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Pete · 07-18-2022, 08:21 PM

The Endurance of the Model A

A guy has reached retirement age and decides to fulfill a life long dream. He wants to drive and boat around the world in a model A and film the dances of the indigenous cultures of the world. A model A has been used to drive around the world before but no one has filmed the dances.
The car holds up fine and he gets a lot of film.
At the end of his journey, he has every single dance of every single indigenous culture in the world. He winds up in Australia, in Alice Springs, so he pops into a pub for a well-earned beer. He gets talking to one of the local Aborigines and tells him about his project.

The Aborigine asks the guy what he thought of the Butcher Dance.

The guy's a bit confused and says, “Butcher Dance? What's that?”

“What? You haven't seen the Butcher Dance?”

“No, I've never heard of it.”

“Oh mate. You are crazy. How can you say you filmed every native dance if you haven't seen the Butcher Dance?”

“Umm. I got a corroboree on film just the other week. Is that what you mean?”

"No no, not corroboree. Butcher Dance is much more important than corroboree.”

“Oh. Well how can I see this Butcher Dance then?”

“Mate, Butcher Dance is right out in the bush. It takes many days of travel to go see Butcher Dance.”

“Look, I've been everywhere from the forests of the Amazon, to deepest darkest Africa, to the frozen wastes of the Arctic, filming these dances. Nothing will prevent me from recording this one last dance!”

“OK, mate. You drive north along Stuart Highway towards Darwin. After you drive 250 miles, you'll see a dirt track off to the left. Follow the dirt track for 150 miles until you see a huge, dead gum tree - biggest tree you ever seen. Here you gotta leave the car, because it's much too rough for driving. You strike out due West into the setting sun. You walk three days til you hit a creek. You follow this creek to northwest. After two days you reach a place where the creek flows out of rocky mountains. It's much too difficult to cross the mountains here though. You now head south for a half day till you see a pass through the mountains. The pass is very difficult and very dangerous. Takes two, maybe three days to get through the rocky pass. When you're through, head northwest for four days until you reach a big huge rock - 30 ft. high and shaped like a man's head. From rock, walk due west for two days and you reach a village. Here you'll see the Butcher Dance.”

So, the guy grabs his camera crew and equipment and heads out. After a couple of hours he finds the dirt track. The track is in a shocking state and he's forced to crawl along at a snail's pace and so he doesn't reach the tree until dusk, and he's forced to set up camp for the night.

He sets out bright and early the following morning. His spirits are high and he's excited about the prospect of capturing on film this mysterious dance which he has never heard mentioned before. True to the directions he has been given, he reaches the creek after three days and follows it for another two until he reaches the rocky mountains. The merciless sun is starting to take its toll by this time and his spirits are starting to flag, but wearily he trudges on until he finds the pass through the hills, confident that nothing will prevent him from completing his life's dream.

The mountains prove to be every bit as treacherous as his guide said, and at times he almost despairs of getting his bulky equipment through. But after three and a half days of back breaking effort he finally forces his way clear and continues his long trek. When he reaches the huge rock, four days later, his water is running low and his feet are covered with blisters. Yet he steels himself and heads out on the last leg of his journey. Two days later he virtually staggers into the village where the Aborigines feed him and give him fresh water. He begins to feel like a new man. Once he's recovered enough, the guy goes before the village Elder and tells him that he has come to film their Butcher Dance.

“Oh mate. It's very bad you come today. Butcher Dance last night. You're too late. You missed the dance!”

“Well, when do you hold the next dance?”

“Not 'til next year!”

“Well, I've come all this way. Couldn't you just hold an extra dance for me, tonight?”

"No, no, no. Butcher Dance is very sacred. Only held once a year. If we hold more, the spirits get very angry. You want to see Butcher Dance? You come back next year.”

The guy is devastated, but he has no other option but to head back to civilization and back home.

The following year, he heads back to Australia and, determined not to miss out again, sets out a week earlier than last time. He is quite willing to spend a week with the Aboriginal people before the dance is performed in order to ensure he is present to witness it. However, right from the start things go wrong.

Heavy rains that year have turned the dirt track to mud and the trusty model A gets bogged every few miles, finally forcing him to abandon it and slog through the mud on foot almost half the distance to the tree. He reaches the creek and the mountains without any further hitch, but halfway through the ascent of the mountain he is struck by a fierce storm which rages for several days, during which he is forced to cling forlornly to the mountainside until it subsides. It would be suicide to attempt to scale the treacherous paths in the face of such savage elements. Then, before he has travelled a mile out from the mountains, he sprains his ankle badly which slows down the rest of his journey to the rock enormously. Eventually, having lost all sense of how long he has been traveling, he staggers into the community at about 12 noon.

“The Butcher Dance!” gasps the guy. “Please don't tell me I'm too late!”

The Elder recognizes him and says, “No, whitefella, Butcher Dance performed tonight. You arrived just in time!”

Relieved beyond measure, he spends the rest of the afternoon setting up his equipment - preparing to capture the night's ritual on celluloid. As dusk falls, the Aborigines start to cover their bodies in white paint and adorn themselves in bird feathers and animal skins. Once darkness has settled fully over the land, the dancers form a circle around a huge roaring fire.

A deathly hush descends over the performers and spectators alike, as a wizened old figure with elaborate swirling designs covering his entire body enters the circle and begins to chant.

“Some sort of witch doctor or medicine man,” thinks the guy, and he whispers to the Elder, “What's he doing?”

“Hush,”whispers the Elder. “You're the first whitefella to ever see the most sacred of our rituals. You must remain silent. This holy man, he asks that the spirits of the Dreaming watch as we demonstrate our devotion to them through our dance and, if they like our dancing, will they be so gracious as to watch over us and protect us for another year.”

The chanting of the holy man reaches a stunning crescendo before he moves himself from the circle. From somewhere the rhythmic pounding of clapsticks reverberate out across the land and the dancers begin to sway to the stirring rhythm.

The guy is becoming caught up in the fervor of the moment himself. This is it. He now realizes beyond all doubt that his wait has not been in vain. He is about to witness the ultimate performance of rhythm and movement ever conceived by humanity.

The Elder strides to his position in the circle and, in a big booming voice, starts to sing.

“You butch yer right arm in. You butch yer right arm out. You butch yer right arm in and you shake it all about…”

07-18-2022, 08:21 PM	#1
Pete BANNED Join Date: May 2010 Location: Wa. Posts: 5,423	Model A endurance The Endurance of the Model A A guy has reached retirement age and decides to fulfill a life long dream. He wants to drive and boat around the world in a model A and film the dances of the indigenous cultures of the world. A model A has been used to drive around the world before but no one has filmed the dances. The car holds up fine and he gets a lot of film. At the end of his journey, he has every single dance of every single indigenous culture in the world. He winds up in Australia, in Alice Springs, so he pops into a pub for a well-earned beer. He gets talking to one of the local Aborigines and tells him about his project. The Aborigine asks the guy what he thought of the Butcher Dance. The guy's a bit confused and says, “Butcher Dance? What's that?” “What? You haven't seen the Butcher Dance?” “No, I've never heard of it.” “Oh mate. You are crazy. How can you say you filmed every native dance if you haven't seen the Butcher Dance?” “Umm. I got a corroboree on film just the other week. Is that what you mean?” "No no, not corroboree. Butcher Dance is much more important than corroboree.” “Oh. Well how can I see this Butcher Dance then?” “Mate, Butcher Dance is right out in the bush. It takes many days of travel to go see Butcher Dance.” “Look, I've been everywhere from the forests of the Amazon, to deepest darkest Africa, to the frozen wastes of the Arctic, filming these dances. Nothing will prevent me from recording this one last dance!” “OK, mate. You drive north along Stuart Highway towards Darwin. After you drive 250 miles, you'll see a dirt track off to the left. Follow the dirt track for 150 miles until you see a huge, dead gum tree - biggest tree you ever seen. Here you gotta leave the car, because it's much too rough for driving. You strike out due West into the setting sun. You walk three days til you hit a creek. You follow this creek to northwest. After two days you reach a place where the creek flows out of rocky mountains. It's much too difficult to cross the mountains here though. You now head south for a half day till you see a pass through the mountains. The pass is very difficult and very dangerous. Takes two, maybe three days to get through the rocky pass. When you're through, head northwest for four days until you reach a big huge rock - 30 ft. high and shaped like a man's head. From rock, walk due west for two days and you reach a village. Here you'll see the Butcher Dance.” So, the guy grabs his camera crew and equipment and heads out. After a couple of hours he finds the dirt track. The track is in a shocking state and he's forced to crawl along at a snail's pace and so he doesn't reach the tree until dusk, and he's forced to set up camp for the night. He sets out bright and early the following morning. His spirits are high and he's excited about the prospect of capturing on film this mysterious dance which he has never heard mentioned before. True to the directions he has been given, he reaches the creek after three days and follows it for another two until he reaches the rocky mountains. The merciless sun is starting to take its toll by this time and his spirits are starting to flag, but wearily he trudges on until he finds the pass through the hills, confident that nothing will prevent him from completing his life's dream. The mountains prove to be every bit as treacherous as his guide said, and at times he almost despairs of getting his bulky equipment through. But after three and a half days of back breaking effort he finally forces his way clear and continues his long trek. When he reaches the huge rock, four days later, his water is running low and his feet are covered with blisters. Yet he steels himself and heads out on the last leg of his journey. Two days later he virtually staggers into the village where the Aborigines feed him and give him fresh water. He begins to feel like a new man. Once he's recovered enough, the guy goes before the village Elder and tells him that he has come to film their Butcher Dance. “Oh mate. It's very bad you come today. Butcher Dance last night. You're too late. You missed the dance!” “Well, when do you hold the next dance?” “Not 'til next year!” “Well, I've come all this way. Couldn't you just hold an extra dance for me, tonight?” "No, no, no. Butcher Dance is very sacred. Only held once a year. If we hold more, the spirits get very angry. You want to see Butcher Dance? You come back next year.” The guy is devastated, but he has no other option but to head back to civilization and back home. The following year, he heads back to Australia and, determined not to miss out again, sets out a week earlier than last time. He is quite willing to spend a week with the Aboriginal people before the dance is performed in order to ensure he is present to witness it. However, right from the start things go wrong. Heavy rains that year have turned the dirt track to mud and the trusty model A gets bogged every few miles, finally forcing him to abandon it and slog through the mud on foot almost half the distance to the tree. He reaches the creek and the mountains without any further hitch, but halfway through the ascent of the mountain he is struck by a fierce storm which rages for several days, during which he is forced to cling forlornly to the mountainside until it subsides. It would be suicide to attempt to scale the treacherous paths in the face of such savage elements. Then, before he has travelled a mile out from the mountains, he sprains his ankle badly which slows down the rest of his journey to the rock enormously. Eventually, having lost all sense of how long he has been traveling, he staggers into the community at about 12 noon. “The Butcher Dance!” gasps the guy. “Please don't tell me I'm too late!” The Elder recognizes him and says, “No, whitefella, Butcher Dance performed tonight. You arrived just in time!” Relieved beyond measure, he spends the rest of the afternoon setting up his equipment - preparing to capture the night's ritual on celluloid. As dusk falls, the Aborigines start to cover their bodies in white paint and adorn themselves in bird feathers and animal skins. Once darkness has settled fully over the land, the dancers form a circle around a huge roaring fire. A deathly hush descends over the performers and spectators alike, as a wizened old figure with elaborate swirling designs covering his entire body enters the circle and begins to chant. “Some sort of witch doctor or medicine man,” thinks the guy, and he whispers to the Elder, “What's he doing?” “Hush,”whispers the Elder. “You're the first whitefella to ever see the most sacred of our rituals. You must remain silent. This holy man, he asks that the spirits of the Dreaming watch as we demonstrate our devotion to them through our dance and, if they like our dancing, will they be so gracious as to watch over us and protect us for another year.” The chanting of the holy man reaches a stunning crescendo before he moves himself from the circle. From somewhere the rhythmic pounding of clapsticks reverberate out across the land and the dancers begin to sway to the stirring rhythm. The guy is becoming caught up in the fervor of the moment himself. This is it. He now realizes beyond all doubt that his wait has not been in vain. He is about to witness the ultimate performance of rhythm and movement ever conceived by humanity. The Elder strides to his position in the circle and, in a big booming voice, starts to sing. “You butch yer right arm in. You butch yer right arm out. You butch yer right arm in and you shake it all about…”