Walking around USI's campus I find myself wishing I had a big box of sidewalk chalk. One of the primary forms of student group advertising is writing on the sidewalk with multi-coloured chalk like many of us did as kids. Today I saw a chalkvert that said "Liar, Lunatic or LORD: Is Jesus who he says he is?" The chalkvert is from the student christian group, so I think we know which answer they want us to give. Disappointing, really, because I sort of wanted one of those controversial-views speakers to talk about how Jesus was just some crazy guy and piss off half of campus.

The more usual type of chalkvert is for events, like a stand-up comic or a movie night. However, the College Dems and College Republicans also make considerable use of this medium. Last fall I saw plenty of anti-Obama stuff, but strangely little anti-McCain or anti-Palin stuff (I fully expected no anti-Biden stuff because nobody cares). Even now, the College Reps have in their ads such things as "Tired of big government spending? Tired of socialist policies? So are we" and then the time and place of their next meeting. That's a pretty ballsy statement for people affiliated with a party that DID spend huge amounts of money on an unpopular war, and even ballsier considering this is a school with easy access to things like dictionaries, encyclopædias, and possibly even actual hard copies of The Communist Manifesto, all of which could easily define socialism as "not what's going on right now". Calling this socialism is like calling pub darts a sport: some things are similar, but there are too many more differences.

The LORD be with your botty

Every few weeks, if not more often, I find myself wondering just how many crazy people exist in the world. I usually wonder this after seeing some news story about, well, crazy people. Frequent topics include public nudity and the kind of mother/40-year-old son who lives at home domestic dispute that one can expect to see on the Maury Povich Show, but one of my absolute favourite topics of crazy people news stories involves people seeing the face of Jesus, the Virgin Mary, or Mohammad in a potato crisp, slice of toast, wall, or most recently, a chair.

The French island of Reunion, located in the Indian Ocean, is the source of this latest sighting of the Lord. Someone discovered one day that the rumples in the priest's cushion resembled the Son of God too closely to be a coincidence. According to an Agence France-Presse report, thousands have come to the island to witness the miracle that originated with somebody's bum.

This brings to my mind significant questions about the Divine Nature of Christ. It would appear that the Son of Man first appeared on foods, and now has appeared on someone's seat. Literally. I have been told throughout my life that God works in mysterious ways, but this just seems silly. If God wanted to send somebody a message, why not use the classics – a burning bush worked wonders for the Israelites in Egypt, after all, and don't get me started on the ten plagues! But I don't remember the biblical tale of King Saul seeing the face of Joshua Ben Nun in a plate of hummus, proclaiming it a miracle, and ordering all to visit to take souvenir etchings. Frankly, I think this is mere coincidence. If the real God wanted to send a message to his people, I think he has a better marketing department than one that would tell him to appear in somebody's butt imprint.

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Bitter ilstack is bitter. Also, fuck

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To quote the great Stephen Fry, "Bah, Poo, Botty and Tit." I was enjoying the weather this evening, sitting on the "porch" behind my flat with the screen door open and the cat on a leash, letting her explore where she would. I pushed the computer chair out there and was reading Luke Skywalker and the Shadows of Mindor, when I thought I ought to get a picture of me and the cat doing this. I popped inside to look for my camera ... only to find FUCK ALL.

So I dug up a few things to look under them, opened a few things, threw a few things, checked the car, phoned USI security, Liz, and my friend Joe in Henderson, and yet no joy. Trust me with an expensive piece of equipment, I'll lose the fucking thing in three months. It was at this point I decided the only possessions I need at this time are a television, a computer, clothes, a car to get to work and school, a camera (EL OH EL FUCK ME), and a place to live. Hell, I don't even NEED my iPod, I think. Everything else I can borrow ... I have a library membership, I have access to bookshops, I have the computer ... WHICH DOESN'T WANT ME TO LISTEN TO MR CROWLEY APPARENTLY.

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