A Climactic Ending

Through the month of March, I managed to write 3 short essays on the major changes in Motion Pictures during the last decade of the twentieth century; it takes less than 10 minutes to read.  First, the over saturation of satire set the stage for post-truth realities in the 21st century.  Second, Web 2.0 brought life to a Truman Show way of life for all, the blueprint for our contemporary echo chambers and the death knell to the theater experience — as it stands now the majority of moviegoers in 2017 are over age 50.  Third, the extension of viewing times exceeded the matinee marathon and binge-watching bloated audience appetite for all-you-can-eat storytelling.  Read all about it on Medium:

You Should (Re)Watch 1990’s Bonfire of the Vanities

YouTube Killed the Movie Star: From Laces Out to Get Out

The Fat Lady Sings: this Completes the Trilogy, Not the Saga


Super Fly Films

Like a lit stick of Dolemite thrown down a mine Shaft full of TNT, blaxploitation cinema’s explosive content blew open a spectrum of lenses to film America.  Super Fly is a 1972 crime drama directed by Gordon Parks, Jr., starring Ron O’Neal as Youngblood Priest, an African American cocaine dealer who is trying to quit the underworld drug business.  This film is probably best known for its soundtrack, written and produced by soul musician Curtis Mayfield. Super Fly is one of the few films ever to have been out-grossed by its soundtrack.

Third List of June 2016

“If I can’t store my memories of something in a computer, I’m probably not going to keep them around.”

  1. Red-billed oxpeckers worn like earrings on Tame Impala.
  2. A New Web and open annotation.
  3. The whimsy of Spike Jonze and the Adaptation of Susan Orlean’s The Orchid Thief.
  4. Shotspotters and the automatic blocking of banned content.
  5. A Millenarian theodicy and a story by a Millennial.
  6. My summer home and Embrace of the Serpent.


Behind La Tienda exists a lot where there once was a garage.  Now fenced by unkempt chain link, the lot serves as a drive-through pickup point for housing contractors looking for day laborers.  A white extended-cab approaches.  The truck wears splashes of cement and random dents and bangs.  The driver slows to a stop; he points at two guerros.

Coasting down the two lane highway, Karl and Bryan discuss the job ahead.  Bryan spits into a 20oz. bottle of Mountain Dew already a quarter-filled with dark muck.  Karl slams the accelerator to pass a dawdling minivan; he posts his right arm at the top of the steering wheel and slouches to the left as if he’s going to exit at any moment.  Constantly eyeing the mirrors yet never noticing his reflection, Karl mutters about Canadian snowbirds.  Bryan looks straight at the road.

After a few turns, they arrive at a site deep in the forest, an unincorporated part of the county.  A narrow stretch of acreage extends from an aluminum hangar.  As they draw nearer the scent of hot tar surfaces, pinching the nose.  With the engine cut, the birds and crickets cause the most noise for miles out.