Thursday, September 26, 2019

Letters From Wogistan: Dear Jacinda









The Democratic Republic of Wogistan (Inc.)
Office of the Foreign Secretary
123 Bruce Springsteen Boulevard (third door on right). Telephone: 125.



Prime Minister Jacinda Adern
Prime Minister of New Zealand, where sheeps are
Parliament House
New Zealand

Dear Prime Minister Jacinda

Our Presidente for life Yoseph Flagrantie send you fragrant greetings from the Peoples of Democratic Republic of Wogistan.
Our Presidente make apologys. He wanted to write before but we need buy new tipe-writer ribbon. We have one now.
Presidente says he sees you every time on general store television, but worrys that something is wrong. You go everywhere but not seen in own country where the sheeps are. Are you not wanted in your country?
You are wanted in Wogistan. Presidente likes your looks. Wants to offer you job as secretary now that we have tipe-writer. Job not hard. You tipe two letters a day. But you must know how to spel. Not have to sleep with Presidente. That is sheeps job.
You say yes and we send Presidential Skoda to picks you up. You have use of Skoda on Thurdays. I, Wednesdays. And Preseidente and sheeps all other days.

Sincerely

Yoseph xxx
Yoseph Wankerstan
Foreign Secretary The Democratic Republic of Wogistan (Inc.)
Proprietor Spartacus Male Gym and Bathhouse.

Friday, September 20, 2019

If walls could talk


In all my years assiduously watching The West Wing (and its repeats) I have singularly failed to see a single fly on the walls of the Oval Office.
Yes, I know that the Oval Office doesn’t have walls; being oval, it has one wall. But you get the point and if you don’t, allow me to remind you that life for a pedant can be harrowing and best left to masochists.
Of course, there is a lot of foliage on top of the Oval Office fireplace before which visiting leaders are usually photographed with the President. Perhaps a fly could hide there, though I hear that the Oval Office is continually swept for bugs, so perhaps not.
Anyway, if there is to be a fly on the wall of the Oval Office I would like to be that fly when President Donald J. Trump meets Prime Minister Jacinda K.L. Ardern. It will either be a highly stimulating meeting or the shortest on record.
Ms Ardern has said, “I'm looking forward to discussing a wide range of international and regional issues with President Trump, including our cooperation in the Pacific and the trade relationship between our countries.”
If anything is designed to send the President to sleep or to Twitter, that is it.
So, what else? I cannot think of anybody with less in common in terms of policy positions than these two.
In fact, they only have two options for discussing global issues: either argue about them or ignore them...and each other.
I mean, what they going to discuss? Climate Change? Gun control? Immigration? Trade sanctions against Iraq? Jacinda Ardern will afterwards say she raised all those issues with the President; he will smile benignly knowing that she did not. He will say, however, that he praised the Prime Minister on her handling of the “very very terrible” mosque shootings in her country and that he received an invitation by the Prime Minister to visit “Noo Zealand.”
Left unsaid, is Donald Trump would first have to ring this week’s secretary of state to find out where New Zealand is and that he is hosted by a prime minister who isn’t strong on geography either, having earlier thought she was in China when in fact she was in Japan.

-->

Friday, September 13, 2019

My last opinion piece


This is my last opinion piece, I promise.
In my previous two Frydays I wrote about the blurring, sometimes deliberate, of opinion and fact and how each can be skewed to support an argument. In this Fryday I want to examine the juxtaposition of two other words that can be similarly blurred at least in interpretation but never after deliberation: arrogance and ignorance.
They are two interesting characteristics of human nature. They appear to be polar opposites, yet one can stem from the other and either can be the nurturing source. Exempla: ignorance can be masked by arrogance and arrogance can be fostered by ignorance.
They are not mutually exclusive. In fact, they are far from rare among those who hold extreme views (opinions are facts) but it is rare to find them among people running our country.
However, dear readers, we found one—Kelvin Davis.
Kelvin Davis is both ignorant and arrogant. The only question is, which comes first.
This week Kelvin Davis is our acting prime minister. I don’t know why. I know that our deputy prime minister is justifiably on health leave, but I don’t know why Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern is absent from Parliament at a time when she should be answering questions about what she knew, and when, of alleged sexual assaults within her party.
Instead, we are left with  (Labour Party deputy) Kelvin Davis answering questions in the House. This is a man who previously called the allegations (of sexual assault) rumours (long after they were patently not), but Davis has been a disaster before.
How did Davis choose to answer questions on this important issue when asked in Questions for Oral Answer?
In Te Reo.
Did he or anybody else give an English interpretation? No. Thus depriving 90 percent of New Zealanders who don’t speak Maori of an answer. Okay, let me deal here with the inevitable arguments that some will use to support this obfuscating by Davis: 
  1. Te Reo Maori is one of our three official languages. Yes, it is, but English is the only one universally understood and an English translation should have been provided. If it had been delivered in the third language—sign language—it would have been. But, not Maori.
  2. It was Maori Language Week. Yes, it was, but bullshit; common courtesy says that if you are going to make a public statement, make it in a manner that the public can understand. 
  3. We should all learn Te Reo Maori. Really? I am not going even to answer that.
 No, Kelvin Davis, who has displayed his idiocy in the past, acted in a deplorable  manner displaying  both his ignorance and arrogance that no amount of argument in his favour can justify. He may think in giving those answers solely in Te Reo he is clever (arrogant) but he nothing more than a twat (ignorant).

Footnote: Fryday has written to the House Speaker asking that in the interest of parliamentary transparency all Te Reo speakers in the House provide an English translation.
-->

Friday, September 6, 2019

Trumpeting Trump


Last week’s “opinion piece” drew a mostly positive response. I was a little surprised, though pleased, that we didn’t get into the debate about whether or not climate change is real. I was pleased because that wasn’t the purpose of the piece. Last Fryday was about people’s propensity to present opinions as facts—and, in the example I used, a media organisation’s totally irresponsible endorsement of that.
But, this week I want to turn to another type of opinion. In fact, I don’t know if it is an opinion. I don’t know what it is. All I know is that President Donald Trump has perfected it and the nagging question I have is does he believe it?
Let me explain. The man who coined the phrase “fake news” is the world’s greatest exponent of it. But when he expresses it, what is it? When he says that his inauguration attracted a bigger crowd than Obama’s is he expressing his opinion, is he saying he believes it to be a fact, or is it a deliberate distortion?  I hope, ironically, it is the latter; if it was either of the former it would be absolute confirmation that we have a president who is delusional.
Not that I am saying he isn’t.
Of course, Trump is no stranger to hype and to self-promotion. Everything in his world is the “greatest ever” or “the best ever”. An example is his golf courses.
I am reading a book at the moment called Commander in Cheat in which the author, a Sports Digest journalist, recounts the way in which President Trump cheats at golf. It is a long book. An early example of Trump cheating the writer gives is Trump proclaiming that he (Trump) has “won” 18 club championships. Apparently, even a seasoned professional would find it hard to claim that, let alone substantiate it. Yet Trump does. How?
Well, one of the ways is that every time he opens a new course, he tries to be the first player on it, thus scoring the course’s lowest score and therefore the championship even if it is only for a matter of minutes. On at least two occasions he has claimed a course championship without even playing on the course; on one occasion he was playing on a course 80 miles away in another state, but because he achieved a lower score on the day than the championship winner on the first course, Trump claimed the championship and was given it!
On the second occasion, Trump claimed a championship without playing in the tournament because he said he had previously beaten the tournament winner three times and was “a better player". Again, he was given it.
And then he often describes his Trump courses as “the best in the world” or “the best ever”. Notwithstanding they can’t all be the best in the world, Augusta, Pebble Beach and St Andrews are not among them, and only one Trump course hosts a regular PGA event and only two are in Golf Magazine's Top 100.
And then there are the well-documented cases of the Secret Service going ahead and not so secretly improving the lie of Trump's balls; therefore giving a lie to the lie of Trump's lies.
The book goes on, but I will not. Suffice to say that the central premise of the book is that you can tell a lot about the man by the way he plays golf.
As I said, this book about how Trump cheats at golf is a big book
In Trump’s perverse world he would probably want to capitalise on that, trumpeting:
“I am the world’s greatest ever golf cheat. The best ever. It’s true. Yes, it is.”

Friday, August 30, 2019

The blurring of opinion and fact

I don’t particularly like opinionated people.  However, opinionated people are a fact of life and there is nothing I can do about them or their opinions. Where I draw the line though is when they put forward their opinions as facts. It is an all-too frequent trait with these people and deeply disturbing in that they often present it with implicit superiority suggesting they know something we don’t or that their opinion/fact is akin to a divine revelation.
There is a difference between opinion and fact.  That “Bishop” Tamaki is extracting money from vulnerable and naïve people is an opinion; that he is extracting money is a fact.
The blurring between opinion and fact came into sharp relief this week when I read an article in Stuff by Glenn McConnell. In the article McConnell takes to task a National member of parliament for purportedly questioning climate change. That member of parliament is, in McConnell’s opinion, not allowed to do that and is making his party look “clownish” and should leave Parliament at the next election.
That is McConnell’s opinion. Some will disagree with it. Some will also disagree with his assertions, presented as facts, that: “climate change is the biggest issue facing agriculture, and the biggest challenge facing the world,” and “the overwhelming consensus is that [climate change] will happen.”
McConnell may be right. I don’t know. But nor does McConnell.  In his article, he presents no evidence for the overwhelming consensus he refers to. That evidence may exist, but equally there is evidence that climate change, if it exists at all, is a natural and cyclical event. In other words, there are two sides to the argument. That is a fact. Yet McConnell presents his side of the argument as correct and climate change as a fact. It is not, it is an opinion and whilst it may be shared by many it is still an opinion.
What concerns me most about this article though is that McConnell’s so-called facts are shared by his publisher, again with vague reference to some unspecified supporting evidence. At the end of McConnell’s article, Stuff makes this astonishing statement:
“Stuff accepts the overwhelming scientific consensus that climate change is real and caused by human activity. We welcome robust debate about the appropriate response to climate change, but do not intend to provide a venue for denialism or hoax advocacy.”
Really? So Stuff will welcome robust debate on the issue but only one part of it (response) and only from the side it is supporting. I find that incredible from a media organisation. I don’t deny their right to have an opinion and to exhibit it, but to shut out anybody that disagrees with that opinion is simply wrong.
We are not talking about hate-speech here, for goodness sake. We are talking about a contentious subject that needs our media to get on board and present us with as much information as is available—from both sides—so we can, if we wish, form an informed opinion.
Above all, we cannot, I suggest, have media that present opinion as fact. That’s just wrong.
That’s my opinion, anyway.

Friday, August 23, 2019

My name is Dewey Raindrop

My name is Dewey Raindrop.
I am a 46-year-old capricornian male looking for love. I am not looking for superficial or fleeting love—the type of generated-dross of The Bachelor or the love-lust that Nigella Lawson has for chocolate. I am looking, instead, for love that is instant and lasting, deep and meaningful, requited and resilient.
I would prefer a woman, but a man with feminine features and traits would be okay.
I live in a world of my own, mercifully free of chemtrails, where visits by extra-terrestrials are common and welcomed, and where the very atmosphere is imbued by a relaxing rejuvenating purple hue. It is a world which I wish to share with you.
Physical characteristics mean nothing to me, nor should they mean anything to you. What is a body, other than a haven for the mind? It is your mind that I am interested and my only wish is to meld mine with yours.
You do not have to educated. Education is but a journey and we shall share that journey together. We will have no clear direction on our journey. Direction is meaningless in the face of fate, and we will I know be drawn together by fate, for we—you and I—are kindred souls, destined to be together.
You do not need to apply. I know who you are. Just send a mind message and we will interact, we will engage, we will be one.
Meet me in the toilets out the back of New World tonight at 11.30.

Friday, August 16, 2019

Ear Hair

Cecil C. Sackrider and Jimmy Swaggart will tell you one thing, I will tell you another: God is not perfect.
Among His many miracles, good and bad, such as my grandson and the election of Donald Trump (the latter an acute embarrassment to God), God makes mistakes, the most visible of which is hair.
Hair lacks logic. God seems to have got it wrong on so many levels. Either that, or He has displayed His impish sense of humour. How else could we explain why, follicle for follicle, He gives more hair to men yet is far quicker to strip them of it in terms of baldness? Why, too, is it that women, with far less god-given body hair, are more obsessed than men with ridding themselves of it? To be fair, the latter has less to do with God and more to do with the thinking of women, which all men, God included, will never understand.
But the one mystery that hovers over me more than any other is why God replaces the hair he takes from men with hair elsewhere. Men lose hair from the top of their heads only to find that it navigates (or is it gravitates?) to their noses and ears. Why is that? Why is it we can we lose it somewhere, only to grow it elsewhere? It defies logic.
Well, apparently we can put it down to hormones; those things that most men had an excess of in their teens but thought they had lost six months into their marriage.
The hormones, that cause the pattern of thinning and hair loss in the scalp, also cause the mass of Vellus hair that is naturally present in the nose and ears to grow darker, longer and grow coarser. It is believed that the increased growth of hair in the nose and ears among ageing men is tied to the same causes as male patterned baldness.
The different reactions within the different hair follicles relate to the way men develop secondary sexual characteristics (whatever they may be). So while the testosterone can cause the loss of scalp hair, it can lengthen and coarsen the hair on other parts of the body.
That is the pseudo-scientific explanation, but it only answers how it happens, not why.
Lacking a valid answer to the question of why, we are forced to fall back on the simple though unappetising explanation that it is God’s perversity and misogynosity to his fellow man, which He first demonstrated as far back as His creation of Eve. God has chosen to inflict on man (and not on woman) the loss of hair from the top of the head where it is most attractively and pragmatically placed and reposition it in the nasal and ear cavities where it is both unsightly and decidedly not pragmatically and accessibly placed.
Thanks a lot, God.

Friday, August 9, 2019

Forgetting Altamont


Last week’s Fryday remembering Woodstock struck a chord (pun intended) with many readers, though, alas, none admitted to being there.  Two further little-known facts about that festival: there were two deaths—one from an overdose predictably and one, somewhat less predictably, from being run over by a tractor. There was also one reported birth, which doesn’t quite balance it out, but is nevertheless good news.
If Woodstock is the acknowledged high point of outdoor music festivals, their nadir was to come just four months later on the other side of the United States at Altamont Speedway in Northern California.
Instigated by the Rolling Stones as a free concert to end their United States tour and to counter criticisms that their concert ticket prices were too high, Altamont was touted as “Woodstock West” and would feature, as well as the Stones, Grateful Dead, Jefferson Airplane, Flying Burrito Brothers, Santana and Crosby Stills Nash & Young.
Held on Saturday, December 6, 1969, the day turned into a logistical and tragic nightmare. Rolling Stone magazine described it as “rock and roll’s all-time worst day.” There were four deaths, scores were injured, many cars stolen and extensive damage. But the concert is notable mostly for the violence, much of it captured on film by Albert and David Maysles in their documentary Gimme Shelter.
That film has graphic footage of the most infamous of those deaths—the stabbing  of Meredith Hunter by the Hells Angels. 
The Rolling Stones hired the Angels to handle security, reportedly on the recommendation of The Grateful Dead and Jefferson Airplane, both of whom had previous used the motorcycle gang in that capacity. Ironically, the Angels beat up Jefferson Airplane singer Marty Balin and the “Dead” refused to take the stage…because of the violence!
By the time the Rolling Stones took the stage that night the mood was ugly. The Hells Angels, who had been paid $500 worth of beer for their services were drunk and intimidating as they ringed the stage.
The unruly situation visibly intimidated Mick Jagger, who had already been punched in the head by a concertgoer within seconds of emerging from his helicopter, and urged everyone to, "Just be cool down in the front there, don't push around."
During the third song, Sympathy for the Devil, a fight erupted in the front of the crowd at the foot of the stage, prompting the Stones to pause their set while the Angels restored order. After a lengthy pause and another appeal for calm, the band restarted the song and continued their set with no incident until the start of Under My Thumb.
Some of the Hells Angels got into a scuffle with Meredith Hunter, age 18, when he attempted to get onstage with other fans. One of the Angels grabbed Hunter's head, punched him, and chased him back into the crowd. Following his initial scuffle with the Angels,  Hunter returned to the front of the crowd and drew a revolver from inside his jacket. Hells Angel Alan Passaro, seeing Hunter drawing the gun, drew a knife from his belt and charged Hunter from the side, stabbed him twice, and killed him.
The Stones say they were unaware of the killing at the time and that’s probably correct. Nevertheless the band (most of them) were clearly rattled and ended their set early and were helicoptered out from the site in a hurry.
Characteristically, Keith Richards was relatively sanguine about the show, calling it "basically well-handled, but lots of people were tired and a few tempers got frayed” and "on the whole, a good concert."
Maybe.
But the three (or four) days of peace and love that had occurred on the east coast four months earlier are still celebrated today and even Woodstock’s down-sides—the mud, the overdoses, the rain—are remembered reverently.
But Altamont? Altamont was different. And perhaps best left forgotten.



Friday, August 2, 2019

Woodstock Remembered



On August 15 it will be 50 years since the opening day of the Woodstock Music Festival. A planned celebration and repeat of the ‘three days of love and peace’ has been cancelled; perhaps fortunately given that it was to feature Miley Cyrus and Jay-Z who are unlikely to ever gain the legendary status of many of the original artists.
Like most New Zealanders my experience of Woodstock was confined to the movie and buying the soundtrack. Neither had much effect on me—as an 18-year-old in 1969 I had other preoccupations: trying to get laid and trying to avoid conscription. Besides, two of my favourite musical acts of the time weren’t in the movie—Bob Dylan didn’t even make the festival and his erstwhile backing band, The Band, did but were cut from the movie.
There were also some misconceptions around the event that lingered long and put something of a superficial sheen on what was largely a mud-incrusted latrine. The first is that (as is widely known now) Woodstock wasn’t held in Woodstock. It was meant to be—Woodstock was Dylan and The Band’s  home town—but the organisers couldn’t find a suitable site, and after the back-up  town of Wallkill decided the use of portable toilets didn’t meet the town’s code, another site was found: Max Yasgur’s 243 hectare dairy farm near the town of Bethels 70 kilometres southwest of Woodstock.
Second in misconceptions is that the festival attracted a reported crowd of more than one million. It didn’t. It is now known that at most 400,000 people attended over the four days of the festival, and the people of Wallkill were right—there still wasn’t enough Portaloos.
It is true that very little went to plan. Even the widely advertised “three days” stretched to four. The festival itself finally kicked off at 5.30 pm Friday with Richie Havens after the scheduled first act Creedence Clearwater Revival failed to arrive on time (they didn’t make the movie either) and closed Monday morning at 8.30, with Jimi Hendrix doing his iconic rendering of the Star-Spangled Banner. By that time the crowd had dwindled to 30,000.
Some artists arrived late; some not at all. Some refused to perform in the rain, and it rained most days. Some such as Dylan and the Rolling Stones refused outright. Some later regretted their refusals. And Woodstock lost money. It cost US $3.1 million; it took in $1.8 million. It took ten years for the original promoters to turn a profit from movie and record sales.
Yet the three and a bit days of peace and love on Yasgur’s farm live on as a special event—sociological and musical. There are today and especially to come on the 15th grandparents telling their grandchildren proudly that they were there—perhaps thousands more than were actually there.
And nobody minds that.  Don McLean’s American Pie and “the day music died” was 20 years into the future. But back then for those days in August 1969 everybody wanted to be there the day music really lived.

Friday, June 28, 2019

The Agony of Age

Age comes to us all and with it comes a raft of anomalies, dichotomies and shouldn’t be’s. Simply put age is poorly planned. And nowhere is that more sharply clear than at the supermarket.
For example, why is that the elderly and the relatively infirm with decreasing mobility insist on parking their shopping trollies in the centre of the aisle, thus requiring them to travel further to fetch something on the shelf? 
Why to do those with limited dexterity having the waiting queue behind them while the fumble through in their wallets or purses for coinsto par the exact amount of cash for their groceries? 
Why too do those with (probably) the least amount of time left insist on wasting part of it in idle chatter with the checkout operator?
That is what I mean by dichotomies and shouldn’t be’s.
Now, I am no longer young, though I am bound to say I am probably younger than my father was at my age, and I am on the cusp of entering old age. However, I am still sufficiently observant to note that there is a supermarket etiquette that all but the elderly adhere too. In the elderly’s favour, however, is that many of them passing into the dying of the light retain a sense of the niceties and they know how to charm—like the elderly lady in the supermarket today who asked me to fetch something for her off a bottom shelf. I did so. She had the grace to thank me—profusely—before adding quietly: “such a nice young man.”
Age is, after all, relative.

Friday, June 21, 2019

As Cecil C. Sackrider Sees It: Comfort

God has bestowed great comforts upon me. There is my wife Sister Billy-Jo Sackrider of course. The there is my flock, who continue to be bountiful with their prayers and gifts. And then are my partners in God—Pastor Jimmy Swaggart and his anointed sons and my old friend in Christ Pastor Kenneth Copeland.
Of these comforts I am eternally grateful. Of these comforts, I am most grateful for Sister Billy-Jo for not a night goes by that I do not lay my healing hands upon her and feel the body of Christ within her.
Yet, dear friends, I feel that God has another role for me this life. That He has other plans for me and my ministry. That the Word is not yet received by all whom God does love and the power that he has invested in me to take His word to those people has found not the succour that God would have for all of us.  Friends, last month for the third month in a row, our Ministry’s Lamb of God fleecing programme has not met its target. God has forgiven me—he told me so—and his mercy is infinite, but He says that it cannot go on forever and the work of the Word will in time not be available to those who do not commit fully to his love.
I urge you brothers and sister to take heed. The displeasure of God is truly terrifying. Yet his mercy and love is bountiful. And there is a message in there for those of you who say to me “Brother Sackrider, I am too poor to answer to the Word of God with my prayers and gifts.” The message to you is what use are food and clothes and education if you do not feast on the food of God’s love? Better to stand naked in the face of God than not to stand at all. That is what I say to Sister Billy-Jo each night.
So give. Give not what you can afford. Give not what you can. Give what you have, as the Lord has given to you.
•    For a list of God’s Gifts, as delivered personally by God to Cecil C. Sackrider (handwriting verified), send a check or money order (minimum US$ 99.99) to the Cecil C. Sackrider Ministry 1069E West 35 Street Montgomery Alabama United States of America, Zip Code 666.  Checks should be made out to CASH (Congregation Against Satan’s Handiwork). All donations over US$50,000 go into the draw to win a three-day family pass to the Cecil C. Sackrider Theme Park. Offer available only to American Christians.

Why is Trump Trying to Explain this Crash?

  It is rare for Fryday to cover the same subject two weeks in a row, but President Donald J. Trump's pontifications ...