Binnsy's Hovel

Contrary to popular culture, I am not dead. I am just having a short hiatus from blogging while I get some real-world crap together. I have been typing up some stuff that I’ll blog this afternoon if I get time. Meanwhile I hope to be back to full blogging capacity by Friday night at the latest.

Cheers all.

Until next time…

Make it one for my baby, and one more for the road…
Inebriation is an interesting phenomenon.

Lastnight I put in an appearance at yet another 18th birthday party. Unlike the previous non-boozey get-down, the turps was freely flowing left, right, and left-of-centre. And thus, so it was, Binnsy proceeded to become utterly and unconsequently hammered. (NB: The word ‘unconsequently’ was incorrectly used in the prior sentence, but I don’t really give a damn. Come to think of it, I don’t even think ‘unconsequently’ is a word.)

Now, I remember a fair bit of lastnight, which is quite remarkable given the earth-shattering nature of the headache I had when I was awoken at approximately 6:15 this morning. It’s interesting: I remember the parts I wanted to remember, the events I told myself I would be able to recall. Other occurrences infuriatingly elude me; they take the form mainly of fragments of audio and visuals, like a postmodernist adaptation of a Scandinavian adult arthouse flick.

This morning was an interesting experience. I awoke, as aforementioned, at around 6:15am. A bunch of us stayed the night at the birthday person’s house (in the stables, in fact), in order to avoid being upfront drunk when our folks came to pick us up. I attempt to justify this by saying that I wouldn’t want to make my folks pick me up at around 11pm when they would be either in bed or almost reaching the climactic final scenes of A Touch of Frost. But the real reason still ends up being that I was avoiding appearing openly inebriated in front of my non-drinking elders. So when we woke up, we basically sat around the embers of the fire-in-a-barrel, vaguely nodding acknowledgement as each of us rose from a patchy slumber. Some just couldn’t handle it and slept where they sat this morning. Some awoke to find themselves in quite odd positions, such as resting their head next to the rear tyre of a Ford F250. Some, like myself, hardly slept, then wandered vacantly to the fire, awaiting the arrival of coffee or food: either would have been good.

On the whole, an enlightening evening. The first time I got drunk was probably New Year’s this year. That was a little over the top, given my technicolour yodel onto the sand under the pier – not a good thing to have a crystal clear memory of. This time I was a little more under control, and thankfully kept the booze down.

But what is it that makes countless people go back to do it every weekend? Even though they know that Sunday morning will be hell. Like I said: Inebriation – a wide, varied, diverse, questionable yet not-on-the-whole-unpleasant experience.

Doctor Who, Episode 2: The End of the World
In my semi-aware state this morning (late morning, and back home, so most of the shadiness had worn off, thank Christ), I watched the second episode of Doctor Who, that I taped from lastnight.

It never ceases to amaze me how modern TV screenwriters want to tap into peoples’ emotions. It further amazes me when such psychological archaeology actually works. Doctor Who cried! (Crowd: Aaawwwww.) Russell T. Davies has done an awesome job in giving this Doctor an edge that many of the previous ones lacked. As much of a devotee to traditionalism as I am, it’s good to see a TV icon like the Doctor tailored to a more emotionally receptive 21st-century audience.

This episode was a good blend of a linear yet heavily-embellished story thread, with a good rounding-off at the end. Rose and the Doctor’s relationship got good mileage, and was extrapolated well. That priceless British humour came through brilliantly, and Christopher Eccleston delivers the one-liners with metronomic timing. This episode was also very poignant and brought across the harsh reality of the world in which the Doctor lives, and it was good to see Rose again given the choice to back out. In the older episodes it seemed unrealistic that a bimbo earthling would blindly follow an alien into intergalactic warzones, but here we clearly see that Rose is given a choice, and is aware of the dangers when she makes her decision.

An awesome episode – can’t wait for next week!

Until next time…

Oh, God…
I, Dan William Morrison Binns, today succumbed whole-heartedly to mindless capitalism, blind collective social trends and the torrent of adolescent fashion that threatens constantly to sweep up unsuspecting teenagers. I am ashamed. Today I bought my first angst shirt.

What is an angst shirt, you may well ask? Basically it’s me and a mate’s name for those shirts that look as though they’ve been attacked by an enraged, crayon-wielding, slightly-politically-minded three-year-old. You know the ones. They’re all the rage these days, literally. Well, today I bought one, with matching cargo pants (the pants actually look pretty good). Damn my attachment to the collective subconscious. Mindless minions subservient to brand names, flashy advertisements and false prophets of the apocalypse like Andie MacDowell and Chloe Maxwell…

“And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon god they made
And the sign flashed out its warning
In the words that it was forming
And the sign said ‘The words of the
Prophets are written on the
Subway walls, and tenement halls
In the sounds of silence…

What a capitalists’ fantasy this world has become. And what a gullible dweeb I am for having now been swept up along with it…

Until next time…

NB: The title is not real or authorised French.

Cheers to Tim from Sterne who chucked me the Musical Baton.

I really have no idea why or wherefore, but hey, I’ll go with it (and sorry I’m a bit late!).

Total volume of music files on my computer:
1500 (includes MIDIs and MP3s)

Song playing right now:
Landed – Ben Folds (Songs for Silverman)

Five songs I listen to a lot, or that mean a lot to me:
Bohemian Rhapsody – Queen (Greatest Hits I)
America – Simon & Garfunkel (The Essential S&G)
Misunderstood – Robbie Williams (Greatest Hits)
Four Seasons In One Day – Crowded House (Recurring Dream)
Falling Away With You – Muse (Absolution)

Three people I’m throwing the baton to:
MrLefty
Flashman
Brownie

Until next time…

Schapelle – the verdict
Like most Australians at the moment, I am stunned. The events of the past 12 hours have been surreal and, for the most part, extremely humbling.

I remember sitting in my lounge room last year, watching that very first 60 Minutes story with my family. This unknown Queenslander, a beauty student, sat in an Indonesian prison cell, silently swaying back and forth. Realising and contemplating the gravity of the entire situation in hindsight, I find it difficult to imagine what must have been going through Schapelle Corby’s head in that first month.

In the ensuing days, weeks, months, one thing kept annoying me: the fact that days, weeks, months were going by, without so much as a peep from anybody. Then in April, the trial began. Even that was drawn out. And once that was over, we had to wait another two to three weeks for a verdict… And then when that finally rolled around, we had to wait for two and a half bloody hours while the bloody thing was read out and translated!

Futility pervaded everything. Whether you were in support or were against her, the only solid piece of evidence either way was the pillowcase-sized bag full of marijuana in Schapelle’s bodyboard bag.

But then it culminated in two and a half hours today in a sweltering Indonesian courtroom. As Mum dropped me off at school this morning, I heard as I shut the door: ‘Pray for Schapelle.’ I can only imagine the thousands of prayers today wafting up to whereever prayers waft up to, with ‘Innocence for Schapelle’ scrawled on their metaphysical message line.

And now she has been found guilty. And the ashes of all those prayers come falling gently back down to earth, tossing and looping gently in the warm breeze from the South East Asian sky. Damn a justice system geared to trap tourists. Damn the omitting of evidence. Damn all those who try and suppress innocent and unsuspecting victims. Damn all those who stood against Schapelle Corby. I hope you live with the mistake you’ve made for the rest of your lives, and I hope you feel the pressure of millions of peace-loving Australians on your shoulders. Christ have mercy.

Graham Kennedy – R.I.P.
Due to other commitments I wasn’t able to write at length about Graham Kennedy; I in fact wasn’t able to write at all. Which, for me, is not enough. It is not a worthy tribute for someone who has made me smile, laugh, cry, question and think on countless occasions.

I am the first to admit that I was not around in the ‘Kennedy era’. I was not even a twinkle in my mother’s eye (she was about 10!) when the King was parading around the televisions of Australia on IMT. My first experience of the genius of Graham Kennedy was the first screening of the Graham Kennedy – King of Television special in early 2000. Unlike the truncated version that Channel 9 aired tonight in Kennedy’s honour, this two hour special followed the career of Graham and showed fantastic remastered archival footage of all his old gags and some of his very best work. I don’t think I’ve laughed so much in my life.

Graham Kennedy was and will remain forever an Australian icon. In the world of art, we have idols like the great Frederick McCubbin and Tom Roberts. We have the likes of Banjo Patterson and Bryce Courtenay to furnish the halls of literature with beautiful words. But in television, there can be only one. God rest the soul of the King, Graham Kennedy. Long live his soul, and God bless forever. You always tried to stay out of the public eye. Now you are where no eye can seek you out. Rest in peace.

My literary horizons continue to broaden…
Today I finished reading two of the most incredible pieces of literature ever written since mankind invented the chisel and thought to etch things in flat rocks.

Firstly, there was Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, written by Czech playwright Tom Stoppard. ‘Set in the wings of Hamlet…’ is how most commentaries on R&G start. For mine, I loved how we are left feeling exactly the same way Ros & Guil are throughout the play. You put it down after reading the last section and are struck with the overwhelming desire to scream at the top of your voice: ‘WHAT THE FUUUUUUUUCK?!’

But at the risk of looking ridiculous, you compose yourself and move on with your life…

The other play I read today is David Williamson’s The Club. It’s amazing how quickly you go through a book if you’re not stopping every five lines to analyse everything. I picked up Williamson’s finest work for fifty cents at the fete last Saturday, and it took me an hour and a half to get through it this afternoon.

The Club reminded me why I love Aussie Rules so much. I can sympathise with the traditionalists in the play, like Jock and Laurie. They see footy for what it really should be: a sport of champions. Money doesn’t matter. Boardroom power struggles play diddly-squat compared to the magic that happens every weekend as thirty odd men run out onto fresh turf and boot a leather ball around the field.

The monologues in the play are so moving: ‘I played two hundred and eighty-two games for this Club and every time I ran onto the ground I felt as honoured to be out there wearing the Club colours as I did the first time…Look at those pictures on the wall; Great names from a great club and you’ve got the honour of the tradition they created resting right there in your hands.’

Oh! To be able to play one of these roles! Incidentally, and not without a tinge of freakiness, I bought this play on Saturday, and on Wednesday, one of the stars of the film adaptation dies; Graham Kennedy played Ted in Bruce Beresford’s 1980 production of The Club. When I first saw that movie, it was just about the time I started returning to my roots, starting to long to be back in Melbourne; tears swelled in my eyes and a lump in my throat threatened to choke me during Graham Kennedy’s monologue to Jack Thompson: ‘I sat here, yes, right here I sat…’ And that moment shortly after when Ted is sacked….sniff sniff. What a great game, what a great play.

Speaking of Aussie Rules, carn the Mighty Dees! Tonight downing Richmond by about 57 points! It’s a grand old flag…

Until next time…

Maths Test
Overall, not bad. I know I got a few things wrong, but I kept working through them to show that I knew what to do, even with wrong answers! Not to worry. All should be sweet.

Extension II: Livin’ La Viva Voce
Not all that bad! Not bad at all! A nice, leisurely chat with my English teacher, who nodded a lot, which I thought was good. I think. I was still nervous though. Which is okay I guess. I’m glad it’s out of the way, though.

And to the Extension folks, who would’ve thought to use bloody Frankenstein!! Guess what I’m using for related material now! MOWHAHAHAHAH. A year’s worth of notes is being dusted off as we speak!

Corby – a nation waits…
Schapelle Corby sits today in a Bali jail cell awaiting tomorrow, when her dreams will be fulfilled, or her greatest fear realised. Your country is behind you, and my prayers with you, Schapelle. God bless, whatever the verdict.

Television storylines – what’s the catch?
What is the key? Is there one definitive tool that television screenwriters use to hook viewers and keep them waiting in suspense until the next episode? What has caused Binnsy to ask such questions?

In the Viva Voce today I was asked how the medium I chose (short story) has restricted or helped develop my idea. And I got to thinking, in what way would the medium of television series do the same things?

Let’s break down the medium. Your basic primetime TV series consists of twenty-four 40-50 minute episodes. This will be screened in about four to five segments each of around 10-15 minutes, split up by ad breaks of around 2-3 minutes in length. (You’ve never really looked at Law & Order this technically, have you?) In the first segment, you’ll usually have a teaser sequence, followed by titles/theme, then a short opening chapter. For an X-Files episode, for example, you’ll have footage of the discovery of a crashed UFO with mixed public reactions, then the title sequence, then we’ll see what Mulder and Scully are up to when they get the call to action. Then there’s an ad break.

In summary, the first segment consists of: teaser, titles, opening chapter. The second segment could be a continuing chapter, like Mulder and Scully arriving on the scene and assessing the situation at the crash site. They’ll look around, meet some witnesses and then Mulder will find a hand sticking out of the hatch. Boom. Another ad break. Segment three? Repeat, with a different build-up and cliffhanger. The whole series of segments is a big build-up to a climactic cliffhanger, leaving the audience feeling dazed and unsatisfied, but hungry to find out what happens in the next episode.

The basely human desire for satisfaction is what screenwriters prey on. Audiences simply must know what happens next. This is the reason for the success of such shows as 24, Lost and Revelations.

‘Twould be interesting to see what I could do if given a couple of million bucks to develop a TV series. Very interesting indeed.

On closing, isn’t Derryn Hinch the kind of man you want to shoot and hug at the same time? Shoot him for being an absolute assfuck, and then hug him for being the only journalist capable of blatant honesty in times of shameless mistruths and misleading propaganda…

Until next time…

R.I.P. Graham Kennedy
Undisputed King of Australian Television

Until next time…

Surprisingly, I don’t have much to blog about at present. But I’m sure as I continue to type I’ll think of something. Let’s start with what’s happening over the next few days.

Maths Topic Test: Series & Sequences
This is a little pain in the ass – a non-assessment task. But I still feel as though I’m sitting a major exam when I do one. The last one I did I got 50 out of 60, though so hey, who knows what might happen tomorrow in Period 5.

Series and Sequences is one of the many topics in the HSC “Mathematics” course (the equivalent of the old 2 Unit HSC course, or Victoria’s Maths Methods) that has almost no realistic relevance to everyday Australians. It certainly matters crap all to a journalist (hopefully my future vocation). However, having chosen Maths as one of my UAI subjects, I have to kick ass in it otherwise I’m screwed.

Extension II English Viva Voce
On Thursday afternoon I have to sit down and be interrogated interviewed about my Extension II piece. I know two of the regular visitors to this blog also must go through this terrifying experience.

It’s interesting. Up until the lead-up to this Assessment Task, I haven’t really thought much about the story. I handed in my Second Draft a few weeks back, and have just been focusing on my other subjects. Now, for once, I’m really conscious of my story and how it will be received, even though my teachers tell me it’s pretty good.

Ah well, I guess we’ll see.

Rau: To believe or not to believe
I’m a pretty compassionate person. I have enormous sympathy for Schapelle Corby; guilty or innocent, she’s been through a hell of a time. I feel for all those who have been wrongfully detained in Australia. However, it’s time for me to dig in and lay down my case and my thoughts on the Cornelia Rau case.

First and foremost, and perhaps on an almost unrelated matter, the Australian Immigration Department is pathetic. I can understand the reasons behind the Howard Government’s complete rejection of illegal immigrants. What I don’t get, however, is their complete ignorance of those who have slipped through the system. Everyone makes mistakes. There are loopholes in every system: no setup is foolproof.

Take the completely fabricated case of one John W. Dopplermeister, a German pianist with a wooden leg and a poodle for a pet, who was shipped to Australia in 1966 on a fishing trawler from South Africa. John had no passport, no money, no contacts down under, but because he was with this fishing crew, no one asked questions when he disembarked in Fremantle. He found a job, married an Austrian lady and settled down to have a family. When John turned 58, some blokes from Immigration showed up at his door and took him away from his family, and shoved him in Baxter Detention Centre.

Whilst in Baxter, John suffered two strokes and was pronounced clinically dead no less than four times. When his family appealed for his release after his second stroke, the only response they received was that ‘John must remain in prison to learn his lesson.’ After a public appeal, John was released. He was 76 and was mentally retarded. He died three months later.

NB: The above story is fictitious, and was conceived by Dan Binns. Any similarity to any person is coincidental. However, any similarity to any current case or event is certainly not coincidental.

The fact is, things like the above fabrication are happening all the time. There are hundreds of Australians who have slipped through the government’s fingers. Surely if they’ve inadvertently found a hole in the system, they should be looked after. Okay, if they deliberately set out to find a loophole, they should be processed, but those who had no idea they were committing a felony should at least be given lighter punishments.

So that little spiel is out of the road. Here’s the next bit: I have very little sympathy for Cornelia Rau. She claims she has never been treated so unfairly in her life as she was whilst in the custody of the Australian government. However, what I would like to know is why she was diagnosed as mentally ill and why she claimed to speak only German. Find the answers to those questions, and why those situations have been so radically altered, and you will be closer to finding the answers to why Rau was detained.

Until next time…

Doctor Who
Perhaps I’m sad. Perhaps I’m a sucker for hype. Perhaps I really am just a hardcore nerd at heart. But even though I was out at a party on Saturday night, come 7:30pm, my VCR lit up and started taping the first episode of the new series of Doctor Who.

First impressions: Brilliant. It is so very British – the whole combination of tongue-in-cheek humour, minimal action used to good effect and so very Doctor Who-ish right down to the dodgy costumes and my personal favourite inclusion of the old 1950’s police box.

This episode was both a nostalgic look back for fans of old and a good introduction for the new generation. It explained most of the basic principles of the show in such a way that we’re able to move forward with a new plot but the show also retains a sort of ambiguity that’s appealing and annoying at the same time. Don’t worry though, I’ll be tuning in next week…

Bebo Quiz
For those of you who could be stuffed, you can take a quiz to see how well you know me over at Bebo…click here. Warning, though: once you do the quiz you’ll have to sign up for Bebo. Shameless advertising at its best. Look on the bright side, though: Once you sign up you’ll never get one of those annoying “I am updating my address book emails”.

A look into the horizon…
Sorry for the lack of decent updates lately. I’ve been quite busy these past few days and I still have craploads of stuff to do. I’ve got a Maths test on Wednesday and on Thursday it’s my Viva Voce, one of the major assessments for Extension II English. It’s all coming to a head and in five months time I’ll be preparing for three weeks worth of HSC exams. It’s scaring the hell out of me, it really is. However, as I’ve been told by so many people over the past 12 months, it’s just one phase of my life. For the first time I actually know what I want to do: I want to write. It’s what sustains me. Whether I finish what I’m writing or not, what I feel when I’m seeing my words appear on a computer screen is indescribable. So even if I fail my HSC miserably, I know there’s an out somewhere – a path to writing glory: and I’ll find it, don’t worry.

Until next time…

It hath been a while since last did I post. Here’s a basic rundown of the things I’ve been up to over the past three days.

Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith
On Wednesday night at about 10pm me and a mate rocked up at Hoyts and hung about waiting for the cinemas to open up. Absolute craploads of people. Toddlers in clone-trooper and Chewbacca costumes, Darth Vader poking Obi-Wan’s eye out with a plastic lightsabre (and here’s the good bit) and then apologising after a telling-off by his father. Hilarious. But then, come 11:10pm, the cinemas were opened and thousands of crazed people ran up the stairs and into the cinemas.

12am May 19: the lights go down, the curtain opens………………………… and we are subjected to 30 minutes worth of trailers and commercials. AND THEN… The crowd rustles as the 20th Century Fox fanfare starts rolling, the Lucasfilm logo, ‘A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…’, BOOM! THEME! CRAWL! STRAIGHT INTO A SPACE BATTLE OMFGJDHJKSHJKSHSJKHSJK!!!!11211!!111.

Overall, the film was pretty bloody good. I hated Episode I (it had its moments, but overall, terrible effort by Monsieur Lucas), liked Episode II better, but Episode III more than made up for the failings of the two most recent instalments.

I’ll post a more indepth review later…

Young Vinnies Winter Sleepout
Lastnight me and a bunch of about 9 kids from school slept outside at school as part of the St Vincent De Paul Winter Appeal. We’re all members of the Young Vinnies Group at school, of which I’m treasurer, and it was a good chance for us to get to know each other and form some plans for the year ahead, as well as getting some sort of an idea of what it’s like for thousands of Aussies less fortunate than us.

Apparently at around 2am the temperature got down to about -2°C, but my sleeping bag was pretty warm. That said, it was still bloody cold, and I hate to think what it’d be like to sleep in it night after night with no food in your stomach. I feel so much for all who have to endure this, and hope that in some small way our group can make a difference.

School fete
After waking up on wet concrete at 6:50am this morning, I had to get up and start getting things organised for my high school’s annual fete. I reckon school fetes are awesome, regardless of whether it’s your school or not. But it’s always great if you know lots of people and really get involved. I was there to answer questions about the Vinnies group and help out with Student Council business, but I also got roped into setting up cake and craft stalls, advertising an environmental awareness group and eating food (this was more voluntary than being forced into).

I also managed to spend about $5 on books (woo) – all 13 of them! Including stuff by Thomas Hardy, Jules Verne, Edgar Allan Poe, Clive James, Jerry Seinfeld, Spike Milligan and a ripper dictionary which has shorthand explanations as well (I would have paid $10 just for the dictionary!). All in all, a profitable day.

Tonight I’m off to a mate’s 18th and will pretend to be drunk (no alcohol for religious reasons, which I’m cool with – pretending is fun!).

Meantime, I’m off to catch 2 hours shut-eye…

Until next time…