Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine
Volume V, Issue 1, AD MM
Saturday, January 1, 2000
ISSN 1482-0471
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American is a very difficult language mixed with English.
  -- Anonymous

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The brain is a wonderful organ. It starts working the moment you get 
up and does not stop until you get into the office.
  -- Robert Frost

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1.  Editorial
2.  Smoking Can Kill You
3.  My Favourite Films Of 1999
4.  New Year
5.  Carpe fucken' diem.
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This week's Golden Testicle award:

The streetlight is currently red.

http://www.somethingawful.com/stoplight/

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1. Editorial

Welcome to Issue 1, Volume V, marking four years and a half of CoN.  
To my horror, the celebrations around the world referred to the year 
2000 as the start of the new millennium (some places even had it 
spelled wrong with just one `n'), that's because each millennium 
lasts 999 years, or something.

Oddly enough, after people had complained for way too long that they 
were spending way too much money to fix computers for the Y2K bug, 
when the new year rolled over and nothing happened, they were 
disappointed.

This issue is long overdue.  I've been going through jobs, my 
faithful old Pentium, after years and years of troubles and memory 
failures and other evils, finally decided to die, I'm in the process 
of packing to move to a new place, as well as starting a new, 
permanent job that actually pays me enough.  I've had the satisfying 
pleasure of writing resignation letters for both my jobs, and I am 
eager to start in a career that College prepared me for.  At least, 
that's what they told me, when I was done.


Alan writes in regards to the last issue:

> Funny issue, but not hillarious.
> Best part is the editor's comments.
> 
> Cheers.
> Alan

This marks the end of this ultra-short editorial.  If you are 
looking for someone to blame for the long delay, it's just me, as 
everyone else that usually contributes to this issue, sent their 
articles in time.  I'm tired.  Goodnight.

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2.  Smoking Can Kill You
By Samantha Craggs

I am a member of the last visible minority. Society's greatest 
scapegoat. I am a smoker.

Once upon a time, it was legal for a man to beat his wife as long as 
he used a switch no larger in diametre than his thumb. Women 
couldn't vote and couldn't get good jobs. Now, thanks to the women's 
rights movement, they can.

There are countless groups out there fighting for the rights of 
minorities. Homosexuals have gay pride parades. There is white 
supremacy, black supremacy, pink supremacy, purple supremacy and a 
support group for just about every shade, intellect, and creed you 
can think of. But if you're a smoker, the only people you have 
fighting for you are big corporations everyone hates or a little 
organization in Tillsonburg, Ontario called the Ontario Flue Cured 
Tobacco Grower's Marketing Board.

In the old days, smoking was cool. Bette Davis puffed on a 
cigarette, as did Joan Crawford, and it was glamourous. All of the 
screen divas took a long drag before spouting classic lines like 
"I'd kiss you but I just washed my hair." Major television 
characters smoked, tough guys smoked and most heroes in the 
limelight smoked, spawning a generation of people who smoked because 
they damn well liked to, and everyone accepted that. But suddenly, 
in the last 10 years, we've been blindsided.

Everywhere I go I get bombarded with comments such as "You know, 
smoking is bad for you." Well, really? Silly me! I hadn't thought of 
that! It's an addiction, true, and it's one that kills you. But 
smokers have become scapegoats for a society that really, if it was 
honest with itself, would realize there are bigger fish to fry. 
Sure, smoking can kill you, but so can a lot of other things that 
we're not even frisking.

There are token anti-smoking arguments being thrown around on the 
streets and in the media. Here are a few of my favourites:

1. Smoking causes cancer in non smokers. If you are subjecting me to 
second hand smoke, you are being selfish because I could get cancer 
from it.

Well, listen: we live in a world where the sulphur dioxide being 
pumped from smoke stacks is so profuse that it looks like sunset in 
the middle of the day. We live in a world where the black smog 
coming from the smoke stacks of coal-burning hydro generating 
stations is so thick that people who live a mile downwind from it 
can write their names in the soot that gathers on their car windows. 
Genetically engineered vegetables, such as Bt corn, contain 
pesticides that can kill off Monarch butterflies and yet we eat it 
without flinching. We are polluting the environment so badly with 
our cars, hairspray, industries, etc. that scientists are predicting 
that Lake Erie will drop at least a full metre in the next century 
because of global warming. And you are bitching that my pack-a-day 
habit is going to give you cancer? It's a perfect example of 
brushing over the big stuff, such as industrial pollution and human 
tolerance toward destroying the planet, because it's too hard to 
deal with and targetting the guy in front of you who is lighting up 
a cigarette.

2. Why should I pay for health care for smokers when they choose to 
give themselves these problems?

The government of British Columbia is sueing the tobacco industry 
for the health care costs endured by caring for ailing smokers, and 
Ontario was thinking about doing the same thing. This seems to be 
the wave of the future. One argument could be the one above, word 
for word, in that why doesn't the government sue industries when an 
abnormal amount of people living near an industrial park get throat 
cancer? That's easy. Industries cough up big tax dollars, if not a 
little wink-wink nudge-nudge "campaign donation" under the table. 
Call it "Blackwater," if you will. They have finally decided to go 
after the tobacco companies, who have in their own ignorance made 
themselves easy targets, and like so many government decisions, that 
attitude filters down to Joe Citizen and he turns that argument on 
the smoker sitting next to him.

Secondly, the whole taxation process is give and take. I don't use 
the arena, so why should I pay for it to be built? It's so that you 
can use it. We pay the enormous health care expenses of senior 
citizens and yet we don't complain about that. True, they don't 
choose to get old and yet smokers choose to smoke, but it's an 
example of how we, as citizens in a democracy, shoulder each other's 
burdens. If I don't drive, should my tax dollars still go toward 
building roads? If I don't use subsidized day care, should my tax 
dollars go towards it to give a break to parents who do? If I never 
have children, should I have to pay for the education system? I 
benefitted from it, but most school boards put tax dollars towards 
special education and programs for gifted children that a large 
percentage of the population will never benefit from.

If you use that argument about smokers, where does it stop? We could 
use that logic on all sorts of vices. Why should I pay for public 
drug rehabilitation programs if I'm not smoking crack? Why should I 
pay for the health care costs of alcoholics if I don't drink? Why 
should I pay for the health care costs of HIV patients who got the 
virus from unprotected sex when I use condoms religiously?

And here's another news flash: not everyone with lung cancer and 
emphyzema is a smoker. Didn't you see "Man on the Moon?"

3. It's annoying to have smoke blowing in your face.

For this argument, I paraphrase Politically Incorrect's Bill Maher. 
"Why is it that when I'm on an airplane, they can have five kids 
screaming in my face, but if I have a cigarette any place smaller 
than the Astrodome I'm an asshole?" A word to the wise: everyone is 
annoying in some way, shape or form. I know people that I wish would 
use deodorant but they don't make a special section for them in 
restaurants.

I agree with segregating smokers to an extent. I like smoking 
sections in confined spaces, such as restaurants, airplanes and 
public transit. I'm not sure smoking in hospitals is a good idea. 
But we're getting carried away. Whoever dreamed up the idea of 
eliminating smoking in bars was toking on some leafy substance, 
because people who go to bars generally accept that it will be 
smoky. For awhile the Ontario government was going to introduce a 
law that you couldn't smoke while you were driving. Teachers can no 
longer smoke in staff rooms and are forced to go across the road 
with the students to smoke. There is no smoking at many bus 
terminals, down by the tracks at train stations or in any public 
facility at all. Are they really that scared of us?

Yes, but there are many, many other things to be scared of. Smokers 
are just the easiest to spot. So lay off us, people. We know we're 
dying, but there are many things killing you faster.

--------
Samantha Craggs smokes, drinks and once smoked pot but didn't 
inhale. Visit her web site at http://www.velvet.net/~samantha.

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3.  My Favourite Films Of 1999
by Jeff Wright

1999 was an extremely good year for movies.  Usually, I have a 
hard time finding 10 films that I really loved.  But this year, gave 
me over 20.  I still haven't even seen everything I want to, so this 
list is a little bit premature.  I still haven't seen Talented Mr. 
Ripley, American Beauty, The Idiots, Topsy Turvy, The War Zone or 
The End Of The Affair.

	Usually, it's pretty easy to make a list of my favourite films 
of the year in order.  Not so with this year.  The only two spots 
that are solid are 1 and 2.  They're held by Fight Club and Magnolia 
respectively.  Here's my top 10 films of the year in alphabetical 
order, followed by a list of other great films that were released 
this year.

Top 10 Favourite Films Of 1999 (In Alphabetical Order)

BEING JOHN MALKOVICH
	This film is so wonderfully original and bizarre, that it has 
to be in my top ten.  Spike Jonze's direction is fantastically 
subtle, and really refreshing in a year where everything seemed to 
be extreme.  Brilliant performances by all of the main cast, a great 
script, Jonze's firm direction, and fantastic cinematography make 
this film a keeper.  It's destined to become a cult film, even 
though it did reasonably well at the box office.

BRINGING OUT THE DEAD
	Martin Scorsese shouldn't have films like this.  Bringing Out 
The Dead is an absolute marvel, and nobody went to see it.  
Scorsese's name should put asses in the seat.  He's currently riding 
a string of 3 great films with Casino, Kundun, and now Bringing Out 
The Dead.  Bringing Out The Dead is an adrenaline shot, not unlike 
Fight Club.  Its kinetic style brings us into the Nicolas Cage's 
mind.  We feel how crazy it gets out on the road as a paramedic, and 
we don't forget it soon.  It would be a disservice to the film to go 
into it anymore, but I urge you to see it in a repertoire cinema if 
you can.  It's a beautiful and stark film, that should be seen big 
and loud.

eXistenZ 
	David Cronenberg is back in top form with eXistenZ.  His quick 
little video game of a movie is the first great film I saw this 
year, and remained one of the best.  I don't really know what to say 
about eXistenZ except maybe, if anyone says that The Matrix is 
better, stop talking to them.  The Matrix and eXistenZ are nothing 
alike, so I really don't understand why I need to listen to people 
comparing them.  eXistenZ is a hilarious film (Cronenberg's funniest 
film for sure), and flies by with a running time of around an hour 
and a half.  

FIGHT CLUB
	Best film of the year.  I've never had a film speak so 
strongly to me before.  Watching Fight Club, especially for a guy in 
his 20's to 30's is a blow to the gut.  It urges you to get your 
fucking ass from behind that register, get your ass out of that 
waiter's uniform, and so on, and so on, and do something with your 
life.  Find what you want to do in life, and don't stop until you 
get to do it.  David Fincher directs the film, with incredible 
energy that puts most films to shame.  Everything about Fight Club 
clicks (direction, performances, cinematography, script, score, 
effects, editing).  Fight Club is an experience, which once again, 
should really be seen in a good theatre.

THE IRON GIANT
	I like well made animated films.  I love Toy Story (1 & 2), 
Aladdin, and The Lion King.  The Iron Giant is one of the best 
animated films I've seen.  Don't pay any attention to the horrible 
advertising job that Warner Brothers did on it.  When I first saw 
it, I was so upset that I had only seen it on video.  It's a 
beautiful film, with magnificent animation, a great heart (it's not 
sentimental though), and a clever and simple script.  Director Brad 
Bird has a great grasp on how to make an exciting and at the same 
time, touching film.  Go see it!  If you can, rent the widescreen 
version, because the P&S version is horrible.
	
MAGNOLIA
	I don't want to say a lot about this since it just came out in 
wide release, and a lot of people probably haven't seen it.  
Magnolia is a giant film about a day in the life of 9 people in the 
Valley, and how their lives intersect.  That's a pretty simple 
explanation, but it's really all you need to know going into it.  
Paul Thomas Anderson directs the film with wild assurance, the 
performances are all perfect, Aimee Mann's music is beautiful (pick 
up the soundtrack), and when it's all over, it's emotionally 
exhausting.  But I think that's an extremely good thing.

RAVENOUS 
	Ravenous is a kick ass cannibal film.  It's a perfect kick ass 
movie.  This movie KICKS ASS!!!!!!!  That's all I have to say about 
that.

RUN LOLA RUN
	80 minutes of wild fun, with narrative and traditional pacing.  
Run Lola Run is one of the fastest films I've seen.  It's an 
exercise in energy, that works tremendously well.  A young woman 
named Lola has 20 minutes to get her boyfriend Manni 100,000 marks 
or else.  It gets a little more complicated than that, but not by 
much.  I'd never have thought that watching a film in which about 35 
% or more or what happens is a woman with red hair running, would be 
so damn good.  Get the subtitled version, since the dubbing sucks.

SOUTH PARK: BIGGER, LONGER, AND UNCUT
	Woohoo!  South Park is the funniest film of the year.  It's 
also one of the best satires in years.  It's also (and people may 
think this is a bold statement, but.) the best musical ever!  If 
you're a fan of the show, you've probably seen it and loved it.  If 
you haven't seen it yet, get to it!  If you aren't that familiar 
with the show, I'd suggest watching a few episodes before seeing it, 
just so you can get to know the characters.  At least one of its 
songs better be nominated for an Oscar!  If at least What Would 
Brian Boitano Do? doesn't get nominated, then there's something 
seriously wrong with the Oscars (isn't there already though?).

TOY STORY 2
	Kick ass, kick ass, kick ass!  I've never seen a cartoon that 
kicks this much ass.  Better than the original, and I LOVE the 
original.  I own the laserdisc boxset, which I bought for $175 bucks 
for god's sake.  So for me to say that this, the sequel, is better 
than the original, is saying a lot.  This is an action movie for 
kids.  The kid in me, was in full force when I saw this film.  I 
went out and bought a big toy from the movie the next day.  I know I 
should maybe be a little embarrassed by that, but I'm really not.  
Toy Story 2 is the best animated film I've ever seen, and I'd go so 
far as to saying it deserves a Best Picture nomination at the 
Oscars.  And if that song in the middle of it gets nominated, I'll 
scream.  It's obviously a joke song, and only a retard would be 
blind to that.

Other films that I loved, and should be in my top 10 as well (in 
alphabetical order)
AMERICAN MOVIE
DEEP BLUE SEA
DOGMA
ELECTION
FREEWAY 2: CONFESSIONS OF A TRICKBABY
HANDS ON A HARDBODY
HEAVEN
JULIEN DONKEY BOY
THE LIMEY
THE STRAIGHT STORY
THREE KINGS
WACKO'S WISH (straight to video Animaniacs feature)

	Anyways, it's been a really good year, and I really hope that 
you folks go out and see films on my list that you haven't seen yet.  
I know that I haven't exactly been articulate, AGAIN.  If you don't 
know what a movie's about, just go to http://www.imdb.com/ and find 
out.  But please go see some of the films above.  That's the only 
reason I write about them.  

---
Jeff is in a pissy mood, so fuck off!

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4.  New Year
By Jason MacIsaac

Every New Year's Eve I am reminded of musical genius Jim Croce's 
words.  The New Year's Eve parties used to be the stuff of legends, 
but now they are quiet, tame affairs.   

Not that this is a bad thing. Whereas before it was fun to trash 
somebody else's place, but now that I pay rent I don't really relish 
the thought of 40 odd drunks (only three of whom I actually know, 
the rest are "a friend of [mumble mumble]") in my apartment and 
smashing my windows with the sheer force of their projectile 
vomiting.

To celebrate the Faux Millennium as I have decided to call it, I 
just had two friends over.  I cooked them dinner, we had some snacks 
and some ice cream, and toasted in the New Year with some glasses of 
raspberry ginger ale.  Then we went back to watching Toy Story.

It sounds pretty boring, but fuck you, we like boring.  There are 
364 more days to the year and they are way too interesting for our 
tastes.  It's nice to shift into a lower gear and cruise, instead of 
going overboard with parties and drinking, as if the world really 
will end tomorrow.  

When I was a teen, I was at some pretty wild ones though.  They 
never got so out of control that the cops raided them, though there 
was the odd trip to the hospital for alcoholic poisoning.  We did 
not demolish the house of the poor sucker whose parents were away 
and ill-advisedly offered up their dwelling as a place for the 
festivities.  Demolishing though would have been more human.  
Instead, the unlucky recipient's house would be cocooned in vomit 
like a spider webbing its catch.

Some great stories comes from those days.  I remember Jon, hugging a 
toilet from 9 pm to about 2 am.  His girlfriend had just broken up 
with him and he was really in the mood to drink heavily, so he did.  
At about 1 am, Dan burst in with a deep deep need to regurgitate. 

"Jon, move.  You gotta move."

[vague moaning]

"Please Jon, you've got to-"  He couldn't hold it in.  I understand 
that very little managed to actually get in the bowl.  Most of it 
was scattered around the washroom.  Some of it landed on Jon, who 
finally managed to come to.

"Dan, you just threw up on me."

"I know!  And it only took one try!"  Dan staggered out of the 
washroom and passed out on the couch, where Brian would later take 
cam stick (the stuff soldiers paint on their skin in order to fit in 
with the terrain) and draw all over his face.

Shortly thereafter, Jon was hauled upstairs and thrown on to a bed 
to sleep it off.  Tragically, it was a waterbed.

Ever lie on a waterbed while you've got nausea and a pounding 
headache so bad that if a serial killer were stalking through the 
house, you'd try to signal him to your position?  No matter how 
still you are, the bed shakes, making you feel like you're on the 
ocean, the last thing a drunk wants to feel.  It's those moments 
were even hardcore atheists believe that a vengeful God is looking 
down at them and saying "I trust I've made my point clear."

When Jon came down early the next day, he vowed he would never 
forgive whoever had dropped him on the waterbed, and then slumped 
into a corner to listen the Suicidal Tendencies song "I Feel Like 
Shit."

You had to be mad to offer up your house for a New Year's party in 
my circle.  But at least most of the people who did stayed sober and 
tried to protect their houses.  I remember one instance where the 
guardian of the house had himself gotten drunk, and was in no shape 
to play goalie.  A lot of things he regrets happened that night.

The usual stuff happened.  People drank to excess (didn't see that 
coming, did you?).  One person, waking up at about 4 in the morning, 
was so out of it he decided to relieve himself against the basement 
wall (the basement was furnished).  Fortunately we grabbed him and 
hauled him upstairs in time.

One drunk passed out in our hosts' room.  Since the razors we found 
weren't sharp enough to shave off his eyebrows, we decided to put 
toothpaste in his hair instead (passing out around us was very, very 
dangerous).  Our host didn't appreciate the toothpaste getting all 
over his sheets and pillow.  When he was much drunker later that 
evening, he came up to us laughing that another drunk had puked all 
over his room.  I told him to wait about five hours and see if he 
still thought it was funny.

The Giggles in Our Foolish Host gradually gave way to Depression.  
He was having problems with his girlfriend, and decided to vent the 
most sensitive one of them.  "She's such a bitch!  She slept with-" 
he proceeded to name off about five guys, and in the finale, the 
girlfriend of a close friend of ours.

I had already known about this, so while everyone else's eyes were 
bugging out with shock, I was thinking "Uh oh, so much for that 
secret."  

"[He shall remain nameless]'s girlfriend?" demanded one of the 
stunned onlookers.  Our Foolish Host remained silent, but the damage 
had been done.  

By the time I was out on my own, our parties had settled down to 
some light drinking, potato chips, and conversation.  My places were 
never redecorated by people who had lost control of their motor 
skills and bodily fluids.  I've had enough of that sort of thing 
really.  It was fun to watch for awhile, but I don't drink, it's no 
fun to be the only sober person at a wild party, unless you're there 
to shave off eyebrows.  Other holidays commitments--friends, school, 
work, family--started to exhaust me and there have been times were 
I'd be perfectly content to spend new years with a bottle of coke 
(Coca Cola, that is) and a good book.  

One New Year my then girlfriend and I planned a nice romantic 
evening like we had last year, but we were so exhausted we went to 
bed earlier.  We managed to be half-asleep in each other's arms.  
When we heard the cheer out on the street, we wish each other a 
drowsy Happy New Year, then .07 seconds later, we were snoring.

Pathetic, is it?  I don't miss anything really.  The New Year is 
highly over-rated in my opinion.  Particularly this year, with all 
this millennium bullshit.

A lost cause is the only one worth fighting for.  Permit me to 
practice what I preach by saying vainly that it's not the 
millennium.  Few people seem to recognize this, and everywhere you 
go its millennium blah blah blah bladdy blah.  

For the trillionth time, there was no 0 AD.  There was 1 BC, and 
then there was 1 AD.  Thus, 2001 is the new millennium.

On usenet I read a post from a Bible thumper how our calendar is 
based on the birth of Christ (true enough) and that the millennium 
is based on 1000 years from the time of his birth, therefore, 2000 
is the new millennium.  Thanks, Miss Bible Thumper.  For an encore, 
could you explain why a shitload of dinosaur bones don't prove the 
theory of evolution and misinterpret the third law of 
thermodynamics?  

Never take advice on science, astronomy or sociology from a Bible 
Thumper.  First, Christ was born in 1 AD.  It would almost work if 
we took the time Mary was carrying Jesus in her womb to be the 
central date, but assuming she had a nine month pregnancy, that 
leaves us three months short.  Second, the exact year of Jesus' 
birth is actually the subject of some controversy.  I've heard one 
estimate suggest that Jesus was actually born as late as 6 AD by our 
calendar.  So by that reasoning, 2006 will be the new millennium.

As you may have noticed, the world did not end when the four digits 
rolled over from 1999 to 2000, as many were predicting.  The Y2K 
glitch caused a minimal amount of damage.  Now families of idiots 
will be eating canned ravoli and drinking bottled water for the next 
five years. Neither the anti-Christ nor Jesus made an appearance 
anywhere that I'm aware of. The Russian nuclear aresenal didn't 
launch.  You'd think there would have been more media coverage if 
any of these things had happened.  

You really have to wonder what was behind these predictions of doom 
(actually, no you don't: stupidity).  So the world's going to end at 
the stroke of midnight?  Yes, except for all the cultures that don't 
celebrate the New Year on January 1.  So China would be left intact.  
Was the world going to end by time zone ("Uh, I don't mean to panic 
everyone, but we've lost contact with Australia").

Even more distressingly, where are all the nice gizmos that sci-fi 
movies said we have?  Why aren't the cops armed with lasers and 
robotic dogs?  How come I can't fly or teleport to work?  Why don't 
I yet have my own personal holodeck yet with a selection of programs 
like "Tahiti Vacation" or "Participate in 'The Usual Suspect' Boat 
Shoot out" or "Sexual Assault by Lena Olin's character in 'Romeo is 
Bleeding'"?  

1999 really was the year of hype.  Just about everything we saw or 
did was hardly 2/3rds of all the bluster its marketing people 
created.  Why should the "end" of the millennium be any different?

Next year, some friends and I are planning a real millennium party.  
All you have to do to get in is realize that 999 years does not make 
a millennium.

Attendance is expected to be low.

---
Jason MacIsaac wishes you all a Happy New Year.

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5.  Carpe fucken' diem.
By Leandro Asnaghi-Nicastro

I've been told many times that my writing is very good for someone 
that can't speak English.  Well, I guess I should be honoured, if it 
wasn't for the fact that I am from an English speaking nation.  The 
problem is, that despite the fact that I am from Canada, born in 
Ottawa, (the second most boring City in the province of Ontario, 
Timmins, Ontario, still holds the record as first), I have never 
really lived here.  December 15th, 1999, marks 10 years that I have 
returned here.  And I still can't speak English properly.

When my family decided to return to Canada, bringing me back to 
their reality and shattering what I had grown up with (mostly 
confusion, as we moved from France to Germany, to Egypt and then 
Italy), I found myself sitting in the last 6 months of an elementary 
school understanding every word (and mostly insults) by the people 
around me, but unable to say anything that made any sense.  I seem 
to still have that problem today.

Once high school hit, I was so lucky, I had to endure classes called 
ESL (English as a second language) with other kids that were all 
lost and unable to comprehend any word, as we read "Pygmalion" or 
"Wuthering Heights".  Twitch.  It didn't take much to tell that the 
books sucked, despite any English major telling me they are great 
pieces of writing.  I hated them.
On the bright side, I understood enough to see why I hated them.  
Everyone else in my class hated them because they couldn't parse a 
single sentence.

By the time I was done with ESL, I was in Grade 11, taking Grade 9 
and 10 English.  I had to take two more English classes per semester 
in Grade 12, and I still wouldn't had been able to graduate as I 
needed a total of 5 English credits.  ESL wasn't considered English 
enough.  My only mean to graduate in time and escape from the 
clutches of evil (High School), was to take summer school.

Summer school is an oxymoron by itself.  Why would anyone want to 
take school during the wonderful sunny days when one can sleep in or 
do crazy things with his friends?  None-the-less, I had no choice.
 
Class was being held at De La Salle, a high school that looked more 
fitting in some Sir Arthur Conan Doyle book, than in the middle of 
Toronto.  Completely Victorian style, squeaky wood floors, ancient 
photographs of graduating classes from 1906, and run by priests who 
were a bunch of vicious fucks (it wouldn't surprise me if I'll hear 
in a few years about sodomized boys from that school).  I was just 
expecting Robin Williams to pop up from behind some counter and 
scream from the top of his lungs "CARPE DIEM CARPE DIEM CARPE DIEM!"

Of the 6 people in the class, three went to my school.  Not bad for 
a city with a population of 6 million people.  Karl, a big kid, 
backward Chicago Bulls basketball hat, constantly saying "ya know 
what I'm say'n?" (actually no, I can't understand a word of what you 
are saying) and a Chicago Bulls winter jacket (Hey, Karl, aren't you 
hot in that jacket?  It's like July. -- Hot?  Nah.  Makes me cool!  
Ya know what I'm sayin'?).  If he wasn't skipping, he had his 
headphones on listening to (c)RAP so loud, I don't know why he even 
tried to hide the fact that he was.

Then there was Peter and I.  He was in the same class for reasons 
that escape my mind at the moment, but we were both far from 
thrilled in being in there, especially with a fine example of our 
school such as Karl.

The other three were girls that were trying, for reasons we couldn't 
figure out, to improve their already high marks to something higher.  
Clearly out of our league, we didn't even make the effort to learn 
their names.
Karl, however, never gave up trying to smooch up to them, moving one 
hand as if he was a (c)RAP singer, and the other holding on to his 
balls.  (Hey, look ladies!  I'm holding my balls!  Do I make you 
horny?  Ya know what I'm sayin'?)

The teacher was a pretty young woman, probably in her late 20s.  I 
don't remember her name, but it was clearly something Italian.  She 
had of course as much Italian in her as Karl had Jamaican.  She 
introduces herself, and then we have to go through that degrading 
process of introducing ourselves.  Peter and I just mumbled some 
stuff about how we were very happy to be in this class, rather than 
outside in the sun.  Karl had nothing to say.  The girls gave us a 
long and extensive introduction to themselves.  Fortunately the 
school slide-projectors were unavailable.

Now, for some foolish reason, I was expecting this to be like any 
regular English class.  You read a boring book, you get tested on 
it, you learn about colons and semicolons, write an essay about 
something insignificant, like third world hunger or Canadian 
politics, do your exam and you are done.

But not this time.

The teacher makes us pull out some paper and she starts dictating 
off about the English language and the grammar structure.  After 
we're done writing this page and a half of silly drivel, she makes 
us rip it.  Peter and I rip the paper to shreds thinking already at 
what a "cool" teacher she was going to be.  Karl didn't rip anything 
because he hadn't written anything.  The three girls were taken 
aback by that.  I could feel their shock, their horror!  I mean, 
ripping useful information about English that they could later 
regurgitate?  How could she!

After feeling rather witty that she had "shocked" us by making us 
tear a piece of paper from our notebooks, she rolled in a TV and we 
had to endure "Dead Poet's Society".  Staring at Robin William's 
giggling face, and watching all those rebels read poetry at night in 
a cave really inspired me to live life to the fullest.  Karl must've 
felt pretty inspired too, as after that he either skipped or paid 
more attention to the cRAP coming out of his headphones.

The rest of the semester pretty much went by with her nagging at us 
anytime we did something that was not as good as what the movie had 
shown us.  If it rained, we were encouraged to run outside in the 
rain, because running outside in the rain, with the risk of catching 
pneumonia, was to live life to the fullest.  When it was sunny, we'd 
go outside and sit under a tree and read our books or do our classes 
there because that's how life had to be lived, until of course one 
of the priests noticed we were stepping on the grass and we never 
went out again.  Grass has got a right to live to the fullest too, 
you know?

Peter and I eventually took this to our advantage.  When she'd ask 
us for homework, we'd explain how we didn't do it, as going out and 
having some fun was more important and living life out fully, than 
sitting lonely at a desk and writing an essay on what we thought was 
the climax of Anna Frank.  Surprisingly she accepted that, and 
complimented us for being so "alive".
Sometimes we'd submit badly drawn cartoons, and she'd automatically 
accept these as poetry or as essays, telling us how the creative 
part of us was showing and we'd soon be out of our boxes.  And as 
far as exams went, we never had any.  Somehow we managed to pass, 
but I'm still not sure what I did in there, other than draw cartoons 
back and forth with Peter (What are you doing?  -- We?  We're 
drawing poetry together!)

I guess she was trying to be cool and different, being a new 
teacher.  I think that everyone that starts teaching as their job 
want to be different from their teachers, and stimulate the students 
in being more active and interested.  However, it's just a matter of 
time.  Soon enough she will grow tired of repeating the same lesson 
every semester, of seeing ungrateful little bastards like ourselves 
take advantage of people like her (students just can tell if they 
can fuck around or not), and she will turn into one of the many 
zombies that roam around the English department, throwing the book 
at us, and waiting for her hour to be over for her cigarette and 
coffee.

In the mean time, who knows.  Maybe she'll see Dangerous Minds and 
want to educate ghetto kids next.

---
Reading CoN can harm your children.  Boy, do I feel witty writing 
that.

-------------------------------------------
6.  Ouch
By William Mark

My headphones have a bad connection, which I attributed to a broken 
wire I had been avoiding fixing for a while.  I finally got fed up 
with it, and my toolbox was close, so, fixit time.

I got a wooden tv table, and set it all up in front of the couch.  
For once, I had all the tools I needed to do the job in one place.  
I pulled the connector from the headphones, pulled the plug that was 
broken out too, and started digging into the plastic moulded 
connector for the wire.

It's not the best wire, not coated at all so it was a bit corroded 
even down into the connector.  I got out the solder, and starting 
applying that to get the rosin to work on the wire.  No big deal, 
something I've done many times, with two differences.  First usually 
I do this on a workbench, or some type of table situation.  Solder 
drips on the bench, but it's cheap, just tin and lead.  Molten 
metal.

When it misses the desk, it hits the floor, or my pants.  Which 
gives us the second big difference, I'm not wearing pants.  Just a 
pair of shorts.  

the wire was in pretty bad shape, so it took a lot of rosin, which 
means a lot of solder to get as much as I needed.  I thought it was 
all ready to drip on the table, but too much stuck to the iron.  As 
I pulled it back, I got a nice big drop of solder off the end, which 
decided to prove the theory of gravity, which just happened to be 
working as it always has.  This drop falls properly, and hits the 
upper inside of my thigh.  Next physics lesson is a combination of 
things, most prominent of which is heat transfer, which begins 
without notice, for a few milliseconds at least.

I didn't notice the heat transfer lesson until reflexes in my body 
had me jumping back, and trying to remove the burning sensation from 
my leg.  Of course, I still have the iron in my hand, which I 
quickly move to put in it's holder as my leg burns.  Too quickly as 
it turns out, there was still plenty of solder on the iron, which 
landed on my other arm.

As my reflexes react to the new sensation of molten metal in my arm, 
pulling it back, I get the iron where it belongs.  Just in time to 
realize my reflexes are in overdrive.  The burning arm which has 
just been violently pulled back was holding the connector with the 
broken wire.  The wire which has absorbed a good amount of solder, 
still molten of course.  As it swings, about a dozen tiny droplets 
of this molten metal go flying, spraying across my chest.

I start swatting at that, when the large drop on my leg takes the 
centre stage again, since it was so much larger, and had so much 
more heat to transfer to my skin.  It's not in a convenient spot, 
and isn't leaving, because it has wrapped itself around a couple 
hairs rather permanently.  Getting to it means moving quickly to 
remove the pain, which I do, forgetting that the surface this is all 
on is a small, shaky wooden stand that moves very easily when 
bumped.

Other than a small blister on my leg, red spots on my chest and arm, 
and bloody cat tracks across my back from the panicked feline who 
was trying to get me to play with her when this all happened, I'm 
fine.  At least well enough to clean up the mess I have created.  

The worst part is, the connection inside the headphone is shaky, 
because I must have gotten the length just a bit too short.

I'm not going to fix it.

---
William Mark typed this article tapping the keyboard with a pencil 
in his mouth.  Using the shift key was a bitch.

-------------------------------------------

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Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine    "media you can abuse"
In memory of Father Ross "Padre" Legere
Published every second Monday (or when we get around it)
Disclaimer: unintentionally offensive
Comments, queries and submissions are welcome

http://www.capnasty.org  ISSN 1482-0471

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ZimID 708EC8D1  1994/09/14 EC B0 97 59 1D FE 7C 32  7E 04 2C 66 47 41 FB 7D
