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I am a Los Angeles-based twentysomething. I have a profession, and I have a secret life in music, and this blog isn't about any of that. I like Blogger because I can't read what you're thinking.

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Thursday, September 3   >>


I hate that every time a Quentin Tarantino film comes out, bloggers inevitably go on a pseudo-academic and one-sided conversation about why they understand the film better than you do.

"It's phenomenal, really. But you wouldn't know it if you didn't go to college."


There's a basic truth of, not just film, but all art, really, that gets lost with wannabe-to-actual intellectuals.

Sometimes, for the sake of being entertained, art is made. I know, shocking.

It doesn't matter what filter he used. It doesn't matter what lens was modified for a scene. It doesn't matter that the color red alludes to in theme, or subtext, or pretext, or whatever the fuck you want to call it over that mid-priced glass of wine following your viewing. It doesn't even matter why specific scenes are in French or German.

What matters is this: The truth in a sick kind of narcissism that all artists want to be heard by as many people as possible, and that their "homages" are simply just devices to hook you in (because they've likely already worked), and not for evaluation, but, like, ohmahgosh, primitive enjoyment.

But you wouldn't know; you didn't go to art school.