Freedom of Speech

It hasn't even hit the bookshelves yet and the latest offering from born-again journo Ian Wishart is causing an uproar.

There's a facebook page calling for this book to never hit the shelves. When I first checked it there were 12000 likes. Fifteen minutes later there were 14000+.

Wishart's page to promote the book has 10 likes. I think it's obvious which page will win this race. And, unfortunately for all the wrong reasons.

I've always liked Wishart. Something in the way he thinks gels with me. I don't like his religion, and I disagree with a lot of what he says. But even though he's often ignored, and the stories he breaks frequently don't get legs until the mainstream media finally catches up, I cannot deny his journalistic ability.



I don't care a hoot about Macsyna King, either. She is just one piece of trash on our streets that are littered to our knees with trash. I don't care what happened that night... chances are we will never really know what happened. Ian Wishart could publish a hundred books about the killing of those babies and we'd never really know what the truth is. We will never know.

Apparently, Macsyna King is NOT receiving any money from the book - a suggestion the Banners are conveniently ignoring. Wishart and his publishing company might make some profit, but I of all people know how hard it is to make a profit on a book written and published in New Zealand. I doubt he'll get rich on this book.

It's fascinating to read the vitriol on the ban the book Facebook page.

Jordalyn LewerHonestly what kynd of mother wuld even write a book lyk tht afta such a horrible thng happend to those too lil inocent babies! No sympathy 4 hur at all its a mothers dutie to keep her children SAFE! yip thy shuld be all locked up one of thm will soon pop who the murde'r/s is/ r......stil walking freely! Punkz. This goes for the Dad to! Yr both Guilty of neglection already... arrrrrgggg i could gone on and on!

That's a particular favourite. I love the creation of the word "neglection". Clever. And she could go on and on. No doubt.

Anyway. What's key is that most of the posters have no idea about the book at all. Nobody's read it, or even seen it. The media has taken up the cause of discrediting it and the stupid, sheepish New Zealand public are buying into it.

Wishart has his detractors. On occasion I have been one of them. But he and this book deserve a chance.

The Kahui thing was a debacle from the beginning. Nobody denies that. Even Wishart acknowledges it, of sorts. We'll never know the whole truth. No one person knows the whole truth. So we're never going to get the sum of those parts who do.

A child is killed violently about every month or so in New Zealand. The Kahui twins' death, while unusual in that it was two children, was not that uncommon. Except in that the Kahuis and the Kings have come under particularly nasty public scrutiny.

So what if there's a book about it. So what if Macsyna King tried to hang Chris Kahui out to dry. So what if she's trying to save her own ass. So what so what so what. And so what if Ian Wishart makes a few bucks off of it. So what?

If you don't like the idea of such a book being written, don't buy it. But don't dare get on your high moral horse about the prospect of other people buying and reading it. Last I checked it's a free country. I can read the bible if I want to, the Koran, Mein Kampf, or Alice in Wonderland. And I'll buy and read Breaking Silence if I want to.

Michael Moonwalks Alone

Sadly, Cleveland, Ohio still holds the world record for the number of people simultaneously moonwalking over a bridge. 


The Sydenham Moonwalkers Trust was today (the anniversary of Michael Jackson's death) going to attempt to overtake Cleveland and grab the prestigious title of World Record Holder by inviting the citizens of Christchurch to simultaneously shake their groove thing on the Colombo Street overbridge, all in view of the inspiration for the event, the Michael Jackson Memorial. Proceeds from the event were to be donated to the Christchurch Earthquake Recovery fund.

Unfortunately, no donation will be made because no one showed up to moonwalk (at least at the agreed time of 11am today). Clearly, Christchurchians have lost their mojo. Even event organiser, SMT spokesperson Mick Aulyculkin, was a no-show, and was, obviously, unavailable for comment.

Readers of this article considered the possibility it was some sort of prank. However, a spokesman for the one non-moonwalking person who showed up today (me) said surely no one would so abuse the memory of the great gloved one, inventor of the moonwalk. Who would so callously insult the legend of Neverland?

But, alas, it appears it was indeed a hoax. Sadly, Christchurch will not grab the international limelight for gaining the world record, which still stands at 14, for simultaneously moonwalking over a bridge. Yay, Cleveland.

There's always next year, though.

Was Clayton Cosgrove arrested?

I went to the Art Gallery to see Clayton Cosgrove get arrested.

I heard on the radio that the Opposition MPs were going to be locked in a room prior to the announcement of the financial package offered to quake-stricken Christchurch homeowners. Cosgrove, MP for Waimakariri, had apparently said he would not stay in the room, but would leave, even if it meant being arrested.

So I figured it would be fun to watch him escorted from the Art Gallery in handcuffs so I hot-footed it down there.

Of course, he never was lead out in handcuffs, so I guess he complied. He did, however, front up to TV3 after the announcement.

Mike McRoberts was standing in the drizzling rain, and eventually stepped under an umbrella as he reported live from outside the Christchurch Art Gallery.

Then Juanita Copeland turned up. Apparently she has a house in what is now the Orange Zone.

Or Area. People in the Orange Area are in limbo. They still do not know what the future holds for their houses and land. People in the Green Area can rebuild on their present site.

After it became obvious Cosgrove wasn't going to be lead kicking and screaming from the building, John Key arrived so I thought I'd hang around and see what happened.

Not much.

John Key left just in time for me to take a couple of snaps before I had to leave to go get Josh. So all in all, pretty uneventful. Like the announcement.

I did get to try out my new lens, tho.

Shoe of the Week

I had given up on the Shoe of the Week posts. Somehow in the wake of the earthquakes it seemed a little stupid and frivolous. But when I saw these the other day I thought hmmm...maybe one more.

Aren't they adorable? I big YES from me!

MMP Referendum

So there's going to be a referendum this election as to whether we want to keep MMP or switch to another voting system.

I'm by no means an expert on political voting systems, and I'm really not even an informed political commentator. It's one of those subjects about which everyone has an opinion, and it's actually the nature of the beast that nobody really knows the truth because it is the job of political commentators to obfuscate. The better the obfuscation the more effective the spin.

I am, however, an average Joe. And as an average Joe, I listen daily to the stupidity, the arrogance, the lies, and the petty back-biting that is New Zealand politics.

When average Joes everywhere voted to change from first-past-the-post to MMP, I reckon they didn't want a change of voting system as much as they wanted at least a change of attitude. And in many cases they wanted a change in personnel.

The thing that amused me the most was that the day after the election of MMP, the same people were in charge. All the arrogant, smarmy politicians who ruled under FPP were still in charge under MMP. By and large. There were a few additions...like Nandor and Sue. And we know what they did for New Zealand politics!

But all the big players were still there - Clark, Cullen, Mallard, English, Anderton, Goff, Smith et al. There they all were. Still there doing the same thing - screwing middle New Zealand and feathering their own nests, saying exactly the same things they were saying the day before.

Since then, what's happened? Nothing. Well, not nothing, but the same. Nothing new. For average Joe nothing changed from the old system. Taxes still went up; prices went up; wages stayed still. Politicians perks changed, but were still pretty impressive and still on the back of the good old New Zealand taxpayer.

So, now that it's probably likely that the gullible New Zealand public will go back to FPP, thinking things might change, the conservative spin doctors will be out in force, talking it up.

But nothing will change. A few faces might appear or disappear. But all the old personalities will still be there, plotting against one another, back-biting and obfuscating on the really important stuff, increasing their pecuniary interests, sucking the New Zealand taxpayer dry.

It's not a change in voting system we need or want. We need a change in attitude. We need a switch from the self-serving arrogance that is the backbone of the New Zealand political system. We need genuine policies that serve all New Zealanders, not just the loudest special-interest groups with the best lobby. We need honest politicians who genuinely care about average Joes, politicians who aren't so out of touch with AJ that it's embarrassing. We need a welfare system that actually takes care of people according to need, not some faceless, meaningless formula that invites corruption and abuse. We need an education system that doesn't categorise children according to the wealth of their parents, but teaches self-respect and innovation and genuine respect for others. We need a justice system that isn't a laughable contradiction. We need to feel secure in our homes and on our streets.

We don't need another expensive exercise in futility that will have politicians crowing that they're actually doing something for New Zealand.

Oh, and if FPP can somehow arrange for these bloody earthquakes to stop, then that would be a bonus too!

One in Four Chance...

I really do hate banging on about the earthquake, and, like many Cantabrians, now we really really do want to just get on with our lives, whether houses have fallen down or there are just a few cracks in the walls.

So, just as we were starting to get back together after September then February happened, it was actually a bit of a blow to hear recently that there is a 23% chance of a 6 to 7 happening again in the next year. Not a blow like the February earthquake was, of course. But it was information sufficient to send a little tremor through my gut, and to reignite the whole 'moving to Wellington' (where we have family and, it seems, less than a 1 in 4 chance of a big earthquake) proposition.

A few weisenheimers - either non-Cantabrians or some of those eternally perky people nobody really likes - smarmily suggested that surely a 23% chance of it happening means there's a 77% chance it won't happen. Which is true. But in context, I kinda thought that was a little unfair.

If you lived in Tauranga in 2010, and the news was announced that there was a 23% chance of a 6 to 7 earthquake there I think it would be appropriate to focus more on the 77%. But if you lived in Christchurch in 2010, when the 1 in 16000 year earthquake shook you, and then within a matter of months another 1 in 16000 year earthquake shook you (does that make it a 1 in 32000 year earthquake, or probably a much bigger number?), I don't think it's that much of a stretch to be tempted to focus on the 23%.

If someone told me there was a 23% chance - near enough to 1 in 4 - I'd be winning Lotto Powerball tonight, sure I'd consider the 77% chance I won't win. But I'd be mighty distracted by that 23%. I wouldn't be out spending it yet, or writing Jackie's resignation letter, but I might be thinking about the right wording. Or ordering the newest Nikon D3S. or X. Or whatever model they're up to.

The point is that 23% would be loooooming large, despite the odds of it actually happening.

I wonder what's happening in Japan. Are they still having aftershocks, too? I guess they are. Scientists are still suggesting our aftershocks are relatively normal for the type of earthquake/s we had. Of course, Cantabrians have redefined normal. We all live with the aftermath and reminders, daily. And as much as we might like to ignore it all, we can't. And deep down, we all know it's not going to go away. We drive through the streets, and even though we're not civil engineers, construction experts or geophysicists, we just know it's going to be many years before the city looks "normal." But we all also know deep down that our lives will never be the same. Ten years from now, when there's a little 3.6 earthquake in Lyttelton or Darfield, we'll just for a split second remember September 2010 or February 2011. That's just the way we're wired.

And at the risk of being morbid, I have thought many times that the very fabric of Canterbury has been changed. Not just the physics and geology of it, but the spirit.

I believe we are all connected. There's a cosmic bond between all of us. Some bonds are stronger than others, but it's always there. So whatever happens to a family in Bexley affects me. In a cosmic/spiritual way. Whatever I do and feel, affects that lady in Rangiora.

I would extend that to the entire planet, and even the universe, but then it tends to sound a little whacky (but no less true), but for the moment I'm more concentrated on the immediate vicinity.

To hear of the possibility, even a slight one, of another significant earthquake striking Christchurch was always going to send shivers up the spines of most Cantabrians. I'm not really dwelling on it. And the moving to Wellington thing is only an extension of an already possible move. But as unlikely as it really is/was, with the news of another possible earthquake on the horizon, the prospect took on a 4% more positive spin.

But I seriously doubt I could move up there and start supporting the Hurricanes.

Three minutes to die...

I'm one of those morose flyers. Or maybe I'm the only one who asks, and ponders the answers to, obvious questions posed when one is 20,000 feet in the air, in a steel tube that, like the humble bumble bee, shouldn't be able to fly at all and has no business being in such a damn stupid place.

I went to Auckland to take photos for a school's new website. We had rainy Auckland weather on Thursday, but Friday played ball and the sun shone brightly for most of the day. I might muse (in a good way) about teachers and children in another entry, but I have to say I had a great time with great adults and completely adorable year one to eight children.

Dean had already warned me about the distinctive, and unsettling thump thump thump sound of the regular hydraulic test that takes place generally during the flight attendant's safety demonstration. I listened for it, but didn't hear it.

And what's that safety demonstration about? Most people listen but take none of it in. If the plane starts to plummet, am I going to be thinking about the life-vest under my bum or the lights along the floor guiding me to the emergency exit? I don't think so. The demonstration would be a lot more effective if they just said "in case of an emergency, just look for Jen, the cute chubby flight manager, and do what she says"!

But as I shuddered beyond the point of certain death if anything went wrong (which is what? two, three, five hundred feet?) in the belly of one of Jetstar's A320s, I wiled away the time asking the obvious questions.

Anyway, we were about 500 feet up when the first question jumped into my mind: What are the chances of survival if the wing fell off right now? I figured about 30%, but with 100% chance of serious disfigurement and/or life in a coma.

I took a few snaps but the City was cloud-bound and the Sky Tower was just a pin sticking up into the sky.

A few minutes later, as we pulled into the cloud cover, there's really only one relevant question. What happens if some other A320 is floundering blind in this same cloud formation? And is mistakenly on OUR flightpath? Would the pilot have time to react if suddenly another plane came sailing through the cumulus?

Of course he wouldn't. So the next obvious question is: How instant would death be if another plane slammed into this one? Would my whole body just explode in a fireball and I would feel nothing? Or would time slow down just enough for me to feel the full effects of the burning and exploding? Knowing my luck, that's more likely

Of course, I assumed, there are at least a dozen or so people all around the country - in the cockpit, in Auckland Air Traffic Control, Christchurch Air Traffic Control, and probably a few smaller Air Traffic Control centres along the way - all dedicated to keeping me and this plane completely safe in the air, and by and large out of the direct path of other planes.

But what if they're all idiots? What are the chances the whole ATC system is staffed by idiots? Morons? Pretty slim. I know some of the controllers, and they're not idiots at all. Phew.

But... they don't all need to be idiots. Realistically there only needs to be one idiot on duty to secure disaster at my expense. One idiot, like those ATCs we heard about recently in the US who fell asleep while they were supposed to be directing planes? What if one of THEM is in control of this plane???

There's something reassuring and calming about breaking out of the cloud. I had asked myself what if the whole way to Christchurch will be in thick cloud. Does that increase the chances of a mid-air collision?

So when we break through the cloud, I think now, at least, the pilot can see if there are any other planes in the vicinity, specifically ones that will imminently smash into us.

But being above the clouds means we're pretty high now. What? 3000 feet? Who knows such things? Hopefully the pilots do. How high are the clouds, normally? Does it differ according to conditions? Maybe we were at 10000 feet. No idea.

The idea I did have, however, was: Surely now there's zero chance of survival of the wing fell off.

Which leads to the next logical question. Failing an instant death by explosion and fireball, what happens in those two, five or ten minutes (however long) it takes for the intact but wingless plane to plummet to the ground? Is it a mayhem of screaming and confessions, like in the movies? Or subconscious scrambling for the life-vest because somewhere you remember hearing there's a life-vest under your seat. But what the hell good is a life-vest going to be if you slam into the ocean at terminal velocity? Perhaps there's a lot of stoic arm-rest grabbing silence waiting for the inevitable.

So, once we're cruising above the clouds, though, time for a little relaxation. Wings intact; clear visibility with no planes in sight. What can go wrong? Time for a few photos.

So then I get preoccupied with catching the sun as it slips below the clouds on the horizon. Moderate success.

But that raises the flying in cloud questions, except now we're flying in complete darkness. Well, almost. What's the visibility like up front? Just how far can you see those little flashing lights from? Hmm?

And then there's the landing. Isn't take-off and landing the most dangerous time of the flight? I can't imagine that's true, but I've heard it somewhere.

So then we're in the clouds and it's dark. Does that double the collision chances? Is that one idiot ATC on duty right now in Christchurch?

Apparently not. Or at least he/she managed to do her job without dozing off, it seems. We landed safely and on time.

Thankfully, I don't fly very often. I can't handle the stress.

It's funny what makes you smile...

With all the despair and destruction around, sometimes you forget the little things that are right with the world. So it's funny what makes me smile these days.

On the way home from dropping Josh at school, I caught tiny wee scurrying movement out of the corner of my eye (I'm good like that). So I stopped and watched again. More scurrying. Tiny and brown. Nestled under a tree, hiding ... well, not hiding really, just sitting there, daring me to come closer. So I did. Ever so slowly. I had my phone with me. Of course, I did, it's attached to me.

If evolution is true (which it's pretty much not), humans will one day be BORN with phones as part of their inner-ear structure.

Anyway, I took a few snaps of the little brown scurrier.

And for some reason I just had to smile.

Down Town

I don't think people who are not from Christchurch understand. Actually, I'm not sure people who are from Christchurch understand, but at least they have the beginnings of understanding just what has happened to us and our city. The photo above is of Colombo Street, the main street that runs through the CBD.

Michael Laws basically said on RadioLive yesterday that adults in Christchurch should get over themselves and harden up. I wouldn't expect much else from that priggish boor. The reality is most of us are hardening up. We're generally less spooked by the aftershocks. We've been to most of the funerals. We only get one or two 5+ earthquakes a month, now.

But it's not the aftershocks that are bothering many people. What bothers me is the saturation of despair and destruction. Even though my suburb and home is relatively unscathed, I cannot drive anywhere without being reminded that so much of our city is in ruins. And the closer you get to the Red Zone, the more stark the reminder.

This is how much of the inner city looks, and this after it's been tidied up. There are nice piles of brick and rubble everywhere, cleanly cut open spaces where shops and cafes used to be. The glass has been swept up and buildings on the verge of falling down have been propped up.

Petula Clark sung Just listen to the music of the traffic in the city... The dominant tunes in the Red Zone are jackhammers and rumbling diesel engines. There are few cars, except those driven by neon-vested officials or those still crushed in the rubble (although I did read somewhere that all of the cars had been removed from the inner city?).

There is lots of talk in Heritage circles of mourning cherished buildings. Probably it's not so much the buildings they are mourning but rather what the buildings mean to them.

We all have - had - special places down town that may no longer exist.

The Savoy Brown (directly under the tree above) had taken on a special status for me. It was a funky little place at the top (bottom?) end of High Street. At least the building is still standing, and in true Christchurch style there are moves afoot to keep at least the facades of these buildings.

Keep it or not, it will be a year before anybody can go near the place. I wonder if we'll ever get to sip latte there again. I've taken a few photos inside The Savoy Brown. I wish I'd taken more. In fact, I had planned to. It had a particular little room that I loved to be in. There was something romantic about it. It screamed PHOTOSHOOT! to me every time I lounged in the leather chairs and sucked in the tacky 70s decor. I'm glad I got the photos I did.

But alas, it's probably gone. Unless the Heritage people win a small victory. But it won't be the same. The owners may have moved on, gone bankrupt, sold up, or died. Who knows.

So, too, for much of the inner city. I have friends who own a cafe on Hereford Street. It will be October before they can even go back into the place. The chances of actually re-opening are pretty slim.

The Grand Chancellor leans over Cashel Street, mocking us all. Will it fall or won't it.

It probably won't. It'll be knocked down. Like Manchester Courts The Grand Chancellor will be a sticking point for months, maybe years, because even after it comes down it will generate controversy. Already the property developers, the lawyers, and the construction company executives are rubbing their hands together. It will be boom time for them in the coming years.

Meanwhile, I still have to find a new haunt to sip latte.

Subway Takes Cake

I know this particular theme goes round and round, so much so that whenever we see evidence we just roll our eyes. But it is perhaps indicative of how entrenched our cynicism is, or how successfully we've been duped by marketing and advertising gurus. Or both.

Hugh and I went to Subway for lunch. He had vouchers. The new "Smokin' BBQ Chicken" looked gooooood. Well, in the poster, anyway.

What's wrong with this picture?

Sorry about the size of the photo...the Subway website only had a small picture of their new Smokin' Hot BBQ Chicken sandwich. Probably because they're ashamed. Or afraid someone might compare the real thing with the picture.

This is advertising 101 isn't it. We know that the real thing will never in a million years look anything like the sandwich in the poster. Yet, we order it anyway. And we're still disappointed when, instead of the plump, colourful healthy looking food we're "promised", we get the limp, sad looking squidge of soggy bread, watery chicken and... well, the cucumber wasn't bad.

Why do we put up with this again? Or is it simply a function of modern life that we accept it and roll our eyes when someone points it out?

What does the Advertising Standards Authority say about such things. Obviously I'll have to Google it now and check. Thing is, it's all around us, but it seems to only apply to food. If I put up a photo of a brand new Mustang, but was in fact selling an old clunker car with rust, dents and half the engine missing, I'm thinking surely there'd be room for a complaint. Definite case of misleading and deceptive advertising.

So why are the fast food chains allowed to get away with it? Because I've seen similar things done with hamburgers, tacos, and chicken.

Anyway, I'm off to Google the ASA.