Golriz Ghahraman's Aversion to Truthfulness

When I first heard about Golriz Ghahraman it was from Nick announcing that she was the first refugee to enter the New Zealand Parliament. Her family had fled Iran when she was nine and resettled here.

The next I heard of her was when a scandal broke that she had willingly volunteered to serve on the defense team of those accused of atrocities in the Rwandan genocide.

Two damning photographs were also made public. One showed a grinning Ghahraman standing next to Simon Bikindi who was later convicted of inciting genocide. The other shows a still grinning Ghahraman seated next to the Rwandan defense team. (Everyone else had to good sense to let the seriousness of the matter reflect in their facial expressions.)

The scandal was noteworthy because Ghahraman was a Green party MP whose profile had extolled her virtue as a human rights advocate.

In fact, any article written on her before the information came out was suspiciously bereft of any mention of her stint with the Rwandan defense team.

The article on her in the November issue of Law Talk was one long humble brag. She went to Oxford and loved justice. Refugees, oppressed persons, unfortunates and down trodden individuals were her life, etc.

Her twitter feed features a series of photographs in which she is always the focal point. Around her are the  human props people she lives to serve.

When called out on her dishonesty she responded that anyone could learn of the defense work if they just scrolled down to the bottom of her LinkedIn profile where it was noted in an easy-to-miss location.

As for the misrepresentation on the Green's website she was happy to let everyone think that it was an oversight on the part of the party, not herself.

I volunteered for the campaign of local Labour candidate Tony Condon and I helped him write and edit his own background story. Once complete it was sent to the moderators and posted on Labour's official website.

I'm sure this wasn't the case with Ghahraman and it's only an awkward coincidence that her information wasn't corrected until after the elections when she was promoted to MP from the party's list.

Her response to the fallout has been to say that the criminally accused are entitled to a defense.

At first glance this seems like a difficult but necessary truth but it is in fact, a red herring.

Ghahraman makes it seem like she was the only person brave enough to enable the accused to have their day in court. In fact, the accused had a team of lawyers and Ghahraman volunteered to go to the dark side and help out.

With or without her, the trial would have gone on with a competent defense team.

The decision to grin from ear to ear while posing with a man accused of "inciting genocide" was also entirely voluntary and in no way necessary to the process of justice.

Recently, a blogger pointed out Ghahraman's problematic claim that she remembers the bombs falling around her during her time in Iran. The blogger noted that her hometown of Mashhad was more than 1000 miles away from Tehran and was not bombed during the war.

Her huffy response was that she never said it was but that she was often sent to visit her family in Tehran during school holidays.

So, war broke out, bombs were falling and Golriz' parents who had enough sense to flee Iran still thought was okay to repeatedly send her to the kill zone to visit family.

Seems totally legit.

As a feminist I am always happy to see women doing good things and helping others.

As a person with a low tolerance for dishonest bullshit I am always angry when people like Ghahraman try to get away with being morally repugnant.

Once, during my time with the Coast Guard I was tasked with helping a young woman who turned out to be a narcissist and compulsive liar. In retrospect I remember the way her eyes searched my face when she was speaking to me. At first I thought it was due to her sincerity of feeling. Later I realized she was scanning my face to see if I had caught on to her lies.

Even now, diligent reporters could be checking to see if Ghahraman was actually enrolled at Oxford.

I'm sure whatever they come up with will be disavowed and the responsibility of knowing will be put back on the general public.

If only we had read the fine print in some obscure document...it was right there the whole time!

*For informative and well-written stories about the political turmoil and war in Iran, I suggest reading anything by Marjane Satrapi. My favorite will always be the graphic novel "Persepolis."

World of Forkcraft

It finally happened.

I got my forklifting endorsement on my license. I am sooooo proud.

To make matters more exciting, Nick just bought himself a forklift and since I'm the only one who is certified to use it, I get to go out into our equipment yard and practice my skills.

Bro, do you even lift?

Yes I do.

Pounamu

For our fourth anniversary Nick bought me a pounamu necklace.

Pounamu is a beautiful type of nephrite found in New Zealand's south island. It belongs to Ngai Tahu and is sold under iwi approval. It comes in varying shades of green and is usually carved into some meaningful form.

Mine was in a double twist known as a pikorua. It was a gorgeous deep forest green.

Within 24 hours of receiving the necklace it lay on the floor of my room in two pieces. My son had picked it up from the nightstand and dropped it onto the carpet from a height of about two feet.

I was upset and Nick was livid.

He said he had paid $450 for something that was supposed to last a lifetime and instead had broken in a day.

Two days later he took the piece back to the jewelry store and was informed by the manager that the breakage was our fault and that it wasn't the store's policy to do refunds. He was then told that if he wanted to buy another piece they'd be happy to give him a 15% discount.

Nick told the manager he could fuck right off and that they hadn't heard the last of us because his girlfriend was a law student.

When I heard the news first I stewed and then I turned to the law.

The Consumer Guarantees Act 1993 was my weapon of choice. It lays out the responsibilities of vendors and manufacturers in relation to their products. Section 7 had two helpful parts (a) an object must be fit for its intended purpose and (e) durable. Legal remedies consisted of a refund or replacement of the object with another of equal value. If the company refused to follow the law they could be taken to the Disputes Tribunal. Letters could also be written to the Commerce Commissioner. Notices could also be given to the local press and the consumer friendly program "Fair Go" could be contacted.

I called the artist who carved the pieces to let him know what had happened and how the company selling his work had reacted. He said the pounamu had fibers and grains just like wood and while it wasn't common to have them snap, it wasn't unheard of. A few of his pieces had even done so while he was working on them. He said he would call the company and speak with them and I thanked him.

This is the second time I've had to deal with a faulty product and dodge by the company that sold it to me.

Harvey Norman tried to say it was "user error" when the laptop I bought for my daughter had a screen separate from its frame. They wasted no time in saying our actions had gone beyond reasonable wear and tear and that the warranty was voided.

When I insisted that a brand new computer sitting in an open position on a desk for six months couldn't possibly be called "wear and tear" they pouted and said they would contact the manufacturer.

They came back to us a few days later and said the manufacturer was blaming us but that they would "escalate the situation up the chain" to get a solution.

How magnanimous of them.

In the end they replaced the faulty laptop with a new one.

It boils my blood that there are laws in place to protect buyers but most don't know where to look for them.

The default position for the retailer seems to be "it's your fault and we won't fix it but feel free to spend more money with us."

As a dear friend pointed out, this is a really shitty business strategy.

The other thing that gets my goat (to use the old phrase) is that these companies deal in hundreds of thousands if not millions of dollars worth of goods from the manufacturers.

The manufacturer can't afford to piss off the retailer.

What ultimately happens in most of these scenarios is that the faulty product is sent back and a credit is issued.

Neither the retailer nor the manufacturer goes hungry or becomes homeless from the process.

*****

I returned to the jewelry store two days after Nick's visit, armed with copies of the relevant law and moral outrage.

I was fully prepared to become "loud and indignant" if the situation called for it.

I met with the manager who quickly realized he had been foretold of my coming and lo! I was upon him.

He looked at the broken pieces I placed in front of him and the air between us became pregnant with an impending dodge.

"Here," I said, "Let me show you section 7 of the Consumer Guarantees Act."

I went on to explain that he had sold me a piece of jewelry with a weakness in it that would have caused it to break sooner or later. The piece was sold as a necklace which are meant to be worn regularly and the flaw meant that it was never fit for such a purpose (section a). It also certainly didn't meet the definition of "durable" (section e).

The urge to blame the user and deny responsibility played out in his facial expression.

A battle raged within him. He could continue to play the shyster but it was risky. First my partner had cursed him out and then I came at him with legalities.

I proceeded to show him the section of the Act about the remedies of either a refund or replacement. I said I preferred a replacement.

Finally he gave in.

"We don't normally do this sort of thing but since its Christmas..."

"Whatever you need to do to tell yourself to get on the same page as me," I thought.

He took me to the window display of carved pounamu and brought out more selections for my perusal.

We found common ground in our praise for greenstone and those who carved it.

I had won but there was no need to rub it in.

I picked out a beautiful manaia and finally went home a happy customer.

The Blue Cup

Recently I was co-awarded The Blue Cup for "Best First-Time Mooter."

The cup is named after a former University of Canterbury law professor who was never seen without a blue teacup in hand.

I share the award with my colleague Erin who came in second in the junior moot and bravely represented our university at the national mooting competition this year.

We've worked out a shared custody agreement where she will have the cup for Christmas and I'll take it for the New Year.

Me And The Natural World

Last year I bought a t-shirt from my University's tramping club because it had a kea on it. When asked if I wanted to join I said no because I didn't want to hold everyone up.

I'm pretty sure the guy thought I meant it was because I was slow or not up to a long hike but it was actually because I have a habit of dropping down to inspect some unknown plant or standing still to listen for bird calls.

If it's about the destination you don't want someone like me along because, if you do get there, it will be in a delayed fashion and probably after enduring several lectures on avian behavior.

My need to capture an image of a small plant called a bidi bidi led a group of trampers coming up behind me to believe I had fallen and hurt myself. I was laying down on my side and they couldn't see my camera.

Must photograph, identify and catalog!

In the above photo my friend Hill caught of picture of me crouching to photograph one of the two carnivorous plants that inhabit this Alpine trail. Hill is one of those people who takes an interest in flora and fauna wherever she goes so she can tolerate nature walks with me.

I also have a tendency to pull faces and do really dumb stunts which usually put us both in hysterics. For example, I thought it would be neat to get a couple of action shots of me running in terror from the giant moa statue at the Bealey Hotel.

My. God.

Something happened to my face. My mouth made a melting sausage shape and my eyes were reduced to two tiny tadpoles swimming furiously towards each other.

And my chin? Whither my jaw? It was as if the back of my head was swallowing the front bit.

Although we both laughed until the tears came, I was quite discomfited that I could look that awful.

Anytime I get too full of myself all it would take to shut me down is someone whispering, "remember the great moa stunt of 2017?" And that would be me silenced.

Hanging Out With Friends

My friend Hill recently came to visit from America and she has an awesome camera and a great eye for photography.

We visited Arthur's Pass and saw several Kea. I noted their tags so I could report the sightings on the recently launched kea database.

Alex Whispers His First "Trick or Treat"

We have an American living with us at the moment and she's fond of observing American traditions such as Christmas and Halloween.

In order to facilitate the proper observance of Halloween I thought we might escort my son out around the local neighborhoods.

This last minute decision saw me turning one of his printed black t-shirts backward, pinning a pillowcase around his neck, placing a borrowed pointy hat on his head and labeling him "baby Gandalf."

A lot of Kiwis don't like Halloween. They think it's incredibly rude to knock on a stranger's door and demand sweets (or anything else for that matter). The implied threat of a "trick" doesn't go down either.

Alex, being a true kiwi child, didn't take naturally to asking strangers for candy. He silently watched as candy was put into his bucket at the first house. At the second he handed a piece of his candy to the little girl who gave him a goody bag. At another house he whispered "trick or treat" so faintly the man at the door leaned down and said, "what was that now?"

We found that it was almost impossible to tell who was giving out candy and who wasn't. Some people made a slight attempt to decorate with a spiderweb over a light fixture and others just sort of watched for you from a doorway with no decorations at all.

At one house a woman held out a bowl with a skeleton over it and when Alex went for a piece of candy, she pressed a button that made the skeleton come down on his hand and give an evil laugh.

Alex was horrified. I marked that moment as a time my son would later discuss in therapy. "Why am I apprehensive of strangers with bowls? Let me think back..."

We did a lot of walking for very little reward but the other American seemed happy and Alex didn't care so that was okay.

When we got home, Alex was allowed to pick out one piece of candy while his chaperones taste tested the rest of it for "safety reasons."

And that was Alex's first Halloween.

A Song That Brings Hope

We finally have a new government and a new Prime Minister in New Zealand.

Jacinda won and Labour has formed a coalition government with the Greens and New Zealand First.

After keeping us in suspense for several weeks, Winston Peters finally made his choice.

So shines a good deed in a weary world.

With all the mind numbing stupidity brought by the Tangerine Prince of Comb-overs, it's really uplifting to have a woman of my age getting ready to take the reigns of power in this country.

Today I made a discovery that has given me so much happiness.

I know the birds in my garden. I know their Latin, common and Maori names. I know their songs and nesting habits. I know if they're natives or were introduced from Australia or Europe.

Recently I noticed a clear and lovely voice which rang out above all the others.

It was solitary and never answered by another of its kind.

I had a suspicion it was a bell bird or Korimako but I was doubtful because they've been driven out of this part of the Canterbury by the loss of habitat.

They are nectar eaters who love the blossoms of the flax plant and kowhai.

This afternoon I went outside and tried to pinpoint the source of the beautiful song.

My house has several large, established trees and flax plants.

I crept among the trees and looked up whenever the song was repeated.

And then I spotted it-a solitary bell bird flitting through the branches.

I mimicked it's song and it flew closer and answered mine.

If you ever go into the bush and start whistling all the nearby bell birds will hop over to check you out. This happened the first time I visited my uncle's house. His property is filled with manuka trees which they also love.

It gives me an enormous sense of well being to find this bird in my garden.

I know if we Cantabrians work to restore the native habitat, these birds will return and join the dawn chorus as they did before.

Conversation With A Young Man In A Shop

 My laptop crapped out. They always do. I don't know why it's still such an unpleasant surprise.

Getting a new one means a trip to a shop where some young salesperson will inevitably try to hornswoggle me.

I hate this process slightly less now that I've hit an age where I'm more assertive.

I went to the type of shop where they have huge televisions with gorgeous color saturation featuring images of blown glass and bright flowers.

No one came to help me so I went to the counter to wait for one of the young men to notice me.

The one who did was tall with blond hair, blue eyes and an American accent.

He looked to be in the shallow end of his twenties.

I told him what I was looking for and he asked where I was from.

We then established that I was from Alabama and he was from Utah. He was Mormon and I was raised Southern Baptist. He had been to the Dominican Republic for his mission and spoke excellent Spanish. I had lived in Mexico and loved cheap street tacos.We had both suffered from Salmonella and been hospitalized while living in those countries.

The following discussion happened throughout the negotiations over the computer I wanted.

He mentioned his fiance was studying Criminal Justice at the UC.

I asked if she had any classes with Greg Newbold and what she thought of him.

He said she loved him.

I made some facial expression that caused him to ask what I thought of him. I said I had read his textbook in which he claimed 60-80% of women who reported rape were lying and that he had cited Wikipedia numerous times which is just not done in academic texts. I said I was worried that he was teaching future law enforcement professionals to victim blame.

That's when the fresh faced young man told me that most women were to blame for getting raped because of the way they dressed and acted.

At that point I became a concerned mother type. My hand went to my heart and I said, "No, no, no you don't believe that surely?"

He did though.

I reminded him that women in Saudi Arabia who are covered from head to toe also get raped and he said he had read all about it and it was mostly domestic abuse.

My readings on the subject told me women reliant on taxi drivers because they weren't allowed to drive were often assaulted in those vulnerable situations.

And then he said men couldn't help themselves and if I knew what went through their mind all the time I would understand.

I said he was confusing a normal, healthy sexual desire with committing an act of sexual violence against someone without their consent.

I heard the sincerity in his voice and was reminded of myself when I was younger and fully immersed in my church's version of Christianity. Back then, I spoke with absolute certainty of my world view because I was steeped in it and no one ever came along to contradict or disprove it until I got out of my parent's house.

I had a comforting thought that one day he would think back on our conversation and be embarrassed of himself for saying such things. After all, I had.

But there again, maybe he won't.

There's a difference with how men and women experience most major religions.

His and mine are both set up to put men in positions of power and decision making. That sort of thing can be hard to give up.

I joked that if men were really at the mercy of their sex drive maybe they should all be locked up.

I'm puzzled by the church's portrayal of men as strong leaders meant to rule the world but also weak-willed sex zombies at the first hint of leg or cleavage.

Should they really be in charge if this is the case?

I changed tack and asked if we met and I was wearing a bikini would he lose control of himself and feel the need to sexually attack me.

No, not him. He would never.

"Well you see then, you can control yourself and there's hope." I said.

He declared that he was brought up to respect women.

That respect is highly conditional though.

It requires us to dress and act in a certain male approved way.

We mustn't like sex too much because that's unnatural. That's what men do.

If we are not good, modest girls then we deserve to be raped. We bring it on ourselves.

This is a horrendous way to view women.

It's not doing men any favors either. It assumes they're all sex fiends just trying to get through life without having to rape someone.

I found the exchange so disturbing that I went home and immediately called my mother.

"I don't think anything I said got through," I told her.

She thought it might have.

In a few weeks that young man will be going back to Utah to get married.

I hope his wife gives birth to a series of daughters and that each one is more outspoken than the last.

Bring Them Down

I am delighted by the destruction being visited upon Confederate monuments in the South.

I can't think of any other place in the world where a losing side is so celebrated.

Look world, we had this war and got our butts handed to us! Hurrah for the South!

I've been thinking about what it must feel like as a person of color to see a bunch of white fuckwits trying to defend these statues with talk about heritage.

So yeah, let's look at that heritage.

To adopt the distorted Southern perspective you would need to do the following:

In order to be proud of losers you want to romanticize them as much as possible. To do this, make sure the local history books are filled with stories of how noble and gentlemanly they were.

You'll need to have an organization like the United Daughters of the Confederacy which will offer prize money to the young lady who can write the best essay about the bravery of her great-great- great grandpappy who fought the rebel scum with dignity.

To reinforce the romance of the old South you'll feature a yearly Springtime event where families get into their cars and drive out to the plantations to see the dogwoods and azaleas in bloom. To highlight the wholesomeness of this event you'll have a bunch of young white girls in hoop skirts, gloves and bonnets smile and wave at the passing cars. (Aren't those delicate Southern belles the best? So feminine. So unthreatening.)

When giving tours of said plantation houses you focus on the splendor and charm of the Big House. At no time will you allow the visitors to wander off out the back where the row of rundown shacks are located. If a visitor does manage to escape out there you'll laugh musically, redirect them to the official tour and mumble something about "tool sheds."

When teaching Southern history to older students you'll stress the fact that less than 1% of all wealthy people in the South owned slaves with the takeaway being that the Civil War couldn't possibly have been about slavery. You'll ignore the fact that during the time even the poorest of white trash had higher status than black folks and that every white person in the region benefited from an economy that thrived off of slave labor.

You'll use special terms to refer to this period of time. It wasn't a "Civil War" it was the "War Against Northern Aggression". It wasn't about the spread and existence of slavery, it was about "States Rights." Never mind if those rights let one type of person own another or let lawmakers draft discriminatory legislation which disenfranchised black people from sharing white spaces and having the right to vote.

When choosing a bumper sticker for the back of your pick up truck you will add the one with the Confederate flag that says, "Heritage, Not Hate." You will abruptly change the subject when an outsider asks why no black people fly or embrace this flag.

To avoid awkward mental exercises, you'll surround yourself with  like minded company. This will allow you to regularly proclaim that The South Will Rise Again! As everyone around you "gets" what you are saying you will be saved from having to explain exactly what this means or what it would look like.

Follow these tips and you'll be fantasizing over the character of the losing side in no time!

*****

Please tune in next time as I explore why so many members of the "master race" seem to be paunchy, weak chinned, illiterate, omega males with shithouse tattoos.

An Email To Jacinda

When I first moved to New Zealand I spent my free time working as a DJ.

One evening I saw a talk show featuring a young woman named Jacinda Ardern who was a politician and a DJ.

She was on her way to play at a music festival and I thought I would write her a short note of support.

I wrote to say I was also a DJ who had come to the country to pursue a PhD.

She wrote back with a kind and encouraging reply and I have liked her ever since.

I was always interested in learning more about politics in this country but had a slower progression in making up my mind on which party I wanted to affiliate with.

Unlike the U.S. where there is a stark difference between Democrats and Republicans, the National and Labour parties here are not as polarized.

You never hear either side discussing abortion or whether or not Jesus should be put back into the public schools.

But there was one clear winner for me and it was the Labour party.

Their policies are socialist and they have some of the most inspiring women serving as MPs.

I am thinking of the amazing Poto Williams who was once a single mother and who serves as Labour's spokesperson on the issues of sexual assault and family violence. I had a chance to speak with her at a Young Labour meeting in Christchurch and again when she came to speak at the uni during Wahine week.

I am thinking of former deputy leader Annette King who had empathy for the plight of my friend with the wrongful conviction and who shared a story of a similar act that happened within her own family.

And I am thinking of the amazing Jacinda Ardern who recently became the leader of the party and will become our next Prime Minister if Labour forms the majority government in Parliament.

I am also thinking of my local Labour candidate Tony Condon who has let me help out with his campaign and invited me to go to speaking events with him and see how politics works behind the scenes. He is a wise man of excellent character.

After the embarrassing shit show that is the Trump presidency, it's incredibly soothing to see so many wonderful people standing up to lead this country in a progressive direction.

The Kea Database

The Kea Conservation Trust has just launched the kea database where scientists and members of the public can report kea sightings.

Thanks to the banding efforts of several volunteers I was able to positively identify some of the birds I observed while staying in Otira.

My beloved number 4 is actually called Trillian and she's alive and well.

Another bird I called 7 is named Screech and I was able to provide a photo of him for the website. I even got photo credit.

There. I've done my bit.

Should I get the chance to spend another week out Arthur's Pass way, I can now share my data and make a small contribution to monitoring the survival of my favorite New Zealand bird.

For more info: keadatabase.nz

Trillian asserts herself.

The Paleofantasy

I checked out the book "Paleofantasy: What Evolution Really Tells Us About Sex, Diet and How We Live."

When I first saw the title I smirked.

When I saw that the author was female I laughed a sly "heh, heh."

Nick saw me reading it the other night and said I was only doing so "to make fun of the paleo types."

He knows me well.

I wanted to experience a scientific take down of all those idiots who act like they are slaves to their inner cavemen.

I've lost count of all the people in the comments section of online stories who say, "I'm sorry, but it's evolution, we can't help it." This is usually right after they've explained to the poor, unknowing masses how men have to treat women like crap because they've been doing it since we crawled out of trees. It's biology they say- written in the DNA, an enduring genetic trait, etc.

I'm also irritated by the smug prophets of the paleo diet who like to act like we were once in perfect harmony with our environment and need to meat it up to be our best selves.

Spoiler alert: there never was such a time and there is no way to return to what we were in the olden days. We've changed too much genetically as have our current food sources.

Author Marlene Zuk gives examples of how quickly evolution can take place and how it can act in different ways to achieve the same results.

She writes about the genetic mutation that causes lactase persistence and how in one region of Africa people have evolved to keep producing lactase while in another, people have acquired a specialized gut bacteria that aids with dairy digestion.

She points out that plaque taken from both Neanderthals and Australopithecus had gelled grain remnants in it-so there bread and grain haters!

She writes about the variety of foods and habits of our ancient relatives depending on the time of season and where they lived. Surprise, surprise-they were not monolithic.

This should surprise no one but I'm sure it will.

Somewhere, a paleo disciple is imagining a golden age where men went shoeless, ate regular meals of meat, wore animal skins and were always fit.

I guess if you ignore the irregularity of meals, the brutality of parasites, exposure to extreme cold, the threat of being mauled by something wild and the fact that personal hygiene practices were limited then sure, it sounds great.

The chapter I'm reading now addresses the old chestnut about males needing to spread their seed everywhere and women supposedly being all reluctant about sex. It also discusses representations of the division of labor.

She quotes Lori Hager who says, "the early models of Man the Hunter were popular in part because they validated the way Western families were structured in the 1940s-60s...the implication is that women stay home and care for the children, while men go out and bring home the bacon, or mammoth meat."

Adrienne Zihlmann discovered that in modern groups where women are still the gatherers, they often provide the bulk of the nutrients for the group and that in other cultures women hunt as well. She says the old idea of men as the superstars of yesteryear, "came to stand for a way of life that placed males center-stage, gave an evolutionary basis for aggressive male behavior and justified gun use, political aggression, and a circumscribed relationship between women and men as a 'natural' outcome of human evolutionary history."

I am really enjoying this book.

The Junior Mooting Competition

This year for the first time I participated my university's mooting competition.

Out of 39 participants I came in 15th. Twelve individuals were chosen to advance to the next level and I was placed third on the reserve list.

Aside from the regular moot there is a junior mooting competition and I was selected to participate in this event with three other competitors.

Tonight I argued my case and won first place.

I am thrilled and honored and truly happy that I have chosen a career in law.

I will now go on to the national competition and I'm looking forward to competing with students from all over New Zealand.

Buying Your Way In

I was walking through Palo Alto with a friend once when a group of young men appeared in front of us and seemed to irritate him by their mere presence.

They were tech bros and he had no time for them.

I had never given this species of nerd much thought so my reaction was neutral.

One of their number was wearing an "edgy" blue blazer and the sight of him morphed my friend into crotchety old man who can't get the kids off his lawn.

These guys make some sort of tech widget, sell it on and become obscenely wealthy before hitting 35.

Their commonness in Silicon Valley ensures a sort of check on their egos. They are one among many.

As long as they're contained in this area the world is usually spared from their insufferable worldviews. They remain mostly harmless.

But what if they found a small, developed nation where they could buy citizenship, set up their own fiefdoms and start throwing cash at government entities to gain influence?

What would that look like?

Maybe it would take the form of a billionaire Trump supporter or a group of brogrammers who host elite hippie dance parties and circle jerk conferences about the future (shudder).

In 2011 Peter Thiel gained New Zealand citizenship despite only spending 12 days in total in the country and stating he had no intention of living here.

Mere mortals are required to spend 1350 in country for five years before they are granted this right but there are extraordinary circumstances (usually fleeing a despot's regime or extraordinary athletic talent).

Thiel's extraordinary circumstances were that he gave lip service to the idea of promoting New Zealand abroad and supposedly wrote a check for 1 million to help with the Christchurch rebuild.

The minister who granted Thiel citizenship said he had been an excellent ambassador for New Zealand. When asked how that could be when he had kept his citizenship secret for six years guy said, "you'll have to ask him."

Like Elon Musk, Theil has a creepy master race type vibe about him.

Musk had five children with his first wife. He told her he was the alpha in the relationship and made her go blonde. He was often irritated with their children for being children but he was glad that they existed because it meant his superior genes would carry on and that he had come a little closer to helping breed a superhuman race. He took up with B actress Talulah Riley and then she left him. Of course they are still friends. His lawyers made sure of that. He's now dating blonde female specimen number three and has plans of going to Mars. Godspeed.

Thiel came to my attention after Gawker wrote an article insinuating he was gay and in a fit of revenge he funded Hulk Hogan's lawsuit against them and sued them into oblivion. He's a great supporter of Trump's but has bought some land in New Zealand just in case ol' Donny goes too far with North Korea. He has also invested in a company that plans on transferring blood from young people to old people. Nothing weird there.

Silicon Valley's bi-product seems to be douches with severe god complexes.

The first of these I think was Steve Jobs. While many tore their hair and nashed their teeth with his passing I took the opportunity to read up on his life. The man was an asshole of the highest order. Yeah, he gave us some great tech but he subjected those who worked for him to utter hell and abandoned his girlfriend to raise their child alone.

As if this wasn't bad enough he seems to have started the trend of standing on a stage in front of sycophants and giving voice to delusions of grandeur.

An article in the New Yorker talked about the rise of paranoid tech preppers who are buying up land in remote places and hording weapons and tinned foods.

These are not nice men. They see themselves as better than the rest of us and are making sure that if Trump brings down civilization as we know it they'll be just fine and everyone can get stuffed.

These are men who would push you out of a life boat so they could have more leg room.

Recently, immigration New Zealand granted residence to Michael and Brian Monahan, brothers who got wealthy selling their start up to Ancestry.com.

They've bought up a bunch of land just north of Wellington and each year they invite minor celebrities, fellow tech geeks and local government officials to party with them. These events involve vegan food, a geodesic dome, white people attempting to dance, yoga, and a stage where a tech weenie gets up in front of a bunch of sycophants and gives voice to delusions of grandeur.

One of the brothers performs cringe-inducing free-style rap he calls "flowetry."

The Monahans have wowed key government figures and convinced Immigration New Zealand to develop a new Innovation visa.

They've rubbed many people the wrong way. Kiwis aren't big on ostentation and buying privilege.

A particular sore spot is the fact that they have five houses that are barely used while housing in and out of Wellington is scarce and expensive.

A neighbor once said of them, "They are ruthless. They're really driven by performance- they are really astute business men who put this big, cheesy grin and smiley face to it all."

An essay written by one of the brother's describes New Zealand as a wonderful democracy.

He's obviously thrilled to have found a small, first world nation that can be dazzled by his cash and persuaded into doing things his way.

Look at all this democracy! Can't wait to undermine it.

These guy's seem to believe that developing one piece of software means they are wise beyond their years on all subjects and that everyone should listen to them.

They didn't chose greatness, it was thrust upon them, etc.

Their new visa promises nothing. It just gives people with tech ideas the chance to come to New Zealand and fumble around with them.

The brothers have no useful ideas of their own but they have that sweet bank balance.

A statement from their Edmund Hillary Fellowship webpage has all the eye-roll worthy buzzwords that make tech people seem so smug:

"We created the Edmund Hillary Fellowship (EFH) to serve as a platform to best leverage humankind's creative potential and entrepreneurial spirit to build new paradigms, and create scalable solutions for the rest of the world. New Zealand is uniquely positioned to capture such potential and become an incubation nation for game-changing innovations."

They forgot to add "disruptive" and "tech profits" but you get the idea-bring in more people like them and create a new Silicon Valley where wealthy young people stand on stages talking about their passions with no real game plan.

Throw cash at the right government offices and before you know it they've made you a VIP.

For some reason this does not make me feel bright about the future.

The Life Update

A few weeks ago I sold a painting of the female huia to a buyer in Auckland.

Last weekend I visited Auckland and discovered that it's really a beautiful place. I contacted a lady I knew there and she told me about a recycled fashion store named Encore. I found a Gucci purse among other treasures and bought it for myself. That will take care of my gift giving to me for the next three years or so.

I watched a fantastic Swedish crime series set in the 50s called Crimes of Passion. The color saturation, clothing and impeccable mid century furnishings made it a pleasure to watch in addition to the thrilling plots and three main characters. It was all just so fantastically Swedish.

Now here's the meaningful thing I've been working on. A month or so ago Nick made me watch a program called "I Am Innocent" and the story we watched was about a mother who was pressured into admitting to killing her baby when she didn't do it. Her abusive partner did it and later confessed to it, twice. Although he was convicted of the crime the conviction still remains on the woman's record as well. I was livid when I watched the episode and made up my mind to contact her and try to help her.

And I did.

I also consulted with law professors, barristers, solicitors, mentors and one New Zealand Supreme Court Justice to see what could be done to help her.

I found a man named Tim, an ex cop turned investigator who spent five years working to prove the innocence of a man who spent more than 20 years in prison. He agreed to help me and found a barrister to file to the court of appeal.

It's been an amazing experience so far and some of the most rewarding moments I've had in my pursuit of legal knowledge.

I'll update here as the case progresses.

Correspondence

Today I'm catching up on emails and other miscellaneous tasks.

Ziggy is lending support by sitting in my lap and licking my hands every time I go to type.

Such a good boy!

Oh Mother, What Art Thou?

This weekend the country will celebrate Mother's Day.

I probably wouldn't have noticed had it not been for the nauseating commercials reminding us all to "do something mum will love."

Apparently, moms love the color pink, chocolate, cheap jewelry, cookery books and flowers. You know, non threatening, "feminine" stuff.

When it's not their special day, television commercials tell me that moms enjoy cleaning up messes made by children while their husbands sit idly by and pretend not to know what's going on.

They also get orgasmic pleasure from getting stains out of clothing.

Sometimes they need to be reassured that their cleaning product is scientifically proven at which point a man in a lab coat will materialize and confirm this. He will never do the actual cleaning himself because this is clearly women's work. Sometimes he won't wear a lab coat at all, he'll just show up in a tight white t-shirt and nod his bald head approvingly while the woman toils away at a spot or stain.

The road to becoming a mother is interesting. A woman gets to swell, stretch, grow hair, lose hair, get heartburn, vomit, lose bladder control and cry for no apparent reason. She gets to have body aches, sleepless nights, constipation, dizziness  and sometimes gestational diabetes and a worsening of her eyesight. These are the experiences that are internal and known to her only.

The external experience includes being treated like an absolute idiot by the doctors and nurses who are tasked with caring for her. None of her thoughts or feelings will be valid to them because they are the medical professionals, not her.

If she has a job then she gets to hear people say "congratulations" before they begin acting like she's a great burden on everyone and inconveniencing them in some way. (This is why she didn't get paid as much as her male coworkers. She just couldn't be counted on not to breed.)

If she wishes to return to work after having the child she will get to battle society's judgment of her as being a "bad, self-centered woman" and she will battle with her own inner guilt that she's abandoning her child.

Other women who have become mothers before her will judge her for how she dresses, feeds, educates and plays with her children. Nothing she ever does will be good enough.

Her thoughtful and progressive partner/husband/boyfriend (if she's not left to raise the child alone) will swear he is going to be a hands-on dad before the baby is born.

After the baby is born he will conveniently be absent when the unpleasant hands-on tasks are required. He will tell her that he would love to get up four times in the night with the little one but, as he has to work at his job in the morning, he needs his sleep more than her.

No matter how many tasks she completes in the day, no matter how clean the house, how delicious the meals or how clean the laundry there will be no praise or appreciation. This is not real work. There is no income or potential for promotion. This is just what women do because of biology and stuff.

Her progressive male other will come home and tell her how exhausted he is from working all day. He will shake his head at her in disbelief when she claims to be exhausted too.

How could she be? Doesn't she know how lucky she is to look after a child all day. He wishes he could but unfortunately, he has to work.

If the mother expects any sympathy from greater society she's out of luck. Greater society has made it clear that women are expected to work at home and rear children. Children are a blessing. Always. No exceptions.

So ingrained is the idea of women as nurturing caregivers and keepers of the home that a curious phenomena occurs when a man makes the slightest effort in those arenas.

If he looks after the child while its mother goes out he is called a "baby sitter." If he occasionally cooks or picks up after himself a woman is told she is "so lucky." With the smallest of contributions he becomes an epic hero who is to be praised and lauded. So little is expected of him after ejaculation.

When I expressed the need to get out of the house and get some mental stimulation after my son was born I was asked why I had had a child if I didn't want to spend time with him. My takeaway there; women are basic, simple creatures. Wanting more than to be cooped up with a demanding, apple-cheeked tyrant all day is unnatural and needs to be discouraged at every turn.

There is another uncomfortable truth about mothers; some of them are shit at it.

Some leave or spend all their time ruining the lives of their children. (Has no one seen the film "Mommy Dearest?")

And what of the women who are unable to have children? What of the women who don't want children?

I guess they just have to sit by and watch those of us who have get "spoiled" with pink flowers, chocolates, cheap jewelry and cookery books.

These are our rewards for being good girls who did what was expected of us. It's our one day to be praised for not pushing too hard against society's expectations of who we are and what we should do.

Happy Mother's Day conformists!

A Visit With Some Old Friends

At the Library

I have been spending this first holiday week reading. I just finished The Scarlet Letter.

I found the Ghost in the Shell manga at the library in the young adult fiction section (I was a young adult when it came out so I count!) 

This Major is far less serious than the one in the anime. She pulls goofy faces and is drawn in a highly sexualised way.

This is often the downside of "strong" female characters being designed by men. 

They never quite get us right. We have to be broken somehow and follow their ideas of what or who we should be while striking stupid poses and being vulnerable in some supposedly feminine way.

The drawings and design of Major make it clear that, working vagina or not, she's there to please the male gaze. This means she will have a teeny tiny waist, over sized breasts and a tendency to stand in weird twisted poses that are meant to show off said breasts and tiny waist.

Reading this manga reminded me of one I had purchased in Italy in 1997 about a cyborg named Alita.

The text was in Italian except for the German phrase "panzer kunst" and I had trouble following the plot. 

The artwork however, was brilliant.

In my story Alita had to race in some futuristic deadly roller ball game and she had roller blades instead of regular feet. 

She made a bet with this guy over something (did I mention it was in Italian?) and ended up betting her heart (which was a mechanical but shaped like a human heart).

Here are some images I found of the character:

I doubt my Alita manga is still around as I made the mistake of leaving it at my mothers house and, like my drag queen t-shirt from New York and Royal typewriter, it has probably been permanently misplaced (sold or destroyed in the name of Christianity).

I had a strange feeling that in the wake of film Ghost in the Shell someone might have gotten hold of the "Battle Angel Alita" story and decided to make a film of it.

I was right. That someone was James Cameron. He has since the passed the script on to another male director and the film is due for release in 2018.

I'm sure it will have the same over sexualised male wank fantasy vibe that the male designed manga had and end up ruining a potentially fantastic female character.

Hey fellas, I'm on all fours and my rear is in tact and ready for action.

At first I was pleased to rediscover these old favorites from my youth but then I begin to realize how often their personalities, stories and depiction are made ridiculous by the men who created them.

I hope one day my daughter (who is studying animation) and women like her are able to develop female characters with better stories, body types and personalities. 

Ghost in the Shell

Back in 1995 I rented this movie and was impressed by the quality of the animation. I must have missed all the deeper philosophical undertones because I had to go back and re-watch the film to remember what it was about.

I watched it dubbed in Spanish on Youtube and then I read the Wikipedia page to make sure I had understood the finer points. I'm afraid my ear for rapid Spanish dialogue is fading but I got most of the good stuff.

The animation is still stunning and the story is intriguing, exploring the issues and consequences of putting a human brain (the ghost) into a mechanical body (the shell).

Unlike movies about robots achieving consciousness, the main character Major was once human and still has suppressed memories of who she was before she became a government weapon.

She has control of a body she can't feel and, strangely, was given breasts complete with nipples but no female genitalia.

She has the ability to become invisible which allows her to use stealth with her targets.

The theme song for the film is a wedding song and it gives me chills. Here it is in the opening sequence of the 1995 film:




If you've heard anything about the new movie it's likely about the controversy of casting Scarlett Johanssen as Major.

This was another in a long line of Hollywood fuckups when it comes to casting ethnic characters.

Heaven forbid American audiences have to watch an unknown Japanese actress play the role of a Japanese character written by a Japanese author.

It makes for uncomfortable watching when Major finds her Japanese mother and speaks to her in American accented English.

A young Japanese girl gets put into a white woman's body and while her mind is supposedly unchanged, she can't speak Japanese with her mother. ハァッ?!

One film reviewer criticized the scene where the robot emerges from white goo saying that this was the epitome of white washing but in its defense, it was an exact replication of the anime version (seen above) and was not some blatant statement of racial superiority (not this time at least.)

Now that we've addressed the white elephant in the eiga, let's move on to visuals.

They were absolutely gorgeous and faithfully reproduced the best scenes from the 1995 anime .

The reunification of Major with her mother gave her a palpable humanity which was missing from the animated film. She meets her supposed nemesis in this film and learns of their common history. The film ends with the original theme song from 1995 which was amazing.

If it weren't for the idiotic casting decision I think this thing would have probably owned at the box office.

Take note film industry, the world is totally ready to see people of different ethnicities acting out their own stories.

Professor Phillips

Our media department was looking for some law students to pose for a law school pamphlet and I thought it would be fun.

As compensation they were giving out $20 gift certificates to the local mall.

I'm used to being one of the older students in all of my classes and I'm used to be asked if I'm a member of faculty when I go to the uni's medical center so when they said they didn't have anyone to pose as a professor I gladly volunteered.

I was having one of those days where I feel all puffed out but I sucked in as much as I could and struck various poses with a collection of papers.

My fellow students looked on in feigned enthrallment while I pulled faces that felt maternal.

I was told to put my hair behind my ear so they could see my face so I'm sure you can see my graying temples. Yay.

I kept trying to strike casual poses (cause I'm the cool teacher who get's the kids of today) and I was told to straighten up.

"So sorry, I'm a natural leaner," I said.

I was next directed to gaze at a spot where an imaginary student named "Stephen" was standing.

"Oh Steve, you card."

I feel like I just got memorialized as the dowdy professor who is really into cats and crafting.

Can't wait to wince at the results.

I took my giftcard and went to see Ghost in the Shell at the mall. 

The Wandering Albatross

Yesterday Alex and I made a visit to Jackie Stevenson's bird rescue to drop off an orphaned pukeko chick.

Before I left home she told me she had just received an albatross and I was thrilled to get the opportunity to see one up close.

We passed our fuzzy charge into Jackie's capable hands and watched as he had a feed and look around his little enclosure. When he is older he will be re-homed with other pukekos at a reserve.

Jackie's place is my idea of heaven.

 Large portions of her home have been given over to birds and their care.

There were baby ducklings, a small song bird and the pukekos. The albatross had just been moved from the indoors because he had suddenly become more active.

Outside in her yard there were tame house finches, a ring necked dove and a pigeon that were clearly making themselves at home.

While I was telling her about our bird the phone rang with a call from a concerned family who had found a seagull in their back yard and wanted to drop him off.

She said I could have a look at the albatross so I walked over to its pen.

He was huge. I knew they were big birds but I had no idea how big (They have an average wingspan of between 8-11 feet).

I was able to get close and even stroke his back feathers while he sat calmly. Jackie said he was found in a field in Lincoln and brought in by a DOC ranger.

This is a very unusual place to find such a bird because it spends most of its life at sea and only breeds in select sub antarctic islands.

Every year a limited number of tourists pay around $5,000 and up to sail down to these islands and view breeding pairs sitting on their smoke stack shaped nests.

To say this was a once-in-a-lifetime experience for me is no exaggeration.

Jackie said the bird had no outward injuries but appeared to be disoriented and dehydrated. She reported that he had been eating fish and engaging in preening behaviors.

The Mystery of Uncle Clarence (Part II)

I have only a vague recollection of my great grandmother Catherine (possibly Katherine) Richardson (nee Birdseye).

I remember she played solitaire, kept corgis and seemed to disapprove of me.

I would later confuse her with the Queen of England (although my great grandmother's corgis were friendly and not prone to nip).

The impression I had was that I was expected to be seen and not heard while in her presence.

There was to be no running, jumping, laughing or enjoying of oneself while visiting her house.

This may not have been her character at all but it was the idea of her I had as a young child.

When asked about her, my uncle said she once told him over family dinner that it was "perfectly acceptable for a married man to have a mistress as long as he was discreet about it."

I wonder what question preceded that remark. "Could you pass the peas and what are your thoughts on infidelity?"

I read about Clarence Birdseye when I was in my twenties and learned that he had eaten strange animals like skunk and that he had had adventures in the Arctic.

I made a weak attempt to identify my relation to him then, learning that he had a sister named Katherine before quickly discovering she was of the wrong generation to be my great grandmother.

I think my great gran must be the daughter of one of his siblings.

Clarence Frank Birdseye II was the son of Clarence Frank Birdseye I and Ada Jane Underwood. He had eight siblings: Miriam, Kellogg, Henry, Marjorie, Katherine, Roger and two others who don't seem to be mentioned anywhere.

Marjorie and Katherine were twins born in 1884, although Marjorie died at about nine months old.

My uncle used to mention a "cousin Kate" who lived to be about 103 and I wonder if this is the woman he meant. I hope to find that out soon.

I was also told that one of my relatives was a sea captain who had a cluster of rocks named after him in New England. This may well also be someone from the Birdseye group as many of them came from Connecticut and settled there or around New York.

Because my great grandmother was a Birdseye until she married, I will be excluding Clarence's sisters from my research.

Clarence II was married to Eleanor Gannet in 1915 and they had four children; Kellogg, Ruth, Eleanor and Henry (so my great grandmother was not his daughter).

If I go back further, Clarence I was the son of Lucien Birdseye, whom I believe to be my great great great grandfather. Lucien had five children but aside from Clarence, there was only one other son. It is entirely possible my great grandmother came from this line. Again, I will have to do deeper research.

Lucien was the son of Victory Birdseye who was a lawyer and U.S. Congressman. Lucien was also a lawyer as was Clarence the elder.

From what I've read so far, Clarence II was fascinating to people of all ages who met him.

He liked birds and bugs and flowers and trees so chances are, regardless of any kinship, he and I would have had a lot to talk about.

However, while I love birds for their intelligence and habits, Clarence seemed to be interested in how they might taste and to what industrial purpose they could be put.

Kurlansky writes, "Birdseye-was a source of endless fascination in affluent Eastern Point. It was not just that he was famous. Or that he had lived a life of adventure and was full of stories about the Rocky Mountains and the Southwest at the beginning of the twentieth century and the wild frozen frontier of Labrador before World War I. It was that he seemed to be interested in almost everything and knew a great deal about most of it."

Before I surrender my credit card details to Ancestry.com I may just interview my uncle again to see if I can get any further details about his Birdseye great grandparents.

The Mystery of Uncle Clarence (Part I)

Growing up, I heard such wonderful stories from my grandmother about our family.

I'm related to some really amazing women.

One was the first woman in her state to get her pilots license.

One tied herself to an ancient tree to prevent it from being chopped down.

One lived past the age of 100.

Four generations of women before me received a college education.

But who were they? What were their names? How are we related?

Two of these women are my mother and grandmother but with the rest, I have no idea.

I should have asked and listened.

My grandmother Anor passed away almost 20 years ago and she was the one in the family who kept track of all the children and the once-removed cousins.

The following is what I know, what I remember hearing and what I'm guessing at when it comes to uncle Clarence.

Winterpark, Florida and its surrounds were filled with members of my Phillips side of the family.

My father was Richard Kent Phillips, son of Harrop and Anor Phillips (nee Richardson) and older brother to Scott and Katherine Phillips.

My father died when I was 13-months-old and I am his only child.

My uncle Scott had two children, my cousins Christopher and Lindsey.

My aunt had no biological children.

When I was an infant my family moved away from Florida and settled in New Orleans until my father's death. Next, we lived in Mobile before mother remarried and we moved to Dothan, Alabama. When I was five, we moved to Birmingham, Alabama which is where I grew up.

There were aspects of my personality and thinking that were always distinctive to my mother's.

I had my own quirks and habits and points of view that seemed to originate from nowhere until I spent time with the Phillips clan in Florida.

Even though I grew up hundreds of miles away and had limited summertime visits, the similarities between myself and this part of the family amazed me.

My grandmother, Anor, was the daughter of Rich Richardson (yes, really) and Catherine Richardson (nee Birdseye).

It is my interest in the latter which has brought me to the mystery of uncle Clarence.

The Clarence I am speaking of is Clarence Frank Birdseye II, naturalist, entrepreneur and inventor of the modern process of freezing foods.

Perhaps you've heard of Birdseye Frozen foods? That's my family. Somehow.

I believe Clarence is my great-great-great uncle but I am having a devil of a time hunting down the family records that prove it.

This is probably because I'm looking at public census reports and the free content on ancestry websites.

To get to the real meat and potatoes of the family tree it appears I'll have to fork over some cash.

So far, I've been using probable and known birth dates and shreds of information I remember being told.

Because Clarence was famous, there's quite a bit of information about him available.

I'm currently reading his biography, "Birdseye: The Adventures of a Curious Man" by Mark Kurlansky.

Aside from being a great read about a remarkable man, it has provided me with a wealth of information about Birdseye geneaology.

I continue to research.

An Emptier Nest

I took the NPR up to Wellington yesterday to help her settle into her university dorm.

Somewhere around 10:30pm Nick and I turned off the television and went to bed.

A few minutes later I was soaking his arm with my tears.

My firstborn is the most successful and long-lived interpersonal relationship I have ever been in.

As she grew up, I began to feel that I had successfully cloned myself in order to keep myself company.

Now that company has gone off to start her adult life and I am filled with sorrow.

I had to close the door to her room because its emptiness overwhelms me.

This is the downside to not having a dysfunctional relationship with your child.

If she had been a teenager from hell or had a personality unlike my own then perhaps her leaving would have been a relief. It definitely would have been easier.

Instead, my mind is flooded with hundreds of memories of our time together.

I remember her being born in a shade of blue.

I remember the little clay hand print she made for me at preschool that I had to hide in the closet because she wanted to play with it and I was afraid she would break it.

I remember how much more meaningful my university experience was because I was working hard for her benefit and not just my own.

I remember taking her to Paris at two and having her be in a grump in most of our photos because of missed nap times.

I remember sitting in bed with her on September 11 and watching the twin towers fall over and over again on the television. My one reassurance was that she was right beside me and I could keep her safe.

I remember dropping her off on her first day of kindergarten and watching her little backpack disappear in a crowd of children.

I remember her fascination with the crabs in a tank on Cannery Row in Monterey and I still have the drawing she made of a crab family with smiley faces.

I remember her looking appalled when a pinata was destroyed at a birthday party in Mexico. (She got over this and was able to bash the heck out of them too.)

I remember her gentle manner with each of her brothers.

I remember her telling her best friend that I believed strongly in human rights.

I remember her mere existence getting me through some of my darkest days in the military.

I remember countless lunches where our mutual sense of humor would put us in hysterics.

I remember using Spanish with each other like a secret language so we could complain about things without those around us knowing what we said.

I remember the way that people who didn't normally like children somehow managed to make an exception for her.

I remember the way she would scold me like a parent if I returned from a grad school meeting later than I said I would.

Finally, I remember that she's not gone from my life forever but just moving on to a new stage in her life.

Remembering this will help keep my eyes dry and my mind untroubled.

Orchard and Garden

Alex and I went out to gather some apples and pears in the orchard and check on the veggie patch.

Fantail

Last night a fantail followed Nick into the house and soon realized its predicament. 

It perched in the window above the door, puffed its feathers out and made some low, fretful sounds.

I crawled up on a chair and tried to catch it in my hands but it sailed away and perched on a light fixture.

I tried opening the front door but it flitted into my office. 

I got the mop and it perched awkwardly on the handle momentarily making me look like an odd character from Harry Potter who didn't get the memo about messenger owls.

It flew off the mop handle and up to the top of my book shelf where I was finally able to catch it.

I took it outside and opened my hands. It flew to a nearby perch on the roof.

Aside from some ruffled feathers, the little guy appeared none the worse for its misadventure.

This morning it was out on the porch chirping happily and hunting bugs as usual. 

Fire in the Hills

A large fire is currently burning through the Port Hills near my home. No homes have been damaged so far but crews are working hard to contain the blaze.

Texts

I bought these beauties the other day.

But this was the real find:

My dream of tending poultry moves closer.

Serious, Adult, Grown Up Things

Here are two non-juveniles acting reasonably: