The Sanctuary of Silence

On the fourth floor of the library at my university there is a large collection of French texts on Proust and Voltaire.

In a small corner of this floor is the room holding the university's Antarctica collection.

In a small corner of that room is a table where I can sit in silence and look over the maps, photos and research data compiled by scientists from all over the world who have had the privilege of traveling to the South Pole.

Antarctica is my real life Narnia but getting to it will take a lot more than stepping through a wardrobe.

Tourists can't just hop on the C-17 here in Christchurch and bum a ride down.

To go the cruise route you need at least $6,000.00 and that's for a crappy compartment in a bilge tank.

Every now and then the UK government hires people to go down and man their post office at Port Lockroy but Nick wasn't keen to lose me for four months so I didn't apply. It's a shame too because part of the job involves keeping a count on the local penguin population.

The law school does offer studies on legal issues arising out of Antarctica but I can't see myself getting a plane ticket out of it.

I got my hopes up recently when it was announced that Air New Zealand will be trialing a flight down to Antarctica in one of their jumbo jets in order to practice ice landings and possibly carry scientists down south in commercial jets in the future.

Maybe I can get a press pass and get on one of those flights.

Until then, I will still have the golden silence of the Antarctica room.

My First New Zealand Vote

If you've been watching John Oliver make fun of New Zealand recently you may have heard that we are having a referendum for a new flag.

Prime Minister John Key decided to spend millions to develop a new flag when most of us were okay with the current one.

We did have a pretty cool submission depicting a kiwi shooting lasers out of its eyes but of course, that one didn't make the final cut.

Unlike many countries, New Zealand allows non citizens to vote and so I was able to participate in this referendum.

It feels nice to have a say.

Just in case your wondering, I voted for the flag that doesn't make it look like we're part of the Republic of Cartoonistan.

How To Break Your Finger In The Most Kiwi Way Possible

The sheep have been moved into the orchard by the house again. The NPR noticed that one of them had a blue plastic string caught around her back leg and that she was dragging a long bit around.

I went out to try and cut her free but she ran off.

Yesterday when I was coming home I saw that she had become tangled in the string and was stuck to a branch.

To get to her I had to wander into a narrow fenced section that runs between the driveway and a large field. There are trees planted through this section and large branches had fallen everywhere so it was easy to trip.

When I got to the sheep she freaked out and started thrashing around. I tried to calm her but to no avail. She finally snapped the branch and ran off. As I attempted to follow, I tripped over a branch fell against the barbed wire fence and then proceed to land on my finger and break it.

The wire had ripped a hole in my favorite sweater.

Still, I pursued the sheep until she got caught on another branch. I got down on all fours behind a tree where she couldn't see me and reached out to snip her free. I managed to cut off the excess string but the part binding her back leg was still in place. She limped off to join the rest of the mob and I decided I had had enough.

I squeezed through some of the lower, non barbed wired and dusted off my jeans as I walked down the driveway.

My pinkie finger was killing me and it later puffed up like a little sausage.

I sent an email to the landlord so he and his working dogs can handle the string issue.

I sewed up the rip in my sweater with good results and I've decided to tape my injured finger to its neighbor as a sort of splint.

And that concludes this episode of How to Injure Yourself in the Most Kiwi Way Possible.

Percy's Sense of Plate Tectonics

Our farmhouse is frequented by all manner of birds but some of the more memorable are the California quail families and a pheasant named Percy.

I didn't name the pheasant, the landlord did, but I'm glad he's a Percy because it means he is seen as a neighbor and not a shooting target.

About two weeks ago we had a strong earthquake which shook the house for an extended period of time and made me literally sit up and take notice.

I have a rather casual "wait and see" attitude toward most earthquakes born out of experiencing a series of minor, non threatening ones whilst living in California.

This one was different however. I caught a bad case of fight or flight that lasted even when the house had grown still. I felt on edge and anxious like I need to go somewhere and take action.

If I had been a horse in a paddock I would have been flaring my nostrils and tearing around in a maddened state.

One of the first things I saw out of my window as the shaking started was that Percy had flown up to the highest branches of a large tree and was proceeding to make a huge racket in what I can only describe as "a scolding tone."

He was not pleased with the irregular movements of the earth and by gum, everyone was going to hear about it.

On Sunday night we had another earthquake at around 3 am and Nick decided he needed to talk to me about it. I however, still being somewhere between sleep and the waking world, made the call that the shaking was really just a gentle rocking motion and that full wakefulness was not necessary. As I drifted back off I heard Percy let off a series of protestation cries in the night.

About an hour ago we had a brief rattling aftershock and Percy piped up just as briefly.

I think if he had the ability to fuss before the quake he might be a valuable early warning system.

As it stands he's just like a grumpy old man shaking his cane at people on the lawn or in this case, at the lawn shaking the people.

Back to School

I am now a full time law student at the University of Canterbury.

Before classes began I visited campus to get some admin work sorted. Everywhere I went there were young people in bright red university t-shirts engaged in team building exercises.

Examples of this were one student sitting on another student's shoulders or large groups of students holding hands in a giant knot and trying to undo the not without letting go of each other's hands.

You know, the classics.

Those with personal space issues were surely pushed to their limits of their comfort zones.

Nothing makes you confront a social phobia quite like having a total stranger squeeze your head between their knees.

I skipped out on all that stuff along with the first week tradition of getting boozed up.

I am overjoyed to be back in a classroom situation although my mandatory law classes are quite populous and the ability to have lengthy discussions is limited.

I can feel my brain sizzling with excitement when new cases are discussed and people are called upon to explain the rationale for whatever position they take on an issue.

I am concurrently enrolled in the basic first year courses along with two major second year courses (criminal and contract law).

As my schedule stands I end up having the advanced courses where they assume you have the basics before the actual courses where they teach you the basics but I'm managing.

It's also interesting to compare US and NZ law systems.

I've met some great people and would describe the university's atmosphere as very welcoming and supportive.

I have joined the student law society, the Maori student law society Te Putairiki, the Spanish club and, by accident, the Investors Club, the latter being mistaken by me for the law society because they were right next to the law society's tent and I wasn't paying attention. I thought it was a bit strange that the law society would host a competition featuring the NZ Stock Market but I was feeling open minded and optimistic so I went with it.

I skipped the law society's first boozer because I needed to study for a legal research course, didn't want to be reminded of my age in the midst of hip young people skulling drinks and because I'm increasingly comforted by the thought of an early bedtime.

On my first visit I discovered a restaurant on campus called the Shilling Club. Aside from a cool name it was founded in 1978 (as was I) so I felt an immediate affinity for the place.

The name seems to suggest a place where a poor intellectual might get a cheap meal but this is not the case. The food is amazing but the prices will ensure that I only eat there on occasion and even then, I might just have the salad.

Tomorrow I will be going to observe a demonstration at the school's mooting court. I'm thinking of signing up for the campus competition.

I always associated the word "moot" with meaning that a topic wasn't worth discussing because it was pointless or irrelevant but here the term means a subject is open for debate.

I have a feeling that I might be a born mooter but I need to see how it's done first. If I feel confident then I will proceed to enter the competition and moot the hell out of whatever topic they throw at me.