and Green ... Boynton read with interest the profile of former priest Paul Collins by Nikki Barrowclough in today's Good Weekend.
"I pray in the bush now," he says, "I don't pray much in church any more. And it's a wordless prayer. What does one have to say in the face of a towering mountain ash"

Error Bad Color Just the concept of an Orange Test Match seems odd to Boynton. Orange would seem to clash with the classic cricket palette of turf and men in white.

Orange is represented in the aura of people recovering from illness. Orange signifies the worst is past and healing is occurring. It will usually give way to greens

Hope so or Boynton will have to look to Lawn Bowls in the future for her preferred aesthetics.
Such serendipity fuels the addiction. Shortly after posting thoughts on 24 within the same day found this definitive take. (the link to "24ever" is also reccomended)

Some movies that Boynton has starred in. ( via as above)

On a lighter note: Do we need a God?
A good review of a book on varieties of religion (via Aldaily) Some things seemed particularly pertinent to Boynton as she read online alone in the early hours.
The consumer revolution” and “postwar affluence” brought “a new concentration on private space... An expressivist “culture of authenticity” in a subjectivist-individualist key displaced a shared social ethos. ... The result, according to Taylor, is “a host of urban monads hover[ing] on the boundary between solipsism and communication,” living in “a strange zone between loneliness and communication.”
Strange zones for strange times.

Boynton caught up with 24 a few days late (we play pub metaphysics at the local mechanics institute Monday night). (8 .00 pm – 9.00 pm) was a bit of a dud ep. How many times does Kimberley have to get thwarted in car? Hasn’t she worked it out yet: talk to Mom, drive, bloody idiot. Boynton left the room as the action moved into star-wars territory. The lasers and obstacles could have been happening down a corridor in any galaxy or console. We'll see it out though, just to see if there's some big all night party happening as the puzzles fit together,the herrings are sorted, the split screens converge. There has to be some sort of pay off for all those non-sleeping californians? Maybe 10 screens capturing all characters reflecting "wow whadda day"

Blogs and dogs Early one morning recently Boynton did a bit of surfing on blogs, the art of... Not so much info overload as info overlord. One can feel very small amid all the instructionals, lists, manifestos, collapsible links, jaded wisdom, sarcastic pearlers, portals of old boys and hip chicks. So Boynton's just going to talk about her dog. Not even hers, but Nora's. While Douglas is ageing relatively gracefully, poor old Abby is not. On any evening, you can hear her falling about the hallways, thudding her way about. And every half hour she has what is (apparently) a "mini-stroke" - 10 seconds of facial twitching. She always bounces back from her assorted indignities - (often literally). She's becoming like the character in Hitchcock's Young and Innocent "the fellow who blinks". In fact Boynton has started humming the dance tune, "No one can like the drummer man" whenever Abby gets twitchy. (a sample here, tune #14)
Abby's theme.

Is it still the Carnival atmosphere, the balmy weather or what? Is the bubbly flowing freely through the streets and major arterials? Boynton was out walking earlier tonight in a distant suburb notorious for its safety. Only her quick action prevented a collision with a group of older women merrily reclaiming the night (or is that the dancefloor). Dressed like a smart casual team, they were doing The Hokey Cokey/pokey in synch with hand gestures at power walking speed. They were all concentrating. Boynton jumped into the gutter with her groceries and took a deep breath.

How could I be so dumb? A portuguese speaking friend has corrected me on Joao. He says it's j-wah/ zj-wow.

One out of the box day today. Just returned from one of Boynton's top recreational activities: an op-shop crawl with father and sister. We have our old faves and we did them all. Boynton's father scoring some books, and her sister among other oddments- a teapot and a 60's jigsaw of aerial Melbourne - which made Boynton momentarily turn a deep shade of sibling-rivalry green .
"You haven't bought anything!" remarked Boynton's father towards the end of the journey. She explained that she seemed to be stuck in a loop of merely checking out a certain mid century glass punch-bowl in a certain shop that has been in the window for months now. It even sports the same "Special" sign Every time she sees it she wavers, but its constancy is reassuring. "Of course if I bought it" said Boynton "It would mean I would have to have a party!". (Of course she's got the music, the furnishings, the menu planners, the clothing, even the midcentury conversational dialect on ice. But without a punchbowl, the party just wouldn't swing.)

So Boynton did her dough again , backing Distinctly Secret for a win, and Pentastic for a place. The elderly labradors headed out into the garden far away from the barracking crowd, as Boynton sought consolation in food and fizz. Half missed the gumboot cam shots of stiletto's squelching through mud to the members' carparks while Sydney blow-ins underneath umbrellas bitterly lament Melbourne's inferior weather, but in the sunshine can at least look forward to the late afternoon panorama of fashions sozzled in the field. Sitting alone in the corner, Nora quietly cleaned up on the quinella.

Cup eve Ever since as a small child, she wept when her tip for the Cup was scratched shortly before the race, Boynton has loved the Melbourne Cup. It's a sacred day. While she has growing concern about the animal rights issues in the racing industry, she'll defer (for now) to the public mood of genuine festa. In recent years there's been enough real rain on the parade. Apparently "SP" info - that's of the secret, psychic variety runs through Boynton's family. ( As it would in a historically strict Methodist clan). Her grandmother was known to have received such whispers, but alas didn't bet. I bet her big family all cleaned up in 1921 with Sister Olive- if any indulged in a flutter that year. My own sister dreamed that a grey would win in 1971, another sister with Think Big (allegedly). I wish it was 1903, then I could back Lord Cardigan. Sounds like Boynton's Mr Right. Haven't had my psychic flash yet, but Pentastic sounds like a good writer's tip?

How ... Boynton fell for either the smooth charm of the samba or the hypnotic power of the virtual turntable of last night's link. As a child she was just as much transfixed by the physicality of the Radiogram, as with the Record Club sounds it produced.In any case, by the 25th time round last night, she recalled a marvellous link to Joao Gilberto first encountered a year or so ago. Laura Pelner McCarthy's zealous and serious enthusiasm is catchy. (There's also an insight into Laura which Boynton can relate to here in this very quiet suburb on a long weekend.)
Although I teach my college classes with great enjoyment and enthusiasm, I love best those fragile days on which I have spoken aloud to no one.
But back to Joao. Boynton once consulted a friend who speaks 87 languages "How do you pronounce Joao?"..."How"... he said. Boynton took that to be his answer.
The portrait Laura builds through essays and links is fascinating .
And here is an Italian producer's image of João Gilberto in Rome: "The other day, on leaving a restaurant, he stayed a long time conversing with a cat in the street. And the most surprising thing is that the cat was hypnotized by his language. To my astonishment, one would be justified in saying the cat could hear the same way he hears."

Boynton wants to rush out and secure the whole whispering catalogue