PUZZLE ZONE 1
2
3
7
4
5
6
8
9
10
11
12
15
16
13
17
18
19
20
21
23
14
22
24
21. Tomahawks 22. Sharp twinge 23. Back 24. Roman statesmen
ACROSS 1. Immensity 5. Lost blood 7. Pitcher 8. Giving (medal) 9. Bestows 12. Being frightened of 15. Soft leather 19. Heightened
DOWN 1. Steered off course 2. Engine booster 3. Written tests 4. Basic dietary item 5. Auction participant 6. Sea-mammal 10. Action 11. Eye signal
12. Surfboard blade 13. Charismatic glow 14. Hotels 15. Jewish food custom 16. UFO, flying ... 17. Buries 18. Wise sayings 19. Plant secretion 20. Data for computer
Puzzles supplied by Lovatts Publications Pty Ltd www.lovattspuzzles.com See page 29 for solutions.
THE MEANING OF EXISTENCE... AND OTHER SHORT STORIES
If A Picture Says a Thousand Words, A T-shirt Says One Thousand and One By Stuart McCullough SOMETIMES a t-shirt is just a t-shirt. Sometimes it’s a whole lot more than a piece of clothing – it can be a billboard, a declaration of undying love or a pledge of undying allegiance. You can say things with a t-shirt that are very hard to say with a pair of trousers or, for example, a belt. Only hats come anywhere close, although they suffer from a comparative lack of real estate. T-shirts can do and say quite a lot but often squander the opportunity. I, for one, never saw the point in a t-shirt that simply declared who made it. That’s what the label at the back is for. There’s little benefit in having a piece of clothing made by Calvin Klein that simply says ‘Calvin Klein’ in giant letters on the front. It takes all the mystery out it. Granted, it may be an act of genius to get you to pay him to advertise his product, but I personally feel that Calvin should stump up and buy his own adverts. Sometimes they’re a declaration – a statement that says something about your personality and world view. A joke, a pun or something to think about – you see them as they float by and, often, the meaning strikes you only once the owner has already vanished. I had a fondness for them at one time. My favourite was featured a large illustration of Mr T and the words ‘I Aint’ Getting On No Plane, Sucka’ emblazoned below. It was especially poignant in that I’m both fond of gravity and disinclined towards flight. And I like Mr. T. Then again, who doesn’t? But my favourite kind of t-shirt is the band t-shirt. I have many. Mostly
PAGE 26
Western Port News
they’re souvenirs from a great night out; purchased at some sweaty pub or other venue. I have a ‘Flaming Lips’ t-shirt that I bought when I took my nephew Jake to his first grown up rock gig. I have a Nick Cave t-shirt from the brief period during which he sported a mid-seventies pool-cleaner
6 November 2019
moustache. I also have one celebrating the ‘Fleet Foxes’ that looks as though it was made by a child and exhibits a lack of quality control and somehow explains why their subsequent albums weren’t nearly as good as their debut. And then there’s Daniel Johnston.
If you’ve never heard of Daniel Johnston, I can’t say I blame you. His early albums weren’t recorded in some fancy studio but, rather, the basement of his parent’s house. He recorded the songs directly to cassette. They’re wobbly, with stops and starts, missed notes and squeaks and pops and random noises. In fact, they’re about as far from a professional recording as you can possibly imagine. But the songs…. the songs were glorious. He gave away cassettes to anyone who’d take them. He was also an artist and he hand-drew the covers of his home-recorded cassettes. Incredibly, his reputation as a songwriter began to develop through the 1980s until he began to struggle with mental illness. From there, his story is harrowing. There’s a film – ‘The Devil and Daniel Johnston’. It follows Daniel from boyhood through to troubled young man inside a mental institution. Despite his troubles, large record companies wanted to sign him after Kurt Cobain from the band Nirvana started wearing one of his t-shirts. Legend has it that he rejected an offer from Elektra Records because the label was home to Metallica and Daniel believed Metallica were in league with Satan. Which, to be fair, is an easy mistake to make. Perhaps the most harrowing part of the movie comes when Daniel performs at a festival. The performance is intense and rapturously received. It’s then revealed that Daniel has been avoiding his medication in the hope of a better performance. On the flight back home, Daniel’s father is
piloting a small aircraft when Daniel decides that he’s Caspar the Ghost and removes the keys to the plane, throwing them out the window midflight. His father, who’d flown in World War Two, managed to bring down the aircraft without injuring them. I first came across him when a tribute album was released in 2004. It featured recordings of his songs by artists like Beck, the Flaming Lips, Sparklehorse and Death Cab for Cutie. Trust me, those are all real bands. Highly regarded, too. They took those scratchy songs and polished them up. They were wonderful. I even had a chance to see him play at the Prince of Wales in St Kilda. That he was able to tour at all was something of a miracle given all he’d been through. I was proud to own a couple of Daniel Johnston t-shirts. Over the years, they took something of a beating and, as I grew older, they didn’t fit as well as they used to. It’s telling, I think, when a t-shirt that once fit you perfectly now feels more like a sausage casing. They lived at the bottom of my drawer, in the unlikely event I could ever squeeze into them again. Daniel Johnston died last month. I found myself listening to those songs – even the ones that had been recorded on a tape deck in his parent’s house. Then I ordered a couple of t-shirts. Naturally, I chose a larger size this time. I feel happy wearing them – declaring my allegiance and appreciation all at once. Thanks Daniel. stuart@stuartmccullough.com