As Rev. Cecil C. Sackrider Sees It: God's Gifts.

Our American religious correspondent, Cecil C. Sackrider, and his new wife, Pastor Bobby-Jo Sackrider, have just returned from an evangelic tour of the Sub-Continent. Tired, but clearly happy, Reverend Sackrider has found time to tell us of his new wife and the blessings he believes God has bestowed upon him, and upon her.

Last night my wife, Bobby-Jo, came in to my bedroom for our nightly prayer. We finished. I blessed her. She started to return to her room but paused at the door. I saw she was troubled and in need of God’s wisdom.

“What is wrong Bobby-Jo,” I asked, kindly.

“Reverend Cecil,” said my wife, “may I ask you a question?”

“Are you in need of God’s wisdom, child?” I asked.

“No, my husband,” she said. “I am in need of yours.”

“I speak for God,” I said, benignly.

“Then, why is it, my Husband, that God, who creates such wondrous beauty as the Magnolia, creates such evil as ISIS?”

I looked upon my wife, with love. So young. Barely 16 years of blessed age. So much to learn. So much for me to mould.

Quietly, encouragingly, I reached out for her tiny hands. Taking them in mine, I looked into her eyes. She lowered hers. “It is simple child. God created the magnolia; satan created ISIS.”

Bobby-Joe looked at me, perplexed. “But surely Reverend Cecil, God created everything.”

“Everything that is good, child.”

“And what is good, Husband? What am I to love God for?”

“First and foremost, Section 501(C) of the Internal Revenue Code.”

“Tax exemption for churches?” she said.

“Exactly,” I said.  I had taught her well. “But God is truly generous. He has given us more.”

“Please tell me,” I could sense her excitement.

“Well,  He gave us:

• Fox News,
• The Republican Party
• Pat Buchanan
• Weapons of Mass Destruction
•  Infomercials –sorry, television preaching
• Gullibility (a great gift)
• BMW
• Former President George W. Bush (a greater gift)…”

“And President Barrack Obama?” she opined.

“No. Sometimes He leaves it to His apprentices. They don’t always get it right.  And yet God has given Me the greatest gift of all…”

“Yes, my husband? What?”

I paused, reflectively.

 “You,” I said, smilingly.

Her eyes glistened. Her little hands tightened in mine.

“Reverend Cecil,” she said, quietly.

“Yes,”  I replied, knowingly.

“May we pray again?”

“Yes,” I replied, lovingly.

“The same way again?”

“Yes,” I replied.

And we did.

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.

Moaners on the Money

Yesterday the Reserve Bank revealed New Zealand’s new bank notes, which will begin circulation in October 2015. I like them. They are colourful, vibrant  and, in their design, an astute blend of tradition and modernism. That is my opinion, anyway. Others will and do disagree. I knew they would. I said to someone yesterday they would. There is no special prescience in that; all it takes is a knowledge of New Zealanders.  In New Zealand there will always be some—many—who will disagree with something, particularly something subjective such as design. Of course they are entitled to express their opinions, as I am entitled to do about the bank notes and about them. But I can’t help thinking that many of these people do not start and stop with bank notes, or flags for that matter. We seem to have in this country a disproportionate number of perpetual wingers, and that is both disappointing and discouraging. In a past life I was required to deal with some of them—negative thinkers who generally had a raft of eclectic complaints. To be confronted day after day with such complainers was both tiring and tiresome. But I had to do it. For pay. Today, I don’t. So, allow me to vent, from experience: all you glass half empty people, life on my side of the fence that divides us is good. Life is not perfect, but it is a joy. Even in our waking moments we can always find something to look forward to in the day ahead. It is not hard and it will, literally, make our day. Try it. You will like it. And you, in turn, will become more likeable. That said (and vented) let me return to the bank notes and reiterate that—in my world—you are allowed to dislike them. But surely you should do so for the right reasons, and by that I mean realistic and reasonable reasons. Here are some of the reasons, expressed on Twitter, Facebook and the Herald website, given for not liking the bank notes. In quoting, I rest my case on negative thinkers.

• A change in a pay rise would be better.
• Will they print enough to feed all the kids in poverty?
• A country in debt and where (sic) wasting money on money hahaa
• Not that safe to have bright cash …. pretty much saying look what I have, now come and rob me
• How many million did it cost to do that?
• Does the govt have this excess funds? What about our nurses, teachers etc?
• I don't think the colours need to be any brighter? What's the point of that? Won't the ink make it more expensive?

But in this there is humour (Thank God). I like these two comments, both from Facebook:

• Don’t have money long enough to look at it....
• Do we get to have a free sample?

As Cecil C. Sackrider Sees It

The trouncing of the Democratic Party in America’s mid-term election is seen as a resounding blow for President Barrack Obama. But as Fryday’s Alabama based correspondent, Reverend Cecil C. Sackrider, sees it, it is the advent of a re-emerging America.

There is no doubt that the presidency of our great nation’s first black American President has been dealt a telling blow, as have, I suggest, the presidential aspirations of many black Americans. At least those we used to term “uppity”. But it should come as no surprise. If it does, I have news for those folk: it is not called The White House for nothing. I had serious misgivings when Mr. Obama put his name forward and I was horrified (though not surprised) that the Democratic Party selected him. But I was absolutely appalled when the American People voted him in. We are living in strange times. We recall that these were the same people who put Clinton in power, and the same people who decided that perhaps the greatest American President of all time, George W. Bush, was deemed the most disliked President of all time. The devil clouds the judgement of many, whilst The Almighty enlightens. And here in this election we see The Almighty in action. It is His work and His will that sees the return of His party, the Republican Party, to power, and with it the advent of enlightenment.  Never again, it is to be hoped, will we return to the dark times of a black President. God allowed us that experiment so that in failure we could see Light. Do not get me wrong, God is not a racist. He after all created black folk. But I cannot comprehend that He intended them to be anything more in The White House than butlers. Nor was this election lost for the Democrats because Mr Obama is a black man, or because of his lack of performance (something even Mr Obama’s wife Michelle has acknowledged). No, it was lost because it is God’s will. And God’s will is that we should be punished for our treatment of President George W. Bush. Thus, He gave us President Barrack Obama.  Now, in mercy, He removes him. A lesson learned I am sure by all who think that we will again have a black or a future woman President. Neither is in God’s plan for our world, and all free-thinking and righteous folk should thank God for that.

• For an exact replica of God’s Plan for This World, as delivered personally by God to Cecil C. Sackrider (handwriting verified), send a cheque 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.  All donations over US$50,000 will go into the draw to win a three-day family pass to the Cecil C. Sackrider Theme Park. Offer available only to American Christians.

Wogistan: A Space Odyssey

The Democratic Republic of Wogistan (Inc.)

Office of the Foreign Secretary

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

Email: Info@officeoftheforeignsecretary.govt.wg

Mr Honi Harawira

Parliament Building

Auckland

Aoutearowa

Keaora  Mr Honi

We have investment opportunity for Mr Honi Harawira in Democratic Republic of Wogistan (Inc). Investment opportunity only available to much moneyed peoples with time on hands. You like.

You invest in Wogistan space programme to send rocket, President Yoseph Flagrantlie, to moon. Suit peoples who like travels. We know you Honi Harawira likes travels. We offer you seat on flight. You claim one fifth of moon as sovereign territory of Peoples Democratic Republic of Aoutearowa. Rest goes to Wogistan.

But weight theres more Mr Honi Harawira. Take offer today and we gives you second seat on flight free. You takes your partner Kim Dotcom with you?  We wave excess weight charge. Rush moneys to us today and you and Kim Dotcoms on trips of your life times.

Ring now!

With sincere facilitations,

Yoseph xxx

Yoseph Wankerstan

Foreign Secretary The Democratic Republic of Wogistan (Inc.)

Proprietor Spartacus Male Gym and Bathhouse.

Terms and conditions of offer: No return on investment (or rocket).  Mona not included. She find work in my bathhouse. Offer approved and endorsed by Mr John Key esteemed prime minister of New Zealand and peoples of New Zealand.

When the Saints go Marching

With a category 1 listing, the interior of the venerable St James Theatre in Queen Street is immortal. And so it should be. This theatre with its circle and upper circle (The Gods) was so long the city’s premier live performance venue. Its only close competition before 1988, when it was hastily, illegally and unceremoniously demolished, was His Majesty’s Theatre. I could also count the Civic, but I have always and until recently thought of it more of a cinema than a live venue. I don’t know what St James looks like on the inside now. I believe the last time I was in there was for a performance of Cats in 1995. That possibly was the beginning of decline, because I certainly did not go to any of the dance and hip-hop parties that followed at the theatre and which  illustrated so imperfectly the St James’ diminished status and decline.  But, thankfully, to date not its demolition. Yet, it is early days for such optimism. The Herald is reporting only that the theatre “may” have been sold to an unspecified developer in exchange for rights to build a 32-storey apartment and retail enclave next door. However, crucially the report states that the council has also thrown in a complete restoration clause for the theatre. Therefore, we may get it back—and with it a performance venue of grace and comfort (and sound quality) that Vector Stadium cannot hope to meet, and (hopefully) provide for us all a Myley Cyrus free zone.

Our Gift to America

Kim Dotcom has well and truly overstayed his welcome. The perception of him as a big lovable bear much maligned by American business is gone. The same can be said of Nicky Hager whose ridiculous books seemingly owe more to innuendo and vagaries than substantive facts. Put the two together and one is reminded of Laurel and Hardy, and just not in physical resemblance. They, too, were buffoons.
I was away for the election and where I was the New Zealand election was not mentioned, so I had to bring it up. In a vain attempt to elicit interest and empathise with America and Americans, I mentioned that our popular prime minister John Key had an embryonic and empathetic relationship with their president Barrack Obama and the two regularly played golf together.  That just drew what I thought was an unnecessarily churlish response: everybody plays golf with Barrack Obama. Okay, let’s start again. Have you heard of the All Blacks? No. Sir Edmund Hillary? Who? Kim Dotcom? Is he for real? No, but let’s not go there. And there the breakfast conversation ended, with the pancakes still to be served. It is often said of Americans that they know little and care less for anything outside the United States. I believe that to be largely true. One of my early conversations (with a shuttle driver in New York) went like this:
HE: Where you from Bud?
ME: New Zealand.
HE: Noo Zealand? Wow.
ME: Yep.
HE: What language you folk speak there?
But strike them when they are not hungry and hanging out for pancakes (or tips) and you will find Americans warm and friendly and engaging. They can also be genuinely interested in you and your country. My shuttle driver again:
HE: What football you folk play?
ME: Rugby.
HE: Rugby? Wow. Well, I never.
ME: Never played it?
HE: Never heard of it.
So, if the starting point is that they don’t know of rugby or of the All Blacks, there is little point in pursuing discussion about New Zealand.  The Knowledge vacuum is simply too vast. Besides, my mission was to enjoy their country—which I did—not educate it—which I didn’t.
It saddens me however that the starting (and end) point should be the All Blacks and rugby.
I believe we have much more of substance in this great country of ours.
Much more that we should and should share with the world.
Much we could and should give, to America in particular.
Something they want.
Kim Dotcom.

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.

Things I'll never get to see...

One night last week I heard what I thought to be at least a couple of kiwi on my front lawn. By the time I got out of bed to see them my dogs had chased them off. I hope I get another opportunity and if I continue to live in the Far North with its surprisingly healthy population of kiwis then I no doubt will. But upon pondering the perspicacity of my Kiwi I thought of things I doubt I will ever see—not in my lifetime and perhaps not in yours. Here is my list:
1.     A movie sequel to Fifty Shades of Grey. The trailer for the first movie in the excruciating trilogy is bad enough and they want to make two more?
2.     Auckland councillors forgoing their business-class perks or declining invitations to visit some other world’s most liveable cites such as in Nepal and Finland.
3.     Len Brown serving a third term.
4.     A fourth term for John Key.
5.     A David Cunliffe led government.
6.     Any international traction of credibility for Eastern Ukrainian’s self-styled freedom fighters.
7.     Ditto Vladimir Putin.
8.     An end to Treaty settlements.
9.     A world without Mike Hosking—not that we are trying hard.
10. A world without Paul Henry—and we are trying hard.
11. More convenient folding of the otherwise stunning Kleenex Flushable Cleansing Cloths.
12. A funnier programme than QI.
13. An end to the high-rotate run of the once funny Cigna Funeral Cover commercial.
14. An end to the high-rotate run of the once funny Kim Dotcom.
15. An end to the high-rotate run of the never funny John Banks—sorry, we have already seen that.
16. A ministerial resignation between now and the election
17. Anyone still reading Mills and Boon.
18. An admission by Hone Harawira that, in the end, he is just “funning us.”
19. Kiwi sheep placenta anywhere near my face.
20.  Gerry Brownlee hopping over any more fences.

Stranded in Paradise (with apologies to John Dix)

Charles Dickens, novelist, social commentator and lecturer, also owned and edited a weekly publication called All the Year Round. I have three annual anthologies of that periodical, including the seventh volume, which is for the year 1862.
In that volume is a story of special interest to me, given that I now live in the Bay of Islands.
It is apparently a true story, written by a clergyman who in 1859 was swept out to sea in the bay and stranded on one of its islands for seven months.
He was then found by local Maori (Ngapuhi) whom, our clergyman recounts, he initially faced with some trepidation, not knowing whether they were to rescue him or eat him. They did neither, electing rather to leave him on his island prison—their boat being already overloaded with “wives, slaves and children”. They did however promise to send back a larger rescue boat on their return to the mainland. And that duly happened.
The story, whilst interesting, is of no great significance in New Zealand’s history; the country’s maritime antiquity is replete with such strandings and larger and more tragic shipwrecks. But that very anonymity is perhaps where the most intrinsic interest lays—nobody else as far as I know except me, and now you, know of the story of the marooned, lonely and despairing clergyman and “his” island. Yet the account, if true, is so full of direction and description that it may be possible for someone with a greater knowledge of the Bay of Islands than mine to be able to pinpoint and identify the island.
Such identification will add little to the sum store of our communal knowledge. But, who cares? In these days of incessancy rather than interest—Kim Dotcom, Len Brown, budget blowouts, et al—can the location of New Zealand’s very own Robinson Crusoe’s island home be any less interest?
I won’t bore you with those descriptions here, but I am happy to extract and send them to anyone interested, and particularly anyone with the interest and knowledge to identify the island.