Array VOLUME 12 ISSUE 08 • 02.10.99 Paul Martin includes Whorin' in new budget. ■e^mMnaiil In a surprise move yesterday, Paul Martin released next year's budgets early. Most members of the Liberal caucaus were confused by the new line 696 "Whorin"'. The budget surplus from the past three years of back breaking over-taxing and under spending are going to pay off this year for Canadian males between the ages of fourteen and sixty-five. "This is the one service that reaches all of the special interest groups," said a spokesperson for Martin. "Every living man, be he homeless, unemployed, indebted to student loans, or disabled." Martin also expressed his happiness that women would be able to benefit from the new legislation as well. "We have an opportunity to allow women on welfare, unemployed, disabled, and incarcirated women to participate in this new service." "What it comes down to, is that we're sitting on a buttload of cash. We figured we could either blow it on whores or smack, and Mr. Martin is afraid of needles." When asked whether he was worried over potential disease transmission through this new program, Martin replied "Well firstly, we're only going to hire the high class whores. Secondly, we're going to require so much paper work to access this new service that the scuzzy diseased type people will never make use of it. We would ensure that only the highest calibre of people would be entitled to utilize these rescources, like the people we have in the child care proffession." Reaction to the announcment has ranged from "disgusted" to "elated" to "very very confused". Preston Manning leader of the official opposition, the Reform Party of Canada , was very active during the question period which followed the budget announcement. "Mr. Martin, can you explain to me again how you are going to ensure that this vital service will be maintained over the years to come?" asked an adament Manning, in "This is great! I mean this is really F**king great" james adamson, young liberals a striking change of character, Manning denied to comment as he was "late for massage therapy." Turncoat and Quebec Premier, Lucien Bouchard, seemed little moved by the announcement. "I do not understand all the hoopla. This has been a right of Kaybeckers since confederation." said a wobbly Bouchard. All the other premiers agreed last week to the increase in funding, but the Quebec leader disagreed as Quebec would not see any practical increase in its whorin' budget. British Columbia Premier Glen Clark was very exited by the news saying "This will be huge boon to the sagging B.C. economy. We have the highest per capita whore rate in the country. This is exactly the kind of lucky break I've been waiting for to ride into another election." Women's groups are expressing "rage", "dismay", and "utter contempt". Ursala Magdalena from the discussion group Women on Women has described the move as "the worst move since the first woman gave head." "We have been righting this kind of male chauvinistic crap for decades, and now this. Why can't we have access to the whores? I mean I need a good lay just as much as the next fat balding sweaty construction worker." Jean Chretien was unavailable for comment as he and his family are currently engaged in a week long ski-jaunt at Whistler. Latest reports from sources close to Cretien reported that he was in deep conversation with Ursala all day Saturday, and that afterwards she appeared to be placated on the issue. Garage vs. Carport Debate Turns Violent, Kills Four 432 editor at 300dpi, 6AM iim&mJ®%mm® Perhaps it is the heightened frenzy over the Y2K computer bug, the violent tendencies fostered by the Jerry Springer Show, or it may be even some erotic endotoxin everybody seems to have acquired from sniffing Furbies. Whatever it is, the world has become a terrifyingly strange and deadly place to live. Last week at a children's soccer game at Arbutus Field, a heated discussion took place between the parents of the players of the Ladner First Nations Peoples and those of the Richmond Wild Horses of Unspecified Gender. The topic of the debate was whether it is more proper to refer to one's covered parking bay as a carport or as a garage. The argument quickly turned violent when Brenda Franorph, a rather large-assed mother of the First Nations' star forward, hurled her considerable mass into the midsection of the father of the Horses' fullback, knocking him to the morning-dew moist grass behind the 20 year old bleachers, breaking 3 of his ribs and fracturing his skull, sending into a deep coma from which he would never awaken. A bloody melee ensued as the children watched their fathers, mothers and legal guardians become a chaotic, pulsating body of flailing limbs and breaking body parts. The true horror came when Janet Voorhees, whose son Jason tends goal for the Nations', somehow managed to decapitate Richmond resident Tracey Rightman with her seat cushion. "That pompous bitch got just what she deserved, " Mrs. Voorhees told the 432 from over the phone from her jail cell, "All she could do all game was compliment her daughter. 'Good job Tanya!' 'Great pass Tanya!' Having to listen to that shit for two hours straight while watching her ugly little bitch on the field fall over herself—What would you have done?" Charges are pending towards Mrs. Voorhees. She and the seven other surviving soccer moms and dads are behind bars tonight and will appear before the judge tomorrow. page two The 432 2.10.98 But Hotan, Us? c Snay I really like anasthetic. If it wasn't for the groinal surgery I had to have, I would have enjoyed last week's trip to the hospital. Last Friday I ventured into the hallowed halls of the venerable University Hospital at a plucky seven fifteen a.m. to checkin for my left inguinal hernia repair which was schedueled to get under way at nine fifteen a.m. I was immediately subjected to a brief checkin where I was asked many confusing questions including but not limited to the following; "What is your full name?" "What is your address?" "How many toes do you have?" "How does Tinbergen's Theory on Great Tit's apply to Alnus rubral" "Who is your family doctor?" "What are the implications of Hussein's decision to pass the throne of Jordan to his Son instead of his brother?" "Have you had anything to eat in the past eight hours" I was then directed upstairs to the surgical clinic to be "prepped" for surgery. This is another way of saying getting naked and sitting around until you're so bored you gladly accept having your innards spilled onto the floor just to provide a little relief from the monotony. They sat me on a bed in a room with other people having surgery the same day. I'm convinced these other "patients" were just actors who the hospital placed in the room to make me feel better because they were all having surgery which sounded much more painful and serious than mine. A seeming ly skilled guy around the age of thirty five then came in set up an I.V. on one of these other "patients". A few minutes later a skinny little asian girl who looked about fifteen came into stick my arm full of tubes. I'm sitting there with a horse needle in my hand before the actual little I.V. tube is inserted and the nurse comes back into the room and proceeds to say to the torture artist digging the inside of my hand apart "Who the hell are you?" That really helped quivering faith in the hospital. Anyway she got the drip going after explaining to nurse Ratchet that she was interning with the anesthetist. If you grabbed some scrubs, you could easily walk into a hospital and start practising medecine. Why do they call it practising medecine? I don't wan't some beginner practising on me. I want a guy whose good enough that he doesn't have to practise anymore. So off I go wheeling down the halls of the hospital, wearing piss all with only a thin, but nicely warmed sheet between me and the world. The orderly Hotan, dumped me off in this room just outside the operating room where I was accosted by the friendliest lady I've ever met. She was just way to happy. I guess when you work in the hospital its not to hard to get happy pills, or happy gas, 'or happy suppositories. So after a few minutes of happy chappy cheriness, my orderly comes back to wheel me away. You would think I would be nervous by this point, but the fact is I was so bored, I was glad to get things under way. So into the Operating room I go, where I was throughly impressed with the operating table held together with Duct Tape. The anesthetist proceeded to mix me one hell of a martini which he proceeded to mainline right to my brain. There's no better way to consume alcohol then by I.V. with the possible exception of enema which I have yet to try. I really have no desire to have a booze enema, unless there was a familly of Lithuanian refugees living in my rectum who needed to be flushed. I woke up a little quicker than most people coming off of the anasthetic. In fact I woke up as I was being wheeled out of the operating room. I was a little confused by the lack of midgets and the lizards who were catching the cockroaches running around on the ceiling. After a few moments of terror, I realized that I was in fact in the hospital recovering from major internal trauma so I asked the local nurse the obvious question. "Where the hell have all the midgets gone?* I was promptly sedated. A couple of hours later I woke up back in nurse Ratchet's dominion with a headache and a bag of ice inhabating the prime real estate next door to mister happy. About twenty minutes later an angel came to take my home. Three days later I could walk to the bathroom without having to take a nap afterwards. THE KELVIN SCALE IS A COMMIE PLOT Editorial CfSPj Temple Last night's still a bit foggy. I can recall almost the entire week, but for some reason, my mind's ability to observe and catalog all of the stimuli around me ceased working on Saturday. It all began innocently enough, the four of us: Jake, Jenn, Frenchy, and myself were sitting around in SUS discussing, as we often do, how much fun it would be to go on a road trip. We decided that it would be the literal incarnation of the word fun for the four of us to pile into a vehicle and drive somewhere, to where not being important. I'm sure that everybody has taken part in one of these yeah- we-should-do-it conversations, but this time we vowed to actually go for it. The first step we decided to take was to reserve a minivan rental, thus requiring us to go, lest we lose our security deposit. We spent a couple of days tying up all the loose ends that taking five days off school entails, then sat down in the Gallery to do some serious planning. Over copious quantities of alcohol, we started to formulate an itinerary. After a few hours of knocking back pitchers of Shaftebury Cream and polishing all of the burs out of the schedule, we came up with the following: we were to get the van and drive to California, on Thursday turn around and come back. It was flawless. Elated with our planning, and excited to depart in two days, we settled back for a long night of carousing. 1 remember at about midnight Jake was trying his very hardest to convince our waitress to come with us, but, even after he filled her in on our detailed plan, she turned the offer down. Dejected, Jake resigned himself to the idea of a completely platonic road-trip. But, we all knew full-well that the following week would have plenty of room for some drunken debauchery. Finally the day dawned slightly overcast, but with an electric charge to the air. Jake and I had already gotten the van, and we were to all meet at SUS with our supplies for the week. We loaded into the van and set the dial for South. The rear storage compartment was filled with alcohol, so we had to keep the bushels of fruit on our laps until we could make enough of a dent in the two supplies that they would both fit in the back. As a result of this, Frenchy had to flash his fake Customs badge and mutter something like "it's all under control" at the angry man asking us to step out of the car at the Peace Arch. With the law behind us, we were all very excited about what lay ahead. . . ..: We soon came to realize that highway driving isn't the most fun experience in the world, so we cracked open our beer at about nine. Since Jenn was on the first driving shift and Frenchy was next, only Jake and I were able to drink. When you're drinking in a bar, there are things to distract you from your main task, drinking. However, when you're in the backseat of a minivan doing 120km/h down a non-descript four-lane, you are able to focus your attention. Several beer later, Jake and I were nicely drunk and decided to play the sock game. The sock game is a great travel game that Jake and I made up that morning. The object of the game is to wrestle one of the other players' socks from him or her, hang it out the window, let it go, watch it strike the windshield of the car behind you, and cackle at the surprised and bewildered looks on the faces of the people in the target car. Jealous at all of the fun we were having, Frenchy decided to have one beer to ease the tedium of watching 47,000 white lines flash by. Under an hour later, Frenchy was in the back seat with us giggling drunkenly at an old black man that shook his fist at us after Frenchy's sock whistled off his hood. The sock game was a huge success at passing the time until lunch. A little after one, Jenn pulled into a McDonalds just outside of Seattle. Inside,. Frenchy -a PolySci major of course- lead a bitter fight on the merits of the North American Free Trade Agreement, detail* ing why the manager should be happy to serve us, and not fall back on some petty* regulations that insisted we weren't allowed, in the restaurant with bare feet. Alas, Jenn aka Brute sabotaged our international trade talks by insisting that we leave as well. So, a few minutes later we were back on the highway eating our chalupas and burritos and drinking our rum 'ri' cokes through plastic straws. The three of us were sitting in the back, patting our backs and complimenting each other on the way we made the McDicks manager crumble before our sophisticated arguments, while Jenn sat in the front shaking her head. By four, Jenn was getting pretty tired so we decided to take it easy the first day, and pulled into a Holiday Inn. The man at the check-in counter raised an eyebrow when a svelte young woman with three drunken bastards in tow walked up to him and asked for a double room. After we were checked in, we were happy to end a long hard day of drinking and we went up to our room on the ninth floor. We knew that fate was against us when we saw that we couldn't open the windows, and me with my jar of pennies. We were quickly placated when we saw that they were showing pornos on channel 52. Stay tuned next week for the thrilling conclusion of my narrative depiction of our road trip where I will recount the encounter we had with Steve, a U of A student we met while he Was hitchiking to Mexico. Volume 12 Issue 8 13 JANUARY 1999 © 1999 The Science Undergraduate Society cf UBC. All rights reserved. The 432 is the offidal newspaper of thef Science Undergraduate Society, published! fortnightly by a grumpy son of a bitch who) has much better things to do every otherj weekend, so you should be very grateful j for your chance to read this paper. All opinions expressed herein are strictly those of the individual writers and not those of The 432 or the Science Undergrad Society. Writers and (cartoonists from all faculties are encouraged to submit material to The 432. The 432 is copyrighted by The Science Undergraduate Society of UBC and may not be reproduced in whole or in part without express written consent. Editor-in-Chief Spaiilimpte i drtemple@interchg.uDc.ca | ;!f itsfullofstars@penis.com j Assistant Editors Jake Ipaf smeghead@penis.com Andy Martin spacerhooseC Cartoonist 5*iie§" Andy iirtti jenn Gardy Saw mmm Ireeciiiig liifier 2.10.98 The 432 page three Now the A.D.D. Report Q./ ^inii So life is a bit strange right now. It started Friday night after a Britpop show at The Gate. My punk rock mate and I go over to the Sugar Refinery for a bit of after-hours action. The Sugar Refinery is full of Arts students - people who wear black, complain about the treatment of underfed political prisoner activist types in countries with gross national products that are measured in pocket change, and who list "making statements" as one of their hobbies. We get in and grab a table in front of the night's entertainment - two guys, one of whom looks like he had to ride the short bus to school every morning, playing drums and scratching records. I'd use the term "DJ". but that would be like describing Charles Manson as "a pretty well-adjusted guy - good with kids and pregnant women". Anyway, at the end of their set one of the guys grabs a hammer and "makes a statement' by beating the shit out of one of the turntables. I'm not sure whether the statement was "This represents the routine and systematic oppression of the Tkvullu people of Northern Zambia by the corrupt regime of Generalissimo Sock" or "My girlfriend dumped my and I'm a bit pissed off" but everyone is the place was paying really deep attention. Punk rock boy and I were pissing ourselves laughing. So then this old* drunk guy in a scarf gets up, grabs the hammer, and starts the audience participation part of the night , which basically entails attempting to crack my friend's skull open with said hammer. Didn't work. So we went home. Next afternoon we go see a movie. The second we step out of the theatre after it's over, the whole world has changed. We kinda got the feeling that you get when you step out of the bathroom with toilet paper stuck to your shoe and everyone else knows and is looking at you funny, but all your know is you're the centre of attention and it's not good. Anyway we walk through the city with the toilet-paper-on-the shoe feeling and get home. After dinner, Punk rock boy heads home and 2 hours later, his psychotic ex-girlfriend appears at my front door. OK, so I'm kinda bored of talking about all that crap. You don't know me, so it's probably not of any interest to you. Last night I made a small army of sock puppets. They are stationed in my hallway, ready to protect me from alien invasion. I want to get famous, but not so famous that I can't just disappear into obscurity when I'm bored with it all. I never want to be stuck hosting an infomercial like most has-beens. There're 3 ways to do things: the right way, the wrong way, and the Science way. the Science way is the wrong way, but faster. If I could fly, I'd fly above all the birds that ever crapped on my car and I'd do the same to them. Three blondes go into a bar, order a round of shooters, raise their glasses, and shout "51 days!". They go up to the bartender, order another round, and shout "51 days!" again. They go up to the bar a third time, order a round, and shout "51 days!". They go up for their fourth round and as the bartender pours their shots, he asks them why they keep toasting to "51 days". "Well," says one blond, "we just finished a jigsaw puzzle. The box said .4-7 years but we finished it in 51 days!" Always remember to clean the probe carefully after every use. C'nest Pas Un Souris Horoscopes Aries (March 21 - April 191: 'I his Valentine's Pay is the time to bring up the idea of si'X. With .mvone I he more thr merrier, right? Right, lliv !v>.| cLii' t>i | :ik ii|- |v .pli- is ..I l>,iio. |".ibs, beer gardens, and mi ;si iin.iilvi -ii.il m\ ti> ■■!<-. . lu-lv i w.i\ :.. ;■!■ k someone up is with \i-ii! ki:ivs l.ltirg with \'hi \\i.\ !>■ i:>l begging for injury. I Mi !:> n's in'I Ciiili1 .is ■un wl'i-n ih.iTi 's iii ■ ■ ■nc to share it with. l.mriis i \pril 2lJ M.»\ 2<)i: '■ n\i- ■ i-:-i- i.il m; ■ n:-.;.;» \. nr species iC.iin. i..i\ i n'l i- ii.' I -ii inr I>-m i < -i-J. 111*: K.:\i 11:*.- i:>".h alone! It :n.a n ^l hi si.iti:ti'i\ i.:|n iii In . p-:i [■•.■ hr.-lhi'!' i.ii; •.nil track your i-.s .is.'.Mi .in.! |"i.,:n.| \,.i: 11.11■ ii'i- I'.i'.-.T'i'hi ' -. (it-mini (\1«'i\ 21 - lime HU: V iht.ui \-iii pi.-sirii i i:i \woel, i:iii.'itnt lau- \" tin UiMid. Km! \.>Lir p.iiiud kin>i\k '.'u truth. Pivi.iiit MUi.iiiK h.is .1I-/..11-. \,u:ki>! \ nr l*..i:i. *.' I. .;v ik Oh, if thev niilv knew in-! •>ni thnsi- whips .iini IijikIi sills Cuiier (June 21 - |ul\ 22): living with inniiim.ili s d'H-s h.ivi its dMwh.ii.ks Vimi can't suf.im .is Imid .is \nu w.int in ilu Ihmrs ni pas- sum, viui i.int have si\ on Ilu- living renin lis-or jii\ turn- \.m leil like it. <md tlmse pisk\ door links |iist .lin't holding up Invest in .i dead-holt, .nid It'll vour ioi,mm.iti-s to bu\ iMrpluj,-.. Leo ijuly 2.\ - August 22): Internet pnrnograph\ is nnl n quired leading inali'ii.il for \niir rlas.si-s. llnweu'r, .11 urriiulum um ling has rvocnUv taken pl.iif. ami perhaps thev haw 1 li.iiigt-d the rules. Contact its(iilln[sisirs(-pi-uis.i.oni fi»r fuithir iiilorm.ilion Virgo 1 \iigust 2.? September 22v. As \..ui s.gn s.i\s. \..u .in tin 1111-.I virginal person vnu kimw. 1'i-ih.ips .1 h.iin .main Mi-.'in, Imt ..rllknv is tlu- s'iIuIidii. Ills i-i.'l ri'siilt is lh.it ^ 1 -ii .ui- hitti r. mi.ri ■ liid .iii-jis I ink lull iliil tiilsl viuiisi-ll .1 Hivki nil li.li- 1 ibr.i (Si-pti-mlHT 2i - Ottnhi-r lly. |-.:iiij.i-ring is the name of the si-mi.ii g.iiM- \\->\\ gel v. Ii.it \,. is ii-l.i\i-il .mil in tiu- ni-sn.i, :n- ..r shr 1 Ifs ris wi-ith'.'.inle h.ihv. 1 ivi- linns. ! Il" li- Ills '.i in.:' r. 1 ;.[ 1 iisr .1 phrase. If your partner ■i In- .nid she) will make your ng rights. Five times, Scorpio (October 2.-$ - November 211: < .in.nli.in 1 h< <i. I.iti- is highly .uklii live, diis- to tin- high iniitcnt nt ii'i".i liijiu iir. Sim-nth, creamv, dii.Klt-nt ... Vuin. I hen- was .1 s.uwv th.it si.mi' winiien preferred 1 hi>i>>l;iti- to m-\ Is this .1 1 h illengi- I Ih-.ii ' Sagittarius (November 22 - December 21): Sorry to loll you this, hul wni'n- "'.-u-wi-d \i-.il ii-.' in .1 j:.iisi! v..i\. The psychotic ex's are mil l-i gi-i \<!ii this \.:ioniiii.rs .lj\ l h,\ knnu where you live, they km-iv win habits .un! iln-\ iiii-v. i-\.mK h -w to ruin your life. A •.sii.itinii in the siim:v si-mil mi-Jit h. 1,-1 .11.ki. f apricorn (Dcu-mher 22 - l.mii.m I'M: hint- !.. jit siimms. When nuking .1 ilioi.e b.twom l.nnih .unl J.^iis. think .ibmit this care- lulh. Waking up .iloni- m 20 vi-.ns isn'i ,is .ippi-u/ing .is 11 seems at firsi (if ..jiirs.. I .,,ii"t ts.-lj v.sii v.li.ii I.- flunk, hut .i\ .1 iiu-iul of your !i'\i-. I'm lilling vnu tli.it slu- kuks 1|^^ i >r .it k.is! lus the .ibilitv to kit k .iss. Aquarius MJmiuuiv 2D- li-hniiirv IX): Will, with ii-n hi.-kin ■ >.m maiulniiuts ht-hind von. it's tmu- in mine nnlii m-w li-rnti-rv. Morality is such a bumnu-r. Vnu ■ ■>u|.l hi- hit h> .1 bus .ui.l die lom.-r row, so lijvi: fun todjy. C.in-liil tun. as 1M.1i bus might lum oft vmir stn-i't before it hits \on. and you imglii live until \nuu- "d (,,j|" f,ltl noiiolheless. I'iscts (February 19- March 20l: A l,ill. h.indsonu- stranger will soon wander into your life .uul bed. Best mlrodiuo yourself lo Uus stranger before >ou «vnd up in the sack Tlu-re is nothing ipiiti- likr m reaming. "Oh yos! Yes." C>h wh.il was \011r ndiiu- again.'1 wrjeBS»,9**«** Reginald, a Polynesian Titmouse. . ^.-.^-^^^ssas-s^a^eas^ffl! issssssasj page four The 432 2.10.98 There's Gotta Be a 12-Step Program ^ara Stamm - ^ „ ■y^ imiemtM ' .,,> I can remember worrying and stressing out a lot during first term. I used to get up an hour and a half before I needed to be at class (I live 10 minutes max. away from the class rooms) and ending up arriving late or even not at all (gasp!) because I was incapable of functioning at a level that allowed me to get where I needed to go when I needed to be there and with everything I needed. I think I must have acted a lot like someone you might see in a Psych ward in the hospital. I can vaguely remember moments of sitting down for a "breather" and getting up to continue with whatever it was I had been doing over an hour later, although it only felt like minutes to me. Whatever ensued between the time I sat down and the time I got up I couldn't tell you, but I can assure you that it involved glazed, unfocused eyes and a slack mouth. I hope that the only witnesses of this ever happening were my very important and essential companions; my stuffed teddy beats. I could never go through a day without them. I hold very intimate conversations with them, and tell them all the shit that goes down each day. I don't mind what I look like when they see me, but if anyone else happened to be present at a time that I entered "la-la land" I think their opinion of me might be compromised for the rest of our acquaintance. That is if there is a "rest of "to our acquaintance. Anyways, before I lose myself in narrative even more than I have and completely lose your interest, I'll do my best to come to the point of everything I've been saying. You see, the first sentence of this article contains: "during first term," which I am hoping tells you that I am no longer in that unflattering situation. I have learned to cope! As I near the end of the first part of the second half of my first year at UBC, I find stress to no longer be a part of my equation of life. Why? you might ask or How? Well, I just don't care anymore! Nothing matters, it doesn't make a difference what happens, as long as you have your teddy bears! Teddy bears can fix everything. You should try having some on the corner of your bed to watch over you. I find it so very soothing to know that they will be my guardian angels. When I do my homework (rarely, but it does occur!), I sit on my bed and ask my fuzzy friends what they think of my answers, and I basically just carry on a verbal monologue that encompasses everything I need to do to complete my homework. Doing work out loud seems to strip it of all frightening and potentially stressful aspects. Although, you do have to be careful, because I have found myself slipping up at times, and I think my teddy bears have the two words "organism" and "orgasm" mixed up. Either that or they think that the two words can be used interchangeably. That might get them in trouble some day, don't you think? I also study with my teddies (hmmm, "teddies", eh?) and that helps me a lot as well. Again, of course, you must be careful, because anything you do with your bears requires you to verbalize all your thoughts, so make sure you say what you mean. I even sleep with my teddy bears! You might think, "How scandalizing!" but really, the bears bear no resemblance to any kind of sexual figure in my mind. You must find other things to provide that form of stress relief. No, when I sleep with my teddies, they are just there to watch over me and comfort me if I have a bad dream. Everybody likes to be comforted after having a nightmare, right? Does all this worry you? You think I'm crazy right? Well, maybe you're right, but I don't worry so much anymore, and I enjoy life much more. My grades are better, I enjoy classes more, I get along with people better, I look better (I have time to make myself look decent when I get ■up, instead of daydreaming), and I feel better. Which reminds me, my teddy bears help me pick what to wear every morning, and I've had a lot more compliments this term than I had last term. I guess my bears have good taste! I suppose that you don't have to use teddy bears as your confidants if you can think of a better alternative, although the bears are pretty inconspicuous. You wouldn't know how vital they were if you didn't read this, so they serve the purpose well. 1 think that maybe all of you out there should try to find something like teddy bears to keep you sane in the weird world of university and all that. I think teddy bears are great. Oh yeah, and then there is my gorgeous roommate... Hey, what about me? -ed Master of His Domain Duncan McHugh ™ ~ ■<..... pifflijwfff eatgp J? Oh, dearest readers, I have a made a grievous mistake. I have taken a bet to abstain from alcohol consumption for the month of February. Egads! Just as I had never realized how bushy my eyebrows were until I bleached my hair, I had never known how deep- seated boozing is to my existence. Need I mention I was drunk when the bet was taken. I tells ya, life just ain't the same without that frosty beer to greet me when I get home, that glass of wine to wash down dinner and that trusty bowl of Cheerios and Vodka to wake me up in the morning. And talk about side effects. Man Alive! I've already given up on the possibility of romance for the next four weeks. Without a couple of glasses of liquid libido, there's little or no chance of me being able to articulate anything more than a monosyllabic grunt. Not that me as a polysyllabic grunter fares much better. I've been without a girlfriend for so long, even my hand is asking to see other people. You probably didn't want to hear that. Speaking of large collections of hair, I've dyed the hair on my head. As I mentioned previously, I bleached it and, for the sake of the federation, quickly colored it purple. Damn, some people really aren't down with purple as a hair colour. Safeway cashiers have started glaring at me as though I had just car bombed a Volvo full of nuns and puppies. Lord knows my days in Beirut weren't pretty, but puppies! I'd never harm puppies. Well, except those fucking poodles. Anyways, I digress. I've decided I am anti-pants. I think my thighs must be claustrophobic, I get panicky whenever I get dressed, very distressing. From now on I would like to declare the SUS lounge a pants optional zone. For too long we have been oppressed, shackled to the whims of our waistbands and inseams. Down with Khakis, Jeans and Cords!!! Up with Moo-Moos!!! I'm really finding it difficult to fill this space. $23.50 to see Spirit of the West in the Sub Ballroom, what's the deal? Who on campus has yet. to see SOTW? We've all seen them 12 times, we all know the songs and we'd all like to shove that really tinny flute up that guy's nose. $23.50 is utter shite. Belgium, now there's a scary thought. We all think that Belgium is so quaint, "oh, how cute; they speak Flemish, wow, they're so grateful on account of our saving their ass from Deutscheland", bogus, utterly bogus. They're seducing us while they continue their REMORSELESS GRAPPLING FOR WORLD DOMINATION!!! The wool has been pulled over our eyes people. Slowly but surely they're turning us into overweight couch monkeys with their "waffles" and "Tintin". And where is the central bank for the new Euro currency located? BRUSSELLES, baby! I'll let you know now, that when the finely crafted chocolate hits the fan, we're all going to be up shit creek without a canoe. One last thing. I'm beginning to do research on Bathroom graffiti culture for an expose that shall appear in a future issue. So, I want all you degenerates to get cracking. If all the scum on campus band together, there's no way the janitor's can keep the walls clean. Remember only the amusing or patently absurd will be up for consideration. So, go forth my brave minions and don't forget, should you find yourself in the stalls of the basement in Lassere do not, under any circumstances, tap your foot under the divider to the next stall. Trust me, it's a real pain in the ass. Oh jeez, I thought I recognized that purple hair, -ed fjomdJofti-U-Ufe This Portion of the Paper is Laced with LSD. Enjoy. Hooi Uou look a^ #\<l? beainnina o^ Hooi uou FEEL k\X 2.10.98 The 432 page five Spiced Ham Moz tm ffifi«if im$k For those of you who are too busy surfing the 'net' for porn to read a 'real' newspaper I bring you the headlines from last week. The Canadian Government voted on its first major issue today, as 70% of the house voted that Preston Manning does in fact look like Mr. Garrison off of South Park. The vote could not be made unanimous as the official opposition as well as the Bloc Quebecois continued their policy of disagreeing with whatever the liberals say. The Reform party insisted that Preston Manning looked like Mr. Hat, while the Bloc Quebecois stated that he looked like Mr. Hanky. Other unimportant issues such as trade strategies, the Iraq situation, and the APEC controversy have not yet been dealt with, but according to a high ranking Liberal "we're going to sit on our asses for a while pretending to argue about minor details and then we're going to do pretty much whatever the Americans tell us to". The Clinton impeachment trial, which is now being called 'QJ II The Return of Way Too Much Media', has apparently gotten to the American president, as 4 crack- whores, a Cuban cigar salesman, and an Iraqi arms dealer were seen going into the oval office. A sticky note attached to the door read "If I'm going out, god damn it, then I'm going out with a bang. "What type of bang he meant was not specified. It has been confirmed that the IOC members received on average $150, 000 from Salt Lake city in order to ensure that the Olympics would come to town. As most people were unaware of this fact and any other worldly detail outside of Clinton's sex life, we decided to inform people about this controversy and get their reactions, which were as follows: Dennis Rodman - "Those damn Mormons. I knew they were crooked" Jean Chretien - "eh-salt?...I put salt on mah plate" Bill Clinton - "For Christ sake. I'm getting booted out of office for getting my cock sucked and those dipshits are getting 150 grand and no-one cares" Arthur Griffith - "Damn, those bastards told me that it wouldn't cost more than a hundred thousand per vote." Ross Rebagliati - "Cool man ... eh ya got any Doritos?" Everybody else - "Sweet. How do I get on the IOC?" Bill Gates is Broke! In an unexpected turn of events Bill Gates lost all of his 100 billion dollars worth of holdings in a bet with a small group of BC residents. The bet was apparently made on who would puke first during the milk drinking contest at UBC. "It isn't possible" Gates is supposed to have said "I had that kids milk soured and then spiked with gasoline. He shouldn't have bee able to survive three swigs of it much less drink all four liters". In a post contest interview the winner, Ryan Moslin, seemed ill, but was quite a Heart to Heart proud of himself. UBC finally admitted to having a hopelessly pathetic voter turnout. Martha Piper made the following statement "I give up! Those apathetic bastards just won't take us seriously. Well I'll show them, I've set up a puppet AMS president who will do whatever I say. I'm going to use their tuition to buy a new yacht, and free alcohol in the faculty lounges. Then I'll force all the students to listen to my stories about my imaginary friend". Coincidentally members of the RBF may capitalized on the low voter turn out to shift their voter support to the unnamed candidate in exchange for political favours. Such reports are of course rumours, but there are two extra kegs of beer in SUS at this moment. This accusation is strengthened by the seemingly impossible defeat of the Pylon. Who, despite leading in the polls by a huge margin, placed third in the election results. The AMS is of course investigating, but they're more useless than tits on a turtle. Wreck beach is apparently the site of US Navy Seal Training. This confession was reluctantly made by a confused general who was looking for his troops on Friday. Apparently 50 American soldiers stormed Vanier cat on Thursday and demanded food, stating that they hadn't eaten in weeks. After having their request granted they changed their mind and asked directions to the nearest McDonalds. It seems that the inhabitants of Wreck beach were not the lazy unemployed nudist freaks that we thought they were, rather they were highly trained nudist freaks who couldn't seem to figure out where the hell they were. Rumor that a certain 432 writer (and AMS External hopeful) is trying to recruit said soldiers for her own personal militia could not be confirmed at this time. Two drunk UBC students were almost arrested last week: The two perpetrators, who would only give their names as 'Moz' and Josh 'big- poppa', got into a drunken argument which nearly turned into a brawl; however, the arrival of the cops somehow caused the two drunks to forget their differences and make a collective plea for their innocence. One of the officers told the students "We seriously don't care if you kill each other just don't do it on public property." The two students and the rest of their drunken friends then returned to UBC. In sporting news: Pavel Bure finally realized what a little prick he was and shot himself in the head. His death had no effect on the 432 dead pool. In related news Brian Burke and Mike Keened finally professed their love for one another. Unfortunately they tried to consummate the relationship at a recent Vancouver game and were spotted when one of the fans actually woke up during the game. Thank you and now back to Jake Grey and his amputee porn. Dead Pool People are still on the planet. People are still dying. There dying in all sorts of different ways. People are dying from Malaria because their colons take a few days off causing explosive and bloody diarrhea. People are dying from ALS formerly known as Lou Gehrig's disease. They die because certain portions of the Limbic System of the brain degenerates wreaking havoc with muscle control and movement until the person eventually wastes away to a living skeleton reminiscent of victims of Auschwitz. People are dying every day in bloody car accidents when their ribs get collapsed into their lungs causing them to drown on their own blood. People are dying from cancer of every tissue in the body which can be diagnosed and the person dead three weeks later. People are dying of AIDS where the bodies immune system is the target of a virus which leaves the person susceptible to even the most innocous of infections. People are dying of Hepatitis B, a virus one hundred times more infectious than AIDS and considerably more virulent in time until death. People are dying in gang conflicts in south cen tral Los Angeles. People are dying from massive hemmorhoid explosions because the itching and burning are just to much. People are dying from multiple-antibiotic resistent nosocomial infections. People are dying from heart disease because their arteries have been choked shut by the buildup of decades of overconsumption of fat and cholesterol. People are dying from liver failure due to years and years of chronic drinking. People are dying from Lung Cancer from the years of chain smoking. Recent interesting cases include of course King Hussein. Who died just hours before I wrote this. Also on the hot seat are Wally Payton, who has been diagnosed with a fatal liver ailment. Gene Siskel (the bald one on Siskel & Ebert) is at home* right now, recovering from some major surgery and you never know, something can go wrong so easily... And of course, the man who to the Dead Pool has only one name: "Boris", continues his drunken stumbling closer and closer to the edge of etrnity. These people could very well be on your dead pool list. So keep looking in the obituaries and make sure you email Dr. Death at Smeghead@penis.com with your death and your source of the info on said death. page six The 432 2.10.98 A Life in the Day Following in the footsteps of our heroine, Dee, we come upon a Thursday. Dee lives in an outlying area of the Lower Mainland. Luckily for Dee, the buses run close to her house. For Dee does not own a car. In fact, Dee does not even own a hairdryer. (But that's another tale). This fine day, Dee's alarm clock goes off at 5:30 am. Someone had been fiddling with Dee's alarm clock, and the lilting strains of "Wanna-Be" blare, far too loud. Once Dee's heart-rate returns to a normal non-critical level, she manages to get out of bed. Now, reader, are you asking yourself why Dee awoke so early? Dee has an 8:30 am chemistry class at UBC. UBC is FAR from where she lives. All proceeds well until Dee realizes that she cannot find a textbook that she NEEDS for one of her basket-weaving classes. Oh, gosh, where can it be? After ten minutes of frantic searching, Dee concedes that this game is getting old. She looks at the clock. What? 6:11!? She is going to miss the bus! Not having time to tie her shoelaces, she dashes out the door. Oh no! The bus is turning the cor ner! Run, Dee, run! It's about now that Dee realizes why shoelaces are to be tied, as she trips and does a header into the sidewalk. Oh, did I mention that it is pissing rain? And Dee almost impaled herself on her umbrella? The one saving grace at this point is the bus does, in fact, not run Dee over. Even better, the bus driver stops and waits for Dee. Dee praises this individual, as she realizes that the fall broke her umbrella and she is soaking wet. Time passes. An uneventful bus ride into the burg of Vancouver. Dee's hands have stopped bleeding when she gets off the bus. Forced to cross a busy intersection (let's just call it Grodway and Brandville), she is struck by a cascade of water tossed up by a passing truck. Lucky for her, her witch-powers have been in remission, so she's not melting at this point. Arrival at UBC is quick enough. By this time, Dee's watch reads 7:30 am. One hour until Dee's chemistry class. Time for breakfast and a coffee? Sure, why not. Does Dee have any money for breakfast? Let's check her wallet. $ 1.39. Enough for a coffee? Yes. Anything else? Hell no. Coffee is good. Dee can live with coffee. At least the mud has dried on her jeans. Her hands still sting, but the bleeding is still stopped. Dee enjoys her low calorie breakfast of coffee and 1%. Why, it's getting close to that time for class. Dee packs up, and meanders over to the chemistry building. Why, what's that little sign on the door of the lecture theatre? "Thursday 8:30am lecture canceled." Amid the screams of "The inhumanity!" of the many diligent students who hauled their collective asses out of bed for the damn class, Dee sees flashes of grey pass before her eyes. But wait! Is that a silver lining? Perhaps it's a nickel lining. Either way, this lining takes the form of "quiz to be postponed". You take what you can get. Dee retreats to a quiet corner to contemplate. It's not that quiet, SUS never approached silence. Whilst Dee sips the free Canadian Springs water available to all Science students in SUS, days of yester-week flash before her eyes. A few interesting occurrences come to mind. And if you haven't given up this article in disgust, read on, and be happy you're not Dee. When wind and rain mingle, umbrella- havoc is wreaked. It's too wet to walk unsheltered, as the whipping water will blind anyone, but the second you open your umbrella, you recreate the scene from Mary Poppins and are blown halfway to PoCo. If you're not the President of the United States, you might not be pleased to be blown that way. You have purchased a beautiful white shirt. On the first day that you ever wear this shirt, there is an upset and your coffee spills all over the front of this shirt. It wouldn't be so bad, but it was a lopsided spill. This spill nicely highlights the left side of your chest. More specifically, your left breast. Remember, Dee is female. VERY female. The class is silent. The lecture hall packed. The teacher drones on. All eyes are trained upon the front of the room. You realize that you need the red pen in your pencil case. Quietly, you unzip the pencil case, and shuffle your pens around. You sight the red pen. Tugging gently, it's almost out of the bag, when it snags. You tug harder. In a Machivellian mastery of terror, the red pen goes flying across the room, followed by all it's little peri-buddies. The horror dances gleefully as every person in the room turns to look at you. They're not laughing with you, they are laughing AT you. Getting off on Getting Lost <G WSHty Garcia I've got to get out of this city. It's getting to'trie point that if I even see another red and white trolley bus, I'll go postal and unleash a rain of high velocity sabot rounds from a conveniently protected elevation, ventilating many an innocent passer-by. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not personally against the transit system of this fair city. I'm against the city itself, and I can think of nothing more emblematic of this muggy, horrible and cramped city than tlie muggy, horrible and cramped buses I am forced to endure to get to campus on a daily basis. I am tired of the endless rain, the darkness, the gloom. And those are the good points about this city. I'm not even sure if I want to venture an opinion about the things I don't really like about this place. School. School's another sore point. You'd think that four-or-so years of professional scholasticism would have inured me to the dreary humdrum of classes and studying. Then again, maybe the word "professional" is inappropriate. Hell, the word "amateur" isn't even appropriate in this instance. It's not as if length of stay has any bearing on the quality of the university experience. Maybe they should make up a "continuing novice" category for students attending this fine institution. I mean, people have so many expectations and assumptions. Frosh have it easy, because people expect them to be confused, lost and otherwise befuddled for the first year of their stay (or even their second; sometimes it takes a while for them to land on their feet), third years and higher are expected to be at least mildly competent individuals, people who know their way around the Library of Congress classification system and the- arcane rituals of summoning ' up an article from MedLine or OVILX I'd fit in to "continuing novice" quite well, thank you. Right now, this seems to particularly apply to me. I feel like I've regressed and switched brains with a fresh-off-the-bus hapless frosh. I can't find classes that I've been going to for weeks now. I stumble through even the simplest of article searches. The reserve section of Woodward .Library:: seems as labyrinthine as a Victorian topiary maze. All of this seems to indicate, in a vaguely general way, that I'm stuck in a rut. My brain's parked in neutral,- but my body's in third gear. Heading uphill. No wonder the engine's making weird growly not- enough-power, I'm in pain noises at me. Or is that because I haven't had breakfast yet? No, what I need is a change of pace.. A break. Something that takes me- away from the "get up in the morning, go to classes, go to the library, go home and study, do some online deathmatching until ungodly hours to relieve the stress of being a student; cycle, rinse and repeat" humdrum ordinariness of my current schedule. And I don't mean the kind of break that comes from missing one or two months worth of classes and playing gory videogames until the concept of massive, carnage-enhanced gibbage becomes not only acceptable, but expected. What I mean is the kind of break that can only come of hitting the road, Jack, and not comin' back no more, oh no. Road trip break. Plane trip break. Basically, a get me the fuck away from this place break. What a relief, then, that reading break's not all that far away (one or two weeks; depending on when this paper hits a classroom near you). My only regret is that reading week is but nine short days. Two of which are already booked to Do Things with the Significant Other. Hey, she hates boats, I hate hiking, so we're going to Bamfield to live a quiet romantic outdoorsy weekend together, doing things we dislike and communing with nature. I figure that a little bit of controlled antagonism is probably good for a relationship; kinda like picMng at, a scab. This weekend miglif be just: what the: doctor ordered. Roughing it, as it were, on the wilds of Vancouver Island's West Coast. If you cornbined the total outdoorsy ability we have, it'd be the equivalent to that owned by an eager little Beaver.Scout. You know the type; nine years old, scabby, permanent smudges around trie face, owns a jack knife and can probably tell you where north is if he had a compass and some patience. I guess that's what you get if you're a biology geek dating a computer nerd (bonus point if you can guess who's who). Maybe Bamfield's not the ideal getaway from it all excursion, but Bora- Bora's a bit hard to get to on short notice, and a mite bit unaffordable at this point in the year (the nadir, as it were, of the spending cycle, when the money from the previous summer, so carefully budgeted to last a full year has mysteriously vanished into the weird ether of late-night dinners and compulsive computer- related purchases). If I did have the cash, though, I wouldn't mind going somewhere warm and tropical. Do some cliff-diving off of Borneo, though, given my shape and athletic ability, the image of lithe grace easily slipping into the coral-blue sea . is replaced, with the image, of hap- . hazard tumbling followed by a large splash. A LARGE splash. Ocean levels may rise. Flooding may occur. Or it may not; the general point is that I need to get as far away from this- place as humanly possible. Recharge my batteries. I am, after all, solar powered; I could do to roast in the sun somewhere, basking in the warming glow like some well-oiled slug sipping Pina Coladas and watching the surf betties do their surf betty thing. That'd be a pleasant change. Yet I fear that, come this reading week, I'll be doing the one thing most people don't usually do when faced with seven days of free time in the middle of their exam schedule. I may actually buckle ' down and study. So you can see that I am looking forward to this Valentine's weekend then. Two days of unbuffered exposure to another human being, sharing in activities that would, under any other circumstance, turn ordinary mortals into raving psychotics. Instead, we'll be slogging through muddy paths and peacefully rowing over, the beautiful fjords and bays around Bamfield. Though if you asked her, it would be more like "hiking through the serene temperate rainforests of Vancouver Island, and enduring the godawful rocking motions inherent to small rowing craft". I am out of here. And with any luck at all, I'll be back (though likely not in as many pieces as went out). PS, nik, if you're reading this, I'm kidding. I'm really, really looking forward to this weekend. Really. Truly. Heh... 2.10.98 The 432 page seven The Drawers of SUS™ t External Veep w hew! Science Week is done. It's actually done. One week, one super week in the history _ "' of UBC. Highlights included watching half the SUS Htlif M§ MlllTSy Executive puking their guts out at Dawson's Knock Back a Cow (and being beaten by a passerby who finished off his 4 litres in 25 minutes), and the absolutely fantastic Cold Fusion dance with the Real McKensies. Andy looked so cute in his kilt. The great success wouldn't have been possible without all the volunteers and the efforts of all the clubs to put together the fabulous boothes and events. And a extra "Thanks a Million" to our sponsors, Boston Pizza, Coast Mountain Sports, Paradigm and Web CT for their great prizes and donations. As far as the awards go, the following clubs won the awards for Best Club Display: 1st: BioSoc 2nd: AIMS 3rd: BPP And the following clubs won awards for "Best Fundraising": lst:Geology 2nd:BPP 3rd: PreMed Once again, thanks for all the people who made this a week to remember for everyone involved H eh heh heh... Internal Veep ill lartin o ^iM«^ 5^ The Drawers T Of SUS. Ttook a bullet yesterday. I We were pushing charlie A out of a small but vital village in the Hu-nang province. We slowly moved through the huts shooting anything suspicious. I group of northern soldiers showed up on the north side of the village and started to fire at us from the trees. I set up a standard phalanx having the men use the villagers as human shields and slowly moved up towards the trees. I didn't see the second group of char- lie who had flanked us and was firing at us from the pile of dung beside the barn. I was lucky it didn't hit anything important. Besides, I've got another kidney. I'm stuck in a hospital bed in a hospital just south of Saigon. I'm the only one in the ward who isn't missing a limb. They're going to try and send .me home, but when I look around at the crumpled heaps of former men, garbled and disfigured in their blood stained sheets, I can't bare the thought of letting anymore of my men get hurt without me being there with them. The nurse has come in to stupify the other patients with morphine. If I have to be here, I'd rather retain something of myself than give in to the sweet foggy bliss of the poppy. Ha ha ha! BWA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HAH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA Ha ha ha ha HAH. FOOLS! You have released me and allowed me to...Oh, damn, where did the Crystal of Power go? Ah fuck. Forget it. That's right, your worst dream come true, I am second in command in all the faculty of Science and as soon as a 16 ton chocolate heart lands on John F., I'll rule you all. Science Week is done, and I'd like to say that I had a freak of a good time. I got to DJ the 1st year dance, came 3rd in milk chugging and ruled Cold Fusion. I have to say that I had the most fun of . anybody. Hell, lots o' haggis, beer and regimental kilts, how could I not? Well, until at least' next week, this is still a democracy. So, I want to keep an open line to youse all out there. Any suggestions, comments, death threats, offers for sex, etc. etc. can be directed to me at andmarti@interch... or come by SUS (Chem B160) to talk to me, buy 75c pop, or even just lounge on the couch. Hell, talk to me about anything, my articles, what exactly I do or your recent problems with your loveiife. Come on and love me, cause no one else will. '■■■■ % CO Well, let's get- right down to it. I have a couple of big announcements. First, elections. SUS Executive Elections are still a ways away, but if you think you have the right stuff, I invite you to run. Don't come bothering me quite yet, I'm gonna be a touch grumpy for a while. Nomination forms will be in a isssue in the near future, so be sure to be extra attentive as you keep your usual bimonthly^. vigil next to your favorite 432 "newstand". I'm also looking for an Election Comissioner and always like poll clercks to make money for about 10 iniutes of work an hour. Second, I'm involved in cirriculum meetings right now. You might not know this, but there is a "Breadth Requirement" tor some Science Degrees. This Requirement is 9 credits outside of your field of your major. It's now up in the air as whether or not we're going to keep it. I need some input from students as to what you think about it. Don't send me dumb emails, but if you have a legit viewpoint on this, please feel free to let me know be email. I won't answer any "Do I have to..?" emails (talk to an advisor), but I will listen to any intellegent emails. I've run outta space. TTFN Know Your Foe... Kangaroo Lenin ■ -i .-.^Tf.jti-vS-r'.--. ■.*?««*- "? * .' *£ r-: 'A'--*'*-*-' * ' -i'* *s.3Ej ■ -"■'' ■ "* page eight The 432 2.10.98 PNE Public Enemy No. 1 Well, Science Week is in full swing and I'm getting no homework done whatsoever. What time I'm not spending hauling things around, setting up events and brushing the lint off my kilt, I'm running around the library searching for anything that has to do with birds, bogs and pyromania. Have you ever done a thesis? Well, I'm smack dab in the middle of doing mine. For the first time ever, I'm writing my 432 article in the basement of Woodward at 9:50pm between readings of Ecology of Fire and Fire Ecology instead of writing it in the Zoolab at 10:30 am, skipping between www.big- bush-desperate-twobit-60+-funny- things_inserted.com and www.space- moose.com. What is the thesis experience? Well...let me put it this way: you know the absolute biggest fourth year term paper you ever wrote on some obscure topic that was almost impossible to find? Remember the hardest of the long, tedious formal animal physiology lab that you had to do? Combine those two, multiply a few orders, and add in getting up at 4am on weekends over the summer and you've pretty much got my thesis. Oh, and be sure to add in traversing dangerous terrain in order to chase after some dumb bird that doesn't want to sit still so you can identify and log it. "Oh, that looks like solid ground!" [SQUISH!] "Oh my. Fuck. I'm up to my nipples in quickmud miles from anywhere and sinking fast. At least my carcass will be perfectly preserved for future generations to dig upland study to learn exactly how 1 lived. I wonder if they'll be able to tell that 1 died sporting a ginor- mous boner?" It's not all that bad, 1 really enjoyed doing the field work, it gave me an excuse to take off for an entire day to go hiking and call it research. Of course, my subjects weren't exactly cooperative. Every try to identify birds? You have to be able to see a shadow 50 meters away and automatically be able to tell that the bird has a speckled chest as opposed to a white chest. And of course: The First Law of Bird Surveying: If you see something, it will move in that split-second that you need to get the binoculars to your eyes. Put pissy shit aside, it was still fun. The problem with the thesis is right now. After letting my data stagnate for 4 months, I finally got around to compiling it over the Christmas break. I tell you, there is nothing more satisfying that the six characters: p<0.05. The problem with the data, is that things didn't all add up in a nice and theoretical manner. I'm going along., hmmm hm hm...perfect...beautiful data, everything as it should be. And then...boom. Something goes-wrong, horribly, horribly wrong, and you've got some asshole robins deciding that they'll sit right where they're not supposed to be and it fucks up my data real good (or should it be 'fucks up my data really well'? I don't know, I'm not some pompous, illogical, over-commenting, Haiku-writing Son of a bitch who would actually give a Philis pubis' ass about things like that). The data problems aside, then we get to the literature search. This is a lovely phase of the thesis where you get to use the computerized catalogue at the library and challenge yourself by resisting the urge to pick up the monitor and hurl it into the groin of the nearest comp sci student who decided that if it's web- based then it must be a good idea. Then, when you finally find a decent reference, you look at the journal title and it turns out to be Proceedings of the National Academy of Ecology of New Zealand or some other shite journal like that where the nearest copy is exactly one Pacific Ocean, and five time zones away from you. The dewey never accounted for this. Then, when you finish going through the entire lit search shite, you get to write it all up. This again can be the cause of some aggravation. I got close to the brink (yes, THE brink, that one most of us peer at from afar and would rather give Linda Tripp an extended enema than get within ten meters of the edge) several times in the last few years with ecological methodology and animal physiology lab reports, but with this 100-150 pager looming in front of me, it promises to be a bumpy ride on the way down (ever see the episode on the Simpsons where Homer falls while trying to jump Springfield Gorge on a skateboard? - multiply that by a few orders of magnitude and add an array razor sharp Lays Salt and Vinegar chips at the bottom, and you'll get the equivalent of what I'm about to go through). After write up, figure drawing, table doing and formatting, I then have to rewrite it about 6-7 times, each time shredding everything I put there before and continuing on to get a final edition done and handed in by the middle of April. All this while dodging all the other big juicy turds that life seems to throw at me at an admittedly impressive clip. Then, I get to look like a complete imbecile defending my thesis against 5 profs for a whole hour. 5 PhD. versus 1 cocky little undergraduate...oh this is gonna be good. I keep hoping that they'd consider a kumatae, but Dr. Klawe isn't returning my phone calls on the subject for some reason. I'll defend, get a barely passing mark, and that'll be that. Dear God, I'll be done. Done the thesis, done my fourth year. Done my undergraduate degree...fuck, what will I do? I mean past the post-graduating party and the month-long (drunken/stoned/PCPed/all of the above) trip to Vegas where I'll get married to my waitress, accumulate about 20 or so strains of syphilis and win big Big BIG at the Russian Roulette table. Where will I go and where will I end up? Fuck, that's depressing, it's like lying in bed at 2 am and trying to grasp the idea of exactly how big infinity really can be. I can tell you, infinity is pretty fucking big. That's why they call it infinity. If God can create an infinite number 6f hot dogs, could God eat every single one of those infinite hot dogs? Would he have enough time to eat those hot dogs given the entire infinite time of the existence of God? If there's an infinite number of planets out there, is there a planet where the people have to eat nothing but hot dogs for eternity to stay alive for infinity? Where is the edge of the universe? The universe must have an edge, but where is it? And what's beyond that? And does that have an edge? What was there before the unvierse was formed? Wouldn't being alive forever kind of get boring? But then, wouldn't heaven's eternal bliss get boring after a while? Damn...now I'm really depressed. Hey, it really is a small world after all. Get my shotgun. Well, that's the end of my regular article, now there's other things to think about. I did my thesis work over the summer in Burns Bog, on the same area that is now slated to be developed for the entertainment complex. Maybe I can't quite see the same bottom line that everyone involved sees. I've been around the world, I went to the Costa Rican rainforest last May and I have to say that Burns Bog is probably the most beautiful place I've ever seen. And now, I see that my favorite place in the world is slated to become Lot D to Zippy's Funhouse. I hate to say "Paved over Paradise, put up a Parking Lot, but that is exactly what's going to happen if these imbeciles have their way. Sometimes the bottom line isn't dollars and cents, sometimes it's something more valuable. Like those miniature plastic tables that come in Pizza Hut boxes, -ed the Arterbirm \ $2.00Cover $1.50 Psyder and rumblestrip Come to SUS and talk to Kat for more info. This event is brought to you by the Science Undergaraduate Society.
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The 432 Feb 10, 1999
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Title | The 432 |
Publisher | Vancouver : University of British Columbia. Science Undergraduate Society |
Date Issued | 1999-02-10 |
Subject |
University of British Columbia |
Geographic Location | Vancouver (B.C.) |
Genre |
Periodicals |
Type |
Text |
FileFormat | application/pdf |
Language | English |
Identifier | LE3.B841 A12 LE3_B841_A12_1999_02_10 |
Collection |
University Publications |
Source | Original Format: University of British Columbia. Archives |
Date Available | 2016-07-19 |
Provider | Vancouver : University of British Columbia Library |
Rights | Images provided for research and reference use only. Permission to publish, copy, or otherwise use these images must be obtained from the University of British Columbia Science Undergraduate Society: http://www.sus.ubc.ca/ |
CatalogueRecord | http://resolve.library.ubc.ca/cgi-bin/catsearch?bid=1229713 |
IsShownAt | 10.14288/1.0000878 |
AggregatedSourceRepository | CONTENTdm |
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