Best Ever Muppet Moments

I really don't like clip-shows.

There was a time – in the days before VCRs and British syndication – when the chance to rewatch material that one would never otherwise see again was something to truly look forward to.

But those 2" days are long gone, and today a clips-show has entirely the opposite effect on me, and it seems everyone else too. Getting to re-enjoy maybe an entire 10-minute set-piece has these days been reduced to little more than 10 seconds, often interrupted by today's fleeting celebs making derogatory and just plain wrong generalisations on the basis of little more than an ill-researched crib sheet and preview-tape that they've just fast-forwarded through. Again and again, this really shows.

They really should have stopped making these cheap fillers a long time ago now.


ITV's Best Ever Muppet Moments sounds like just such a typical attempt to make another cheap new show.

What a pleasant surprise then to instead find a really well-made documentary about the creation of the muppets, and the rise of their immortal success-story, predominantly told by the people who were actually there and witnessed it.

Frank Oz, Dave Goelz, Jerry Nelson and Brian Henson have clearly spent their entire lives doing exactly what they wanted to, and the fact this show was made to celebrate an incredible 50 years of their ongoing creations is indisputable proof of their convictions.

Particularly touching is the testimony of Steve Whitmire, when recounting the awful period when he had to take over Kermit after Jim Henson's death and just couldn't deal with the little green guy's face looking at him.

Jim Henson is a hero of mine, but the archive footage of these guys working so hard on material so ridiculous cements all of them as big influences on not just my childhood, but my convictions as a creative type today.

And perhaps that's best summed up by the recollection of Alan Wicker at the outset of the show, describing what every episode of The Muppet Show had consistently been to him:

"They were always happy."

The Return Of The Goodies

Retrospectives of old TV shows are generally disappointing.

Not that the clips show-up the differences between one’s memories and how it actually was, but because they tend to:

a) be barely, if at all, researched,
b) recite urban myths as fact
c) make general assumptions without checking
d) contain at least one massive omission
e) feature scripted interviews with celebrities who don’t even remember the show, and then claim it was rubbish
f) be just an opportunity to show lots of very very short clips, often cropped or squashed into widescreen.

Ignoring the widescreen issue, The Return of the Goodies defeated each and every one of these points. (I’m ignoring how the production-team repainted their blue LWT bike red to look like the BBC one – really!)


The programme went into depth about the show’s history, covered the forgotten LWT series, and predominantly interviewed the people who actually made the shows.

One of the greatest pleasures was seeing some of today’s comedians looking so shocked that the review tape they’d just watched (of Goodies Rule OK) was so good. As I mentioned in another post recently, The Goodies has aged extremely well, even if Bill does now find it hard to climb off the trandem.

Ironically, if there’s an area where this docu fails, it would be the specially-shot new footage of the The Goodies returning to their old office at the start. There are a few slow jokes that are almost in-character, but they’re not dressed as Graeme, Tim and Bill, they wear clip-on mics, and barely 2 minutes pass before they give up the pretence completely and chat to the audience.

I’d love to see these guys make a proper new series. You can whinge all you want about how they’re all old now, but they’re still doing comedy, and still funny too.

And I don’t see a single reason to doubt them.

Doctor Who: The Dalek Invasion Of Earth

Last September I watched the first 3 episodes of this off of a DVD that flatmate Cathy got hold of, and spent a great deal of time trying to set the options to give me the version with funky new CGI-effects. In the event, it still looked like the effects were done in the 60s, and I was left wondering whether I had failed to understand the technology, or if they had deliberately made their funky modern effects look old in order not to detract from the rest of the programme.


Anyway, once back here in the UK, I dug out my double-VHS copy of episodes 4, 5 and 6 to complete the tale...


The Daleks are plotting to steal the Earth’s magnetic core and replace it with their own machine, so that they can pilot the Earth around space like a giant spaceship. Why is anyone’s guess. I guess that’s just the sort of mutant-hearted thing that Daleks do.


Hartnell’s absence from episode 4 is covered very well, and the show’s first instance of writing a character out permanently (Susan) is built-up to much better than I remember too.


Three cheers also for only the second unexpected appearance of a Dalek at the end of an episode 1...


You know you’re watching Doctor Who when that happens.

Luke Cage Day

Just for the record, in no particular order, here are some of the things I got for Christmas this year:

CD: Straight Outta Lynwood by “Weird Al” Yankovic
Game: Uno
DVD: Sledgehammer! Series 1
Book: Doctor Who: The Time Travellers by Simon Guerrier
Audio cassette: Unforgettable by John Mann (organ music)
2 bottles of shampoo
A pair of pyjamas
A dog hot water bottle
A fish keyring
A pedometer
A Frijj drink
A 35mm camera film
A blank VHS-C tape
Some chocolates with famous cricketers on them

My family being as surreal as it is, these items were from my family, friends, our cats, cuddly-toys, and the cricket chocolates were even given by proxy from my dad who died 5 years ago.

Christmas – well it’s a time for family.

Doctor Who: The Runaway Bride

Today, for the first time in 17 years, I watched a whole episode of Doctor Who on its first transmission.

(I’m not counting VHS recordings, first-run showings in New Zealand or even the ten minutes I saw live in Canada in 1996 without realising what I was watching.)

Nope, this Christmas Day evening, all opening of cards, presents etc. ceased as we sat round to watch the very latest instalment.

The question on my positive/cynical mind however was this – would it be worth it?

This author has repeatedly turned in little-thought-through stories, and then flummoxed me by finishing the last season with a no-holds-barred two-part classic.

Had he come of age? Would scripts on this new series now finally get proof-read and rewritten up to at least an average standard? I was postive, and wrong.


Giant insectoid alien the Rachnoss needs Huon particles, and can only prepare them in a human’s bloodstream, so they capture this poor guy and… can you guess what they do to him? That’s right – the Rachnoss asks him to go out with this girl he hates called Donna and poison her coffee with Huon particles over a period of six entire months. And marry her. There is no explanation for the wedding around which this whole episode revolves.


The Rachnoss also takes-over the disastrous robots-dressed-as-Santa-who-still-won't say-why from the last Christmas special.

These sinister St Nicks plant bombs disguised as Christmas baubles at Donna's wedding reception to kill her, because they need her alive. No wait because they want her to carry on as normal without suspecting that she’s being manipulated by aliens. No wait because they know she will unexpectedly disappear from the wedding and they need her to kill her. No wait, they plant them after she’s gone missing, because they think she now won’t be at the wedding reception.

No, wait…

…errr…


Oh I’ll explain later. She disappears fom the wedding, so needing her alive, the robot Santas are trying to kill her. In their Santa disguises which they rather blow every time they shoot at someone. Anyway one of them corners her in a taxi, and… erm… drives her a long distance up a motorway. Yes, drives. Using the pedals and everything, observing the highway code, totally ignoring the flying Police Box coming after it, oh Christmas.

Eventually the Doctor and Donna get captured by the Rachnoss, who, ha ha, had a teleport all along.

The Doctor and Donna escape, and as the Rachnoss doesn’t need them any more, the robot Santas are pointlessly dispatched to capture them all over again.

That’s right – the Rachnoss doesn’t need them, because they’re so evil that they’re instead injecting Huon particles into the earlier-mentioned guy who’s been poisoning Donna for them for the past 6 months instead. The same guy they didn’t use 6 months ago. And by using him it will only take a few minutes to achieve their plans. There is a throwaway line here, but I use the term “throwaway” rather unkindly, because I'm afraid it doesn't cover it for me.

There’s another big public alien invasion to which everyone reacts like it hasn’t happened again and again and again in the last couple of years, but this time it has a new spin. The guy in the army tank, who has no name, gets a message over his radio from someone else who also has no name, who goes out of his way to refer to a third person who never appears and is only referrred to in this sentence, yet has a name. “Orders from Mr Saxon – fire at will.” I have not seen spin-off series Torchwood, and at time of writing I have never ever heard or read of the name “Mr Saxon”, but that just goes to show how unsubtlely shoved-in this line was.

I’d better start finding some positive things to say so that I can get to sleep tonight…

Things I liked then:

Presenting the recap from the other perspective.

The TARDIS appears to be able to both fly and make it snow now – I like this new-found freedom. It’s an alien spacecraft and it can do tons of unexpected things we don’t know about - it’s all a bit magical.

While at the party, the Doctor has two brief mute flashbacks of Rose, which were very nicely done. Far more subtle than his closing line, which sounds like she’s dead or something.

The Doctor's line about an alien base underneath a famous London landmark being unheard of.


The Rachnoss looked impressive.

The Doctor’s line about mankind sorting the chaotic universe into order by marking it out with weddings and other events.

Of course once more no-one remembers any of Earth’s multiple recent invasions, but at least the Doctor gets a line or two acknowledging this, even if only to express along with us how unacceptable this claim is. He also got a line explaining why he couldn’t use his time-machine to get Donna to her wedding on time. While his reason was unquestionably pants (where’s the appeal of a time-machine you can't use?), at least again he protested what a poor explanation this was by adding the word “apparently.”

I notice that the show has a new script-editor – I have to wonder if he’s just doing what he can to save this tangle of stand-alone sequences.

Girl In A Suitcase

Boy, this CD sure holds a few memories for me.

It's a collection of rare lounge music from popular British TV and radio of the 1960s and 70s. And by rare, I'm including testcard music, and incidental tunes from TV for the deaf.

I guess the earliest memory evoked here for me would be the Mary, Mungo and Midge theme, an animated show that I used to watch in our old house until I was 4, and which I think I've only ever heard once since. For me, it paints a picture of a time when the world was a much brighter, more colourful place, and when I understandably expected the very long life that seemed to be stretching out ahead of me to be similarly pure.

Later, in my teens, I would hear The Jimmy Young Show on BBC Radio 2, and within a few years had got into reruns of The Avengers on new TV station Channel 4.

In my twenties, I rediscovered Vision On whilst involved with the BBC TV library, and Alan "Fluff" Freeman's radio theme became something of a retro classic thanks to the hard work of Smashie and Nicey.

At 31, (in 2002) I found this album in London. This has become a fond memory in itself, because I remember taking it into the hospital with me, and showing it to my dad. Well, memories of Father are always treasured.

A short time later, when I first heard that Mary, Mungo and Midge theme on there, I found myself silently mouthing Richard Baker's opening narration to the music. "Mary, Mungo and Midge, all live in a town. Do you live in a town?" I felt a great mourning for those childhood days, so ruined by having to "grow up."

Since Father's death, I've got on with my life, as best as I can, and another track on here should have just become a new memory for me, within a sketch my church back in Auckland should be doing today.

And tonight, barely a couple of hours later, I found myself sitting at home back in the UK, wrapping Christmas gifts, as the same tunes once again roared out of the family TV, thanks now to the DVD player.

I'm certainly not done with this cosy album yet...

Reviews of other releases from Winchester Hospital Radio:

Music While You Watch
Natural Born Fillers

Uncle Travelling Jesus sketch #5 of 5

Christmas eve, and for some reason this was played at church without the music track, so I’m happy to present it here in full “restored” form! (the way it might have been, but wasn't)


Dear nephew Go-bro,

Well, I'm finally nearing the end of my trip through Outer Space and I'll almost be back home as you read this, all being well. Couldn't be away from home on my birthday, now could I?! This week however, whilst heading home, I acccidentally got on the wrong flight though, so I'm currently trapped on an enforced 7-day stopover in the duty-free area of Perth in Australia, while they try to find an alternative flight for me, which is a tough job this close to Christmas. Err... they also suspect me of having bird flu. Hmm.

Ohh, so far this week, in the duty-free area, I've eaten fifteen meals at Burger King, I've had a race on one of those golf-cart thingies, and I've watched the film The Nativity Story 28 times! Hm! After sleeping last night on a luggage-trolley however, today I decided to use my time effectively, and I have been doing some last-minute duty-free Christmas shopping. So, I was looking through one of the local malls here and what do you know, but Santa Claus himself was there! So of course I did what any good boy would do: I joined the queue of silly creatures and then, 45 minutes later, here I am as you see me – sitting on Santa's knee! And he actually was the real Santa – he could wink his eye and beckon his finger slowly and everything!

Seeing as it's my birthday that we're celebrating though, Santa seemed a little lost for words and actually forgot to ask me what I'd like for my birthday; so, being the countercultural icon that I am, I asked him what he would like for Christmas! Heh-heh-heh! Well, he had plenty of ideas: this Christmas off, the latest model sleigh with all the extra features, elves who didn't require paying, a pair of togs for visiting New Zealand, a printer to finally send-out all those invoices of his… but I think I know just the ticket. He could really do with a gym membership. You see, you may not have noticed, but he's really let himself go lately. I'm sure if he was a bit fitter then work wouldn't seem so bad and he wouldn't feel like he needed all those other things; plus getting down chimneys would be a breeze, not to mention how much happier his reindeer would be! I'm glad that was so easy – some people can be so hard to buy for!

Well, I'll be seeing you soon nephew. With my ticket temporarily impounded, it's hard to see how I'm going to make it home in time for Christmas, but I believe, I really do believe, that I will. I actually will. Don't forget to set my place at the table!

Love as always, your Uncle Travelling Jesus.

Sketch #1 of 5 here.
Sketch #2 of 5 here.
Sketch #3 of 5 here.
Sketch #4 of 5 here.

Time-Travel

On a blog that is about 6½ months out-of-date, I am about to crow about my excellent time-management.


I mean alright, so yesterday afternoon I did spend over an hour just trying to make one phone-call from Hong Kong Airport, and when I eventually suceeded it was to someone who I had failed to forewarn of my arrival so he didn’t have any time to meet-up with me, and all this took so long that by the time I’d made it into the city to see the sights it was dark, but…

…in my defence, upon returning to the airport, I did get my act together enough to have a shower.

After which I changed into the clean clothes in my hand-luggage and threw out the old ragged ones that I had worn for the first half of my journey, so that I would not have to lug them with me back to Europe. Oh yes, I was definitely feeling pleased with myself for that. (as I tried not to miss my next plane)

Then, on the flight, I had managed to secure another emergency exit seat with plenty of legroom. Go seatguru.com.

Also, as well as having done some Christmas shopping in Hong Kong, I had also bought some Christmas cards in order to write them on the 12-hour flight. In the event though I caught some sleep instead.

Then, while we were coming into land in London, back in Auckland the fourth of our five Uncle Travelling Jesus sketches, for which I have been providing the voice live, was being played at Cession Church. I'd smugly pre-recorded it. Go Cool Edit Pro.


Dear nephew Go-bro,

Well, I hope this postcard doesn't get Returned To Sender, because this week in Outer Space I took a tour Way Down in the "City o Love". No, not the "City of Love" – gay Paree; the "City o Love" – you know, Vegas baby, Vegas!

Well nephew, there are plenty of bright lights and questionable activities to be had by the Silly Creatures in Las Vegas, but not everything there is bad news. Did you know, for example, that in 2005 over 100,000 marriage licenses were issued in Las Vegas? You see, love is taking a hold in some places!

Anyway, while I was there I met this lovely young couple, who reminded me of another couple for some reason, but I can't quite remember who or why. Anyway, when I asked them why they were both wearing Blue Suede Shoes, they told me that in the past they had often felt Lonesome Tonight, that they Couldn't Help Falling In Love, and that It Was Now Or Never, so they wanted to be married by "The King". Hah! Well, since they had so boldly recognised who I was, I told them that I was The King, and, uh-huh-huh, I would be happy to marry the two of them. Heh.

Mind you, when they asked me to put on this strange outfit, I certainly felt All Shook Up, I can tell you.

Anyway, after I had instructed them both "Don't Be Cruel", they took their vows, said to each other "Love Me Tender" and surreally added their own promise to each other "I Just Want To Be Your Teddy Bear". Hm. And then, wouldn't you know, they asked me to sing! Ha! Well, this was clearly Too Much, so at first I said to them "Don't Treat Me Like A Fool," however when the mother-in-law protested, I acquiesced and I told her "Okay then, That's Alright Mama."

I quickly got the hang of this karaoke thing too, and when I finished off with a bangin' version of Jailhouse Rock – well, the congregation went wild!!

Anyway by the end of the week I'd married off at least 17 couples, and though a few appeared to have had Suspicious Minds at the start, I saw no-one Crying In The Chapel. Not only that, I'd got a singing gig in a nice hotel on the main street, a multi-million dollar record deal, a series of movies green-lit and, most bizarrely, a heap of copy-cats impersonating me at clubs, pubs, community centres and Wesleyan-Methodist churches. And I have never been asked to be in so many photographs!

Anyway, ahem, that's all from me in Outer Space this week nephew. Hope you are well, that the dust is not clogging your sinuses, and if you need someone to sing at your wedding, well, then "The King" is always ready to come out of retirement! Mm. Remember - whatever you are doing back home, never forget that You Are Always On My Mind.

Love, your Uncle Travelling Jesus.

Thank you. Thank you very much.

(Uncle Travelling Jesus has left the building.)
Sketch #1 of 5 here.
Sketch #2 of 5 here.
Sketch #3 of 5 here.
Sketch #5 of 5 here.

And then, after I’d got through customs, something entirely unexpected happened.

At about 6am I set foot outside of Heathrow Airport, and was instantly hit by an icy blast of freezing cold early morning December air in the UK.

Oh… yeah. London in winter. I remember this extremety of coldness from every winter up until three years ago. This would be why I'm wearing a t-shirt then.

So, after spending 15 minutes crossing a breezy darkened motorway to change a note so that I'd have the right change for the bus (because I was well-organised enough to know from experience that the driver probably wouldn't accept a note), I successfully caught the 490 from Hatton Cross Station, and made my way home once more.

7:30am.

I quietly opened my front door, and like waking from a dream registered that several things did not appear to have moved since I was last here. The long coffin-shaped box (film-prop) on the floor of my room, Herschel's DVDs of The Goodies, and two fairly disinterested cats, who ironically were waking from a dream.

This time my mother was not up yet. This was good. That meant that this time I would succeed.

This time I did wake her up with that cup of tea.

A Quick Circuit Of Hong Kong

New Church

Today I joined about 40 other people by signing a bit of paper to become a partner of Cession Community Church.

I first attended on Christmas Eve 2004, when I came along with Frank and Melva to the midnight service.

I remember someone saying to me “We’re a fairly laid-back church, as you’ve probably noticed.”

Ah, I thought, that’s what you think of yourselves, so that’s what you assume others think of you too.

Then about six months later I found myself living in Botany, so nearby that I didn’t even have to cross a road to drop in, so I did.


Most Sundays, for about two months.

Then, after moving to nearby Howick about six weeks later, I found myself in a bit of a “church-triangle.” Without any concrete idea where I would be living a few months hence, for the best part of a year I kept my options open by going to three different churches, in different parts of Auckland. One of them wasn’t even in English.

One Saturday morning about a year ago I went kayaking for charity, and found myself sharing a boat with a girl who was absolutely outraged that I was being so sinful as to not be commiting to just one church. I still don’t get that, but then maybe I had the benefit of a slightly wider perspective.

There were things about Cession Church that hit a good vibe with me. Some of them include:

1. A shorter worship time. (3-4 songs at the start, then 3-4 at the end) I’m afraid I have never liked worship. That’s just how I’m made. I believe that most of the non-church-going population agrees with me on this one.

2. They feed me a free meal before the service. Aside from getting to have a meal with mates once a week, this makes Cession the only church that I have ever regularly arrived at early.

3. They seem quite chatty, and I haven’t perceived a clique that I’ve had to break into.

4. The pastor and associate pastor’s sermons tend to hold my attention for the duration. Increasingly this is now more likely because I know them both, but when I was first attending Brett didn’t have this advantage. He was just hitting nerves with what he said.

5. Stuff gets said in services that it’s assumed you’re intelligent enough not to take seriously. The What Would Jesus Say? sketches, in which our LORD was cliquey and arrogant, got a lot of laughs and conveyed a clear message as a result.

6. Unasked, the pastor gave me a nickname (and a link) on his blog when he’d only known me for a few weeks.

7. After I had been away for a few months, upon my return a complete stranger came up to me, smiled, and said “Hello” before venting “You haven’t updated your blog in AGES!”

8. People agree to disagree a lot. The best example of this is probably Frank’s blog, although Rhett appears to be catching-up. At one stage, someone at another church asked me what Cession was like, and I found myself saying the words “Well, it’s a lot more about asking questions than preaching answers.”

9. One week they showed a clip of a Jeffrey Hunter movie. You can’t argue with that.

Anyway, eventually things with my old (English-speaking) church reached the stage where I just had no reason left to continue going there, so I finally made the switch to Cession permanently.

I hated giving up on my old church. When, after a service at Cession, one of my old church’s members had a long argument with me over my phone, I knew I felt a lot more at home with these people who didn't seem to be so way off the deep-end in thoughtless miserable arrogant extremesville.

I hated to admit it, but they just seemed a bit more laid-back.

Everyday English

Six weeks ago I took on a new class of English students.

Or more accurately, they took on a new teacher.


As usual, I was pretty nervous about this. Partly because this was the Advanced Class. Partly because I was taking over from another teacher with whom they would already have gelled. And partly because despite having taught English for a couple of years now, I still felt like a complete fraud who isn’t up to the job.

As usual, my fears were misplaced. I prayed, gritted my teeth, went in early, and got to meet each of them one at a time as they arrived. I’m always much better at meeting people one at a time.

The following six weeks settled into what I had hoped for – for three hours each weekday morning we would all show up, share a lot of laughs in English, and then go away again hopefully going over the fun in our heads and unwittingly revising what we’d learnt.

A good plan, and of course not on any level what I had set out to do.

My daily plan was simple – pray that God would write the entire lesson like some meticulously poured-over script, and then trust like Hell (if you’ll excuse the expression) that enough words would somehow be spoken in the classroom to fill up three entire hours.

Where all the words, and the fun, came from, well, ask the philosophers.

I’m surely not going to take ownership of the class’ success – I don’t think God would like that. I could hardly expect him to keep helping me so much if I went around saying that, now could I?

Anyway, just to underline my incompetence, on Tuesday lunchtime I got lost.

I’d finshed the class and caught the bus to Pakuranga Plaza to finally spend the Westfield gift-vouchers that my friends at Joy Puppet Theatre gave me last Christmas, and which with a 12-month validity would expire that day. I never even looked at the number on the bus (57), and after we’d suddenly turned-off the beaten track and gone flying down Bucklands Beach Road, I discovered that the next bus-stop was in fact some distance away. So I eventually got off and decided to take a "short cut". Ha ha. Well it's always nice to explore.

I happened upon the still amusingly-named Pigeon Moutain, climbed it, failed to locate Stockade Hill from the top, prayed again, and then rolled down some of it, because I could.


When I eventually arrived at Pakuranga Plaza, I discovered the joys of Bramptins - an English shop, selling English food. For English people. Weetabix, Shreddies, Pop-Tarts that sort of thing. Unheard of in underprivilidged New Zealand, and yet here they all were, like old friends, at vastly inflated prices. (comparatively speaking – they go for fairly similar prices back in the more expensive UK)

On the less virtual motherland-side, they had a local kiwi radio station on – I think they should stream Capital off the internet, but that’s just me.

Anyway, I treated myself to some Frosted Shreddies and Horlicks Lite, neither of which I want to start on until February next year.

Back at school the next morning I found myself teaching my class a few Christmas carols to sing at the school Christmas party next week. Pretty soon I was getting gigs of my own – asked by the other teachers to come in and teach their classes to sing too. Yesterday I suddenly found myself effectively teaching music to a class of thirty-eight asian students. And again, I seemed to skid through and wing it by making them laugh. Hopefully with me.

But again I attribute it to that prayer thing. Those desperate words that I start muttering by the tree at the bus-stop, and try to finish thinking about by the time I’m entering reception. Among other things I say “I know you love these people, and I believe that you want to teach them English, and you seem to want to do that through me, so I just want to get out of the way and let you do it.”

No, not the words, the intention, the belief, the faith, the trying-to-let-go, argh, all of those things, or none of them. Or some. I don’t know how it all works, if at all. But I do believe that God’s the one who comes through each day.

I don’t believe that prayer is a science, which requires us to mix one part words with two of faith. I’m not even prepared to boil answered prayer down to something pat like “Of course, it’s all about putting God first you know.” I really don’t think there is a rule. That’s why to the rest of the world it looks so ‘random.’

I mean that's the definition of random, isn’t it? No discernable order. If God does exist and act, then randomness would logically be what we call the way he does things. If he doesn’t, then God would be the idea we’ve come up with to explain what causes randomness.

Anyway, the last term has gone well, and I blame God. This morning we had our final lesson together, so here are some random pictures we took recently of some of my students and myself:



And I think I’ve been learning through them too.

Anger Management

I sat in the cinema and despaired.

These situations were so unbelievable. Worse, they had been directed in an unbelievable way, with music that suggested it was subtle. And the most predictable jokes were so crass. I still have trouble comprehending how so many millions of dollars can be poured into a movie without any of it being spent on the script.

And that was just the trailer - thank God I didn’t have to sit through the actual film.

Fast-forward three years to tonight, and my evening pre-intermediate English class merged with the beginner class for a special film-night. The movie? …oh.

Oh well, maybe it wasn’t all that bad. Maybe it was brilliant. Perhaps I had hastily misjudged it.

I hadn’t.

***** CONTAINS SPOILERS *****

Steve Goble wrote:

I have just sat through a film that was perhaps even worse than Playtime. But no, nothing could ever be as bad as Playtime. Oh I don't know. I don't know anything. It's all still too fresh in my mind. It was called "Anger Management", and it was even worse than the trailer looked.

Its one redeeming feature was that, as I watched it with a class of Chinese people, I actually got paid to sit through it.

I can't make a living like this...

On 11/12/06, Herschel Krustofski wrote:

I'm off work for three weeks and I get paid for THAT! Go back to your two hour film, loser!

Steve Goble wrote:

Jack Nicholson and Adam Sandler. Sandler is a really timid guy who keeps getting accused of being violent, which he doesn't have the self-confidence to argue with. So the judge sentences him to spend 20 days with psychologist Nicholson who is really REALLY annoying. In lots of really unexpected rude ways. Even his girlfriend ditches him for the annoying guy.

And then, at the end, you'll never see this coming, it turns out that his girlfriend has hired Nicholson to deliberately wind him up to MAKE him lose his temper ALL ALONG, and everyone in the entire film is an actor who he'd employed - even the judge!

Oh for the love of God, newbie...

On 11/12/06, Herschel Krustofski wrote:

The only way this could have been worse is if you'd had to sit through it with Kelso's mother, Dr Cox.



And there it is. I tried to be positive, but this film simply wouldn’t let me. It just had everything not going for it. The sledgehammer cameo by John McEnroe as himself. The pretentious voice-over at the end to explain such a clever plot. The fake judge who we’re supposed to accept got paid to pronounce THREE SEPARATE fake sentences! Worst of all, the offended Buddhists getting angry because their god had been insulted. I mean, even I felt insulted!

Uuuuuuuuurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr……..

On the other hand, the film’s central theme of a nice guy’s obliging nature being taken advantage of by others jarred with me a heck of a lot. After all, this film was stealing two hours of my life, and I was just sitting there letting it.

Joy

Flatmate Cathy returned home to China this morning, and within hours had been replaced by our old flatmate, cockney Neil, back from the UK for a holiday daaan under.

In fact, it’s all change in my life at the moment.

A few months ago my friends at the Salvation Army Korean Corps on Queen Street asked me to run a regular kids’ Bible study group after their service on Sunday, in English.

Of course, I only had time to complete two weeks of these meetings, before I had to return to England, and having been back for over a month now, today I finally managed to run a third one for them…

However as I’m returning to England again for Christmas next week, today was once more the last time I would see these people for a while. Ironically, it’s also the first time I’ve seen them since I got back last month, so I was inevitably greeted by everyone with exclamations of “Steve – you’re back!” So much for dropping in to tell them goodbye.

In this entire trip, this was the closest I came to my old stomping ground of Auckland CBD...

But then, if the robot Santa is on the loose again, maybe it’s just as well.

On my way out of town I paused briefly at an internet café to print-out Jacob’s latest script for tonight’s Uncle Travelling Jesus sketch at my English speaking church Cession, which in the event went quite well as usual. The audience are quite quiet during these things, and I’ve no idea if the sketches make any sense to them whatsoever, but it’s good to be performing something a bit surreal without fear of complaints.


Dear Nephew Go-Bro.

This week, I was passing through Rome, in Italy, Outer Space, so I decided to drop by my second home, the Vatican, and catch up with your Uncle Joe, or…His Holiness Pope Benedict XVI as they’re now calling him for some reason. Well nephew, we’re old friends so he calls me the J-Man and I’m now calling him the Pope-Diddy! I must say, he didn’t look terribly impressed when I called him that in front of a bunch of his Silly Creature friends though! Sometimes I think he takes himself a little too seriously – but then he always did, I suppose.

Anyway, after a few meetings we got sick of getting our rings kissed by the Silly Creatures, so we decided to pop out and get some air together. Your uncle Pope-Diddy told me he knew the perfect spot out the front of St Peter’s Basilica, and as you can see it’s a pretty top spot, with plenty of benches to grind and steps to ollie. Bet you didn’t know your old Uncle Travelling Jesus could pop a phat backside 360 did ya?! Well, I’ve still got it baby! Unfortunately your Uncle Joe (sorry, your Uncle Holiness! ;-P) didn’t quite have the skills on the day and ended up with a sprained ankle after his second attempt at grinding one of the parked cars, erghh. At least this meant I now had a photographer handy though to take some nice shots of me: like this one of me ‘talking with the birds’.

Well, I think I better go lay hands on His Popeness now so that he can get back into the serious meetings without limping. It was good to visit the old second homestead again, but I think I’ll be glad to get away from all the Poperazzi who keep trying to snap me at inappropriate moments. Anyway take care now and maybe I’ll let you have a go on my new board when I get back home for Christmas.

Love,
your Uncle Travelling Jesus.

Sketch #1 of 5 here.
Sketch #2 of 5 here.
Sketch #3 of 5 here.
Sketch #4 of 5 here.
Sketch #5 of 5 here.

Tonight’s service was all about joy (hence Uncle Travelling Jesus having fun above), so we finished-off by inviting everyone to let-off party-poppers to the 1812 overture.

Afterwards I didn’t much feel like hanging around to say more goodbyes though, so I got out of there quick to walk home. So much for joy.

I had a long cold uncomfortable walk home tonight, exacerbated at the end when I decided to pop up to the top of Stockade Hill for a pray.

I really hadn’t wanted to leave England to come here five weeks ago, and in order to manage it I’d cut myself the deal that I would go back home again for Christmas. I’d had certain words with God on wanting my life to work out too.

Now I was looking down at my darkening home-from-home town of Howick, wondering once more whether I would ever see it from this angle again. Had it all been for nothing? Was I about to lose my whole life here? Once again I was faced with my long-term deep-rooted impossible-to-shake conviction that God loves and has a life for everyone else but not me.

So as I stood there in the cold night air, once more I genuinely asked God to search me and see if my motivations weren’t honest and pure. Of course I’m a sinner, but I don’t wish to pay crowd-pleasing lip-service to that right now. No matter how much I get wrong, I do believe in God, and genuinely try to follow him. But when you’re 35, alone, on the far side of the world and looking down on hundreds of lit houses containing thousands of people God has given families to, to the extent where it’s so normal that more and more shocked people gasp the unintentionally hurtful question “How come you don’t have one?”, well, there’s a point where positive thinking simply becomes denial. And therefore wrong. God appears to have been quite determined about this for over 20 years now. “(smirk)Er, no Steve. Not you. I don’t think so.”

White And Nerdy by "Weird Al" Yankovic

“Weird Al” Yankovic has released some amazing tracks in his incredible long career. The spot-on Can’t Watch This, the charming Frank’s 2000” TV, the wild Everything You Know Is Wrong and of course my personal favourite – the entirely honest Bohemian Polka.

His videos too, betray a huge enthusiasm for fun. Smells Like Nirvana simply has too many sight-gags to be the work of someone just doing it for the money.

“Weird Al”’s brand of non-patronising family humour isn’t for everyone of course, although for my money he hits more times than he misses. And there’s no denying that over the years he’s stuck at what he does, without falling into the trap of repetition.

Now, after 25 years, he’s just released what could be his finest most intricate gag-packed work yet - White And Nerdy. This one’s so crammed with jokes that it stands-up extremely well to repeated listening, and the video just keeps hitting good nerves again and again and again.

So after so long in the business, how can his work just keep on getting better? Weird Al proves that the rest of us have no excuse for conceit.

Uncle Travelling Jesus sketch #2 of 5

Dear Nephew Go-bro.

This week, I’ve been in London, England, Outer Space for about five and half days so far. I must admit that London started getting me down halfway through day one, what with the grey day, rain and traffic fumes, ergh. Being down did help me to blend in with the local silly creatures though, who all look as depressed as I felt. But something happened on day two that brightened me up a little. Walking past a local store I saw an advertisement for a chance to win a trip to Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory! All I had to do was buy a chocolate bar and hopefully find one of five golden tickets that had been hidden worldwide. Well, you can imagine my delight! When I was growing up back in the rock, we weren’t allowed chocolate or candy so a chance to see Willy Wonka’s seemed like such a wonderful thing – especially in the midst of dull grey wintry London Town.

So - I popped into the store and rustled together my last 49p and bought a Wonka bar. I was a little afraid to open it at first, I didn’t want to dash my feeling of hopeful anticipation. So I wandered around for another hour or so, and then finally, when I couldn’t hold it any longer, I sat on the steps of Trafalgar Square and slowly tore open the corner of my chocolate bar wrapper and... there was no ticket! I was disappointed, huph, but figured that there were still plenty of good things in the world so quickly ripped the rest of the wrapper off to eat my chocolate as comfort food. And as I took the bar out what do you think I saw?!? A golden ticket! I had accidentally opened the wrong side of the wrapper and had not seen it until the bar came out. I was so excited (as you can see) that I gave a big hug to the nearest silly creature – who happened to be a Spanish tourist with a camera. So we shared my chocolate bar together, and he took this photo of me with my ticket against the darkening London skyline.

Now I eagerly await in anticipation for my trip to Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory next Tuesday. I hope I’ll get to meet some oompa loompas and maybe even Charlie Bucket. I will send you some of the chocolate I get with my next postcard. (providing New Zealand Immigration allow it in of course)

Love your Uncle Travelling Jesus.

Sketch #1 of 5 here.
Sketch #3 of 5 here.
Sketch #4 of 5 here.
Sketch #5 of 5 here.