Christmas and Some Photos of Earthquake Destruction

Santa brought a garden implement because you're never too young to move soil.

We went for a hike so I could show everyone the fossils. No one but me cared about the fossils and I was left alone.

Ralf got some exercise and tried to take a nap in the middle of the river.

My uncle's neighbor's land.

Several new chasms opened up in the neighbor's back yard after the recent quake.

Several trees fell victim to the quake.

My Christmas Present to Me

This is my  Christmas present to me to let me know I care. It was painted by a fantastic artist named Zandra Gibbs.

This is my house and all the little flowers I have planted around it.

This is my back garden with the aged chocolate lab Ralf. He's very old, very deaf and very lovable.

Happy Holidays From Rothera!

Selling Jesus

On Saturday morning I was having a relaxing spell reading in bed when I saw a man and a young girl walk up the front porch steps.

The doorbell rang and I steeled my nerves for a quick, firm refusal.

I opened the door glanced at the pamphlet in the man's hands.

This confirmed my suspicion that he was a Jehovah's Witness.

"I'm not interested," I said.

He nodded his assent and turned to leave.

I went to my bedroom and seethed.

There are few things that irk my sense of social decency more than someone showing up unsolicited at my house to tell me I've been doing life the wrong way.

This is the third group of witnesses the church has sent by. I missed the second visit but they left some of their "literature" on the doorstep. On the first visit a woman actual launched into a speech about how I and others like me had lost touch of what really mattered in life.

I was deeply angered by her presumptions about me and my life and I told her I wasn't interested.

Another time a group of witnesses drove up to the house where I was babysitting some children and tried to talk to me. I got out of that one by saying I wasn't the children's parent and it wasn't my place to try and convert them.

This firm but gentle approach obviously isn't going to stop them from sending another batch of smiling, sensible shoe wearing individuals to my house.

My dream of having a duo of Mormons show up at the same time and get into a dogmatic showdown is also not likely to occur.

I fantasize about getting a large, rabid looking mastiff whom I will name Brutus and keep on a thick chain leash.

When the witnesses come I will make a show of struggling to keep him at bay while explaining he has a high intolerance for the scent of theology.

I also thought about posting a sign at the front gate saying "If I am interested in being brainwashed by your particular brand of crazy, I will come and visit you. No religious soliciting."

I wish there was a law against home visits.

I think it's bad enough that they hang out in airports and public gatherings trying to push copies of The Watchtower onto anyone unfortunate enough to lock eyes with them.

There is one basic reason why these door to door faith peddlers have no chance with me.

I spent my entire childhood being told I was a bad sinner and a weak female who needed to be guided first by her father and then by her husband.

It turns out I'm not weak at all and have done just fine in my adult life without the guidance of a paternal figure.

Religions are greedy. They want your time and money and most of all, your unquestioning devotion to their version of the truth.

The scientifically gifted and intellectually curious are to be dealt to severely.

Facts and individualistic thinking are to be suppressed at all costs.

If I hadn't left the church I would probably be a cowed housewife in an abusive relationship with nowhere to go for help.

This was a reality that happened to many women I knew.

Their job was to raise the kids and keep the house. If the "head" of the house happened to be a physical, verbal and emotional tyrant, too bad. Members of her church would tell the woman it was her fault and she just needed to pray and try harder to please her husband.

If she wanted to leave there was no way because she didn't have any money. This was controlled by her husband.

There is also the matter of self righteous intolerance and the full conviction that one's beliefs are correct and everyone else is wrong and needs to repent or go to hell.

This leads individuals to go out and "witness" to the lost in hopes that they might give up their money and intellectual freedom  change their sinful ways and see the true path.

Spoiler alert: If you are a woman the true path always leads to a life of servitude and humiliation.

Aside from sexism, racism and homophobia also find their way into the supposed teachings of Christ.

It's really not fair to Jesus that he had all these great teachings about caring for the poor, loving thy neighbor, doing unto others as you would have them do unto you and judging not lest ye be judged.

These are timeless and positive messages of goodwill which are diluted and ignored daily by the Good Lord's insufferable disciples.

I can imagine Jesus listening in on a Sunday sermon in US megachurch and rubbing his temples in frustration.

As the preaching goes own his face contorts into a look of disgust and before he can stop himself he takes his father's name in vain.

By the end of the debacle he is clenching his fists and mumbling, "Just you wait until the end times!"

I know how he feels.

The NPR Made Some Art

And I hung it on the wall.

Kōkako Painting

I am a member of the Down By The Liffey Gallery and every year we have a member's show.

This year's theme was "Fragile Blue" and I could think of no greater embodiment of this than the Kokako.

In the nineties a group of conservationists were so moved by its haunting call that they began work to bring it back from the edge of extinction.

Kokakos are weak flyers with bright blue wattles.

My painting was of a single bird with its beak open in song. The background was light blue.

The show had its opening last night and someone must have taken a shine to it because when I went to view the works this afternoon it had already been sold.

I went home and happily told the NPR I had just earned "threes of tens" of dollars.

Nick has encouraged me to pursue my passion in hopes that I might move a few hundred paintings a week and essentially paint him into an early retirement.

Below is a video of the bird and its song.

Law School: A Year in Review

I began the year full of hope and enthusiasm.

I knew it would be a challenge because the university let me concurrently enroll in the first year core law courses as well as two second year courses.

I would later find out that these 200 classes, Contract and Crimes, were two of the hardest. 

In fact, Crimes was notorious for being the most difficult.

I had confidence that my journalistic writing skills, advanced degree and high GPA would easily put me in the top of the class and make me a candidate for the prizes awarded to the best student in the 101 and 110 classes.

I now realize I was being insufferable and only hope I managed to keep it to myself.

"Comeuppance" would be an excellent word for what I received.

There were many difficulties.

Legal writing is nothing like journalistic writing.

It was my first time learning about New Zealand governance and Parliamentary functions.

The 200 level courses presupposed that one had already learned the foundations of law.

My test scores were mostly in the B range which shocked me. My Contract midterm earned a C. My second exam in 101 also earned a C. 

I began the downward spiral of self doubt.

I cried, got angry, felt like an intellectual fraud and contemplated quitting.

I talked to other students who were going through similar experiences and felt a little better.

My academic adviser told me a PhD student who had switched to law had recently sat exactly where I was sitting and bawled her eyes out because she was struggling as well. 

I went to the library and read up on legal writing skills.

I attended a talk by a visiting law professor from Cambridge named Graham Virgo. He told me many of his students who were former journalists thought they could ace legal writing and how he had to work with them. 

"Well," I thought, "If some of the Cambridge kids are struggling..." 

I worked hard and earned an A- on my next 101 exam. 

I earned a B on my Crimes midterm and felt proud. 

I wrote a lackluster paper on the topic of Consideration for Contract and earned a C+. 

While my academic performance in Contract Law wasn't stellar, something extraordinary happened during this period that gave me a huge confidence boost. 

My partner owns a small building company and through him I've come to learn that non-payment for work is rife in his industry. 

One business he was subcontracted out to decided not to pay him for completed work and owed him $6,760.00.

We had just discussed the Disputes Tribunal in one of my classes and how it can adjudicate cases of up to $15,000 (or $20,000 with the agreement of both parties). 

I am a huge fan of the Tribunals because they meet the need of many people who cannot afford lawyers and court fees. 

They place both parties on equal footing by making them prepare their own statements and evidence. Lawyers are not permitted in the hearing unless there are special circumstances like representation of a minor child.

One person represents each party and gives their side of the story to a mediator. The mediator then issues their decision and it is binding on both parties and enforceable at court.

Nick agreed to let me put together the facts and represent him at the Tribunal. Actually, he said if he went himself he would just get into a fight with the other guy and probably take a swing at him. I encouraged him to refrain from assault and instead let me "beat the guy up" using the law.

I spent the next few weeks reviewing Nick's contract, bank statements, email correspondence and the existing legislation. 

I had to anticipate the other sides's arguments and what they might counter argue.

The day of the hearing I sat across from an arrogant, foul-mouthed twat waffle who was obviously used to getting his way.

He stood over me and the female mediator and adopted aggressive postures to try and intimidate us.

He continued to make biting personal remarks about Nick and say the whole hearing was "a fucking waste of time." He questioned who I was within the company and hinted that Nick was a coward for not coming to the hearing himself. He mumbled sarcastically whenever I spoke and attempted to talk over me.

I tried to take the high road by looking off into middle distance and ignoring him but he was relentless and I finally reached a breaking point.

While the mediator was out of the room making copies of supporting documents, the twat waffle again tried to engage me and said that, "the whole hearing was a fucking joke."

I had observed before that he had rather prominent front teeth with a large gap between them.  

I decided it was time to throw off the appearance of passivity.

I said he obviously didn't have reflective surfaces in his home and that if he wanted to see a fucking joke he should look into one. 

At these words he fell silent and blinked several times in disbelief. 

I had just spat out, "coming in here with your fucked up teeth," when the mediator returned with our copies.

We both turned our attention to her, smiled warmly and thanked her in sugary tones for our documents. 

I would later recall that a microphone had been placed in the middle of the table to record the proceedings and that our little tiff would likely be reviewed by the mediator and possibly some of her coworkers.

Our faux civility would fool no one

Basically, the twat waffle tried to say that he had already paid for the outstanding amounts by providing a copy of bills for scaffolding and a foundation modification.

I countered that he had not, in fact, originally budgeted for scaffolding and that Nick had quoted him a price to use his scaffolding that was well below market value and had therefore given him a good deal.

I explained that men working without scaffolding was a violation of health and safety laws and could have caused the twat waffle to be fined or have his work site shut down.

I also pointed out that he had paid the bill immediately with no word of complaint or protest and that this is what is known as "acceptance by conduct" in Contract Law.

I next explained that the foundation work had to be modified because of the type of soil the house was being built on. The quoted price had become more expensive than expected because of this unforeseen fact. This had given rise to a variation of contract (another term I learned in Contract Law) and was even noted by the twat waffle in his bank payment.

I also pointed out that if the foundation had not been corrected the whole project would have been held up as the further construction of the house would be impossible. 

I noted again how he had paid for the variation immediately and registered no complaint about doing so.

He finally claimed that since Nick and his workers had walked off site and refused to begin work on the other phases of their contract they had forfeited any previous claims to payment.

I then drew his attention to the fact that his own contract stipulated this was not the case and that section 24 of the Construction Contracts Act 2002 made it clear that suspension of work for non-payment of previous work did not prejudice the payment of outstanding bills.

I concluded by saying it was clear that the government never expected construction workers to continue working for free.

In a few weeks time we received notice of the Disputes Tribunal's decision in the mail.

I had won my first case.

Although the repayment was not immediately forthcoming, we eventually received the full payment of $6,760 and the twat waffle had to pay additional fines to the court for making them get involved and enforce the order.

This experience was just what I needed to convince myself that law was the right career choice.

I took great pleasure in recounting this story to anyone who would listen; professors, family members, fellow students, an imaginary Ted Talk audience, etc.

I would always conclude on a semi-bitter note by waggling my index finger in the air and proclaiming, "I may only be a middling law student, but by gawd, I can get results in a courtroom!"

So that was a highlight of the year and proof that I could take what I had learned in class and apply it successfully to a real world scenario.

Alas, I have just received my final grades: a C+ in Contract, B- in Crimes, B in 101 and B in 110.

Once again, I am a humbled, reformed character (at least until I win my first mooting competition next year).

Te Hunga Roia Maori o Aotearoa: Hui-a-Tau 2016

Last week I had the honor and privilege of traveling down to Queenstown with a delegation of Maori law students from the University of Canterbury.

We were attending the annual meeting of Maori law practitioners and students where we could hear the latest in legal happenings affecting Maori people.

It was a fantastic opportunity to meet students from other law schools and judges and lawyers who are focusing on Maori issues in the legal context.

Many of the discourses were given in te reo and the celebration of accomplishments was greeted with beautiful waiata sung in prefect harmonies.

I don't think I could be a truly proficient legal professional without understanding Maori concerns and viewpoints.

I made some wonderful friends and heard some moving speeches about tikanga and Treaty decisions.

I'm looking forward to participating in Te Putairiki events in the coming year.

Lupins near lake Tekapo

Marama and Me

Some lunchtime music

A moment of repose

Members of Te Putairiki

A celebration for the mooting champion

The Early Warning Pheasant

Just after I had drifted off to sleep in the wee hours of November 14 I became aware of the frantic cries of Percy the pheasant outside my window.

It was a strange, disjointed experience.

Something was off but I wasn't awake enough to figure it out.

Percy regularly patrols his territory around (and including) the house but he always does this in silence during the night.

All of the sudden his footfall was joined by what sounded like a herd of small hoofed animals scrabbling across the front porch and then the windows began to shake and the bed began to move.

I sat up and waited for things to settle down but the shaking grew stronger.

I wandered into the hallway and met Audrey standing there with wide eyes.

Around us the walls pulsed and the floor heaved. The overhead lights swung wildly back and forth.

"It feels like we're at sea," Audrey said.

The rolling sensation continued accompanied by the screams of Percy.

Nick was only partially awake to these events and Alex slept through them.

I spent the rest of the night riding out aftershocks and refreshing the browser on my computer so I could keep up with the news about the quake.

I worried about the issue of a tsunami warning and wondered about the untold damage being done.

Reports of destruction came from Wellington, Kaikoura and Waiau.

The earthquake registered as a 7.5 and the epicenter was very close to my uncle's property in the Hurinui district.

As dawn approached the house continued to tremble with aftershocks and news of landslips, fallen masonry and two fatalities trickled in.

The next morning was sunless and dreary. I slept through most of it and the afternoon trip to the grocery store with Nick felt unreal.

It seemed like a slow apocalypse had begun.

Trump had taken the presidency, the sun had disappeared and my part of New Zealand had been torn and shaken to bits.

It was possible this was the beginning of something worse.

I felt the impending shift towards depression.

The routes that allowed trucks to bring in food and other supplies were closed off.

A shortage of supplies was conceivable.

****

Last night we had peace and stillness.

There was a bright moon bathing everything in white light and I stepped out onto the porch with Audrey and a sleepless Alex to look at it.

I woke up to a bright sunny day having slept well.

It's warm out and the birds are foraging in the grass and tending to their young.

Nature is so very capricious.

Percy on Patrol

Alex Speaks

Alex is a talker.

He is also a singer.

His favorite song at the moment is "Kwinkle Kwinkle Little Star."

His favorite word to say is "naughty." He usually says this after he has done something naughty and instead of seeming ashamed he says it with a note of pride.

His sister taught him how to say "butt toot" and he says that every time he passes wind.

During the final week leading up to my contract exam I was trying to study in peace and quiet while he was loudly telling me about his toy truck. I told him to shush and he replied, "No to shush!"

Recently, he brought home a picture he had made with some colored bits of paper and glitter.

I displayed it at the Family Refrigerator Gallery and asked him about the strong use of negative space and tension between the rough geometric shapes focused near the paper's center.

He looked at me for a moment before replying, "fire truck."

Indeed.

When the world seems uncertain and dim I remember those words.

Fire truck.

The Canterbury County Fair

Today Nick and Alex and I went to the Canterbury A & P show. 

Alex freaked out about the animals and decided he didn't want a bar of them before he plucked up the courage to pet a small lamb. After that he didn't want to leave the farmyard and had a melt down when we said it was time to go.

Meanwhile Nick had a series of unpleasant flashbacks to his childhood when his parents made him tag along to the local A&P shows and he stood around bored all day while they participated in events. 

I always like watching the working dogs herd sheep but we only got through one and half round-ups before Nick got antsy and wanted to move on.

He also got petulant around the rare breeds poultry and wailed, "I hate fowl," before mumbling something about growing up on a farm with a strict father.

He kept seeing people walking around with delicious looking hot dogs but there were so many vendors that he ate two unsatisfactory hot dogs before he found the seller who had the hot dog he actually wanted. By the time he ate the third dog he was feeling pretty ill and disillusioned with the whole experience.

The Great White Hope

Today I woke up feeling incredulous.

For barely literate white supremacists Donald Trump's victory must instill that hopeful feeling that Obama gave many Americans eight years ago.

What depressed me most during the election was how certain men who I admired and respected (and many more who I didn't) were willing to excuse any vile thing Trump said.

No matter how racist, homophobic, xenophobic and misogynistic he got, he was still "better than Hillary."

Expressing a sense of entitlement toward women and their "pussies" was watered down to "locker room banter."

A complete ignorance of politics was laudable.

Running a scam university and robbing from your own charity was forgivable.

Being openly racist was courageous.

What the ever-loving fuck is wrong with people?

If you are not brown skinned or Muslim or gay or female or a combination of those then no, it's really "not that bad." Not for you. Not for your kind.

I've been thinking of the time I met the man who became the first African American admiral in the Coast Guard.

I asked him if he felt like he could relate to what women were struggling with within the military and he said no because even though he was a minority, he was a male and that was still preferable to those in power.

Clearly this attitude hasn't changed.

From other global vantage points, America now reads like a badly drawn graphic novel where the main characters glory in the worst aspects of human nature.

If anyone in New Zealand asks, I'm Canadian.

I can't stand to be called to account for the actions of those Americans anymore.

To me, one of the most illustrative examples of the current American mindset occurred when comedienne Samantha Bee sent reporters out to ask Republicans "when was America last great?"

Their responses all harked back to a time when slavery was legal, women couldn't vote and minorities had no power.

And now they have their marshmallow-haired king.            

Like those of us who dreamed big with Obama, these people will now get to see what campaign promises turn into; one or two major victories followed by business as usual.

Or perhaps not.

Perhaps their wildest dreams will come true.

Republicans do own Congress now and Trump essentially stands for the same things they do; the power of the almighty dollar, a disdain for ovaries, minorities and non heteros and a fierce pride in anti-intellectualism.

Do I hear the hoof beats of the first horseman of the Apocalypse?

Today I Am 38

The weather was nice

Lunch was lovely

Dinner in the orchard will be fabulous

Music to Make You Jig

The Fruits of Victory

Today I received my prize for the mushroom photo. I am so happy! 

A Fungus Among Us

I entered the BIOSOC photo contest so I could get some of my photos displayed in the biology atrium at my university.

There were several contest categories including "Animals," "Plants" and "Other."

I entered some obligatory kea photos and one of a blue mushroom known as Entoloma hochstetteri.

I was thrilled to find this specimen near Fox Glacier.

To set the stage for the trouble I went through to get the picture,Nick's sons were running around the trail screaming, Nick was getting irritated at my taking so long to photograph a lowly mushroom and my pants got soaked while I tried to get on eye level with it.

Because there was low light, getting a clear shot without a tripod was a painful process.

On a side note, this is why I didn't join my university's hiking club-I didn't want to hold everyone up while I hovered over some small plant trying to get the prefect shot.

Anyway, here's my picture:

Today I found out my picture won a prize in the "other" category.

I stood no chance of beating the excellent work in the other categories but thankfully, a fungus is neither a plant or animal so I won in the weird, not likely to be entered class.

Hurrah!

A Little Closer to Antarctica

In celebration of 60 years of a New Zealand presence in Antarctica, the International Antarctic Centre hosted an Ice Fest and gave the public a chance to go on board the U.S. Air Force C-17 that carried researchers and supplies down south.

It was awesome for me and mostly awesome for Alex although there were some tears for the latter.

First he wailed when we took him on the aircraft and then he wailed when it was time to leave.

I got to speak with some cool Air Force peeps and talk to some academics getting ready to head south to do a science.

There was a group of children dressed as penguins. Even the smallest of these sent Alex into tears.

The Amusing Trump

I was unpleasantly surprised when two of my friends recently confessed that they admired Trump.

It was particularly strange as one of them is Maori and the other is gay.

I tried to understand where they were coming from.

Here is a man who espouses xenophobic, homophobic, Islamophobic, racist and misogynistic views.

Even if he is merely pandering to his supporters, how can you admire someone who would do such a thing?

How can you admire someone who is has a low regard for your sexual orientation and would have no sympathy toward your historic struggles?

Maybe it's the fact that we all live in New Zealand where the threat of him affecting our daily lives seems too remote.

I can't admire or "give him credit" for being openly racist.

"He's not afraid to say what some people are thinking," they say.

So he's essentially amazing for taking advantage of the fears of ignorant white people who think their "way of life" and "American values" are under threat?

It was telling when The Daily Show sent reporters to interview Republicans on the subject of when "America was last great."

Most of the interviewees named dates before women could vote and when slavery was still legal.

Now we know what "Make America Great Again" really means. It means restoring it to a time when white, mostly Christian males held all the power.

But even if this could be brought about there is still the fact that a certain poofy haired oompah loompah isn't exactly a man of the people.

He's a wealthy businessman, one of the elite who throw their money at Congress to buy favors and chip away at democracy.

When I asked my gay friend why he admired Trump his response was because Hillary was corrupt.

I suppose he hadn't read about the $250,000 that Trump funneled from his charity to defend himself from lawsuits.

I also suppose he's never heard about the con game known as Trump University.

Look, it was fun for a while.

Even I enjoyed watching Trump trounce the GOP candidates who were trying to do business as usual but that was before he became the actual party candidate.

Now it's not amusing.

It's not funny.

As much as I don't hold the land of my birth particularly dear, I still care enough about my friends and relations there to want better things for them than Donald J Trump.

The Carry Box

On Saturday I went to a garage sale.

I had been looking for a small side table to go in my office and nothing I saw online answered the call.

At this sale I came across a nice wooden box set on four legs with leather straps to hold it shut. I had never seen one before and asked the woman what it was.

She said she had made it in the Girl Guides and that they used to carry food and supplies in them.

She sold me the box for $5 and as I was giving it a good clean I got to see just how much detail and excellent skill had gone into making it.

Once again I swelled with indignation at the Brownie Scouts of America.

While we were carrying out non threatening "feminine" tasks like baking cookies and sewing buttons onto fabric squares, our sisters in New Zealand were Getting. Shit. Done.

I feel that in order to get rid of this bitterness I need to take an adult education course in basic carpentry.

Only after I have built a rickety spice rack or wobbly stool will I feel that the order of my universe has been set to rights.

Fact vs Opinion

Last Saturday was the first time I had ever heard Greg Newbold's name. I was at the district court volunteering to be a juror so some young lawyers could work on their courtroom skills.

I learned that he was a professor at my school and had done time in prison for being part of a drug ring.

One former student recounted how she had visited his office when he was wearing short shorts with nothing underneath. She discovered this when he put his leg up and she could see his bits. She laughed about it but it sounded like something that would be hard to do "by accident."

One of his current students who was also in my jury group recounted how the professor told his class about a inmate who he thought was a really great guy before ending his story with a nonchalant mention that he had brutally murdered his wife.

After hearing these stories I made a mental note to avoid this man and his classes at all costs.

But it was not to be.

The very next day Nick sent me a news article about the same professor.

He had recently given a talk to promote his new book at the uni and several complaints had been lodged about sexist commentary he made during the event.

This gave rise to several more sexist and misguided comments in the press about "PC culture," "silencing freedom of speech" and "people's rights to have an opinion."

I will address these issues in a moment but first to his comments.

When speaking of a woman who was a champion of feminism Newbold instead focused on how attractive she was.

He also claimed that ladies wouldn't buy underwear modeled by fat women, sex will sell for biological reasons, women are attracted to strong men, men only want nubile women and women sometimes falsely report rape.

He then followed up with a statement to the press saying, "I wasn't there to make women feel good about themselves; I wasn't there to mollify feminists."

No, apparently he was there to start off with solid facts based on research and personal experience before derailing into psych evo and gender essentialist bullshit.

What does a woman's appearance have to do with her authority and understanding of subject matter?

Here, let me make my point a little clearer.

This is a photo of professor Newbold:

Because I think he resembles Mr Potato Head I can't be bothered to take anything he says seriously. No matter how many insights into prison conditions he may have gained through personal experience, he just isn't sexy enough for me to listen to.

Does this make any sense?

And yet, some men in two thousand and mother flippin' sixteen still feel the need to comment on a woman's appearance as if it has any relevance to what she has done with her academic career.

It's an insidious way of demeaning women and their accomplishments.

When a man does this he is attempting to confer importance onto his own opinion when there is none.

Whenever I hear of someone doing this I will automatically assume they are feeling threatened in some way.

The problem with a university giving a platform to someone like Newbold is that it gives his words an air of legitimacy.

While most universities wouldn't host a speaker claiming that some races are inferior to others or that the world is flat, many still seem to tolerate learned men passing off their misogyny as scientific fact.

The problem with claiming that everyone is entitled to their opinion is that Newbold's talk wasn't supposed to be about his opinions. It was supposed to be about facts, research and lived experience.

Opinions and facts are not the same thing.

Newbold wasn't in a debate. His was a solo performance in which his opinions were the only ones being heard.

Freedom of speech means the government doesn't interfere with private citizens rights to express themselves, It does not obligate universities have to give speaking time to every man with a crackpot theory about women and how they work.

If anything the administration should be embarrassed for having an employee who actually blurts out this sort of retrograde shit in public.

As for the term "PC," the people who deride it the most seem to yearn for the old days when you could openly demean others who you thought were beneath you.

When it comes to underwear purchases, I personally do not base my decision on the slimness of any model. I base my decision on whether or not something is likely to fit me and be comfortable.

From what I've seen of the world with my own two eyes, women take men in all shapes and sizes and men who only want nubile women are usually trying to compensate for something.

As for the false rape statistics, it seems that statistics from several international sources estimate between 2% and 8% of cases qualify. But the research is problematic because in several cases "false" was confused with cases declared "unfounded" and some of those cases weren't taken any further due to the personal bias of the investigating police officers.

To say the data is flawed is an understatement.

As for Newbold's right to speak his mind, I don't think it's under any threat.

He was able to blather out a whole bunch of ignorant nonsense, be an unapologetic a-hole about it in the press and keep the day job where he will likely tell more students about the great wife murderers he's known and befriended. 

Towards That Great Frozen Land

I regularly dream that I have somehow made it down to Antarctica.

In my last dream I was attending a domestic social event on board a ship and I found a berth available for $6,000. I decided I would be able to come up with the money somehow and I sailed down with them.

In my dreams, Antarctica has often been terraformed and there are young pine forests and permanent houses. There are more young people there because they are being encouraged to foster a lifelong interest in scientific research.

There is inevitably a thrill as the icy shores come into view. It's finally happening!

And then I wake up.

The other day I was driving to Christchurch and on my way into the city I came across a building called "Antarctic House."

Of course I had to go in.

This is the offices of a specialized travel agency for polar expeditions by ship.

One of the ladies showed me a travel plan beginning in New Zealand, covering its sub-antarctic islands and making landfall at the Ross Ice Shelf.

"How much is that one?" I asked.

"About $24,000.00 US per person," she said.

And therein lies the major roadblock to my dream.

I have thought of volunteering to be a deck hand or offering to be a travelling companion for an insanely wealthy individual who feels they have "done it all" but neither of this options is likely to happen.

Not long ago the UK was looking for brave individuals to man their Port Lockroy post office and do some penguin counting and I was dying to apply but Nick wasn't keen on living without me for five months (It's like he's in love with me or something).

I don't dare start a crowd funding page because those things seem to be for creative projects and good causes and me really, really, really wanting to see Antarctica just because doesn't seem to fit the criteria.

In my final year of law school I plan on studying Antarctic legal issues so maybe I can hitch a ride down with some of our biology students who are on their way to do a science.

In the meantime, I suppose I'll just savor the weird converted winter land that constitutes the Antarctica of my dreams.

Another Literary Disappointment

Disappointment has struck again.

This time it came in the form of Evelyn Waugh's "Vile Bodies."

It tried to be humorous at times but was undone by a suicide, a death by nerves, a marriage of convenience and a battle that doesn't end well.

I am about to start Tom Jones which will undoubtedly leave me feeling bleak and tired.

To pick myself up after this I may have to dip back into P.G. Wodehouse or give Lucky Jim another read through.

On Tess of the D'Urbervilles

I read a lot.

Sometimes, to deal with the impending stress of a law exam, I read to escape.

I recently completed Thomas Hardy's "Tess of the D'Urbervilles" and I hated it.

The story centers around a lovely, sweet, country girl named Tess whose proud, lazy, drunken father finds out he is related to an old family once filled with knights and nobility.

When he discovers that a nearby wealthy woman shares the same last name he decides to send Tess to them in hopes that she might benefit from the woman's connections.

Against her better judgment, Tess goes to the home of the woman and meets her pervy libertine son Alec who leers at her and tries to get fresh.

Tess leaves to return home but Alec convinces her to come back by providing gifts to her poor family.

One night he "rescues" her from a disagreement with some fellow villagers and takes her into a forest where she falls asleep while he goes off looking for the way home.

He comes back to discover her sleeping and proceeds to rape her.

Don't let anyone (I'm looking at you Wikipedia) tell you any different.

The end of the chapter where it happens says he did to her what some of her knighted forefathers did to other village girls on their way home from victory.

Further in the book one villager says to another that they heard crying on the night it happened and that Alec might have been in trouble had he been discovered by any of the local men at the time.

Of course, Tess gets pregnant and everyone judges her as a fallen woman.

The child is born, lives for a few weeks and then dies. Because Tess's father is too proud to go for the clergyman, Tess baptizes the child herself.

Eventually she moves on to another valley to work at a dairy where she meets a Methodist parson's son, Angel Claire, who has decided to dabble in animal husbandry.

He gets the special treatment on the farm so he doesn't really have to mix with the peasants unless he wants to. In his spare time he plays the harp badly and develops feelings for Tess.

Tess struggles to tell him what happened to her but can't find the words or proper time to do so.

He asks Tess to marry him but she says no. She's afraid she isn't good enough for him.

Meanwhile, there are three other young milkmaids who lust after Angel and try to harm themselves when they find out he really prefers Tess.

Eventually, the two get married and on their wedding night Angel tells Tess he had an affair with an older woman in London but has learned his lesson and is sure she will forgive him.

Tess, in a rush of relief and confidence tells him of her ordeal.

While Angel assumed that him sticking his penis in someone else would be cool with his wife, the thought that someone stuck their penis in her, even though it was against her will, is unacceptable to him.

What follows is some good old fashioned, double-standard, slut shaming.

I was made all the more livid by this because no one in the whole damned book seemed capable of realizing that 1) women's value doesn't degrade though sexual experience and 2) Tess was sexually assaulted against her will.

Angel goes off on a boo hoo fit to Brazil but before he leaves he tries to seduce one of the forlorn milkmaids to go off with him and live as his mistress. He ends up leaving her behind after she tells him that she could never love him more than Tess does.

Angel is just really a first rate guy.

And yes, later on Tess finds out about this but decides to forgive him and go on loving him.

Of course she does.

Tess is left behind with a little money and the understanding that she will live with her family.

Instead, Tess goes off to work on a hellish farm where she is despised by her boss and left to feel like damaged goods by the absence of her husband.

To make matters worse, Tess runs into Alec again and at this time he's become a travelling preacher who talks of hell and brimstone.

He soon begins to stalk Tess and, in one unforgettable scene, forces her to swear "not to tempt him again."

I really wanted to scream at that point.

Alec soon abandons his new found piety and starts showing up at Tess's work and insisting that she become his woman. She says no and tells him she is married and he starts the whole, "Oh, really? Where's your husband then?" line of questioning.

Tess's father dies, her mother and siblings get turned out of the house and the place they were supposed to rent is rented out to someone else.

Alec then sails in and promises to help Tess's family if she will become his property.

Finally she gives in and they go off to live by the seaside.

At about this time, Angel decides that maybe Tess isn't that bad and he'll give her another chance (so magnanimous of him) and he heads back to England to find her.

He soon learns of her whereabouts.

She meets him at the hotel and tells him she's living with Alec and that he can't have her.

He leaves all dejected and I experienced a welling up of Schadenfreude.

Out of nowhere, Tess suddenly becomes someone completely different from the long-suffering and good hearted woman she has been throughout the book and murders Alec.

Really?

Yes, really.

I half expected Miss Marple to show up and start sleuthing. That's how disjointed this felt.

After slaying Alec, Tess catches up with Angel and they hide out in a house for a week before they are discovered and Tess is captured and hanged.

Before she is taken away, Tess tells Angel he should take up with her younger sister and that's what he does.

Seriously. Team no one with this book.

My takeaway is that everyone in Victorian society was fond of pretending their poop didn't stink.

One didn't speak of one's problems to one's friends leaving one to suffer through them alone.

It was okay for men to screw whomever they liked, offer a half-hearted apology (or not) and move on.

Women were damned because they could not own property, have careers or vote and had to deal with some male-invented mythical concept of "purity."

Dickens had a way of issuing biting social commentary with wit and humor.

When Hardy does it I become misanthropic.

The My Little Pony Question

Before we go to bed, Nick and I sometimes watch YouTube videos together.

Lately we've been watching a series called "cringe compilation" which features a lot of weird and awkward stuff.

I am horrified by the videos of a full grown man wearing a diaper and acting like a baby. The fact that he is being filmed by another adult male who talks to him from behind the camera is also super creepy.

I am incensed by the sweaty, awkward, overweight guys who whine about not having hot girlfriends.

It's not that they're sweaty, awkward or overweight (many of us were one or more of these things as teenagers) it's the fact that they feel entitled to an outwardly perfect girlfriend.

Intelligence and personality have nothing to do with it. She must be hot.

What do they have to offer to any girl, hot or otherwise? I'm at a loss.

If you asked them I'm sure they would tell you it's because they're nice guys.

There are a host of videos with young people who are obsessed with all things Japanese and using the word "sugoi."

There are videos of people who think Africa is a country.

There are videos of teens trying to bear witness for Christ in ways that give me a sever case of secondary embarrassment.

But of all these awkward, weird and cringe inducing displays none takes a more devastating toll on Nick's psyche than those involving "Bronies."

After sitting through several videos of boys and grown men professing their love for the My Little Pony franchise, Nick has become agitated and will often cry out,"What am I missing?"

He seems unsettled that a cartoon originally geared toward little girls could drive adult males to pin rainbow colored tails to their pants, collect plastic figurines and cry over the imaginary adventures of a character named "Pinky Pie."

Growing up in the 80s, I had several My Little Pony toys.

The first one I received was purple and green and named Seashell. She was cast in a sitting down position which was really frustrating because it was impossible for her go trotting out into battle whenever She-ra needed backup in the vicious war against Ken and the Pound Puppies.

My Little Pony: Sedentary Edition

Anyway, I'm not a fan of gendered toys and think its fine for boys to play with dolls.

What bothers me is that, in some cases, there seems to be a weird, almost sexual aspect to some Brony fandom. It seems more like a fetish than a hobby.

Move Along. Nothing to See Here.

Should full grown men be getting this caught up over children's cartoons?

Is there something below the surface that might make them a danger to others?

It's hard to say a definite "yes" but it still feels like something is off.

That's my take on it anyway.

So I told mom, "If they go, I go."

I'm not sure if any of this will comfort Nick.

He seems to view the phenomenon as holding some undecipherable universal truth hiding in plain site.

Two Visits To Ulva Island

We took two trips to Ulva Island to see the rare birds living there.

On the first trip we showed up at the dock and met Peter the Captain. 

He had captured a small octopus in a cup and let me get a picture of it before setting it free.

A teeny tiny cephalopod

As we were waiting for our 9:30 am departure, a lady brought her Jack Russel pup who was specially triained to hunt for mice and rats on Ulva. The dog's name was Gadget and she took an immediate shine to Alex. (I'm pretty sure she saw him as a fellow puppy.) 

By the end of the day they had become mates.

On Ulva, we saw Stewart Island Robbins which hopped around and waited for us to scratch up some bugs for them. 

When we sat on a bench to look at the forest two of them came to perch beside us. Alex decided they were getting too close and waved them away.

We also saw Weka, Kakariki, Kereru, Bellbirds, Tuis and Oyster Catchers. 

When the Weka started throwing leaf litter around while looking for breakfast Alex decided he was being untidy and told him, "No, no!"

Alex shares a seat with a friendly Robin.

Hunting for bugs

A Weka approaches

The next day we returned with a group of four Americans-a mother and daughter and two guys who were on their way back to the States after a semester of study in Australia.

Gadget meets Alex

Alex meets Gadget

Hanging Out

I ended up giving both groups a walking tour stuffed to the brim with bird facts. The two guys had named the tui "the R2D2 bird" and called the Oyster Catchers "Halloween Birds." When I pointed out a Weka to them they asked if it was a Kiwi. 

I didn't want to talk their ears off about birds to whole trip (yes I did) so I sat down with Alex on a bench and let them get on down one of the trails.

One of the guys came rushing back about two minutes later and explained in an excited whisper that he and his friend had spotted a Kiwi.

My first thought was "it's probably a Weka" but I followed him with rising hope. 

Some New Zealanders go their whole lives never seeing a Kiwi in the wild but Ulva and Stewart islands are the place to spot them. 

The overhead tree cover on Ulva is so dense and the sky so cloudy that the forest remains relatively dark and the bird will actually become active during the day.

Sure enough, nosing around below the ferns was a giant brown Kiwi. I was so excited to see it.

My fatal mistake came when I tried to put Alex down so I could get my camera out of my backpack. 

He immediately went into meltdown mode and screamed "Muuuuum!"

The Kiwi tore up a hill and I was able to just capture a blurry shot of its butt before it disappeared into the bush.

Center of the photo disappearing behind the tree: a kiwi butt.

 On the way to Boulder Beach a Weka came out of the forest and took a careful peck at my gumboots. On the shore we sat by the bush line and saw a baby Weka take food from its foraging parents. A Tomtit and a juvenile Saddleback came to see what we were doing and two tuis were chasing each other in the trees.

When Peter returned for us we gave him our tickets which were leaves of the muttonbird scrub.

We said goodbye to magical Ulva Island and returned to our hotel for an afternoon nap.