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The 432 Mar 27, 1996

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 Potential Epidemic
in Engineering!
How Now Mad Cow?
EricEFibble
VOL 9 • NO 12
27 MARCH 1996
QUOTE OF THE WEEK
Never trust a friend if you
can see a pole-axe over his
shoulder.
- Medieval Saying
UPCOMING
Penultimate
Class Bash!
March 29 - 4:32pm.
$5 - All you can drink.
Chem B160. Cool.
INGREDIENTS
More writers than ever.
Longer stories than ever.
More work than ever.
All that and about 3 dozen
stress reduction pills.
Oh yeah, and Prozac, lots
of Prozac.
'Ihe world is a lovely place,
the sun is shininq and we
love you all, WO."
Roving Correspondent
LONDON (AP) — A third British
dairy farmer has died Of the human
form of a virulent cattle disease,
raising concern about a possible
connection to the "mad cow" malady that has swept British herds.
But scientists say they have no
proof that the farmer contracted
Creutzfeld-Jakob Disease (CJD), the
human form of the cattle disease,
from farm animals.
The 54-year-old man worked on a
farm where three cows died of mad
cow disease, according to a letter
published in this week's edition of
The Lancet, a medical journal.
"I think that it's obviously a matter of concern if there is a third case
in a farmer," said Dr. Robert Will, a
neurosdentist at Western General
Hospital in Edinburgh.
The other two farmers died within
the past five days.
Will contributed to a second letter
in The Lancet that reported the
incidence of Creutzfeld-Jakob disease in Britain is similar to other
countries that have not suffered the
cattle disease.
"It isn't particularly worrying,"
said Dr. John Collinge, an expert on
Creutzfeld-Jakob Disease and professor of neurogenetics at St. Mary's
Hospital.
"We do know these diseases can
jump species, so [catching the disease from cows] remains a small
theoretical risk, but I don't really
see how 11 million infected
bovines can pose any significant
threat" Collinge said.
The mad cow disease epidemic,
which peaked last week, sparked
fears that those who ate beef or
worked closely with cattle could
catch a fatal brain disease.
British beef sales have plummeted
nearly 40 percent and some schools
stopped serving hamburgers.
Since last Friday, fears have waned
and Britons are, once again, buying
just as much beef as they did before
the scare, according to the Meat
and Livestock Commission, an
industry-funded agency.
Both the human and cow diseases
are called spongiform
encephalopathies because they
cause sponge-like holes in the
brain.
Afflicted cows stagger and drool.
Humans suffer mental deterioration, slurred speech and difficulty
walking that gets progressively
worse until they die.
Strong evidence exists that a
recent UBC Mechanical
Engineering field trip to Sutton,
England, may have resulted in
infection of the engineers in question. It has been over seven days
since their return, and the symptoms have spread like wild fire
through the entire Faculty of
Engineering.
Authorities high up in UBC
Administration have contacted
Viral Control Officials in Britain
and have reportedly been advised
to put down all 1500 reported cases
of infected engineers.
"It's a matter that we're taking
very seriously," said Dr. Ron
Spieglemen, recently appointed
Head of UBC Infectious Disease
Prevention.
"You can't simply go out and terminate fully half of a faculty. That's
the kind of thing people tend to
notice. Hard questions will be
asked, and I'm afraid we're going to
have to give hard answers."
Action to prevent the further
spread of CJD has already been
taken. Infected individuals and
those suspected of being infected
have been quarantined in a barbed
wire enclosure on the south side of
campus.
Former pig farmer Clide Dunn has
been Ijired to supervise the penned-
up'geers.
"Yeah, theys a feisty bunch.
Always rowdy and constantly refusing to eat from the trough. I hafta
hit 'em with the cattle prod every
half hour or so just to keep 'em
docile.
"Although they did gobble their
groul right up when I poured a six
pack of Molsons in with it."
When asked if extermination is a
option under consideration,
Spieglemen replied "I'd rather not
comment on that. However, we are
currently hiring individuals skilled
in firearm operations for, um, special duties."
So far, the Department of UBC
Infectious Disease Prevention has
been flooded with applications.
MeCheap!
JonnyMadrona
Is the Faculty of Engineering infected with
Mad Cow disease? Even the experts can't agree.
Technical diaqram curtesy of UBC Infectious Disease
Prevention, from their repSrt on the potential epidemic.
Slick McCorrespondant
BURNABY (CP) - McDonald's
Canada announced earlier this
week that their customers can soon
expect lowered prices on all current
menu items containing beef.
This slackening of prices will affect
popular snacks such as the Big Mac,
Quarter Pounder, Cheeseburger,
and, for some strange reason, the
McFries.
Menu prices are expected to dip as
low as $0.20 for items such as
McDonald's Hamburger.
The reasoning behind this phenomenal price reduction became
clear at a press conference in
Btirnaby, BC, Tuesday.
"Simply put, we have secured a
contract to purchase all our beef
from a single supplier for the next
five years" said McDonald's
spokesperson Lyona Fraser.
"Our supplier, who wishes to
remain anonymous, simply has far
too much beef on their hands and
they want to dispose of it as quickly
and cheaply as possible.
"We [at McDonald's] have agreed
to transport the cattle in question
from Eng... er... this anonymous
place to Canada and process it in
local slaughterhouses.
"So, not only is this deal bringing
quality food to Canadians at
unheardof prices, but we will also
be stimulating the local economy at
the same time by providing valuable jobs."
It was revealed later in the press
conference that McDonald's customers will have to sign a release
before purchasing any of the new
menu items.
"It's just for legal reasons," stated
Fraser, "You know, people see cheap
beef and eat so much, they're prone
to do just about anything. Like rob
liquor stores, for instance, or catch
Mad Cow Disease.
"We just want to make sure that
we're not liable, that's all."
Consumers can expect the cheap
meat on the market by May. PAGE 2
H
E
4
Mar 27,1996
General Confusion.
Sir Jake the Nauseous
Interdimensional Correspondent
Things are kind of odd in my
life right now. Every member of my household and
my immediate family, which I
don't live with (so all sorts of people whom I'm related to) are at
Silverstar for the week. I'm living
in a big house which is normally
very noisy and bustling from 5 in
the morning to 12 at night, and
now the house is now silent. I'm
scared.
You know something is wrong
when you go home and actually
study. Things are so quiet and
boring that I have had to make
my own noise. Last night I
entered my house running and
screaming, tripped on the top
step, fell into the door/knocked
myself out, and woke up four
hours later with a splitting
headache and made myself dinner. Being the experienced bachelor I am, I ate Kraft Dinner and
potato chips. I tried to watch TV
but without my cousin there
switching the channels I just
couldn't pay attention. So I,
please children avert your eyes,
opened my text books. As a last
resort against boredom, well I
hadn't done laundry yet, I studied. And it wasn't the day before
an exam.
This forced me to check my
dimension-o-meter and found to
my dismay that, in fact, I had
been zapped into a different
dimension where I actually studied and lived a student's life dedicated to learning and the pursuit
of knowledge. I screamed and
then passed out, came to, realized
that I'd just passed out and hadn't actually come up with a solution to my problem. Then I
passed out again. I came to a couple minutes later and decided I'd
have to do something to remedy
the situation. As I realized that
things had actually changed, it
Mjr Very Second
Editorial.
Well, the year's winding
down now. The days are
getting longer, and the
average student is no longer very
concerned with staying awake
until the end of Chemistry.
But you have to stay conscious
and listen to your prof's annoying
and sleep inducing voice. Why?
Cuz you'll fail if you don't.
So, in order to make class worth
while, we've provided you with
tons of new and interesting reading material in this, the last issue
of The 432.
Don't panic. We'll be back in
September. And all you science
students out there will be receiving The Summer Edition of The 432
sometime in the next four
months. / .
"What makes this issue so
damned interesting," you might
ask. Well, it's the fact that it's just
chock full of interesting articles
and comics. And some of them
might be genuinely funny.
You see, for some bizarre reason,
I received a record number of
submissions for this issue.
Some were hilarious, I lost those.
Some were boring, I burnt those.
Some were stupid, I sent those to
The Underground. Everything else,
I put in.     V
Speaking of The Underground and
all things Arts related, The Arts
County Fair is coming up shortly.
Admittedly we were hard on Arts
all year round for having a laughably light course load and trying
to sell beer for $2.00. But we must
praise them for having the guts to
throw the biggest party on campus each and every year for the
past five years.
So, on page 6 you will find our
Unofficial Arts County Fair
Theme Page. It features a contest
that gives you the chance to win
tickets to the fair. For free! What a
deal.
Well, I see my space is running
out. So, to sum up: school over,
last issue, funny, Fair Tickets, and
have a fun summer.
Oh yeah, one last thing, watch
out for the old SUS hacks rambling on about The Good Ol Days
on pages 10 and 11.
So long and thanks for all the
beer.
meant I still had some links to
my previous existence of drinking
and carousing with school on the
side. So I immediately set out to
drink myself into a drunken stupor.
I set out back to campus to find
the beer disposal crew and get
myself exceedingly liquored. I
couldn't find them. I searched
high and low and couldn't find
them anywhere. Being the new
studious Jake I thought logically
and eliminated all the places I'd
searched already and came to the
conclusion that the only building
left was Main Library. I found the
Crew in a corner looking surprisingly like a STUDY GROUP!!! I
passed out. I woke up being
fanned by somebody who looked
mildly familiar except for the
tape around the glasses. When I
explained my situation to the gals
they all agreed this was a highly
possible situation using super
string theory and transdimen-
sional electron propulsion. We
decided that the only way to get
me home was to get me so drunk
I couldn't tell the difference
between my chair and a large
Siberian Tiger. So I set out to Arts
and surprisingly enough I only
drank one beer and passed out.
This was very confusing because
Hiro Half-beer Izumi was up to
about twenty pints.
Thank god it worked and I'm
now back in the "Normal"
dimension. Unfortunately during
the inter dimensional transfer I
ended up in the basement of the
biology building. I wonder what
the Jake from the other dimension was doing there?
From the simply odd to the outstandingly bizarre, Jake never fails
to encorporate drinking and all of its
rich culture into his stories.
Here's hoping you never sober up,
Jake.
-ed.
Chem 122: The chemistry of narcotics.
Conscience is the inner voice that
warns us somebody is looking
— Jf. L Meiuken
Volume 9 Number 12
27 Mar 1996
Getting meaner by the minute
John Hallett (fibble@unixg.vdx.ca)
Permanently on Prozac	
Jay Garcia
Jeremy Thorp
Guinea pig for hire	
Hiro "life Sciences I can understand, but library?" Izumi
Crooked Pharmacists	
Doug Beleznay, Mike Boetzkes,
Anna Carvalho, Bella Carvalho,
Fahreen Dossa, Steve Fukuda,
Jake Gray, Nicola Jones, Phil
Ledwith, Tracy MacKinnon,
Frenchy Mattel, Kathryn Murray,
Donald Rhee, Some Wiggin guy.
Our manifest	
The 432 is registered to the
Science Undergraduate Society
of UBC. Electronic versions of
the paper are available at
http://wwwjanisslon.com/~seer
/SUS/432
For detailed instructions for
making Prozac in your kitchen,
sneaking bzzr into the Arts
County Fair, or smuggling nearly
anything over the border, call us
at 822-4235.
We are not responsible for the
side effects of home made psycho therapy drug. Mar 27,1996
H      E
3       2
PAGE 3
Mail, Woman, and Drink.
In the last century, the western
world has seen women's rights
move from being unappreciated bench warmers to star players
in the political and social arena.
And while we still have a ways to
go, we are certainly moving
towards a society where men and
women are considered equals.
Equals. Not the same.
There are those who would deny
the fact that men and women are
physiologically different. I believe
that we cannot ever hope to solve
the problems of equality if we go
on denying something so obvious
as the body. One needs look no
further than the parts we play in
reproduction for proof. While
women are designed to bear children, men, with the possible
exception of Arnold
Schwarznegger, can't. This difference probably affects how we
react to long term relationships,
but that's a whole other kettle of
worms. For now, let's just keep to
the idea that women and men
do, at times, have different roles.
Nowhere does the difference say
that one is superior to the other.
Women still need men to have
children.
Our different sexual roles extend
into the bar scene as well, and
while they are more subtle here,
they are nonetheless every bit as
significant. With the women's
movement putting women on
the same social level as men,
many men feel that they should
receive some of the advantages
that have traditionally gone to
women. Among these advantages
is the ritual of buying women
drinks at bars. It seems only fair
that, in the interests of equality,
women should now buy drinks
for men as well, but for a woman
to buy a man a drink is a very
rare occurrence. Why? In this
case, the interests of our difference require that women not buy
drinks for men.
The argument can be made that
the reasons are psychological, but
psychological arguments involve
a lot of arm waving, and are seldom conclusive. To simplify
things, let's just consider a situation where one party buys the
other one or two drinks rather
than trying to get them fall down
drunk. Further, let's assume that
giving drinks is the first stage in a
courting ritual where the male
attempts to find a female with
whom to go home, and vice
versa. This is standard enough
practice to make the assumption
valid. If the female accepts the
drink, and the rest of the evening
goes well, then the two will go
home together and mate. We
must bear the ultimate purpose of
the giving of drinks in mind
when we consider reversing the
roles.
First of all, people in bars generally have a couple of drinks at the
beginning of the night to start
things off, often before meeting
anyone of the opposite sex. By
the time the first drink is given,
then both parties have usually
already got a mild buzz going.
Now let's assume that the female
buys drinks for the male. This will
bring the count to at least five or
six by the time they get home.
This poses a bit of a problem. I
hate to tell you this, guys, but I
have it on good authority that
our... performance decreases
markedly with alcohol consumed.
Women, on the other hand, are
not nearly so adversely affected
by alcohol. Certainly, their dexterity is slightly decreased by a
few drinks, but if both parties
have been drinking, nobody will
notice, and everything will work,
no problem.
For the male, low levels of alcohol are exactly what's needed.
Two or three beers act as a mild
tranquilizer, ensuring that men
have adequate stamina, i.e., we'll
see the job through to completion. Between four and five
drinks, performance will be substandard, but there is little risk of
a complete failure. Anything
much higher than that, and it is
quite possible that the aforementioned sex will never occur, leaving the male scarred for life, and
female extraordinarily frustrated,
wondering why she isn't a lesbian.
Most women would buy men
drinks if they could, but for now,
it is in the best interests of everyone if they refrain. Perhaps we
will see the day when men can go
to bars and not buy themselves
any drinks, just so that women
could return the favour without
endangering the goal of the
evening. Not likely.
Despite what his article says, Matt
has been relatively successful at getting women to buy him drinks.
Maybe they aren't women after all.
Something to think about, eh Matt?
-ed.
TIRED OF SPENDING SUMMER
ASKING PEOPLE IF THEY WANT FRIES
WITH THAT?
TRY COMING DOWN TO HAVE
A LOOK AT THE BRAND NEW
SUS JOB BOARD.
ITS LOADED WITH GREAT CAREER
OPPURTUNITIES.
YA NEVER KNOW. JAMAICA JUST
MIGHT BE HIRING A MINISTER FOR
SUPERVISION OF RUM PRODUCTION.
THE SUS JOB BOARD.
(ONE OF THOSE THINGS WE DO WHEN WE
ARENT PRINKING BEER.)
Hail to the buscIHver, busdrivcr, buisdHver... hail
to the biusdriYer... Busdrivei* Man!
Blair
MCDONALD
I stepped up to the bus, $1.35 in
nickels jingling in my hand.
After all, those IS cents could
make the difference between me
being a millionaire or simply
someone with $999, 999.85 in
the bank one day. The doors slid
open and I climbed aboard with
my eyes firmly locked on a fascinating gum splotch on the rubberized floor.
"Hi! I'm Frank, and I'll be your
_busdriver_ today!" "«■
Startled, I glanced up into the
grinning face of Frank; who was
obviously going to be my bus-
driver today.
"How are you today, my friend?"
Normally, you don't expect any
words from the mouth of bus-
drivers. After all, would you be
happy if you spent the day driving back and forth along the
same route? It appeared that
Frank was going to be the exception to the rule.
"Uh, fine, I guess," I stammered
as I made my way to the safety of
the back.
"Great! Glad to have you
aboard!" he shouted at my quickly receding back.
I found an empty seat, grateful
for the relative anonymity of the
crowded bus. Frank, for his part,
shut up and put the bus in
motion.
At the next stop, a number of
people were waiting, and Frank
put on his act.
"Hi there, howya doin', wanna
transfer, glad ta see ya, how ya
doin'?"
People were amazed to hear
friendly words instead of the customary growl, and a huge grin
instead of a scowl. It appeared
Frank loved his job. Or he overdosed on something earlier that
morning.
Eventually, one passenger took
him up on his offer, and started a
conversation. The woman, grand
motherly and greying, asked:
"Mr. Busdriver, are you going to
Granville? I'd like to be dropped
off at the Yarnbarn on Fir."
"Just call me Frank, ma'am. And
yes I'll be going to Granville. And
our stop near Fir is only 35 steps
from the front door of the
Yarnbarn. I believe they're having
a special on navy blue goat's hair
today."
The grandmother and Frank
then entered into a conversation
as to which was more difficult,
tatting or knitting, and whether
or not a cross stitch was appropriate for fine needlework, say a
small pink rose on a beige background.
The grandmother got off at Fir,
and a businessman carrying a
leather briefcase hopped on.
"Hi there, how are you today,"
hollered Frank.
The businessman, a salesman
accustomed to public speaking,
promptly replied,
"Doing great. And yourself?"
That was Frank's cue.
"I'm doing fine. But I must
admit, I'm a bit worried about the
conflicting economic predictors.
Housing starts are up, retail sales
are down, and inflation is holding pat. I can't decide whether to
put my money in a mutual fund
or trying investing in land. Any
opinions?"
"Well," replied the businessman,
"I do like the look of some of
those new mutual..."
I tuned out the noise, but it certainly appeared the busdriver was
-getting sound financial advice as
he maneuvered through the traffic.
Finally, my stop was there. I
climbed off the bus, and cast a
last look at Frank the Busdriver.
He was going strong, greeting
new passengers, answering questions. You gotta love it.
Blair has really cheered up since
dumping the work load on me.
And I have become progressively
nastier to be around.
Coincidence? I think not.
-ed. PAGE 4
H
E
2
Mar 27,1996
The Secret of
Testosterone.
Kevin Murray
Imaginary Correspondent
My sister believes in fairies.
She and her friends
believe that they are
"itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny, cutesey"
barbie-type girls with shiny wings
and long curly hair that smelly
"yummy" like fruit and tinkle like
bells. According to Kat, they go
around doing good deeds, helping others, being pint sized keeners and occasionally playing
tricks. Poor confused Kat just
doesn't understand that what she
calls "fairies" are really "faeries"
and are no more than wussy little
tinkerbells (with all due respect to
Tink).
Faeries are real. I've seen them
and so have my friends. I know
some of them well and talk to
them quite often. No, I wasn't
drunk at the time, and what I saw
were not hallucinations caused by
mixing my prescription medicine
with some non-prescription
drugs. Honest.
Faeries are small people usually.
They're mainly male, wellish
built, with sleek aerodynamic
wings and clean, rugged good
looks. Very few faeries are girls
but those that are, are gorgeous:
lean, well toned, strong, curvy
and delicious! (not that I'd know
of course but from what I've
heard....) Kat was right on one
account; Faeries generally do help
us guys out and try to make us
look good. But she's wrong with
the why and the wherefore.
It all comes down to simple science, Biology in particular. Guys
sweat and our sweat can have a
strong "fragrance" associated
with it. In the sweat are
pheromones, some of which are
derived from testosterone. Now
every guy knows that other guys
sweat and we accept the fact that
we can be, well, smelly. Faeries,
mostly being males, don't mind
this smell and are in fact attracted
to it, kinda like sharks are attracted to the smell of blood.
This has several very good benefits when one considers the physical properties Of Faeries. They are
small, really strong, get drunk
really easily so they can't drink all
your beer, can make themselves
invisible and, understandably
enough, like to help us look good
in front of other people, especially girls. They also don't seem to
mind chipping in to get the
household chores done.
This is why we guys can appear
so strong. Like last week, my girlfriend was getting a new couch
and had to move the other out
but she and three of her friends
could barely lift it up, let alone
try to get it down two flights of
stairs. So she called me and one
of my buddies to do it. We picked
up the couch easily between the
two of us and got it down the
stairs without much difficulty.
What they didn't see were a half
dozen Faery buddies of ours
underneath the couch helping us
lift it up by using their wings so
we could go around the corners.
Neat, eh?
Now the kind of help that you
get from the Faery folk depends
on who you meet and how you
treat 'em. You do have to be
polite and give them a couple of
gulps of beer at the beer gardens
to keep them happy. The sporty
Faeries will help you out with
things like Storm-the -Wall so
that you appear to fly throughout
the running and biking parts of
the course and soar over the wall.
Mechanical Faeries help you out
with fixing appliances or cars (it's
amazing where and what their little hands can do. Handy Faeries
help you out with chores. But all
Faeries will help you get put of
women trouble. It's a guy thing.
Kat just doesn't understand...
We're all rather concerned for
Kevin's overall mental well being
and health. In fact, we just bought
him a permanent room at Riverview.
No view, tho. Strange.
-ed.
ELECTRICAL
ENC,
NEEKIN^
Of School and
Sheep.
"Might this be why its not working?"
I think I'll just give up on
school and farm sheep for a
living. It's not that farming
sheep is particularly all that difficult. Indeed, the mere fact that
farming sheep can be tediously,
mind-numbingly boring is what
comprises most of it's appeal.
You see, I'm fed up with the
cycle of work, study, test, and fail
that seems to predominate my
university career. A little farm in
the country where the most
stressful activity is the odd bleat
would be idealistic and far more
relaxing.
"Why sheep?" you ask. Well, the
thing is, and I mean this with the
best possible intentions, sheep are
dumb as posts. Scratch that, it's
an insult to posts. Most sheep are
perfectly content to spend their
entire lives standing in a group,
being led around by dogs, shaven
once in a while, and eventually
turned into an attractive entree in
a light cream sauce.
The most interesting part of the
average sheep's day comes when
it suddenly and rather unexpectedly encounters another sheep.
The two sheep simply stare at
each other for quite a time and
try to figure out what, exactly, is
this weird white thing in front of
them. Sooner or later, the sheep is
distracted by a particularly fascinating lump of clay or oddly
coloured blade of grass and it1
wanders off, usually to encounter
yet another sheep a few steps
away.
Occasionally, the whole shock of
discovering a wool laden mammal in their path is simply too
much for the sheep and it just
has to sit down and have a nice
nap. This is the primary reason
why sheep tend to stay in flocks
and generally, as a rule, not move
around too terribly much.
We are all familiar with the
scene of a flock of sheep blocking
a road in Ireland while the impatient American tourist honks
their horn to no avail.
Sheep aren't bothered by little
stresses in life and, in fact, are
almost oblivious to any eminent
danger they may be in.
Take the above example, for
instance, angering and just generally annoying irate American
motorists isn't the best life move.
Especially when we consider that
most Americans seem to show little respect for life forms that they
consider inferior to themselves.
You know: amphibians, cows,
sheep, Canadians, and basically
anything non-American.
(Although, surprisingly, this
group doesn't include the
almighty Bald Eagle <insert flag
waving and America The
Beautiful hero) And also especially when you consider that
most Americans seem to believe
in their "Gdd-given right" to
have a personal arsenal large
enough to safely conquer most of
Upper Damascus in a single afternoon and sjtill have time to catch
the Disney matinee followed by
4:00 tea.
That is, if Americans drank tea.
For some strange reason, most
Americans seem to like drinking
excessive quantities beer, which
compounds the reasons for not
angering them and their collective weapons lockers. It'd all be
okay if they drank good beer, but
they seem to be stuck on that
crappy 4% American stuff. (Why?
Cuz it's American! That's why!)
But I digress, back to sheep. I can
add the fact that farming sheep is
un-American by definition to my
list of reasons to do it. Sheep
farming is a wholesome old-world
lifestyle and has almost nothing
to do with country music and/or
guns.
In order to make my sheep farming go a little easier, I will need a
farm. Preferably one with lots of
green, rolling hills and maybe the
odd stream and grove of trees.
<sigh> Idyllic, isn't it?
What's missing? We've got the
rolling hills, stream, trees, and
maybe a simple cottage by a pond
and a corral to put the sheep in.
Oh yeah, we need sheep, don't
we? Come to think of it, sheep
would most likely be an unnecessary hassle. Unless this is the kind
of sheep farming where you plant
lambs 2 meters apart in spring
and water them every second day
for a few seasons.
(Pinky and the Brain flashback:
"Brain, when you farm humble pigs,
how far apart do you have to plant
mem?y')
So maybe all I want is a sheep-
less sheep farm. Sadly, the last
time me and my real estate broker
conversed, there were absolute no
listings for sheepless sheep farms.
<sigh>
I could buy a normal sheep farm
and eat lamb for a while. Mutton
roasts every Friday and lots of
time to knit more than a few
comfy sweaters.
There's a problem with this.
Sheep, as dumb as they are
(although they aren't nearly as
stupid as cows, who are content
to stare straight ahead for the best
part of their lives), tend to notice
when you start knocking off one
of their pals every night around
dinner.
This makes for nervous sheep,
which makes for stringy mutton.
I guess I'll have to let the sheep
farm idea slip.
Maybe it's just as well. After all,
there's a batch of finals around
the corner just waiting for me to
flunk them. Mar 27,1996
H
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PAGE 5
Dik Miller, Private Eve.
The story so far:
Former bass player Dik
Miller is found over a dead
body. Knocked unconscious after
repeating the woman's dying
word, "GoldenRye," he wakes up
bound with dental floss in the
underground bakery of an evil
mastermind. According to bad-
guy custom, the mastermind is
about to reveal his plan for world
domination before baking Miller
into an enormous GoldenRye
loaf. Makes a lot of sense, doesn't
it? Now on with our tale.
"Okay," I said, woozy from the
yeast fumes, "I understand that
the GoldenRye is bread, and that
for some reason it's going to
Ottawa."
"Very good," said the evil mastermind.
I nodded. "The first thing I want
to know is your name. Referring
to you as 'the evil mastermind'
in this story is pretty monotonous."
"My name..." He paused dramatically, "...is..."
Pause.
"... Doctor Baguette."
Pause.
I blinked.
Pause.
He looked at me for a moment.
"Mouahahahahaha," he added,
somewhat half-heartedly.
"Doctor Baguette?" I asked.
"Yes. Mouahahahaha. Ha."
Pause.
"Seriously?"
"Indeed."
"That has got to be the stupidest name for an evil mastermind
I've ever heard. Dr. No - yes,
good. Darth Vader, wonderful.
Even Cruella de Vii from 101
Dalmations, great!" I chuckled.
"But 'Doctor Baguette'? You really don't want to know the mental image that gives me."
Baguette's face was red, his brow
furrowed. A vein pulsed at his
temple. He ground his teeth and
drummed his fingers on a nearby
railing. His cheek bounced from
a nervous tic. Sweat dripped
from his beaky nose. Small
growling noises came from his
throat, and I could see from the
way his shoes moved that he was
scrunching his toes spasmodically. I had the impression that he
might be a tad angry.
"Er, but it does make me hungry," I added. "Mmm, mmm,
takes me back to my student
days in Paris-"
"Shut up!" Baguette bellowed. "I
should dump you into the dough
and be done with it!"
"Nuh, uh, uh, uh," I tisked,
wagging my finger at him from
my side, where it was unpinned
by floss. "Remember the rules."
"Okay! Okay! The plan!
Sheesh!" He mopped his brow
with a cloth and began. "My
organization is an underground
group of renegade bakers. All of
us had contracts with the federal
government. Pastries for state
dinners, rolls for Parliamentary
lunches, erotic cakes for wild
election-night parties, you know.
"Last year's federal budget had a
little-known cost-cutting clause.
They sacked all of us and contracted out to cheap-labour bakery cartels in the Far East and
Latin America.
"We studied the new product
coming from overseas and found
it to be woefully substandard."
He eyed me ominously. "You
don't even want to know what
their cream fillings are made
from."
I winced at the mere thought.
Baguette was building up steam.
"We tried to blow the whistle,
but were the media interested?
No! Plied with doughnuts and
sandwiches and cinnamon twists
by the politicians, they wouldn't
even talk to us. Even Noam
Chomsky wouldn't listen when I
called him. And Ralph Nader was
snarfihg down a Costa Rican
croissant as we spoke!"
While he railed, I was using my
pinky to flip open my Dik Miller
locket ring/tape
demagnetizer/buzz saw.
"So we took matters into our
own hands. I devised a recipe -
the GoldenRye - which contains
secret mind-altering chemicals
and an ingestible radio receiver.
Genetically engineered amino-
acid strains implant themselves
in the brains of those who eat it,
enabling us to send subliminal
coded messages so those people
will do our bidding! And, incidentally, it tastes scrump-diddly-
umptious."
I shook my head. "Astounding."
Baguette went on. "Initially the
GoldenRye was very expensive,
so we sent care packages only to
the most important politicians:
Preston Manning, Jacques
Parizeau, Jean Chretien. Over the
radio we played tapes encouraging them to say and do stupid
things."
"Like proposing a return to corporal punishment, slagging ethnic voters, and grabbing some
schnook at a Flag Day rally?"
"Yes!" he said. "Well, actually,
Jean grabbed the guy on his
own. But we could have told him
to do that! Anyway, now we've
managed to find a cheap way to
make GoldenRye, and soon
everyone will be under our control."
"And what will you make us
do?" I asked.
"Simple, Eat bread, lots of bread
- our bread. Not steak or beans,
vegetables or cheese. Just bread,
bread, bread!
Mouahahahahaha!"
That inane laugh was getting to
be too much. Time to act.
I activated my ring. After unintentionally demagnetizing the
dental floss, I cut through it,
bounding up from the bench.
Before the stunned Baguette and
his henchmen had time to react,
I swung from a conveniently-
placed overhead lamp and kicked
two of the thugs? into the bubbling dough below. I contemplated a Dik Miller Walloping
Wombat roundhouse kick for the
other pair, but decided that simply knocking their heads together a la Batman was more efficient. That left me and Baguette.
"So, time for the inevitable
good-guy-bad-guy showdown," I
said. He looked at me. Then he
turned and ran, flailing his arms
in the air and squealing like a
five year old. It was so unexpect- -
ed I froze until the access door
slammed behind him.
"Way to go, Miller," I said to
myself.
I knew he would be long gone if
I tried to go after him, and
besides, there's no room left in
this story for a chase scene, so I
lobbed a Dik Miller potato masher/semaphore translator/grenade
into the dough and made a run
for it myself. As the bakery went
up in flames behind me, I knew
that Baguette was now my new
arch-enemy, and that we would,
of course meet again. If only he
didn't have such a stupid name.
Oh well. Another "case closed"
for Dik Miller, Private Eye.
Will Baguette be back meaner
and tougher? Or will his psychotherapy bills prove to be too
much for the super villain. Only
time can tell.
Stay tuned for the next adventure
from Dik Miller, Private Eye.
Coming next fall to a newsstand
near you.
-ed.
:mb£u. f>pc mi«w>s ,
"Suddenly, Mona realized that she had fed her files
and shredded the baby."
The next issue
of The 432 isn't
coming soon...
See y'all in
September! PAGE 6
H
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3
Mar 27,1996
Unofficial Arte County Fair
Theme Page.
The 432 Presents:
The Great Art s County Give-awayt
Here's the deal:
Whoever answers the following questions best (note: best, not necessarily right) will receive an attractive Arts County Fair giftpack. This
giftpack includes everything you need to make your day at the fair a
memorable one:
r
- Two Arts County Fair tickets!
- Two Arts County Fair T-shirts!
- Two Arts County Fair Bzzr Mugs!
All you have to do is answer four of the following questions to the
best of your ability and return your answers to the Science
Undergraduate Society (CHEM B160) by March 30th. Please include
your name and phone number on your submission. The winner will
be notified before April 1st.
The prize winner will be determined entirely on humorous merit of
their submission. Everyone is eligible, so what do you have to lose?
The Questions.
1. Why?
2. Prove Fermat's Last Theorem in 300 words or less. Numbers may
not be used.
3. If a horse is a horse, of course, of course. Then how does a bull fit
into the picture?
4. Explain how the origin of the universe can be explained solely
with the use of hand puppets.
5. What is the meaning of life? Be concise. Spelling counts.
6. How does a mommy and a daddy make a baby? (Please try and
avoid terms that would cause a seven year old to Seiy "ewwwwww.")
7. Explain your very own conspiracy theory. Explain all references to
aliens from Rigel IV and JFK, where necessary. If required, include
drawings and technical diagrams.
ARTS VNPfKUUHMTf SOCHTy —^ »•*•«• "~"
■tADS Vmaxwer/Canacian Cancer Society Benefit
innual
fair
Ashley Maclsaac
Ihe Pursuit of Happiness
Barstool Prophets
The Super Friendz
"••on • • »m
Thunderbird Stadium
I.D REQUIRED FOR BZZR OARDEN • FIRST 1500 EARLYBIRD TICKETS SI0/SII AFTER
TO AVAILABLE AT U.B.C SUB TICKETMASTER • FOR MORE INFO CALL TOLL FREE I-MM-975-684S
When your drinking at the fair, it's often hard to tell exactly
how much you've had, and whether or not you're acting like
a complete boob. .
Almost certainly, all really embarrassing events can be traced back to
the point in the night when you were offered one beer to many and
thought "What the hell?"
When you're drunk, it's often difficult to determine when the next
beer is the one that will convince you to strip naked and sing Irish
drinking songs on the roof of Chemistry.
Wouldn't it be great if you had some sort of guide in your pocket that
helped you to make these difficult decisions?
We at The 432 have spent considerable effort researching the visual
cues of drunkenness and have devised the following scale designed
specifically for easy use.     .
Instructions for use:
• Cut the following scale out and carry it with you to the fair.
• Examine your beer and/or cider container and compare what you
see to the numbered pictures below.
• Read the corresponding text. This text will provide you with a summary of how you're feeling and, when required, instruct you on further alcohol related actions.
Remember: Party responsibly and always keep in mind that throwing up
in your friends lap is definitely not cool.
© This is how your beer should look at the
beginning. Everything is going fine, you have
beer, and the sun is smiling success upon
you.
© After a few beer your can may start to
look like this. This effect is known
to the layman as "Beer Goggles." |©~
Don't be afraid, this is a perfectly
natural response to a few beer.
There are benefits, just check out the closest
member of the opposite sex.
© You are well on your way to
a legendary bender. You should
be reeling, pleasant all over and
have a mild pain tolerence.
Test this theory by trying to ignite your right
forearm. If it burns without discomfort, a short
drinking break is in order.
© The world is a great place to |©~,
be. Start singing *nVa small
world" and nug the nearest
person to you.
The object at this point is to keep in this stage
of impairment. Don't go to far
and don't lay off for too long.
© Now you've done it. You are
too drunk. In fact, it's highly
unlikely that you're even reading this yourself.
So, to your kind friend: leave Mr./Ms.
Irresponsible Drinker alone on
the field unless you feel like
mopping up puke.
© Um, you should really check
the label on your "beer." You're probably
not drinking beer at all; it's most likely that
you have ingested some sort of
LSD mixture.
Oh well. Enjoy it while you can. _
©You probably can't read this
anymore, so forget it.
You're going to come to without your wallet,
shirt, pants, novelty beer hat, and^ou'll most
likely be in a locked Biology building.
©
'A *
1   *
*:<
«*
^ Mar 27,1996
H
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2
PAGE 7
Power Tools and
Bathroom Etiquette.
^""I'&RCIA"
Well, it's the end of the
year, and that brings
with it it's own special
set of circumstances. For instance,
for the hardcore stimulant
abusers among us, end-of-the-
year time also means that, painful
though it may be, it's time to get
off the coffee habit in order for
our later, finals-induced caffeine
binges to actually take effect.
After all, isn't it depressing when
you go through nearly four bags
of chocolate-covered coffee beans
and find that your pulse doesn't
even start racing like it used to.
When this occurs, you know that
the only recourse left in your
effort to achieve chemical stimulation is to buy a single packet of
instant coffee, add as much sugar
as there is coffee powder directly
to the opened packet, and toss
the entire mess into your mouth,
followed closely by a swig of
(preferably hot) water. The taste
alone should wake you up, to say
nothing of the coffee content.
The end of the year is also a time
for memories. Especially those
extremely useful ones, such as the
memory of your Christmas
exams. Or the memory of all the
long hours spent trying to get on
to Telereg after Christmas break.
Or the memory of the long hours
spent pleading with a Prof, for
admittance info their class, even
though you may not have exactly
passed a prerequisite or two, but
you promise that you'll work real
ly, really hard this term, and they
won't regret letting you into their
already packed classes, and boy,
isn't that a lovely tie/dress that
they've got on? These memories
are such wonderful incentive for
studying for your final exams.
After all, there's no disciplinariari
more inspiring (or demanding)
than panic-drenched fear.
Of course, when you're not
sweating out your addictions,
locked inside your own bedroom
with nothing but Al Jareau and
Esquivel records to keep you company while your friends patrol
your door, telling you all the
while that "It's For Your Own
Good" (as you rant and scream
with extremely creative invective
at them, calling into doubt their
intelligence, physical attributes,
or parentage), or if you've got a
lull between fear-soaked studying
and panic-stricken dreaming,
then there's quite a few things
that an over stimulated mind
pushed to the edge of sanity can
end up pondering.
(Congratulations, Jay, you've just
invented the 100 word sentence. -
ed.)
Like, for instance, this entire
"battle" between the sexes. I use
the word "battle" loosely here,
largely as one cannot accurately
describe as a "battle" that which
is more precisely a "rout". The
entire battle concept is rather silly
and frivolous, really, as both sides
can neither gain, nor lose ground
(at least not any more). Over the
years, the ammunition of choice
has moved from the heavy ordinance munitions such as Male
Wilderness Retreats, The Glass
Celling and Woman's Suffrage, to
the relatively low-caliber but still
damaging small arms such as
Power Tools, Pantyhose and
Bathroom Etiquette.
Bathroom etiquette. <brrr> Why
is it that> whenever men are out-,
numbered at least two to one by
women, the discussion invariably
turns to this rather straightforward subject? What is there to
discuss? When you Need to Go,
you go. You (in the words of an
over-used shoe commercial) just
do it. But alas, all is not so simple
as it might seem. There are other,
"greater" considerations at stake
here. Should the loose side Of a
roll of toilet paper be facing forwards, or backwards? Toothpaste
cap on, or off? Toilet seat up, or
down? It's this last one that's the
sticking point, really. I can see
why girls would be a bit testy if a
midnight potty visitation ends up
in an unintentional swimming
session. But then, what about the
hassle for the guys who have to
put the seat up, each and every
time? It takes no more effort for a
girl to put down the seat as it
does for a guy to put it up, but,
for some obscure reason, the onus
(and blame) is always on us.
Then again, to be fair, if there
are twice as many guys as there
are girls, the conversation does, at
some point, devolve into power
tools. Tools are, after, all, one of
our species' greatest accomplishments. Early man created tools to
muck around with his environment. Power tools are simply a
civilized way of causing even
greater havoc to the local area.
And then there's the subject of
pantyhose. Don't even get me
started on pantyhose (and if I
hear any of you making jokes
about that statement, I'll handcuff you to a chair, glue your eyelids open and force you to watch
hours of Jerry Lewis movies). The
one overwhelming statement that
I hear from girls who moan about
the stuff is that "If they can send
a man to the moon, why can't
they develop a pantyhose that
won't run?" This is often closely
followed by the statement that "If
men were forced to wear pantyhose for one day, just one day,
then the next day we'd have run-
less pantyhose." Well, hey, if government and industry were willing to spend the same amount of
money as they spent on the
Apollo program, then yes, runless
pantyhose would be a distinct
possibility. Unfortunately, I doubt
that even economies of scale
could justify an umpteen-million
dollar program whose end result
is not the fabrication of extremely pure compounds, nor the
placement of communications
satellites in low earth orbit, but
simply the peace-of-mind
brought about by allaying the
sensibilities of women everywhere.
Then again, if it gets them off
our backs when it comes to power
tools, then I'm all for it. Heck, I
wouldn't mind petitioning the
government for a ten-billion dollar program to develop runless
pantyhose if it allows me to use
my Black and Decker cordless reciprocating saw with fifteen-in-one
drill bit attachments and handy-
dandy Snakelight built into the
grip- PAGE 8
H
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2
Mar 27,1996
Elvii.
X-Don.
Phi! Ledwith
Strange but stable.
I've been watching too much
late night television again.
Watching too much late night
television is bad for your synapses. There are only so many times
you can see the home shopping
network before your brain starts
to lose content faster than an
episode of Baywatch.
Late night television is sometimes referred to as graveyard
television, because at 4am practically everything turns monotone
grey. Like the matter that used to
be stuck firmly between your ears.
I know that somewhere out there
is an individual every bit as sad as
I am, who knows I am not making this up. They, too, have seen
the psychic network, and they
may even have dialed the 1-800
numbers. Sadly, however, clairvoyants and horoscope readers
rarely know anything about partial differential equations.
It's weird how obsessed people
can become with such little
details as happiness, success and
personal destiny. Take psychic
fairs. Even better, take your girlfriend to psychic fairs. I did, once
ago in the dawn of my youth that
no one remembers now. You have
the usual run-of-the-mill horoscope guys, a few tarot card readers, and a palmist or two.
Notice that the future is only
ever contained in socially acceptable body parts. You don't see too
many foot sole-ists, and rib one's
ever going to ask you if you ever
had your kneecaps read. I could
go on, and I'm really tempted
too, but John keeps reminding
me that this is not that sort of
paper. Anyway, there's all those
guys who know how your life will
unfold by counting the hairs In
your left nostril and cross referencing against the weight of your
earlobe wax. And then there's the
numerologists.
On average, there are two babies
born every second in the western
world. On Elvis Presley's birthday,
therefore, we could expect
172,800 babies to be born, of
which one in two thousand will
have the Presley surname, that's
86.4 potential Elvis Presley's, born
on the same day as Elvis, every
year, or roughly 5200 Elvii in the
last sixty years. The government
should keep tabs on these people.
There should be an X file on
them. Just think, numerological
theory predicts that these people
will lead the same life as Elvis.
How many of them currently
work in seven eleven stores? Or as
fridge repairmen? How many of
the Elvii have been spotted by
Ms. Perivale of Albuquerque on
her fridge? People need to know
these things.
I could go on at great length
about Ion showers, and
"Scientifically evaluated personal
projection auras", but I think you
get the point. (Incidentally, my
beloved editor just pointed out
that there are 172,800 candidates
for the reincarnated soul of Elvis,
as this is also the number of
babies born the day he died.
Someone alert the press.) To cut a
long story off at the knees, my
girlfriend and I wandered around
one of these testaments to
human inventiveness for over
three hours, at the end of which
all we really learned was that she
got really stoned and giggly when
exposed to krishna incense sticks.
This would actually have made it
worthwhile in my view, but the
eternal happiness predicted to us
by eight or nine independent
experts lasted about another
three weeks.
We're all obsessed by the future.
It doesn't matter if you have a
team of fifty Harvard Ph.D.s all
using carefully hand-crafted programs on their Cray two's to forge
a detailed projection of the next
fifty years stock reports. It could
just as easily be all the meteorologists in southern California giving
precise estimates of the weather
patterns for the next five weeks.
Or just some guy that spins a carrot out in his back garden as soon
as he recovers from last night's
hangover (huh? -ed.). The principle is the same. We love to know
what's coming, in fact we love it
so much that we barely have any
time for what's going on right
now.
Watching society at work is a bit
like watching some poor paralytic
idiot carefully concentrating on
the bathroom door as he smashes
into the coffee table. Or occasionally like watching a stone cold
sober friend walk backwards into
a bus stop as he watches his
drunken friends careen about the
sidewalk. Except of course that
society doesn't have legs, to speak
of, or drunken friends. And society never needs to use the bathroom.
Come to think of it, they are
almost completely unalike. I
think it all has to do with not
being too fond of the present.
With all the wars and earthquakes and oil slicks happening
right now, it's understandable
that we should want to focus on
something a little less present,
such as whether or not Atlantis is
ever going to rise again. Global
warming is obviously far too
immediate a problem for the
French, who are busy seeing what
the future looks like with a
nuclear winter in it. On the more
immediate front, we have
midterms and finals and soaring
poverty. We have another week of
Kraft Dinner and term papers
written from notes that were
obviously the product of some
other individual of questionable
sanity. Still, I'm sure they will
make a lot of sense after I've seen
a few more episodes of Night
Court and Baywatch. Maybe a
couple of Letterman re-runs, and
an hour or six of Jerry Springer.
And if they don't I can always
phone up Madame Futura, and
ask her if she knows the questions on the final. Anything but
actually go to sleep.
We're convinced that PhU is
escaped from a mental institute of
some sort. It scares us.
-ed.
Donald Rhee
Columnist.
There has been a lot of UFO
activity in the skies above as
of late and I cannot help but
think that it would be cool to be
an X-Files agent. I also think that
somewhere up there "they" are
laughing at us pathetic humans
for all our follies and maybe also
reading the latest copy of the
Ubyssey and laughing harder
than ever. Perhaps there is intelligent life out there after all.
Investigating freaks and phantoms, aliens and phenomena, serial killers and magical trinkets
together with an super-intelligent
red-haired gun-wielding doctor-
coroner agent named Scully...
where do you sign up?
However it appears that it is not
written in the stars for me to be a
cannon-toting investigative agent
as I get really queasy at the first
sight of blood and probably
couldn't even shoot a chipmunk
on a fake pink flamingo if my life
depended on it.
That is not to say that I could
not be an investigatee instead of
investigator. Some problems .
quickly come to mind though.
1. I cannot and it appears never
will be able to control time and
space. "No duh" you say but for-
ten minutes last week I really really really believed that I could. Had
some cosmic force intervened to
align with my thoughts and transport myself into the future and
coincidentally somewhere beside
my soon to be completed term
paper then perhaps there would
be some cause for public concern.
Time travel is a funny thing
though because if I don't write
my paper now then how will I be
able to pick it up at some later
^date? This leads to the second
observation that...
2. I am not omnipotent in any
way shape or form, ft seems I cannot make a term paper appear out
of midair and place itself on my
desk instantaneously at the slightest of whims. Closing my eyes did
not help nor did the fact that I
had not even picked a topic for
the paper yet.
3. I am not even capable of simple mind reading or mind shifting. And believe me it's not for a
lack of trying. I do harbour the
suspicion that my professor was
actively blocking my attempts
using his own mind-reading powers and thus my attempt at changing the due date for my paper was
foiled. Clearly I have not developed this power enough since no
one on the bus home from school
seems to respond to my mental
requests for psychic conversation.
Closing my eyes while chanting
in order to reach a meditative
state also did not help.
It appears that I was not exposed
to enough radiation as a kid for
my molecular structure to be
altered. Although our twenty-two
year old Zenith color TV that I
have been looking at for the past
twenty years has been known to
glow in the dark.
And increasingly it appears that I
am just a normal student in a normal university in a normal city
with Slightly abnormal parents
and friends. But then who doesn't
live in a normal city.
Just your average guy with term
paper due tomorrow hopefully
wishing that his future self beams
in from the future ASAP with
term paper in hand.. But knowing
the inherent difficulties of time
travel my future self will probably
pop in sometime next week during an important phone call and
knowing me he will probably
leave it on his desk and forget to
bring it.
Don is one of those guys that manages to get no reaction by dropping
his disk off wrapped in a six-pack
holder. We just expect it from him.
-ed.
ana   ^Kble abou+
Truth in lecturing. Mar 27,1996
H
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PAGE 9
Messing with
Reality.
Steve Fukada
Columnist.
For a minuscule, two-dimensional slice of time, I was a
happy camper. When that
pathetically microscopic
moment was smashed into a fine
powder by reality, I ceased to be
a happy camper. The campground has since been wiped off
the face of the earth, along with
every disgustingly contented,
vapid-eyed creature that had ever
lived there.
Wouldn't it be great if you got
stuck in a perfectly constructed
dream world? Haven't you ever
had one of those dreams where
everything was working as you
had always envisioned it -
COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO! COCK-
A-DOODLE DOO! "Noooo!"
(That's me waking up at 6:00
A.M. to the sound of my
Kellogg's Corn Flakes Special
Offer Alarm Clock.)
There's been talk of a new tennis centre (the indoor variety, if I
heard correctly) at or near the
Thunderbird courts. Yesterday I
was there. I was actually inside
the brand new Thunderbird
Indoor Tennis Centre, practicing
my backhand passing shots with
Pete Sampras.
Actually, I couldn't do a back-
Hand passing shot no matter
what the motivating factor, and
the tennis centre (reported in
September to be in its advanced
planning stages, and to be in
operation in late January 1996)
doesn't exist. If I had never
woken up, I could probably have
led the Canadian Davis Cup
team to victory, won every
Grand Slam tournament, and
made millions by now. But
thanks to a noisy chunk of plastic and metal, I willnever get a
chance to be the best tennis
player in the world. Reality really
sucks!
I'd like to lose touch with reality more often, quite frankly. I'm
working on it, and the practice
seems to be paying off very nicely. Here's the basic technique for
making the wild leap off the
Sanity Bridge and plunging into
the shallow waters of Insanity.
(Gee, there are lots and lots of
jagged rocks down there!)
First, take a long walk. The
Engineering cairn to Buchanan
works very well for me. Now
don't talk to anyone! Don't wave
to people, and don't look at anything for more than two seconds
unless you ean do so without
thinking about it. If none of this
is making sense to you, then I'm
succeeding wonderfully. You,
however, are thinking that I'm
quite nuts.
Start separating yourself from
where you are. Imagine that you
are anywhere other than where
you really are. (Remember, I'm
trying to explain how you can
enter R.E.M. sleep while walking
from the cairn to Buchanan
without crashing into anybody,
so keep in mind that this isn't
easy to demonstrate.) Next, talk
to yourself, but don't do it out
loud. Otherwise, you might as
well be crashing into people.
Talk to yourself in your head and
SEE the other people talking to
you. Use your mind's voice to
emulate the voices of the people
you are talking to. (ie: you're
supposed to see and hear other
people who aren't really there,
but you're actually talking to
yourself.) The illusion ought to
be reaching the point of realism
where it feels like you're in a Star
Trek holodeck.
You are now ready to enter the
final stage. I have never actually
reached this state of, ahem, alternate reality, but I have theorized
its existence for a while. The
final stage is reached when you
see inanimate objects and can
physically manipulate them.
This can be reached easily during
actual sleep, but due to social
constraints, you can't reach out
into thin air and start gesturing
like a mime. This would be akin
to moving your lips while talking to yourself.
And that's all there is to it. Only
two people in history have ever
made it to the third stage, and
only one of these two has actually lived his entire life in the final
stage. To know about the first
person, I highly recommend the
movie entitled 'Brazil'. The other
one of course, is Calvin, of the
Calvin and Hobbes comic strip.
If you have problems entering
stage one, try following birds on
the ground, while imagining
that you're flying above them, or
walk past people quickly, making
car noises as you pass them,
until you see the checkered flag.
Keep checking the rearview mirror in case someone is gaining
on you.
Steve is one
of those
columnists
that I've
never met for
any length of
time.
Much tike
the mystery
with Jeremy
earlier this
year, I just
sorta find his
disks in the
submissions
drawer when
deadlines role
around.
-ed.
A Bed of
Crocuses.
Nicola
JONES
I
think that its purely a scientific
fact: women's bodies are more
beautiful than mens. In all honesty, don't you think so? I mean,
we're talking voluptuous curves versus sharp angles, soft smooth bits
versus rough and scarred ones.
Women's bodies are just plain better proportioned, with half the interesting bits up and half of them down. And really, who wants to see
some completely strange and obviously ego-filled guy prancing
around a strip bar naked - well, some people I guess, but not too
many. Not nearly as many as would ogle at a female in the nude. So
it's definitely an established fact.
So why, begs the question, am I attracted to men? Why do I have
boyfriends? Why would I just plain never want to kiss a girl?
I'll apologize now for bringing something up that not everyone
would want to read about - but spring is in the air. The sun is warm
and the music loud in the concrete heat trap outside the sub. Daylight
is gracing the Earth for more than 12 hours in a stretch, and even the
crocuses are sitting up to take notice. Landscapers are out in full force,
knocking on nature's door and asking her to come out and play. Even
the rain feels fresh now instead of just plain wet. And couples are
everywhere - walking, talking, holding hands, quickly running home
when the, wonderfulness of it all gets to be too much.
I love to see a little bit of affection now and then - a little cuddle, a
hug, a kiss. My roommate often sees a 50ish couple walking around
campus holding hands on sunny days. That's just plain nice. The
moaning and groaning in the crocuses behind the landscaping crew is
something I don't particularly think adds a lot of happiness to my day,
but a little affection gives my heart a little smile.
So it's nice to see that with all the layers of winter clothes getting
shoved back in the cupboards, there's no room left for secrets and
things are coming out of those closets left, right and center.
I've always known that there must be gay couples (and singles for
-that matter) on campus. At times I've seen people holding hands or
giggling and wondered. But in all honesty I've never actually seen the
firm proof till this Monday - that warm sunny Monday when spring
was in the air - when I actually saw two girls cuddling. Cuddling.
That's cute. And I'll say that for the first time seeing this, I handled it
remarkably well. I saw, quickly and pointedly looked away, told myself
it was silly to look away and looked back, got dizzy from all the looking and relooking, ran into a bed of accuses and fell flat on my face.
So I got up, ignoring the noises coming from further back in the
flower bed, shamefully kept walking with my head down, told myself
not to be silly, looked up and smiled at the couple, picked a crocus out
of my hair and ran home.
Fairly well done, I thought.
So in honour of spring, and in honour of all the singles and couples
out there who have noticed the warming weather, I'd like to
announce that I'm quite definitely attracted to men. Let that make me
what it will, I'm not ashamed to admit it. And if anyone finds the
watch I somehow lost in a crocus patch, could they return it to SUS?
First ever awards ceremony for the new
Olympic sport of boat racing. PAGE 10
H
E
Mar 27,1996
The Hacks ramble on...
-Tracy MacKinnon
Fahreen Dossa
Penticton Peach
The last issue of the 432 for
the 95-96 school year - and
I've made all the deadlines!
Hurrah! A couple of interesting
things are coming up. Firstly, the
constitutional amendments
regarding which clubs can vote,
which clubs receive funding and
how they receive funding will
have gone to council by the time
you read this article (those wonderful few of you who actually
read the Drawers of SUS).
(Later: I just thought I'd let you
know that it passed so Pre-Med,
Pre-Dent, Pre-Opt, SOS can now
vote and receive funding from
SUS - Tracy)
At our last council meeting of
the year on 28 Mar 96, we'll have
turnover and the incoming executive will take over. We'll also
have goodies like apple turnovers
(get it? Turnovers for the turnover
meeting). Hee Hee. Look I've
been drinking, give me a break.
At that meeting we'll also be
appointing some ex-officio pos-
tions such as Lounge Manager
and assistants, Sales Manager,
Sales Bookkeeper, Sales Marketing
Coordinator, Sales Special Orders
and Bzzr Buyer (which consists of
going to the liquor store and buy-
Jay Garcia ^^_	
ing beer). (Make that almighty
bearer of the bzzr - ed.) We will also
be appointing one General
Officer which is a voting council
position. If you're interested in
any of these positions please let
me know as soon as possible -
you can find me in Chem 160 for
those silly people who aren't sure
where to find me.
On Mar 96 we'll be having our
Penultimate Class Bash in the
office from 4:32-8 pm in SUS. It
costs $5 for all you can drink or
its free if you're not drinking. I
expect not to remember much of
it so it should be a blast!
Looks like that's the end of my
432 contributions this year. I
can't do my memories of SUS as
I'm sure Anna is doing, since I'll
still be around for another year so
I think I've run out of pertinent
things to say. Enjoy your summer
(and graduation if you've been
here for 4-7 years). See you next
year!
Tracy is the one constant on any
production run. I come in at
4:32pm, Wednesday to find her article at the only one on the computer.
<Sigh> It makes an old editor smile.
-ed.
Bitter Vice President
(( This is the end, this is the
end, my friend, the end." Jim
Morisson. American Poet.
Pretty much the approximation
of the cessation of a period of
time of which the less said, the
better. My term as Internal Vice is
over, and I'm handing the Party
Whip job over to my energetic
heir apparent, the inimitable
Henry Wong.
It's been an interesting eight
months. More in the Chinese
sense of the word, really, but
what a time it's been. Student
government is highly over-rated,
but it's an experience that shouldn't be missed. If at all possible,
run for some kind of student government position. It'll be the
most enlightening, infuriating
and entertaining time of your
life. Personally, I wouldn't do it
twice, but that's just me. But
other people are doing it again
next year (look at our Prez and
our Exec Sec), so it must be a fun
job. Then again, maybe it's just
SUS. We're probably the most
easy-going Undergrad Society on
the campus, (we're not as political as Arts or as fanatical as
Engineering). Anyway, as I'm not
coming back next year in any
function whatsoever, (except
maybe as a columnist for this
beloved rag, if I can be convinced
to hang out in the Science
Undergrad Society room, which,
for scholastic reasons, I'm going
to avoid like the plague) so I figured that I'd take the Roman
Gladiator option. We who are
about to die will take as many of
you kicking and saeaming with
us as we can.
But I'll be;nice... more or less.
First off, thanks to all you guys
who came out to Beyond First
Year. This event gets even better
with every year. Congratulate
yourself, folks, for participating in
an event which helps, in its own
minuscule ways, to contribute to
school spirit on campus.
A hearty raspberry for those of
you who didn't care enough to
vote in the Science election. Only
230 students voted, and out of a
4,500 member faculty, having less
than a 5% showing is inexcusable.
And then there's the other exec,
without whom everything would
have different. Muchos kudos to
superanna!™ for really being a
sweetie and helping out a poor
befuddled me in my moments of
crises (and believe me, there were
many).
Good luck to all of the new exec,
and I hope you guys have fun.
Personally, I thank all my
guardian archons that I'm not
going to be around to miss the
fracas, but I'm saying that's
because it's the end of the year
and I've seen far too much fracas.
And to you students out there
who are balancing on the fence
of non-involvement, get off yer
bloody duffs! Life's too bloody
short, and it's terribly unenter-
taining if you don't get involved
in your environment.
Anyway, I've been rambling for
too long. In the words of the
ever-wise Ramones, Adios
Amigos!
SoCo, not SoHo, CoHo or YoYo
Ah the sorrow. It's that time
of year again. Stocking up
on the ol' coffee (or whatever other stimulant does it for
you), digging up those ol' notes
from last term you'd shoved deep
into the recesses of your
desk/closet/shelf (or under your
bed in certain cases), and preparing for the long, sleepless nights
of cramming that traditionally
mark the start of final exams.
Well, this year we at SUS
thought we'd cut you a deal.
Freshen up your mind a bit before
those exams hit. If you're wanting to work hard but play harder,
SUS is where it's at. The solution
to exam-stress is called simply the
Penultimate Class Bash. Friday
night, SUS lounge, $5 - all you
can drink; be there.
Short and sweet - that could
pretty much end this report. But
it won't.
This is my last official report as
soco (insert hurrahs and sincere
sighs of relief from yours truly).
Not that it's been such a terrible
job - quite the contrary to be
honest. From Oktoberfest and the
X-mas party to the Science Week
Dance and the No Class - well, it's
been a blast. But it'll be kinda
nice to hand over some of the
responsibility for promoting the
drunkenness of UBC to a fresh
and eager successor...Enjoy
Mikey!!
Two final thoughts-to-share
come to mind as I nostalgically
prepare to lay down this soco-
exec-report-writing-pen for good.
The first, well, Sweden beckons
(btw, the Swedes have an,
er.. .interesting.. .vocabulary. Did
you kntjw the word for "after-
party" is "sexa" while the word
for "soco" is "sexmastare"? I tell
ya, me an' my right hand gang
had quite the chuckle over that
one...).
So anyway, I guess I won't be
seeing y'all around next year,
which may be all for the best
since my second piece of news is
this: John, there was an accident
the other night at the sawmill,
and well, to put it bluntly, Frank
the Lumberjack is dead. Now I
realize this inconveniences the
both of us - me for my articles
and you for your biweekly free
bzzr, but feel free to attend the
funeral at the mill. He's being
buried in sawdust (upon explicit
request - go figure). Personally, I
was thinking of sending some
flowers to remember all the good
times...from Sweden.
Frank will be sadly missed.
-ed.
We AR£ A/OtV OFFCRWG
SUMMER MASSES FOR
AU ABfUTfFS,
fF MrTERSSTEO, PUASF
cau ?35-6064 mo
*MJJg LEW* VOVR A/AAff A
MMeet,
\
ASHAON
tfpO^
LIKE,THO$E CLOTHES YOU RE WEARING
ARE, LIKE, SO FIVE-MINUTES-AGO!  LIKE,
YOU BELONG ON A DONAHUE FASHION
DEFICIENCY SHOW. LIKE, EW.
YOU NEIP; LIKE, SCIENCE WEAR.
CHECK THIS OUT:
LIKE, POLAR FLEECE
LIKE, RUCBY SHIRT
LIKE. BASEBALL CAP
LIKE. SUS SHIRT
LIKE,
$67.00
$40.00
$ 12.00
$10.00
WHAT ARE YOU, LIKE, WAITING FOR?
GERALDOTOMAKE, LIKE, A COMEBACK?
IIIKE, GET DOWN TO SUS, CHEMB160. Mar 27,1996
H
E
2
PAGE 11
and on and on...
Bella Carvalho
External Vice
Well, here it is, folks. My
last ever report as the
External Vice-President.
<sniff>
Back in first year, when I first got
sucked into SUS, a whole, full
week into school, I never thought
I'd do this much. I just filled out
a little first year rep ballot and
went on my merry way. Then I
met John and Jesse. It was kinda
neat knowing there were people
out there weirder than me, so I
stayed. I learned a lot in first year,
not the least of which was don't
play Twister with really big guys,
and don't hold a dance on Pit
night.
This last year in SUS has probably been the best, though. Not
that I didn't enjoy being Sports
Chick, but right from back in
April when I took over the position of External VP, things started
to get interesting. I knew what
kind of year was in store for me
from the moment at the turnover
when I had bzzr spilt all over me
and cake smeared across my face.
(Funny, we seem to have pictures of
Bella in all sorts of poses, but not
this one. -ed)
It set the tone for the year. Since
then, there have been bzzr gardens that I remember, and pictures that I don't. It was the year I
was first tanked, and also the first
time I was tanked by proxy...the
second is much preferable
(thanksHtml)A was-kieked off ---
AMS council, asked to guard a
large piece of plastic overnight,
and I attempted a few coups over
the course of the year, but none
were successful, unfortunately.
What I consider to have been
the most important part of this
year, though, was Science Week.
After months of planning and
hard work from my committee, I
come in to school to find snow
everywhere. A few of the events
were canceled because of it, but
most were able to go on. Also,
Chris Carter, who had agreed to
be the honourary president for
the week, was called away to Las
Vegas, leaving us president-less.
But, despite the many barriers in
the way, Science Week was a success, having started out with
some strange, unknown force filling the Engineering Tanking
pond with gravel. It was an act of
kindness, I'm sure, as the
Engineers really did need to fix
up that old parking lot behind
the Cheeze. The following two
weeks during which the SUS exec
were on tanking warning had a
few of us swimming in warm
chlorinated aquatic centre water,
or gently laid down in the soft
pillowy snow. Needless to say,
none of the engineering clubs
won the keg which was offered to
the club to tank the most of us.
Science Week also brought us
Instabzzr™, one of the greatest
inventions of mankind (unfortunately invented by an engineer,
but we'll just ignore that).
. Unfortunately, said invention
seems to have corrupted a few of
our more innocent SUS fellows,
but such are the chances we take
when procuring new goodies for
the office.
Over the last couple of years, I
have really enjoyed myself here.
Time has taught me a few things
that I would like to share with
you all. Studying does not necessarily mean passing, and not
studying does not mean failing.
Steam tunnels are cool, but roofs
are cooler. Maelstrom can be considered a study aid. Don't spill an
engineer's beer. Libraries can be
completely avoided, even when
writing a research paper. Term
papers can be written in under 2
hours. It is never too late to show
up to class. It is never too early to
leave class. It's easier to ask for
forgiveness than to ask for permission. Don't drink the chem
water... it kills fish. The Pit really
lives up to it's name. It's OK to
drink beer before 10 in the morning. Don't send e-mail if you've
had too much caffeine and sugar.
Never skip class without a good
reason. Anything is a good reason
to skip class. No matter what
you're intentions, you wont just
drink tea at a house party. Any
deadline can be extended.
Chocolate-covered coffee beans
are not an appropriate lunch.
And, of course, the most important thing you can possibly learn
in University: Science Holds the
Power!
Like I said, this is my last article.
I hope at least a few people out
there took the time to read the
ramblings of an old SUS hack. I
just wanted to take this opportunity to thank a few special people. Jess-even though she's not
here this year, was one of the reasons I got so involved in SUS in
the first place.. .thanks. All the
exam crowd over the last 3 years -
we may not have gotten much
studying done, but the information we learned was overwhelming! And of course, all the SUS
exec this year...it was fun working
with you guys, you were great.
Anna Carvalho
Which is worse:
Ignorance or Apathy?
Who knows?
Who cares?
Now setting the record for longest 432 article in history
I'm not sure what to say. Ordinarily, I would just jot down whatever
is going on in the world of Public Relations, and, barring that, I
would tell you about my pathetic little life. But this report is not as
easy, you see, because it is my last one. Ever.
The road since I was elected PRO last March has at times been a touch
rocky. That whole inadvertent graduation thing really threw me for a
loop, and I kinda-sorta-maybe resigned. But the SUS was nice enough
to welcome me back and I have tremendously enjoyed being able to
fulfill my term in office.
There are a couple of highlights that I'd like to reflect on (yes, let the
old lady of SUS bore you with her memories...I suppose there is a reason they call me grandma). The first is the SUS United Way Campaign.
Although we fell just a touch short of our goal, we still succeeded in
raising more than 7 times our previous total. Once again, thanks to
the many who helped sell tickets and to all who contributed to the
campaign.
Another highlight has been "Bork! Bork! Bork!" You just can't beat
getting to yak on the radio, every week, about whatever you want. I've
noticed a trend over the year in increased listenership: at first, I couldn't even buy a listener. Now, every once in a while, I hear a group of
guys "borking", and people out there (and not only the ones that I
coerce into listening) have actually heard of the show. I believe this is
right on track of the SUS mandate to make the activities of the society
known to the membership and the campus at large. So I done good
while fluffing my own ego on air.
By far the most noticeable change that's come to SUS has been the
Instabeer™ machine. It's not as if we had a problem with people not
hanging out in the office enough. Now they've got a reason to stay.
Some of the non-drunkards around here are still debating whether or
not to count this amongst the successes. But hey, we all need a legacy
to leave, and if mine be drunken debauchery of the Science Undergrad
Office, then so be it.
I'm still not quite in retirement mode. Even though turnover is a
mere week away, I'm still trying to finish off a couple of projects. At
deadline time the SUS mailing list is still in the works, but it should be
up and running in no time. If you'd like to be a part of it, keep an eye
on the ubc.sus newsgroup or email me directly
(annacarv@unixg.ubc.ca).
As summer approaches, the scramble for that elusive pays-well-but-
still-gives-me-time-to-go-to-the-beach job intensifies. If you're looking
for something remotely science-related, come into Chem 160 and
have a look at our job board. New postings should be arriving approximately every week, so do keep checking back.
And, well, that's about it in the world of Public Relations. It's been a
blast, and it was a great end to what's been an incredible three years.
Nowhere else on earth would I have learned the arts of extortion,
breaking and entering, lying, theft, spontaneous midnight "redecorating" of the Cheeze, embezzlement, and all while learning to appreciate the subtleties between beers.
SUS has, quite literally, been home to me. I'm going to miss all the
baby hacks who've shown up to carry on the tradition of just hanging
out in the office all day (alas, I've trained you well...). I'll miss being
superanna!™ (although I'll not miss my cape, seeing as I still haven't
found one yet). I'm going to miss FWoS (I still can't believe that
caught on). I'll miss the buds I've made clear across campus, all those
Artsies and Geers (I've no delusions that any of you will care one whit
about me once I'm no longer in power...<sniff>). I'll miss Instabeer™.
Aw, geeze, I'm getting all misty-eyed just thinking back on all the
great times I've had and how much I'm going to miss being the resident hack around here. Nobody likes a teary retrospective... let me just
take a minute to compose myself.
OK, I'm back. I've now got a half-empty (man, I'm such a pessimist.
Continued on page 12. Who'd*, thought she had this much breath?
Mikey Boetzkes
Not an alcoholic. Really.
Hi, my name is Mike and I'm an alcoholic. Yeah, I think that's why I
got nominated for the position of SoCo, and since everyone else
feared my unending wrath ho one else ran against me. This means
that now I have to sit down and write all these reports that no one
ever reads, yeah that means YOU! Well since taking over the position
of SoCo I have done.... well..: nothing really, but I guess that's mainly
because I haven't taken over yet, but oh well. When I do, or possibly
sooner, I plan on getting a couple Of keg pumps for SUS to help us all
in our never ending quest for more bzzr.
But until then the only temporary resting place for our quest would
be in SUS (Chem B160) on Fri. March 29 for Penultimate Class Bash,
where for a mere $5 you can drink all you want.
See you there. PAGE 12
H
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3
Mar 27,1996
Ufow Showing in Chem...
Jeremy
Each and every student at this
fine institution we call 'university' pays approximately
six dollars for every class they do
or do not attend. In other words,
we pay about the admission price
for a cheap movie every time we
go to class. A somewhat crappy
movie, with no popcorn, wooden
seats and a very small chance of a
car chase, but a movie nonetheless.
In my mind, university classes
can be fairly accurately compared
to foreign films — society tells us
they are good, all your friends tell
you they are good, but in reality
they suck. Classes aire exactly the
same; There are no big name
actors, no understandable plot,
and no trailers. To make matters
worse, it's a rarity in higher education to find a lecture with subtitles. The university, however, has
a captive audience. We don't
understand the classes, we don't
usually like the classes, but we
have no other choice. It doesn't
matter how inconvenient the
show times are, It doesn't matter
how many times we've seen the
show — we're still going go. And,
even if we don't go, they still get
the money. When was the last
time you decided not to go to a
movie, and still had to pay? It's
called a monopoly, folks, and
you've just landed on luxury tax.
This whole movie thing is not
necessarily a bad thing, however.
The university just has to accept
the fact that they are a corporation, and go from there.
Concession stands outside classes
would be a start. They could sell
popcorn in unrealistically-depict-
ed containers, accompanied by
watered-down cola products, and
I'd be the first one reaching for
my wallet. Throw in some action
scenes, install comfy theatre
chairs and surround-sound speakers — we're talking a high tech,   .
multimedia educational experience. Hire some big name actors
to make cameos, throw in some
morphing, and add a smattering
of frontal nudity, and I'll bet
beers vs. beans that attendance
would skyrocket.
Of course, we'd still have the
problem of class sizes. Lectures
halls with capacities in triple digits should be outlawed. Blame it
on fire regulations, poor air circulation, or mob-induced violence,
I don't care — big classes are
about as conducive to student
interaction as genital warts. In
my opinion, this problem stems
back to our junior high school
years. In junior high, the only
time we ever congregated in
groups larger than thirty students
was during assembly. We'd all be
herded the gymnasium/auditorium by our teachers, arranged in
neat groups, and promptly
instructed to shut up. Students
who chose to speak during assembly were 'asked' to leave, and
those who actually had the nerve
to ask a question were severely
chastised. This brings us back to
our current academic situation.
Crowding into a large auditorium results in somewhat of a
flashback — we're taken back to
our tortured days of youth, and
no matter how much we try, we
cannot interact. The teacher can
ask the easiest question in the
world — they could ask us our
name, and we'd be too petrified
to answer. Deep down in our
minds, you see, we're all back in
junior high, crowded into the
gym, with the principle staring
directly at us. We know the
answer. We /want/ to answer the
question — but we can't. If we
do, we'll have garbage duty, and
all of the other kids will laugh at
us.
So here we all are, stuck in some
sort of a depraved hybrid between
Il Postino and an assembly with a
motivational speaker. And, to
make matters worse, we're paying
for it. What can we do? Nothing.
We have no choice. We have to
play this game, and there's no
way to win. Pretty depressing,
really. University is, however,
like a movie, and like any picture
show there will be an ending. The
credits will roll, and we'll circulation will eventually return to
your buttocks. You just have to
make sure that you're the closest
one to the door when the lights
come back on.
Jer is one of those people that continues to baffle the entire department of Psychology.
They just have to learn that Jer is...
well, Jer. And that's about it.
-ed.
Anna Carvalho
StiO rambling on from page 11
Let's call it half-full) can of Spring
Pale Ale beside me (courtesy of
the aforementioned Instabeer™
<plug, plug>), and I'm waiting for
the liquid cheer to kick in.
A lot has happened in the past
three years. Many things I can't
write about, simply because, quite
frankly, I enjoy staying dry. A lot
of things hold special memories,
but would mean nothing to any
of you out there, so I'll spare you.
Out of those memories, though,
do come some very useful little
life lessons and guidelines: you
can type 8 weeks worth of council minutes over lunchtime; dodging the United Way is trickier
than you would think; sending
raunchy email while on a caffeine
high is a bad idea; gossip is a
form of learning; studying for
finals in SJJS is less than the GPA-
booster you'd hope it would be;
coffins are incredibly comfy for
napping in; Science Hugs™ with
Patented Butterfly Pats can solve
any problem; 22 can be very old;
blue is the most beautiful colour
in the world; vending machines
are one of the basic food groups;
obelisks aren't as portable as
you'd think; losing at volleyball
can be more fun than winning;
fast-setting cement really does; a
locked building isn't; the Pit can
play a role in some of your fondest memories; Alf-cards are still
apparently of use to some people;
black hands needn't necessarily
be black nor hands; you can
trademark jusf about anything;
never date an Engineer; a 50/50
draw doesn't; painting can be too
much fun; there will always be
someone more bizarre; there is a
gravel industry at four in the
morning; fluttering your eyelashes can get you anything you
want; you can buy popularity
with the title of BeerGoddess;
bandicoots do have antlers; and
no matter what anyone tells you,
university isn't about grades or
degrees or being the best—it's
about having the time of your life
and learning the things that a
textbook won't teach you.
It's four days past the deadline
and I'm trying to sneak this in as
Send your kids to summer camp with The 432.
Our comprehensive summer long program includes everything that the
average youngster would love in a camp. Your kids will be begging you
to send tnem. You will love the free time away from the rug rats.
And you'll be surprised how polite and innovative your children will be
when they return from our program.
Our program includes:
Arts & Crafts.
Sing alongs.
4 times a week.
Nature expeditions.
Survival Traning.
2 times a week.
Goose Stepping.
Combat Skills.
5 limes a day.
Mr   A' /
>< 'it'
late as possible...I'm stalling
because I want to express how
much being a part of SUS has
meant to me, I guess what it all
comes down to is that I'd like to
thank all the folks that have
made my university career the
simply fab time that it was. I'm
forever indebted to the people
who dragged me in and made it
feel like home. I'd like to think
that I've passed that favour on
(Bel, sorry for having completely
destroyed your academic career in
the process, but ya gotta admit,
it's been fun.). And Tracy, we
weje voted on Council within
minutes of each other—it just
wouldn't have been the same
without you.
I'll not forget any of it.
Hugs,
I am a Fish.
Sigh. What a lovely sentiment.
From all ofus,who can't escape yet,
to you, Anna:
Well miss ya, babe.
-ed.
"You can't fight evil
with a macaroni duck!"
-Arthur from The Tick

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