Guest Post: a three and a half year old reviews The Wiggles

Get ready, to read the best writing this blog has seen

This week, my children's favourite Crayola impersonators The Wiggles came and played two shows in Palmerston North, thus ignoring ageing curmudgeon John Cleese's advice that the city is only a place to tour if you are contemplating committing suicide, or trying to pay off your fifth divorce (please don't let this be so, Emma and Lachy, we at least need you to breed some sort of hybrid Warm Grey Wiggle first).

Don't listen to Cleese, Wiggles, Palmerston North has loads of really big fans, and that joke never fails

Unfortunately, having a job and a further 107 Pokèmon to catch, I was unable to make the gig, so am unable to rate the performance of such classics as the ode to conspiracy theories Wake Up Sheeple!, and Labour Party campaign jingle Big Red Car.

We're gonna implement sound social policy the whole day long

Fortunately, it turns out I am able to exploit willing child labour, as are multinational media conglomerate Fairfax, who managed to coax a hyperbolic review of the Wiggles Auckland show out of a six year old. So, ever the one to try and one-up the establishment, here are the musings of a three and a half year old I happen to be related to: 

The concert was in October. October. It was in a room with a biiiig curtain. The curtain was, like, yellowey orangey collour. 

The best bit was when Captain Feathersword falled over. It went BEEEP and then he fell over like this. And then he made Anthony fall over like this, mmmmhp, and then he fell over. But they didn't all fall over. Just Captain Feathersword and Anthony fell over.

Emma and Wags and a teddy bear were there too. They danced. And I gave Anthony a bone, and Anthony put my bone in his bag. It wasn't a real bone, it was a cardboard bone. Then he didn't do a song about it. Wags didn't have it first, but he's probably eating it now. It's probably time for The Wiggles to go to bed. The Brown Wiggle wasn't there. What  is the Brown Wiggle called? Why are Emma and Lachy in love?

Emily liked the concert, and even she danced, but then she rolled over and she cried. 

I didn't dance, cos I refused to dance.

They singed Rock-a-bye Teddy Bear. It was a good song. The best song was Here Comes Simon, it was really funny. They didn't have the big red car. It was probably broken and needed fixing at a garage. They had an animal car. They did sing about Fruit Salad, but there were different rhymes from a different song in it, which isn't actually fruit salad.

I think i would like to go to a ADCC Thunderstruck concert.

2 stars (out of two)

Game Review: Pokémon Go!

I'm reliving my childhood! And that is perhaps one of the greatest things you could do. but wait, there's more... In reliving my childhood, I'm able to cruelly cause my son maximal confusion. After we took this photo, he spent a good minute or two trying to figure out where the bat actually went.

And he has absolutely no recollection of a Vulpix head butting him in the square yesterday.

Nor of breaking his mother's vow of his vegetarianism on this Magikarp.

I've been playing Pokèmon Go for a week now, and Luke still hasn't figured out why he can't see the friendly monsters I keep taking photos of him with. The joke's not getting old on me either, not until I get a pic of him stuck inside an invisible box with a Mr Mime. After some early criticism due to a misunderstanding  when I told her I was going out at night to try and score some weedles, Rachel seems to be right into the game too. And the dog is also pretty happy, now that he's getting more walks after work. Though he doesn't seem so keen to stop whenever I went to try and get a Slowpoke in the bushes.

In fact, it seems the whole country has gone mad for the game. ACC released a cringeworthy video trying to warn of the dangers of playing. Indeed, there have been concerns that PG has led to an upswing in soft tissue injuries, and poses dangers to driving. To those concern-niks , I say just wait until the inevitable release of MarioKartGo. In addition, apparently Parliament are opening up their buildings to trainers this weekend eager to catch any Governmental monsters. My offer of a reward for the ultimate metaphorical Pokèmon photo still stands.

Everyone knows, though, that the true genius behind Pokèmon Go's popularity is the ability to name your monsters as you catch them, bringing out each trainer's utmost wit. Some names can relate to popular television celebrities of years gone by:

Some to Popular musicians or songs:

Some to topical political topics or  politicians:

It remains to be seen whether Pokèmon Go will last the distance as a true touchstone of 2016 culture, or whether, like most things that involve visiting a gym, it will last a couple of weeks and then be rapidly forgotten. However, in the meantime, certainly it provides fun for the whole family.

6/5.

Music review: The Wiggles: Carnival of the Animals

As you probably already know, The Wiggles released a new album last week.

Toot toot, chuga chuga, big red pay cheque

And, not content with simply living off the songs written by their predecessors (and some would say betters), Simon, Lachy and Emma have perhaps turned in their laziest work yet. Not that I would use that as a criticism. In fact, as the Wiggles juggernaut rolls on, they may be on to something: getting somebody else to write the songs, somebody else to play the songs, and get away with, at most, just talking over the music. In fact, if the name of the last track is anything to go by, I'm not sure Lachy even does that. But he'll still be there, collecting the royalty cheque no doubt.

What the Wiggles have done here is to take a pre-existing piece of music, the eponymous Carnival of the Animals, by the original Sepia Wiggle, Camille Saint-Saëns, originally composed as a musical joke. An to be fair, it was probably hilarious af coming from this man. He intended it never to be published during his lifetime, lest it detract from his serious image. 

Get Ready, To Wiggle Your Moustache

In this edition, however, the Wiggles have added their own quaint touch. Simon 'Red' Wiggle (the only Wiggle I have had the honour of meeting), has written short rhymes to accompany each of the 14 movements, each ably played by the Adelaide Symphony Orchestra. I haven't listened in depth to the content of these spoken lyrics, but hearing that each verse ends rhyming 'way' with 'very day', I'm sure they would easily rank up with the songwriting of No Doubt, or any other contemporary act insisting girl and world sound a bit similar. Unfortunately, Simon's delivery lets him down: not quite keeping up with the tempo of the backing track in places, I fear, if he were to try his hand at MCing,

Si would be in danger of Vanilla Ice cooking him like a pound of bacon.

 Hot Potato melts Vanilla Ice

Another personal touch added by the Wiggles consists of renaming several pieces, to make them more acceptable to the modern age. Nowhere is this more noticeable than movement number 10 as 'Tweet Tweet Tweet,' an apparent ode to the 140 character microblog. Presumably all the birds within are small and blue.

They were going to call the verse Angry Birds, but twitter's more or less the same thing 

The chance for a few new musical jokes, however, I feel have been missed. Saint-Saëns had originally composed movement number 12, 'Fossils', as a riotous parody of several French folk songs which were just so old, kinda like if Weird Al Yankovich made a song called 'Yo' Mamma' and it was just slightly altered songs from the 1950s. What better opportunity to subtly take a dig at old Jeff or Murray than by asking if they wanted to do a guest spot? Lol forever. And  The People With Long Ears was originally written as a sly shot at music critics who had savaged Ol' Camille's recent works, not for him the Meat Loaf style of stopping mid concert to tell poor reviewers to GGF. Why would the Wiggles not try and insert the implication that, say, bitter rivals Hi5 aren't donkeys by inserting a few of their songs?  

Dicks

All in all, however, Simon, the other Wiggles, and the Adelaide Symphony Orchestra have turned in a strong effort, easily providing a diversion for a half hour car trip. I look forward to their upcoming collaborations with other composers and bands. Hopefully including current family favourite AC/DC.

After all, it's a long way to the cot if you want to rock a doll.

4.5/5

Netflix and Children does the #CheerioChallenge with Little Bellies Hoops and Loops

I hate online memes normally. Especially the Harlem Shake and the Running Man Challenge. Usually this is born out of a deep seated cynicism, driven by incessant media coverage and peer pressure guilt-tripping other individuals or groups into partaking in a largely irrelevant, pointless and cringeworthy task. Whilst often harmless, these crazes can have far-reaching consequences, making respected public leaders to look like tools in public, and lead to official government agencies to change the way they answer phones.

(On a slightly tangential note, official Labour Party YouTube video channel, why would you keep that video up and remind us he did that? Do you want him to win the election next year?)

But when I heard about the Cheerio Challenge this morning, I was instantly drawn in. Mostly because I thought it had something to do with delicious red cocktail sausages. I was slightly dissapointed to find it actually referred fathers piling little ring-shaped American cereal pieces on their sleeping infants, but heck, I'd just bought some cheap Australian rip off hoops with half an intention to review them, may as well put them to good use. So tonight, the family sat down to try out the #CheerioChallenge, before John Key kills it by stacking cereal on top of a sleeping Max. In fact, what's in that bowl behind the glass in this photo?

Anyway, it's fair to say our attempts were a disaster. My first mistake was, in my eagerness, not waiting for the kids to fall asleep before starting out. Given the difficulty stacking on a small moving child, we started tying using Dad as a base substrate. Handed a bowl of small banana flavoured hoops, however, the instinct of a toddler seems to be to eat them. No definitive photos exist, but I blindly fumbled my way to about four little circles, before they were snatched and scoffed.

Luke was actually relatively keen to give being a base for a cereal tower a go, and lay still enough for a tower of seven to be erected between his eyes, before getting the giggles. Emily then, in attempt to emulate her brother, actually lay down and starting building upon her own face, but only succeeded in throwing a small snack into her eye socket.

Of course, we were unable to threaten the record of 16!!!!! Cheerios in one stack. My hypothesis, looking at  my packet of Little Bellies Hoops and Loops (banana flavour), is the lack of sugar (0.2g per serving in comparison to a full gram per serving of Cheerios) affects the adhesiveness of each grain-filled miniature donut, both to adjacent loops, but also to the skin of a small child. I'd also question how the connective qualities of organic corn stack up (pun 100% totally intended) against oats.

Anyway, now I've partaken in the Cheerios Challenge, I imagine it will bumble along slowly, gathering momentum until Jono and Ben invite Cher(io) to come and do it on their show (artist's impression below), followed several months later by the Silver Ferns entering the court at the Fast Netball World Cup stacking  fruit loops on top of each other.

As for a review of Little Bellies Hoops and Loops (banana flavour): the kids seem to love them, but in all honestly they taste like stale dust. 2/10.

Balloon animals of New Zealand: the overseas visitor edition

First things first. You'll remember, if you're an avid reader of Netflix and Children, my search for new Zealand's number one historical joke book, despite being unsure of its existence. And I can confirm, that yes, I am one step closer, for Mr Jason Gunn has replied to my correspondence! Indeed, Netflix and Children has the exclusive scoop that (a) Mr Gunn did compile a book of jokes in the early 90s, which was at the pre world-wide-web time, a lucrative earner, and (b) that he is indeed miffed at being incessantly passed over in his attempts to secure a (admittedly well deserved) knighthood for services to the gunge industry.

So, I implore you, please, if any reader should have a copy of this book, please let me know, for potential reviewing purposes.

And now, on to serious business.

Those with adequately functioning mid-term memories may remember a time last year when the more affluent suburbs of central Auckland were struck with a pestilence, one which restricted their travel with fresh fruit stuffs outside the confines of their immediate neighbourhood. How the beautiful people howled at the indignity of having to pre-prepare their organic kale and acai berry smoothies before heading to the crossfit gym. Gradually, restrictions were loosened, and a mango could be carried between Ponsonby and Herne Bay, so long as it bore a thick layer of cling film and Faro Fresh branding. Today, the plague has lifted, and the affluent Jafas are able to take their five plus a day to work, school or play once more. Here is my balloon depiction of the 2015 Grey Lynn fruit fly, laying siege to New Zealand's horticulture industry.

Still, it could have been much worse for the rich and well to do, had it been the Queensland Quinoa Fly, the Fijiian Moet and Chandon Grub or the South American Ferrari Weevil that had been discovered lurking in Remuera.

Double post! Book review: 'The Knock Knock Joke Book', and Balloon Animals of NZ: Low Hanging Fruit Edition

I love joke books! I used to anyway. I had so many growing up, and they were all better than the sorry excuse served up in The Knock Knock Joke Book, at least through my roses spectacled nostalgia. I've a vague recollection that Jase 'the Ace' Gunn even compiled an anthology of his own, presumably as part of intensive therapy to help him get over the trauma of Thingee losing an eye on national television. Unfortunately I'm unable to find evidence of this book of classic gags, so have resorted to a few last ditch measures.

Firstly, I have followed the sage advice of our prime minister, offered in reference to an equally scarce commodity: the Auckland house under $500,000. Unfortunately, going to trademe.co.nz and googling 'Jason Gunn Joke Book' did not return the 'quite a few' hits promised.

So secondly, I have tweeted the great man himself. I'll keep you updated. I feel my chances of a reply are somewhat higher than when I tweeted Frank Bainamarama about KFC.

Anyway. I bought the Knock Knock Joke Book in the hope I might be able to interest the 3 year old in humour, given his history of publicly rejecting my excellent gags and puns. And he loves the book! That's not necessarily a good thing. Normally I love forced jokes. The contents of this book aren't  forced though, so much as they are rammed down your throat with crudely drawn cartoons to explain exactly why the contrived situation you just read was funny: oh, I see, the person at the door was a carpet salesman, trying to draw maximum drama out of his arrival! How droll!

Granted: a few jokes are tireless classics. In fact, I think this one was even in Jase's anthology:

But too many rely on visuals to appeal to use in any real life situation. Like: why has this man got a seal on his head, and how am I going to convey that when I regale the joke during witty banter with chums down at the pub? Maybe prefaced by, 'hey dudes, wanna hear a gag that would be super chill if you had a seal on your head?'

Still other jokes just don't work at all. WTF is an island doing knocking at someone's door. Especially if it's landing on the roof with a parachute. FFS.

Fittingly, the last entry ends with a young lad running away (Omar goodness!), a strong metaphor for what anyone should do should they encounter this book.

0.5/10

And another thing!!! A week and a bit ago I presented John Key's finest career moment, sculpted in balloons. May I present today, modelled out of inflatable rubber, the climax of Minister of Business and Innovation and loads of other crap I can't be arsed googling Steven Joyce's time in politics. It is, of course, the Waitangi Dildo.

I was going to make some penis jokes at this point, but I think they've all been made already. So here's a picture of another phallus that Steven Joyce has the misfortune to be often associated with.

Children's book review: Dinosaur Rocks

I loved dinosaurs as a kid, so much so that the highlight of my childhood was probably the release of Jurassic Park, a film title my three year old now uses interchangeably with the cartoon series Dinosaur Train. One a terrifying genre defining thriller where a team of scientists, capitalists and children are systematically hunted down by velociraptors or eaten off the toilet by a T. rex, the other a load of talking reptiles on a train. Easily confused.

I feel, however, I may have been born before my time, given the sheer volume of dinosaur themed picture books presently in publication, each slightly more ridiculous in concept than the last. I've already reviewed one bizarre tome where a group of prehistoric reptiles are taken to the doctor. I haven't touched the frankly preposterous The Dinosaur who Pooped Christmas, nor the smililarly titled yet wholly differently stupid Dinosaur Poop. 

I had higher hopes for Dinosaur Rocks. Sure, it had that ludicrous juxtaposition of dinosaurs and humans again, but the illustrations of the dinosaurs at least looked more authentic.

Dinosaur Rocks is a book with the noble aim of getting Australian children interested in Australian dinosaurs, a task that may otherwise require a trip to Canberra (aka Aulstralia's Palmerston North, but with added politicians). Unfortunately, even these desperate measures may end in futility: on entering the National Australian Dinosaur Museum, a 2 year old Luke freaked on being roared at by a small animatronic carnivore, and fled in tears, refusing to return.

The book tells the story of a small lad, named Tim, packed off to spend some time with his BORING grandparents, presumably whilst his parents head off for a dirty weekend of romance of their own. His grandparents, used to raising children in a time when health and safety acts and child protection orders where non existent, send Tim off into the local forest, which, as it is IN AUSTRALIA remember, is probably home to snakes, spiders, crocodiles, sharks, drop bears, Ned Kelly, and bushfires. But they send a dog with him, so all good I suppose.

Against all odds, however, Tim avoids these dangers, instead falling down and hitting his head. 

And that's where things get strange. Tim presumably loses consciousness, and when he wakes, he starts hallucinating dinosaurs. Initially a small, golden dinosaur, which might conceivably be mistaken by his dog. I mean, once I ran 85km, and several tree stumps turned into my dog, so I know that feeling. But then he starts dreaming he is riding on a dinosaur, past some pretty massive prehistoric lizards that could not possibly be stimulated by any local visual input. And so it goes on...

Anyway, Tim eventually comes around, and returns to his grandparents.  Immediately he starts babbling about seeing dinosaurs. But rather than show concern for their grandson's delusional outburst and apparent hallucinations, Grandma's first two concerns are that Tim has lost his hat, and he smells like fish. He needs a bath. Later, his grandfather continues to neglect Tim's need for a doctor, instead going so far as to humour him, showing him pictures of dinosaurs and asking which he has seen.

Parents. grandparents. Childhood head injuries are serious. Seek medical attention if you suspect one.

2/10.