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Feb 28

many of you are aware that i often write articles for Macgasm. for many of my app reviews, features on Apple hardware and software, and thoughts on the future of tech, i often post on Joshua Schnell’s respected blog instead of here, since his readership is basically more in a day than i get in a year. Josh is kind to indulge. plus, it leaves me free to use this space to think purely about film technique and process.

if you’re at all interested in Apple stuff, and you’d like to hear our snarky opinions on everything (WHO WOULDN’T?!), give a few clicks.  the comments are often where it’s at, so read and participate.

a few shortcuts

you can find any of my Macgasm articles at

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Feb 27

as with many of the stories i will post here, this story may be rooted in some truth like all fiction, but is still fiction. and though it may be in first person, the narrator is not necessarily myself.


Owen lives down the street from my parents. every time i go visit, we walk the dogs around the historic neighborhood, and Owen’s house is one of the first and last houses we see. i don’t know how someone lives in that house. it was once a beautiful two-story, southern plantation style home, but i now cannot tell if it was once covered in white siding, or if it’s that i can actually see the termites.

the roof looks like it’s about to fall in. above the front porch sits a bench and a step ladder; it looks like maybe there was a nice patio-style landing maybe sixty years ago, but whatever floor may still be there now rests at the same angle as the rest of the roof.

the yard is unkempt, and what’s there wouldn’t look good if it were kempt — palm trees, cacti, magnolia, dogwood, pea gravel, mismatched grasses, cement decor… it’s all kind of a mess, made worse by being covered in leaves, dirt, litter, and the eccentric collection that only good Southern white trash can effectively straw strow (what’s the present tense of strewn?) across the half-acre corner property.

and it’s this mishmash of a lawn that serves as the home of Owen’s many yard sales. i’m not sure exactly what the yard sale laws are in this little hamlet, but they obviously don’t apply to Owen, at least in his mind. he has them every few hours i think. where he digs up this junk is a compete mystery to me. i guess he finds it on the side of the road or something? it’s like he sees some garbage and thinks, hey, that mostly demolished coffee table just needs a little dusting, that’s all.

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Feb 23


i love watching Mathilda sleep. she does it with as much intensity as she does everything else. looking at her, it’s hard to remember she’s only 18 months old, but her behavior is very much that of a puppy. having not seen her or Larry for almost three weeks, they were ecstatic to see me. Mathilda wanted to get so close to me that jumping up to be at eye-level with me (which she is almost capable of doing) isn’t enough… she was trying to bite me and swallow my face… i guess if you’re a puppy, everything you value goes in your mouth at some point.

when i take her for a walk, she jerks and pulls, she chases after birds and squirrels, cowers and runs away from traffic, and in general wears me out. when she eats, don’t get in the way, or you’ll draw back a nub. she would never growl or bite anyone intentionally, but every time she eats, it’s like her last meal. everything she does — walking, playing, eating — is done with such intensity. even sleeping.

when she sleeps, it’s like she’s trying as hard as she can to get in as much sleep as possible. the slightest noise, and that head pops up off the ground waiting for something exciting. or tasty. when she dreams, she starts breathing heavily, then her oversized paws start moving, and every now and then she’ll give a deep, quiet, “rrruf…”

i always wonder what she’s dreaming about. do dogs dream like we do? do they see pictures and hear sounds? do they dream of people they know and places they’ve been? do they dream of giant bones or crippled cats or ponds full of fish and ducks and mud?

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Feb 21

photo by Ian W. Scott.

Becoming the Sycamore Tree

by David Skidmore, my brother.

as featured in Youth Specialties.

“At my church, we have a private preschool and kindergarten. In the nearby church courtyard is a playground. And on that playground is an off-limits tree. A big tree. A tempting tree. I mean, this is a Mount-Everest-of-a-tree to little, exploring eyes. It’s as though God chose a playground and placed a tree in the middle and declared, “On every other structure thou mayest climb, but on this tree thou mayest not climb, for on the day when thou dost, thou shalt surely… be placed in time-out… or something.”

Eventually a red line was painted above the second limb from the ground. The children were free to climb to that line, but everything above was forbidden territory. And ‘Mrs. Wanda’ (as the kids call her) guards that tree with a watchful eye that would impress an angel wielding a flaming sword.

But after hours — figuring Mrs. Wanda and her whistle have departed for wherever kindergarten teachers go until 8 a.m. the next day — some kids do climb above the red line. There’s something about that tree that beckons, ‘Come… and climb!’ to every adventurer.

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Feb 06

from the Fonz literally jumping the shark on that fateful episode of Happy Days to Barry Zuckerkorn’s subtle homage on Arrested Development, television viewers have discussed the concept now known as “jumping the shark”.

it’s the point where a TV show, in an attempt to do something bold and fresh (usually out of an apparent lack of burgeoning creativity) reaches so far as to do something silly, ludicrous — alienating viewers in the process. the attempt is bold new ground. the result is the beginning of the end.

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Feb 06

nice to see ya.

forgive my absence from the blog for the past few months. lots of transition on the homefront. but i’m settled into middle TN quite nicely and loving it.

the coming months suggest some big things on the horizon. i can’t wait. hope you enjoy the ride as much as i do.

thank you for reading. i love you all.

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