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You won't shoot your own brother, Carla
Tonight was an inadvertent Fritz Lang two-fer: I went to see Ministry of Fear (1944) at the Brattle and then I came home and Fury (1936) was playing on TCM. I'd always thought of a sharp break between his earlier Expressionist work and his American films, but I had no idea what I was talking about. Blackout in London (as Powell and Pressburger proved four years earlier) is a beautiful playground for all sorts of strange light and shadow. Lang was a year out of Nazi Germany when he filmed small-town togetherness as a lynch mob, mothers lifting their children on their shoulders to watch a man burning to death behind bars. I knew I wanted to see You and Me (1938), but I might as well stick the whole catalogue on the list now.
I am ignoring Tiny Richardson (except for when he revs his bike threateningly at T. Witt.) and posting some of the photos from yesterday's parade. All by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nineweaving unless otherwise credited.
I'd forgotten I was wearing earplugs until I saw this picture. I said there was a lot of brass!
I also said Dr. Alberts' sign kept getting him stopped for photo ops. That's a cathode ray tube from the RCA Victor 6T87 we didn't quite salvage in June he's holding. I believe he is demonstrating the "radio wave."
It was a really good sign.
I had a sign with much smaller print, but I also had a vest pocket full of cards, which I handed out to anyone who looked sufficiently intrigued or confused. I went through three pocketfuls. I consider that pretty decent advertising.
Speaking of which! (Photo by David Kessler. Hand by Lily Grodzins.)
audioboy already posted this one on Facebook, so I don't feel too bad about reproducing it.
Ditto David Kessler and this one.
And this one was taken by my mother, who insisted on an after-the-ball-was-over shot. I've uploaded the one where my eyes are actually focused. It was only about five o'clock.
Bonus! The Mari-bison-thing. On wheels. You can't really see them, but the eyes were made out of bottle glass. It certainly looked from certain freakish, decaying angles as though there was real bone inside. I approved so much and I hope it never comes by my house on New Year's and clacks its jaws.
Eagle-eyed readers may remember the flat cap from the last round of picspam. It's been in regular rotation ever since. The suit was the first one my father ever bought; the shirt is the one decent white shirt I still own, but I abstracted it from one of my parents years ago. I'd still like to have been wearing suspenders, but as it was I didn't have to buy a single article of clothing in order to dress like I worked in radio in 1938—or at least a lot closer to 1938 than now—and I'm actually rather proud of this.
Still want a pocket watch, though.
I am ignoring Tiny Richardson (except for when he revs his bike threateningly at T. Witt.) and posting some of the photos from yesterday's parade. All by
nineweaving unless otherwise credited.
I'd forgotten I was wearing earplugs until I saw this picture. I said there was a lot of brass!
I also said Dr. Alberts' sign kept getting him stopped for photo ops. That's a cathode ray tube from the RCA Victor 6T87 we didn't quite salvage in June he's holding. I believe he is demonstrating the "radio wave."
It was a really good sign.
I had a sign with much smaller print, but I also had a vest pocket full of cards, which I handed out to anyone who looked sufficiently intrigued or confused. I went through three pocketfuls. I consider that pretty decent advertising.
Speaking of which! (Photo by David Kessler. Hand by Lily Grodzins.)
audioboy already posted this one on Facebook, so I don't feel too bad about reproducing it.
Ditto David Kessler and this one.
And this one was taken by my mother, who insisted on an after-the-ball-was-over shot. I've uploaded the one where my eyes are actually focused. It was only about five o'clock.
Bonus! The Mari-bison-thing. On wheels. You can't really see them, but the eyes were made out of bottle glass. It certainly looked from certain freakish, decaying angles as though there was real bone inside. I approved so much and I hope it never comes by my house on New Year's and clacks its jaws.
Eagle-eyed readers may remember the flat cap from the last round of picspam. It's been in regular rotation ever since. The suit was the first one my father ever bought; the shirt is the one decent white shirt I still own, but I abstracted it from one of my parents years ago. I'd still like to have been wearing suspenders, but as it was I didn't have to buy a single article of clothing in order to dress like I worked in radio in 1938—or at least a lot closer to 1938 than now—and I'm actually rather proud of this.
Still want a pocket watch, though.
no subject
The buffalo is actually oddly terrifying--like a nightmarish coming-alive of a bundle of rags.
no subject
Hah. Thank you. I am working on being better with myself. Photographs are one way of doing that.
(Also, I really did have a great time.)
The buffalo is actually oddly terrifying--like a nightmarish coming-alive of a bundle of rags.
You see what I mean about New Year's! There are things like that in stories I've read, and most of them gave me trouble sleeping.