Phyllis J. Fenwick: Letters from North Korea.

Fryday is fortunate in having readers throughout the world who take time to comment on various posts. We rarely publish those comments, but are no less grateful for them.  Even rarer do we give Fryday over to another writer. An exception is the self-styled and self-appointed  “international correspondent” for Fryday Miss Phyllis J. Fenwick. Miss Fenwick, 86 years old, is on a perpetual quest for the ancestral breeding ground of the Devonport guppy—a fish that the whole world, apart from Ms Fenwick, knows could not possibly exist. Often, as in this case, she writes to Fryday about her adventures. If you would like to know more about those and Phyllis and her doomed quest, including her recent trip to Somalia, she has a Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/phyllis.fenwick.3. Currently, Phyllis is on her search in North Korea at the personal invitation of “Supreme Leader” Kim Jong-un. Whilst there is difficulty communicating with the outside world, she did manage to get this through to us earlier this week. Have a good weekend and remember: nothing should be taken too seriously.

Dear Fryday Friends
Greetings from the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea. As you can imagine, I am so excited to be here. Ahead of me, I am told, is to be an audience with the young president for life, Supreme Leader Kim Jong-un. Why such a young man should want to meet an old woman such as me, is beyond me.
However, I am told that he does and is even most insistent on it, so perhaps he too shares our interest in the ancestral breeding grounds of the Devonport Guppy and is willing to materially assist my search.
Certainly, everybody has been most helpful since I arrived. There was a representative of the North Korean Government there to meet me when I arrived at Incheon airport in South Korea. He very quickly ushered me into a car and we headed north. A nice young man who sadly smiled very little, he said through an interpreter that we would be travelling on back roads for the most part so I could see as much of the country as I could. How very kind of him to think of that. When we arrived at the border with North Korea, he said he would have a new experience for me. Indeed he did! Instead of crossing the border as most tourists do, he took me through a very special tunnel under the border! I felt very special. He said that the tunnel, I believe it is three miles long, was dug single-handedly by Kim Jong-un’s father, Kim Jong-il in three days! Extraordinary!
Now I am in Wonsan, the administrative seat of the province of Kangwon. I am impatient to head north to the nation’s capital Pyongyang to meet the President, but I am told the delay is because I first have to be greeted formally by Kangwon’s governor. The problem is that they do not yet know who it will be this week. And here, my friends, we arrive at one of the most outstanding revelations yet of my thus far short stay in Korea.
Contrary to what I was told before leaving for Korea, North Korea is not an authoritarian state ruled by a dictator. In fact, and here I am sure you will be as astonished as I, it is the most democratic country I have ever visited.
The people here all owe that to their much loved supreme leader Kim Jong-un who carries on the tradition of his father Kim Jong-il and grandfather Kim II-sung (I am wondering if they are related to that dreadful Kim Dot-com, but I think not).
According to my guide and his interpreter, the family has always been insistent all North Koreans have a leadership opportunity. Kim Jong-un personally selects the country’s leaders, as did his forefathers before him, and to ensure that everybody gets an opportunity those leaders rarely last more than a week.
What a wonderful system. New Zealand has much to learn from North Korea.
So, I am waiting to find out who Kangwon’s governor is to be this week. I am sure he will be very nice.
Indeed everybody I have met has been most obliging, and most industrious—perhaps too industrious. Yesterday, I spoke to my guide and his interpreter about the breeding habits of the Devonport Guppy. Just three hours into my dissertation, the interpreter rose and said he and his guide were required elsewhere on urgent government business. They promptly left and I haven’t seen them since. When I mentioned this to the manager of my hotel, he said I was not to worry. He said that many North Koreans disappeared and were never seen again. Funnily enough, he must be one of them. I have not seen him since, either.
Yours sincerely, your friend,
Phyllis J. Fenwick (Miss).

As Clear as Chrystal

In these days of highly technical and proficient playback equipment, it is possible for us to see things that film-makers and certainly those in front of the camera never intended us to see. Instant pausing and high resolution clarity have opening up a new vista of nip-slips, cameltoes, crotch shots and pantie-peeks for those so inclined to search for them. I am not. I did once, when I had a “did I see what I just saw” moment concerning Debbie Reynolds. But it was enough, and I haven’t bothered again. Debbie will I am sure feel most obliged.
Which is why I find Chrystal Chenery’s disgust at having her unwitting and certainly unintended “crotch shot” posted on social media so understandable and hardly surprising. Yes, the poster, Wellington DJ Dom Harvey, has taken the post down and apologised to Chrystal for it, but that hardly absolves him from what, at our kindest, should be seen as a deeply immature act.
You know the story: Chrystal Chenery appeared in a relatively scanty costume to dance The Jive for the Dancing with the Stars final. At some time in the 1:45 minute dance sequence her underwear is on view for a split second. Harvey found it, captured it and the published it on on Twitter, Facebook and Instagram. He said he did it as a joke.
But I have to say (and here I do not have the hypocrisy to claim moral ascendancy) the act displays more of Harvey than it does of Chenery. Think about this: to do what Harvey did, he must have first had the prurient thought that Chenery’s leg split warranted a closer look. He would have then rewound his player, paused at the approximate place, and advanced frame by frame until he found the exact moment. He then either took a screen grab or photo of the still shot and published it. All of which takes quite a lot of work and none of which is particularly appetising.
But let’s look again at the first part of the process: Harvey must have first thought that it, the leg-split, warranted a further look. Really? Is that really how you get off, Harvey? Not much different really is it to those who sneakily take upskirt shots or hang around girls changing rooms. Pretty immature, really.
And one final thought on this: Harvey’s wife, Jay-Jay Harvey, also appeared as a dancer on that programme, and has rushed to his defence. All very laudable. But what if it had been her rather than Chenery who had been subjected to this intrusive indignity?
Somehow, I don’t think Dom Harvey would have found that quite so funny…or interesting.

Letters from Wogistan: Dear Richy

The Democratic Republic of Wogistan (Inc.)

Office of the Foreign Secretary

123 Bruce Springsteen Boulevard (third door on right). Telephone: 125.

Captaino Richy Mcaw

New Zeland Rugby All Blacks Team

At New Zeland

Dear Capitano Richy

The Democratic Republic of Wogistans peoples send warm greeting to you esteemed capitano of mighty All Blacks rugby team.

We much like rugby in our country. Our big team is Kraconuts. Kraconuts captained by esteemed President Yoseph Flaglantelie, who play all positions, win last fourty national contest in a (front hah hah) row. He 86. Now retire.

We offer you position now you to old for mighty All blacks. In Wogistan you not be Capitano, you be GENERAL! You bring Dan Carter with you, he not have to cart anything in Wogistan. You boths get free membership of Spartacus Male Gym and Bathouse.

You much like rugby in Wogistan. All players get own boots.

Come now. Do not take to long.  You get old. Wogistan gives yous last chance for yous to win World’s Cup.

With sincere facilitations,

Yoseph xxx

Yoseph Wankerstan

Foreign Secretary The Democratic Republic of Wogistan (Inc.)

Proprietor Spartacus Male Gym and Bathouse.

The Book of Mormon II: Unware of the Underwear

Last week’s Fryday about The Book of Mormon needed little research. The Broadway show, which was Fryday’s primary focus, is justly famous, as is the Mormon Church’s light-hearted reaction to it, which I also covered. But what the research uncovered was what covered the Mormons themselves—their underwear. I was unaware that, until recently, devout Mormons had strict protocols about the shape, style and even colour of their underwear. The same underwear protocol applies to  adult males and females, and in basic style there was no real distinction between the two. What Mormon children wear is not governed by the strictures. Thank goodness (and God) for small mercies in smalls for the small. If they were forced to wear what their parents wear they would likely be bullied incessantly in the schoolyard.
    The adult Mormon underwear comprises a white cotton all-in-one called the ‘Garment of the Holy Priesthood and the New Name, which covers the whole body from the neck to the knees and is cut off at the arms like a T-shirt. There are some special coloured temple garments that can be worn by members of the armed services, but for the vast majority of Mormons, garments are always white. This symbolises physical and spiritual purity. The garment is sacred to the wearer not for what it is, but for what it represents. According to the church, the garment helps the wearer to focus his or her life on Jesus Christ and to thereby lay claim to the blessings promised to those who do so.
     Nor are Mormons are unique in the wearing of special clothing for religious purposes. Perhaps the most well-known example is the yarmulke, which is worn at special times by many Jewish men or at all times by devout orthodox Jews. Similarly, in some religions a minister or priest might wear a special collar that has religious significance, or nuns may wear special clothing that signifies the religious order to which they belong. In all cases the special clothing reflects the religious conviction of the wearer.
    However, the protocols surrounding Mormon underwear have changed and I imagine that many Mormons these days do not adhere to them. I am forced to imagine that because I am clearly not in the habit of checking Mormon clotheslines. If I do have a Mormon reader—and again I am not in the habit of checking—you may wish to confirm the (to some) seemingly archaic practice is no longer practiced.

You've Seen the Show...

It is rare for Fryday to support, let alone compliment, any orchestrated religion. But it does so now, knowing it has chosen a largely unpopular and much derided religion, though it may still possibly offend a segment of its readers.
The religion is The Church of Jesus Christ of the Latter-day Saints, or Mormons.
The only exposure most of have to that church is the frequent knocks at the door, the inevitable blindingly-white shirts, black ties, and earnest faces of the missionaries. That exposure, though polite and often brief, is still intrusive and for most us unwelcome.*
However, the Mormon Church at least seems to be seeped in a sincere dogma, unlike Scientology, “Bishop” Tamaki’s farcical cash-cow and just about every televangelist. I just wish they wouldn’t take themselves so damn seriously.
Or, do they?
One of the more popular shows on Broadway at the moment is The Book of Mormon. Written by the creators of South Park, Trey Park and Matt Stone, The Book of Mormon is an irreverent satire of the Church of Latter-day Saints. It tells the story of two Mormon missionaries sent to ply their scriptures and serve their sentences in a remote village in Northern Uganda rather than their preferred destination—Florida. The show opened in 2011, has played to sell-out crowds since, won nine Tony Awards (including Best Musical) and is the highest charting Broadway cast album in forty years.However, given the subject matter, you would expect the Mormon Church to take offence.
They didn’t.
The Church’s initial response to the musical has been described as “polite and measured.” Indeed it was. I have read it. It astutely states at the start: “Of course, parody isn't reality, and it's the very distortion that makes it appealing and often funny,”  and ends with the gentle admonishment: "The production may attempt to entertain audiences for an evening, but the Book of Mormon as a volume of scripture will change people's lives forever by bringing them closer to Christ,” something the writers of the show say they acknowledge.
But the somewhat surprising reaction doesn’t stop there. Park and Stone state that they talked to and were helped by many Mormon missionaries, past and present, while writing the show. And—believe it or not—the Church has even advertised in the show’s programme. One of their funnier advertising lines is: ’You’ve Seen the Show. Now Read The Book.”
So, who knew? The Church of Jesus Christ of the Latter-day Saints has a sense of humour!
I didn’t know.
That said, they are still not going to get through my damn door.

*I had one friend who welcomed the intrusion, always inviting the missionaries in so he could debate their dogma. He is gone from us now, so I guess—and hope—he is in a position to now know the essential truth of his debates.