The weekend started with a trip to Scott and Ali’s place for dinner. Their place is amazing and I love the wood-panelling. I have seen this panelling in a couple of other Queenslanders, but no where near as amazing as their place in Highgate Hill. It must have been quite a fashion in the 30s. And the amount of glass indoors — and not just the frosted variety – but feature glass with all it’s colours and shapes.
I also really dig the little shelf that circles the room – about a head above head-height. I imagine it was initially designed to be decorative — not functional, and thus historically empty. But in modern times, in my experience, it has always become something to embrace. What can we display up there?
Scott has his “DFL” trophy up there — and because Scott can be quite unlucky in alleycats — if he was awarded one each time he raced, there just might not be room for them up there.
Scott salvaged these from hard-rubbish. They are amazing and there really is more text than nudeness. Below is a very creepy advert.
So before all that I came home from work with the intention of feeding the animals and then heading back to town. The cat was lazing around the front yard, so when she was fed I then tried to find the chooks. But for the first time ever they weren’t immediately obvious. I tried not to think of the worst, but then I noticed a washing basket was peculiarly upturned.
Getting closer I saw that the two birds were trapped underneath. What? I set them free and underneath was a big circle of their poo. They must have been under there for hours. I then decided what must have happened. One of them had tried to roost on the edge of the plastic basket’s rim and then the other had jumped up too — but then the basket had toppled over, and down the concrete step — but so perfectly as to trap them both underneath. It was hilarious, yet tragic (for them) at the same time. Poor chooks, but LOLOLOLZ.
Below is me trying to recreate the scene without actually imprisoning them again — that would be cruel.
So Dayne, Ryan, Scott and me did a Coot-Tha and a riverloop that involved a diversion to Tarragindi that I will explain later.
Last night Dee and I went up to the Barracks to see the new Lincoln movie. We forgot there was a big footy match on at Suncorp until we had just left. After some debate while halfway there, we decided to brave the crowds and we arrived at the cinema and we gradually noticed the other clientele seemed to be predominately geriatrics.
DRAMA ONSCREEN AND OFFSCREEN
About 90 minutes into the movie I noticed someone stumbling down the aisle towards the exit about 4 metres from us. And it wasn’t just me that noticed her because when she suddenly collapsed into the back of someone there was the biggest vocalisation this theatre had experienced so far in the movie. It was a massive gasp and various people got up to help and the plot of the movie was lost to me for about 5 minutes while she languished there. There were too many people hovering over her already so I stayed seated and assumed there was nothing else I could do.
Eventually she was well enough to walk out and it seems she just fainted. And all through the remaining portion of the movie I couldn’t help juxtapose that experience.
Dee’s wine glass halfway between “Epic” and “Feature Length”.
I thought the movie was OK. It had a lot of dialogue and a lot of “process”. It definitely wasn’t an action movie, even though that is something you thought might get covered. It had the feel of “Seven“. The action was omnipresent, and the results so acute, but happened elsewhere, off-screen, and consequently you just had to imagine it boiling away in the background.
And it seemed everything you could think of that is “iconic” about Abraham — the Gettysburg Address, his assassination etc was treated in a purposefully different or unexpected way — sometimes surprising, and sometimes cheesy. Daniel Day Lewis was thoroughly believable and it wasn’t just cause they had occasionally CGI’d his frame to make him so tall and spidery. Dee and I saw a cast of Lincoln’s hand in Washington a few years back. It was massive. It’s thought Lincoln had something like Marfan Syndrome.
Dee’s hand next to the cast of Abe’s.
James Spader was another highlight. Inspired.
Tommy Lee Jones felt gratuitous. He’s noble and weathered, but just too much of an action-charactiture and so obviously modern and anachronistic.
SECRET SIDE TRIP
So my secret side trip was to retrieve my DVD’s of Ken Burns’ Civil War documentary from a friend — I knew I needed to see it all again. And Dee and I watched the first episode and I was in tears by the end. And the story is history but it is so much stranger than fiction, and more grand and important.
The frist episode ends with the letter Sullivan Ballou wrote to his wife Sarah on the eve of him going off to war. And this was when the war was in it’s very, very infancy. Read his words if you dare.
My very dear Sarah:
The indications are very strong that we shall move in a few days—perhaps tomorrow. Lest I should not be able to write again, I feel impelled to write a few lines that may fall under your eye when I shall be no more…
Sarah my love for you is deathless, it seems to bind me with mighty cables that nothing but Omnipotence could break; and yet my love of Country comes over me like a strong wind and bears me unresistibly on with all these chains to the battle field.
The memories of the blissful moments I have spent with you come creeping over me, and I feel most gratified to God and to you that I have enjoyed them for so long. And hard it is for me to give them up and burn to ashes the hopes of future years, when, God willing, we might still have lived and loved together, and seen our sons grown up to honorable manhood, around us…
Never forget how much I love you, and when my last breath escapes me on the battle field, it will whisper your name. Forgive my many faults and the many pains I have caused you. How thoughtless and foolish I have often times been!
…But, O Sarah! If the dead can come back to this earth and flit unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near you; in the gladdest days and in the darkest nights . . . always, always, and if there be a soft breeze upon your cheek, it shall be my breath… it shall be my spirit passing by.
Sarah do not mourn me dead; think I am gone and wait for thee, for we shall meet again.
He died a week later at the battle of Bull Run on July 21, 1861.