I have a sensation sometimes.  I'm watching writing go Pixar.  The old two dimensional sketches aren't where it's at as far as reaching the imagination.  The painted still-life, one of those moments that would jump out at you and leave an impression, has been superseded, become the dinosaur, on the Penguin Classic shelf next to Thackery.  The power of impression is allowed to wane, in its place something that can keep up with quick and full bursts of internet and technology.  And the old horrors of normal life, of facing age and lonesomeness and Monday mornings, aren't enough for our attention spans.  (Readable fiction, they teach in writing classes, is characterized by tension.  Tension turns pages.)

What was wrong with all those beautiful old cartoons, those rendered sunsets, dark forests, matching music?  What was wrong with the Pink Panther?  Do we really need everything in 3D?  Or was it all just because of a reaction by Steve Jobs (who cared a lot about winning) to his former bosses and some stock market arm wrestling match, high stakes, economic winners, economic losers, that grants such privilege to whatever seems 'the latest technology?'  Or is it because we are no longer based in the natural world, but a new landscape of pings and claims upon our immediate interest, such that we feel we need to make the messenger cooler than the message actually is?