A Facebook Experiment

If you want to experience the WORST of the Internet that doesn't involve death or deviant sex, check out two pages that have popped up recently. There's the Boycott the Macsyna King Book page,and the Break the Kahui Code of Silence: Support the Book page. Obviously these pages are at opposite ends of the spectrum in terms of their aim. But in terms of their execution, they are remarkably similar. And in terms of their success, they are both abject failures.


Ian Wishart has written a book. Apparently - we don't know yet because it isn't published and Wishart is keeping mum - the book is a tell-all of Macsyna King's life. And by all accounts it won't be pretty reading. There's no doubt she has had a horrific life of abuse and mistreatment.


But I guess that doesn't excuse her alleged neglect of her children - 3 month old twins Chris and Cru Kahui - and any role she may have had in their deaths. It has to be said that she has never been charged with a crime. But she remains (one of) the "most hated woman in New Zealand."


But if you want to really know what hate is, just check out either of these Facebook pages. O.M.G. I cannot believe how petty and childish and downright hateful some of the posts are on these pages. I cannot believe they are adults, and adults who claim to be rational, intelligent, and "passionate." That's a good one. "Passionate." Apparently being "passionate" excuses using some of the most demeaning, belittling, insulting name-calling you can think of. All in the name of the cause.


A little back and forth is perfectly fine between adults who are at two ends of a spectrum on a significant issue. Some repartee, a little thrust and parry, a few, good-hearted, even clever, humorous jibes here and there.


But these people are ruthless. 


They seem to have forgotten what the original argument was about. The "boycotters" as they have become known have hijacked the original issue, which was freedom of speech, with emotional pleas about child abuse. And the supporters of the book being published and sold are chasing their tails, spending more time quelling rumour and misinformation, responding to the bitter hateful comments, and defending their own reputations.


What I can't get over is how childish many of them are. Don't get me wrong. There are some clever people who are trying to be voices of reason in the wind on both pages. But by and large those voices are drowned in the waves of vitriol and deeply personal attack. 


The purpose of the page, especially the support the book page, has been completely forgotten. Nobody talks about freedom of speech anymore. It's now all about defending Ian Wishart and our right to read said book, or crowing about which page has more numbers or more committed members or less childish threads or more intelligent definitions of words we ALL know the meaning of.


The latest vein of comment has to do with who has been blocked and why, or who has blocked who and why. It seems to be a particular badge of honour to be blocked by the "other side". Indeed, it seems a fun game to go over to the other page and make comments obnoxious enough to GET blocked.


Check out this screenshot from the support the book page.

And lest you be deceived, be aware that one of those people, despite the attempt at civility in this post, is one of the worst offenders. Her self-righteousness is unprecedented.  And one other (above), although a relative new-comer to the drivel, is just plain nasty.

Strangely, the thread (screenshot above) seems to have disappeared. Which is another feature of these pages. Threads and comments disappear, which in itself is not that sinister, but it is a regular suggestion that people from the "other side" are hacking the site, there are faux-profiles designed to infiltrate the depths of the other page/s, and that identities are frequently "blown" only to require retractions which more often than not lead to more recrimination and ridicule. And a whole new round of abuse and childish name-calling.

Apparently, the originator of the Boycott page set it up as a bit of an experiment. So he seemed to be saying on RadioLive. He's the same guy who was in the middle of the KFC double-down debate. I think he was arguing that particular treat should not be banned. Hmmm...let's allow greasy heart-threatening food to be sold to minors, but let's not allow an informative book to be sold in bookshops to adults. Can't quite see that logic there, but who am I to judge?

In true Lord of the Flies fashion, both pages have descended into cesspools of bitterness and backbiting. Occasionally a rational comment pops up, and even some meaningful responses. But more often that not every post is hijacked by some bitter or smartarse comment or bite.

How pathetic. Somehow I thought adults could disagree, even on significant issues, issues one has the right to be "passionate" about, without resorting to name-calling, petty personal slurs, pedantic grammar critiques and puerile "I know you are, but what am I"s. 

It has to be said, and I'm employing one of my special talents here - objectivity - that the Supporters page members have overall been more well behaved. They started out with a genuine attempt to lay out the issues and what facts were available, and to search for more (facts). But the page was soon hijacked by people who thought the book should be boycotted, which turned into an effective ban. Sure, boycott the book, but threaten bookstore owners, publish their names, and threaten violence against them (okay, there have only been a few, non-distinct threats of violence) and you start to force what looks more like a ban.

But so much of the page space was dedicated to arguing about whether or not it was a boycott or a ban.

Now, all of this wouldn't amount to a hill o' beans if it wasn't such an insight into the human spirit. This self-confessed social network experiment has been a raging success in that from the first posts, both pages were like two trains heading towards each other on the same track. And when they collided, instead of a natural atrophying of the momentum, it seemed to gather steam, as if most of the members of both pages were just itching for the collision so the real chaos could start. Some people get off on that. Indeed, that's not a phenomenon unique to this particular rivalry, or to Facebook. 

I wonder if this was a precedent, of sorts. I don't remember two opposing groups facing off like this on separate Facebook pages.

I'm sure it's been done before, somehow. I wonder if those efforts were any more noble, or intelligent, or polite.

The back-biting and name-calling and childish back and forth continues. These are two very recent posts...one from each page.

Apparently one of the above is proving to be as obnoxious and bitter as any that have graced the pages so far. There are a few who are so obviously just out to make some sort of name for themselves, hence the spin-off pages and websites, and impending "events" (charity and awareness drives, etc.).

It's been a fascinating insight into mob mentality. The Boycott page grew to nearly 50000 LIKEs in a few days. Which, of course, in Facebook terms that's like the new version of a petition you sign in the street - sure it sounds like a really good idea to sign, the "cause" sounds vaguley worthwhile, but of the 50000 people signed up, only a very small number actually give a shit about, or even know what "the cause" actually was. The same could be said for the Support page, but with such lower numbers, the Boycott page looks MUCH more like some odd wagon a whole bunch of do-gooders jumped on for ten seconds and then jumped off again because they didn't really care about....what was "the cause" again?

In search of the perfect image

I’ve avoided posting on matters photographic, partly because I will show myself up as a newbie, partly because I don’t want to be seen to be jumping on the latest band-wagon (it annoys me that everyone seems to be a “photographer” these days), and partly because I’m still deciding what I want to be when I grow up.

Photography is like any of the arts. It’s hard to compare, but it’s the same as abstract painting, sculpture, or dance. It’s a method of expression. And often, the “artist” is driven by a simple yet elusive goal: to create that perfect piece of art, whether it’s a painting, and clay shape, a pirouette, or an image of a moment captured in time or one beautifully constructed.

With regard to photography, there are hundreds of millions, probably hundreds of billions of photographs in existence. Probably millions/billions more are blood on the floor.

How, then, can one (such as me) ever hope to create something perfect. If it hasn’t been done already, it’s never going to happen.

But the subjectivity of art allows for some room to move. I’ve been cruising Flickr since shortly after it began. I’ve probably viewed a million photos. Very possibly more. I might say that much of the viewing has been to catch a glimpse of the perfect photograph, wondering if it really exiasts. 50% of Flickr photos are really good; 20% of those are excellent; 5% of those are exceptional; 1% of those are “perfect”. And then there are millions more photos online that are not on Flickr.

It became obvious quite quickly that “perfect” is probably an impossible notion, in that there is no one “perfect” photo. There are many many exceptionally excellent beautiful photos.

Which is at the same time inspiring and depressing.

Art is selfish. So it is easier to ascribe perfection to something that I, and perhaps only I, find alluring. That photograph I consider “perfect” may have others thinking huh?

The first photo I remember being mesmerised by was this one.

Eddie Adams - Execution of a Viet Cong Guerrilla (1968)

I have no idea where or when I saw it, but I was quite young. I don’t think it inspired me to want to be a photographer, but I do remember it having a significant impact on me.

The desire to take photographs kind of evolved. I remember my dad had an old box brownie in the wardrobe that I knew was something special. When I finally got hold of an Instamatic (126 I think, in the early 70s?), the first photo I ever took was of some condensation gathered on my bedroom window.

Ever since, I’ve dabbled in photography.

Jump forward to 2011 and the proverbial search for the perfect photo has evolved into taking the perfect photo.

Why? I have no idea. And deep down, whether it’s my psychology or my intuition, I despair that such a notion is pie-in-the-sky.

Robert Capa - Death of a Loyalist Soldier

Surely the perfect photo will be a number of things. It may or may not be technically correct. There is much debate about technically correct photos. I tend to think technical aspects are subordinate to content. What many consider to be the most influential photograph of all time is far from what might be called technically perfect today.

It seems to me, then, that content is king. But it also seems that content is evolving and, like in so many things, the boundaries are being continually extended as to what is possible. And acceptable.

The perfect photo will be of something never before done. The virgin in a condom was new. Edgy. Controversial. It wasn’t a photograph, and some would deny it was art. But it had never been done before, at least in concept.

Piss Christ was a photograph and it contained several similar aspects. It was edgy, raw, offensive (to many), and conceptually had never been done before. But can you just piss in a jar, put a crucifix in it and call it ground-breaking?

Apparently.

Is that all it takes? Sounds easy. But that’s the way it is with so much art. It may be something incredibly simple, but if nobody’s ever thought of sticking a frame round it and calling it art, it suddenly becomes incredibly complex and deep.

Some may stand in the gallery and say: “Umm…it’s just a circle.” Or: “It’s a what? A toilet that brays like a donkey? I don’t get it.”

So the challenge in my mind is to take a photograph of something that has never been photographed before. Of course, it could be argued that every photograph is one that has never been taken before. But that doesn’t make it “unique”. There are a billion photos of cute children in some pose; models sprawled across a bed or couch; or bridges silhouetted against a sunset. They may be good photos, but… yawn.

In a world where everyone is now a photographer, perhaps many many really good photos are being overshadowed by what is simply popular. Stanley Greene railed against the popularity of photos of Britney’s crotch while photos of the conflict in Chechnya are rejected by the mainstream media because they believe nobody wants to see those sorts of photos.

My inspiration lately has come from Walker Evans. His FSA photos are as iconic as any of that period, but when he stepped into the New York subway with a camera hidden in his coat he pushed the notion of candid photography up a notch. Maybe it had been done before (who knows), but he was the first to publish it as art (I think).

Part of the allure may have been the anonymity of both photographer and subject. Is all photography voyeurism?

You don’t have to look far before under the banner of “photography” you find naked bodies. Of course, photography didn’t invent “the nude”, but it’s certainly advanced its cause. Many of the unrivalled greatest works of art involve nudity. Most photographers sooner or later get around to taking nudes. They distinguish it from “porn” by calling it “fine art” (if such distinctions are desirable). Fine indeed.

And in the spirit of pushing boundaries, photos that would make Larry Flint blush are commonplace now. Sure, they’re edgy, controversial, raw and offensive. But are they art? You have to say they are, or else if you start drawing lines what’s to stop the Christian right from drawing lines, the feminist oligarchy from drawing lines, or, god forbid, the judiciary from drawing lines - even though they’re all trying really hard to.

So does the perfect photo need to be controversial, offensive, sexually deviant, and a pusher of ever-expanding boundaries? Geez I hope not. Though it’d be pretty easy to stick a blunted carving knife into some willing model’s vagina, sprinkle some menstrual blood around, take a photo, put “jesus” in the title and call it ground-breaking. Art.

Maybe just taking a photograph I can look at and say “that looks good” would suffice. For now. As with so many things, often it’s the least constructed shots that appeal. I love this photo of Josh. It was snapped one day while in a McDonalds. I’m not saying it’s perfect, but it’s one I can look at and think it’s a good photo.

It’s one of about three such photos in my library.

So the quest goes on. I don’t know where the essence of the perfect photo lies. I’m almost certain it will involve a person. But not a portrait. And not just anybody. The perfect person. But who is that? Male? Female? Nude? Clothed? It will have to be edgy

I judged a photo competition recently. And three other judges and I by and large come up with the same entries that made up the top 5. To be fair, none of the photos inspired me. But in order to get to my decision I set up some criteria, which must have been somewhere in the ballpark given the similarity in our choices.

Hence, I feel I’m able to walk that fine line between objective and subjective. And perhaps tomorrow I will feel differently, but for now it may or may not be surprising that, according to a detailed set of criteria, I think this may be the most perfect photo I’ve yet to see. Sadly, it’s not one of mine.

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.