Wogistan Greets Kim

Robin Williams

A lot has been written and will continue to be written about the death of Robin Williams. We greet the deaths of our funny men with particular poignancy; primarily for the pleasure they gave us. Sadly, that poignancy is heightened for us in Mr Williams’s case by the method of his death and his sincere love and respect for New Zealand. He was from all accounts a special person and the messages from his family and fellow celebrities document that with great eloquence. Much greater than I could offer. So rather than attempt that I must rather use this Fryday to pass on a gift that Mr Williams himself gave us—some of the pithy saying and axioms he has left us over the years. For these I am indebted to a resilient and always supportive friend, Ed, who has been of even greater help to me of late. Here in is own words are the observations of an immensely talented man—Robin Williams:

·      Do you think God gets stoned? I think so … look at the platypus.

·      In England, if you commit a crime, the police do not have a gun and you do not have a gun. If you commit a crime, the police will say: 'Stop, or I will say stop again.

·      If it is the Psychic Network, why do they need a phone number?

·      People say satire is dead. It is not dead; it is alive and living in the White House.

·      Cocaine is God's way of saying that you are making too much money.

·      I want to thank my father … the man who, when I said I wanted to be an actor, he said: 'Wonderful, just have a backup profession like welding.' Thank you.

·      We had gay burglars the other night. They broke in and rearranged the furniture.

·      I suffer from severe dyslexia – I was the only kid on my block at Halloween to go trick or trout.

·      Cricket is basically baseball on Valium.

·      Politics: Poli, a Latin word meaning many; and tics meaning, bloodsucking creatures.

·      What is right is what is left if you do everything else wrong.

·      I wonder what chairs think about all day: 'oh, here comes another asshole.

·      They call it freebasing. It is not free; it costs you your house! It should be called homebasing!

·      I walked into my son's room the other day, and he has four screens going at the same time. He's watching a movie on one screen, playing a game on another, downloading something on this one, texting on that one, people say: 'He's got ADD.' Fuck that, he's multitasking.

And my favourite…

You're only given a little spark of madness. You mustn’t lose it.

A Bob Each Way

In my teens I became aware that the inevitable hierarchical structure of youth culture was driven largely by music—in particular which artist(s) you followed. If you were of what these days is called the nerd persuasion you enjoyed The Beatles; the more rebellious were into The Rolling Stones, and if you were a “beat freak” Bob Dylan was your thang. The truly out there—and there were few enough of these—grooved to Bob Dylan’s backing band The Band. The Band was and is my favourite band of all time. However, I never saw them live and I never will; The Band exists only on record, video and memory, and three of its original five members are dead.

But Bob Dylan is very much alive and I have seen him live. Once. I would not go again. The concert of his I attended at Mt Smart lasted barely 70 minutes, he played most of it with his back to the audience, didn’t even try to structure a rapport or acknowledgement with that audience, and he gifted us only one of his more well-known songs—All Along the Watchtower. He, his concert and his forgettable backing band were worth neither the time nor the money.

So, Hamilton will probably get what it deserves. Bob Dylan plays two shows at Hamilton’s Claudelands Arena in early August. They are the first of a month-long Australasian tour for the aging artist. He may have changed, of course. As he himself wrote, of himself, Times Have Changed (Wonder Boys Soundtrack). However, to me, based on my experience and on the necessity of going to Hamilton of all places to see him, I do not think he is worth the risk.

I was mildly amused, however, by Ticketek’s showcasing of the Hamilton concerts. I received an email from them extolling the virtues of booking early. The subject line of the email is Knocking on Hamilton’s Door. That is either clever of clumsy. I think the latter. Yes, it is a play on words and homage to the Dylan hit Knocking on Heaven’s Door. But is Ticketek not aware that the only thing Heaven and Hamilton have in common is that they both start with H? In all other respects, Hamilton is more akin to Hell than Heaven—at least for those who have committed a career-limiting offence and been sent by their bosses to manage the Hamilton office.

Bob may well be going there of his own volition (and maybe the fact that it is the first of his concerts is significant because Rusty-Rob can’t do any harm in Hamilton) but none of the rest of us do. You hear that knocking on Hamilton’s door, Bob?  Mate, it is people trying to get out, not in.