but for the very good reason
that the food there glows. Nuff said.
This week's food of the whatever
(bimonth?) is Habibis, which is on Broadway just a bit before Oak street. They do
veggie food, but even so it's still good. Plus
they give you salted peanuts for free as an
appetizer, so it's just like being in the bar.
But with more garlic. And all the dishes
have funny names like Warak Anab and
Baba Ganoush and Lebneh, and there isn't
a sports channel, and there are no bouncers so I guess it's not much like a bar at all
really but boy is the wine good. Mmmm.
Okay, so I'm reading in new Scientist this
week that they now have robots that EAT
FOOD. I am not making this up. Chew
Chew (I am still not making this up. Really. You can go find this on the web) has 12
wheels and his own personal on-board
Microbial Fuel Cell (MFC), which he was
proud to show everybody in Hawaii last
August. Chew Chew is kind of unique
because he/she/it is the first robot created
that has an MFC so small that it actually
fits on board the robot. So far, all he eats is
sugar cubes, which produce little waste. I
think this is a nice way of saying that Chew
Chew doesn't have bad breath. Yet. The
inventor, of course, is from Florida - where
four out of five candidates on the ballot are
George Bush, and the other candidate is a
walrus. No, wait, that's not true, but it's fair
to say that Floridans could do with any
extra intelligence that scientists happen to
come up with, even if it involves Chew
Chew.
I feel I should add that in the same article,
a guy who makes slug eating robots pointed out that it might not be a good idea to
go and constuct meat eating robots. Well
shoot me in the foot with a hollow - point
radish batman. Flesh eating robots might
notice that huamn being are, well, kinda
fleshy when you get down to it. Especially
the ones from Florida. Hey, wait, I just had
'Vegetables are what food eats."
a thought.
Some stupid editor cut into my article
space this time, so I have to finish this in
two hundred words. I don't get to tell you
about The AIBO, although anyone still
reading knows all about this little bundle
of joy. I wanted to share with you the fun of
the BUCKIBO, based on the fusion of
Sony's robot dog technology and Bucky the
cat from Get Fuzzy. I don't know how
many of you read Get Fuzzy, but you
should. Bucky is what real AI should be -
Lifelike. Lifelike organisms drool, they
scratch up your suit, they piss on the rug -
and then they go hide in the closet. They
know they done wrong. But they is weak.
There's a moral in here somewhere, and if
I had the time I'd flesh it out.
I'd probably also tell you about the computer in Britain which a brewing firm just
bought a computer to tell them where to
put all their pubs - it uses "fuzzy logic"
(HA!) to decide where to put the next pub.
There's probably a joke about a toilet in
here somewhere, or maybe a shami kebab.
Or maybe another pun, like "drinking by
numbers" (HA! HA!, Oh, I crack me up).
But sadly, no room.
You see, because the article length is
decided by a very smart artifical Intelligence program, it cu—
-Homer J. Simpson
"Two and one quarter"
"Wow, you're really growing up. Say,
Billy, why in the hell do you have your
ear pierced?"
"My mommy says it looks cool."
"...Hey Billy, go and tell your mommy
that there should be laws against people like her having children."
"Hello, Police? I'd like to report an
empty refrigerator that a kid could
climb into and suffocate."
"Certainly sir, could you tell us where
you saw it?"
"In my kitchen."
Wow! There must be an early release
date for movies on VHS down here!
Heck, these movies aren't even out of
the theatres and they're selling them
right here on the street corner! And at
rock bottom prices!
I never thought I'd see a city where no
one knew how to drive, but everyone
knew how to honk.
The best radio station I can find proudly announced itself as '101.3, the Q:
New York's ONLY Jethro Tull Station!!!'
"Hi, my Mom's coming to visit me, and
seeing as your hotel's on the same
block, this would be perfect. What's
your nightly rate?"
"$25 an hour"
"No, I said my Mom, not yours."
No style, no style at all. I'm busy on my
second 30% paper of the term. Just
appreciate what'cha got in Vancouver,
or else you'll do something stupid like
'want to go someplace different for
grad school'.
Join BPP
On your way to a degree
in the medical sciences?  The Biochemistry! Pharmacology and
Physiology Club offers
the resources! the
information! and the
contacts to help you
get there- Our annual
events and activities
include the informative"
medical science careers;
conference! BPPR gar-
densi ongoing mentor-
ship programi and graduation dinner and
dance* You can meet
lots of other students
through our intramural
sports teams, die also
offer discounts for
MCAT preparation courses and many core life
science past exams to
our members. BPP is
open to new ideas and
members. So check us
out on Club days! or
contact BPP President!
Priscilla Brastianosi
at pkbrastidcollege-
club-com- 18 SEPTEMBER 2001
THE FOUR THIRTY TWO
Page Seven
Fate
Bree Baxter
Spoonless
It's not like I go around and dream up
ways to model my life after the Matrix.
In fact, it's pretty rare that I even think
about the Matrix, except when I'm watching it (which is blissfully infrequent). However, Keanu said it right when he said he
didn't believe in fate. His reasoning was
that he didn't like the feeling that he wasn't
in control of his life. Anyone who knows
me will understand that I'm a bit of a control freak myself and I don't like thinking
that the choices I make don't guide my life.
Not only do I have to be in control of my
life, I don't mind being in control of other
peoples' as well (Right, Dan?).
Having said that, I must admit that there
are times when I wonder if there is any reason to make choices. It's what I call the
salad phenomenon. You're at a restaurant,
waiting for your food (in most cases, the
food in question is a salad, hence the
name). You have ordered, and it takes so
long to get your salad that you start to
want to go back to the kitchen and drag it
away from the chef yourself. Then, just as
you turn around to signal the waiter, he is
at your side with your salad. What if you
hadn't turned around right that second?
Would he still have been there with the
salad? Why did you wait until that very
second to turn around? If you had tried a
minute sooner, would he have been quicker? And why does this happen every time
you order salad/tie your shoe/(insert name
of your special phenomenon here)? Yes,
I'm aware that the logic in my reasoning
would be enough to make Stephen Hawking weep, but it seems to occur every single
time. You could be psychic, but that's
always hard to prove. You might be giving
off bad vibes, but reading body language is
never reliable and often not conscious.
Then again, it might be fate giving you the
bird.
The horrible thing about making choices
is that time is relentlessly linear, and you
can never know what may have been if
you had made a different choice. You
chose to check your email one last time
before you left to catch the bus, and
missed the #4 by a minute. What would
have happened if you had gotten to school
on that bus? Would you have been early to
class? Spilled coffee on yourself? Met the
wo/man of your dreams? Been hit by a
speeding car? The only thing you can
know is that your day, and in fact the rest
of your life, would have been different.
I've spent far too long wondering about
such instances. Last year, I thought the
date for my Entomology midterm was on
the 18th, not the 16th. I never bothered to
read the course syllabus for the class. If I
had, would I have noticed that my
midterm was on the 16th of October?
Would I have written it down somewhere?
Would I have remembered to look at the
planner it was written in? Would I have
studied? Would I have gotten a higher
grade? How would the supposed studying
have affected other aspects of my life?
Something would have changed, but I can
never be sure what. How would studying
for that midterm have affected my life, ten,
twenty, thirty years down the road? Crossing the street today could make the difference between my being a successful public
relations person downtown and being a
secretary for a cheap travel firm in Butfuck,
Nowhere, in five years.
How the hell do you know? And why the
hell do I worry so much?
They say hindsight is 20/20 (which really
isn't that great an optical variation, but I
digress) and we can think about what we
shoulda/coulda/woulda done until the
cows come home, no mean feat for someone who lives in Kits. At the end of the day,
what might have been will make no difference to what has become.
Life's not fair, but wouldn't it be horrible if
life were fair, and whatever happened to
us, we deserved?
Alternative & Integrative Medical Society
University of British Columbia
From conferences to lectures to newsletters to our
library there is no better way to leam about integrative,
complementary & alternative medicine.
Come  find   us!
at dubs days: SUB Sept 19-21,2001
at our office: B80A Woodward Building (Bsmt)
www.aims.ubc.ca   I   (604) 822-7604    I   info@aims.ubcca
The Drawers of SUS
President
Reka Sztopa
I have been very busy this past week. I
went to get fitted for the new presidential PVC top on Wednesday. On Thursday, it was the bikini wax for next weekend's constituency president mud
wrestling competition. I think that I can
beat Tinka this year. I got to try out the new
wax job shortly after courtesy of the UBC
Engineers and their fine tanking establishment. On Friday, I got hammered as it
explicitly states in the constitution as my
presidential reponsibility. Saturday, I
shaved my tongue. Sunday, I went to
church like a good girl after I slashed the
minister's tires.
Next week promises to be just as interesting as my court date approaches. They
haven't found the gun, yet, so I should be
okay, but that is a story for a different time.
Fight the establishment.
External VP
I
Michael Groves
have an intense desire to be destructive.
Internal VP
Anna Orzechowski
I
quit! Ha! Sucks to your assmar!
Finance
SoCo
Jagmeet Dost
Kat Scotton
The Director of Finance seems to have disappeared in his new Porsche, so is unable to
report this issue.
-ed
Sports
Kristin Lyons
Beer, beer, beer, beer, beer, beer. Oh
yeah, and beer, too. Vodka sometimes, followed by beer, and then followed by sex. Uh, that is, followed by more
beer...
really?
-ed
Kristin would like you all to know ^f^fipit'Of"
that the deadlines for intramural ^^ lcl»-^-'1
registration are this week (Sept 16-
21)!!! SIGN UP NOW! For details go to the
SRC, visit www.legacygames.ubc.ca or
sign up in SUS (Klinck 202). Remember: In
order to get a rebate your team must sign
up as a science team and save both the registration and a reciept. The final date for
submitting your reciepts is Friday, the 23rd
of November. Make sure you bring in a
copy of the team register and your email or
phone number. PLAY SPORTS!! It's good
for you., just like oatmeal, spinach and sex.
mmm, sex... drool...
-Lana
Sexretary
Corrie Baldwin
Submissive SWF seeks dominant M, F
or MM/FF/MF couple to explore
newly discovered facets of self, most
of which involve chains and gags. Access
to a dungeon would be nice. Non-smokers
only.
Tim Chan
Nothing much to report from the
Empire this week, sire. A small
rebel uprising was quelled, two
stormtroopers are being courtmartialed for
bestiality with a Wookie and two Ewoks
(the charges implicating myself in that
were dropped), and the eighth chef this
year was killed for making chicken strips
and fries five days in a row. Hail the
Emperor!
Oh, no. -ed
"It's not as
easy as it
looks."
-E. Kazemi
ripple rhypnes with nipple
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SraheedP in ;ybttf kitifriisisioltir Oh,
baby, be submissive to me! Page Eight
THE FOUR THIRTY TWO
18 SEPTEMBER 2001
Looking down on the world
Jay Garcia
Still Here
It's funny, really, being a seventh-year
student at this institution. Being a
professional student means being
the walking embodiment of putting up
with "plus ca change, plus c'est la
meme chose". All things considered, it's
a better saying to be associated with
than "May you live in interesting
times". Seven years here teaches you
several things about this campus, of
which the most valuable is this: the
secret of survival here is to look angry.
If you walk around with any other
expression on your face, then you're
probably asking for trouble; people
assume that there must be something
wrong with you if you're happy. Oddly,
this happens to be much the same
secret to survival for any large city,
except in most cities, it's safe to assume
that you aren't likely to be accosted by
eccentric professors, maddened TA's, or
hordes of confused fellow students.
Come to think of it, it's probably safer to
be wandering around the streets of a
large metropolis than it is around here
come exam season. However, a large
part of the university experience — and
the source of what little wisdom is
available in the role of a professional
student — comes from getting into, and
out of, trouble. Case in point, just last
Friday, at the Welcome Back Barbecue, I
was wandering around aimlessly, trying to find anybody whom I recognized
and thinking to myself that most of the
people who would fit this profile were
either graduated, out of the country, or
sworn off all alcoholic beverages. I suppose that happens when you get to the
age that most of your friends are feeling
the pull of the Real World - get a career,
get a life, get married. You can't just
spend days slacking in the undergrad
lounge, sitting on the couch and
espousing your views on Things Which
You Have an Opinion but Not Many
Facts, and occasionally going to class so
that you feel that you're perhaps, just
maybe, Getting Things Done. Profes
sional studentship lets you delay the
inevitable surrender to the pressures of
the non-academic world, but there are
tradeoffs. While you never get fossilized enough to learn new things, the
presence of newness can cause some
surprise.
Point the first: I remember a time on
this campus when you got your email
by finding the deepest, darkest dungeons of IT Services (located, ironically,
not two floors below the current location of the Science Undergraduate Society Offices), and then you had to ask to
sign up for a Netinfo account (none of
this tancy-shmancy Interchange /
MyUBC nonsense then!). At that time,
the library had begun to phase in university email accounts that went with
your Netinfo access. Free email! This, at
a time before Hotmail, or the explosion
of the Internet as a medium to bitch
about movies and share pornography
amongst like-minded people.
These days, everything's about integration and portals and hyper-multi-func-
tion tools in one cute, convenient package. It's as if everyone was turning the
Web into some sort of hybrid Swiss-
army-knife of the Information Age (and
let's not forget; the Swiss don't have an
army, per se), all presented in the same
kind of cartoony, easily-accessible
graphics that just scream "Look at me,
I'm technologically non-threatening!"
Point the second: You keep getting
older, and the frosh stay the same age.
That, or they're getting even younger,
which inspires quite a lot of unease
when you realize that no small number
of these sixteen-year-old not-gonna-be-
legal-to-drink-til-third year frosh are
nine years your junior. Nine. Years.
That's two American presidential terms
of office. The entire lifespan of Beverly
Hills: 90210. The average age of a slightly more expensive bottle of wine.
Aargh.
You really wouldn't think that the difference of a few years would be significant, but then I was having a lovely
conversation with the girl who sits
across from me in my distributed networking class (a conversation which
was,   thankfully,   drowning   out   the
annoying lecturing-type noises being
made somewhere towards the front of
the hall), when I brought up the concept of cell phones, and their ever-
increasing miniaturization. At which
point, said girl then whipped out her
ever so-tiny Motorola flip-phone
which, she assured me, wasn't quite yet
usable within the Greater Vancouver
area, but would be totally cool if it actually managed to get a working signal. It
was imported, she said, from somewhere down in LA, where all the leftover swag from Silicon Valley seems to
have accumulated on the apparently
recession-proof demographic that is
Young Girls with Rich Fathers.
Personally, I couldn't help staring at
the buttons, which look like they were
made with either munchkins or five-
year old children in mind. No adult-
sized hand could hope to dial a number
on those keypads without mashing
other numbers by accident, resulting,
perhaps, in an unintentional but decidedly amusing long-distance call to the
Vatican, or the Latverian Consulate. I
mentioned this to my friend, and elaborated that maybe, just maybe, it was all
a plot of long-distance carriers, in collusion with cell-phone manufacturers, to
drum up business in this economic
downturn. If you really thought about
it, I said, this conspiracy would probably account for the introduction of
forced area-code dialling due to the
rapid over-use of regular phone numbers. Modernization, I concluded, had
forced us into a situation where we had
lost our control over technology.
She nodded her head sagely, then,
turning her phone over to stare at the
too-tiny numbers, wondered out loud
why we "dialled" a number. She'd
probably never seen a rotary phone,
much less used a party line. She'd lived
her life with compact disc players, and
she'd probably never seen Happy Days.
That's when I thought I couldn't feel
any older. But then, later that week, at
the aforementioned Welcome Back Barbecue, I ran into Johan Thornton, lord
of the Campus Tour, inventor of the
Beer Machine, all-around nice guy and
thirteen year veteran of the university.
(He throws good raves too, from what
I've heard from stunned and somewhat
deafened mutual friends who've
attended his parties). Now, Johan was
wandering around looking for people
whom he recognized (an activity
which, I believe, is common to anyone
attending a large-ish social event who
has spent more than five years at
school), and when we ran into each
otehr, the first thing on our minds was
"Where can we get more alcohol in a
convenient, non-payment fashion?";
the second thing was more of an outgrowth of the first activity: "what can
we do to get in trouble?" Suffice it to
say, there's nothing that reminds you
that your're still pretty much a kid
when you're dodging the campus cowboys at two in the morning, carrying a
stolen "Roof Access Denied" sign.
Elections Info
Science Elections are coming...
They will be held during the
week of October 3-5. Not only do
we need you to vote to ensure that
council works for you, but we really
really need people to run. The positions available are:
Internal Vice President,
Public Relations Officer,
Director of Finance
Department Representatives:
Biochemistry and Molecular Biology
Biology
Chemistry
Computer Science
Earth and Ocean Sciences
General Science
Geography
Math and Statistics
Microbiology and Immunology
Pharmacology,   Therapeutics   and
Physiology
Physics and Astronomy
Psychology
Coordinated Science Program
Science One Program
Other positions
first year representatives (2)
general officers (4)
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