…that the classic Warner Bros. logo that has opened WB films for the last 92 years (or since 1929)…do I understand this logo has been dumped in favor of that obviously lame Warner Bros.-Discovery logo that was revealed yesterday? Or is this some kind of corporate logo for trade purposes only?

From Judith Newman’s 5.18.21 N.Y. Times review of Nancy Jo Sales‘ “NOTHING PERSONAL: My Secret Life in the Dating App Inferno“:

“In less plague-y times, I loved taking in a midnight horror movie in Times Square. It’s great to be in a community of like-minded people shouting advice to imperiled B actors onscreen: Do NOT go into that basement. Unfortunately, reading Nancy Jo Sales’s latest, a fascinating but harrowing account of our relationship to dating apps, does not offer the same pleasure.

“Because this is real life — and worse, this is the author’s real life. I’ve just spent four hours staring at my Kindle, murmuring to no one in particular: Nancy, don’t text him, Nancy, honey, don’t do it, be strong, resist this one time, Nancy…NOOOOOOO.

“’Nothing Personal,’ which is very very personal, explores what Sales calls ‘the corporate takeover of dating.’ Apps like Tinder, Grindr, Bumble and OKCupid have facilitated or exploited (depending on how you look at it) the most basic of human needs: the desire to connect.

“Or do they? Because that is the startling premise of this book: that apps are actually designed to keep us hooked, and hooking up, while preventing us from finding lasting love. The swiping, the likes, the pressure to have sex combined with the pressure not to appear needy — all are making us unhappy. This buffet of humanity spread out on our little screens is precisely what dehumanizes us: Even when we’re full, we keep eating.”

HE is attending Cinemacon 2021 (8.23 — 8.26) for sentimental-emotional reasons, whichever matters most.

Because my investment in the theatrical experience, which has been my spiritual lifeblood since I was 5 or 6, has never before felt so shaky or tentative, and I want to somehow support the continuation of exhibition along with the idea of movie theatres as spiritual churches in any way I can, despite the ironic fact that the exhibition industry long ago abandoned the spiritual element.

I’ve attended three or four Cinemacon gatherings in Las Vegas, and they always remind you of what exhibitors value — not the spiritual or transporting nectar of great moviemaking, but the lowest common-denominator-animal stimuli…the slam-wham-BAM-THROMP-CHONK-CHUNK-KAPOW-SPLAT popcorn jizz-whiz distractions that are mother’s milk for the ADD-afflicted.

Indiewire‘s Anne Thompson: “Five major studios will be at CinemaCon ’21: Warner Bros. Discovery, Universal and Focus, Disney with Marvel and Lucasfilm, Paramount, and Sony. Lionsgate will also be present, as well as the pending Amazon acquisition MGM/UA.

“On the docket: Showing love to the exhibitors beat up by pandemic shut-downs — and in some cases, the studio’s own screening policies.

“While the studios [have] held back their most commercial titles for theaters, it’s a starkly different summer landscape. Memorial Day had a hit with A Quiet Place Part 2 (Paramount), which will be followed by overseas smash F9 (Universal). Meanwhile, Disney’s recent opener Cruella, like Black Widow and Jungle Cruise, is available day and date to Disney+ subscribers for an additional charge. This is the tough reality exhibitors must swallow.”

Let me explain something very clearly so there’s no misunderstanding. A Quiet Place 2 is a decently made (if less than riveting or necessary-feeling) sequel, but the promotional signals from the others all spell high-gloss CG formulaic d-o-g-s-h-i-t.

More pumped-up Trump bullshit, spewing out within and into the secular rightwing loony-tune ecosystem…unfettered madness…words fail…get out the tranquilizers and mosquito nets.

I’d join Tatiana under the gazebo pier, a perfect shaded haven from the bright Belizean sunshine with a soothing view of the Caribbean, but I’m too busy posting about Cinemacon 2021, General Flynn and Marilyn Monroe‘s visit to Korea in February 1954. Later.

I’ve posted a shot of my yellow surfer trunks to prove that I’m not Clark Griswold on the beach, but I absolutely, categorically refuse to pose in said trunks. And no fucking flip-flops ever…ever.

We’ll be hopping on the bikes for a visit to Chief Kareem’s unBelizean lunch stand around noon or 12:30 pm.

Oh, and by the way — we’ve just been told of a new Guatamelan ordinance that says auto rentals aren’t allowed into Guatamela and that tourists may only enter on a bus, so there goes Tikal. Stay loose, re-think it, improvise.

Until this morning in Caye Caulker, sitting before a fan in our little teal and mustard-colored cabana, I had never read Liesel Banner’s detailed account of Marilyn Monroe’s four-day visit to Korea in February 1954. Nicely written, well researched. It was posted on history.net in the winter of 2020, whatever that actually means.

Yes, the Korean armistice had been signed in July 1953 but there were still tens of thousands of U.S. troops policing the situation and (be honest) getting loaded on 3.2 beer and visiting brothels. 36,000 Americans died in action in Korea; more than 100,000 were wounded.

Excerpt: “Monroe’s tour in Korea had been an unqualified success, even though she came down with a bad case of bronchial pneumonia from her exposure to the icy conditions there.

“Those four carefree days not only lifted the spirits of the thousands of homesick young soldiers who saw her but also gave Monroe the genuine outpouring of love she had always craved. Her one-woman performances revealed her true talents and warm personality. ‘I never really felt like a star,’ she told her acting coach, Lotte Goslar, after she returned to the States. ‘Not really, not in my heart. I felt like one in Korea. It was so wonderful to look down and see all those young fellows smiling up at me. It made me feel wanted.”

Tatiana and I are flying to Belize early Tuesday (6 am flight). Caye Caulker for four days and a wake-up, and then west into the muggy jungle, over the Guatamelan border to Lake Peten and Tikal and the usual Mayan meditations, and then back to Belize for whatever spontaneous adventures. Relatively inexpensive once you’re there. Haven’t been since ’91. Need to hear those howlers again. Hot temps (80s, 90s). The column never stops.

I shot a shitty 8mm western with my fifth-grade friends when I was 10 or thereabouts; possibly closer to 11. Silent, of course. I had a rough story in my head but no satisfying third act. Look at me now.

Spoilers: You can’t conclude the sixth and second-to-last episode of Mare of Easttown by pointing the guilty finger at a pathetic, self-loathing fellow (Robbie Tann‘s “Billy Ross”) who’s ready to shoot himself, and then begin the final episode by switching things around and identifying the self-loather’s older brother, Joe Tippett‘s “John Ross”, as the actual killer.

Okay, you can do that but you’re gettin’ twisty-for-the-sake-of-twisty on us.

And then you let that settle in for 25 or 30 minutes, and then you change horses again within the last 12 to 15 and reveal the actual, real-deal shooter as Cameron Mann‘s “Ryan Ross,” the son of suddenly-not-guilty-anymore John and his ex, Julianne Nicholson‘s “Lori Ross.”

Seriously?

It just didn’t work, that last switcheroo — there was just no believing it, and there was certainly no catharsis in considering the crazy impulse of a ten year old who lost his temper or whatever. It’s just a tragic waste.

What’s Ryan gonna do, suffer in juvenile detention for the next ten years or so? He made a ghastly mistake. In what way is the state’s interest served by keeping him in stir?