It’s like we’re caught in some kind of relativity warp wormhole, where the retro threshold keeps inching closer to now, and we can’t stop living in the future.
Great stuff if drinking-hall operettas are your thing, but if they’re not, these songs can get kind of tedious as they wallow in their quaint mannerisms.
The Web is no longer this new and shiny thing that I’ve just discovered, but is now enough of an established institution that it can produce “where are they now?” stories.
A sizable amount of my working life has been spent processing large quantities of text: generating it, reformatting it, parsing it, displaying it. Over the years, my approach to this sort of thing has evolved.
When the only convincing performance in a film comes from a backwards-talking, computer-animated muppet, you know you’re in trouble.
The Portland of My Own Private Idaho is the PDX of fifteen years ago.