Matt Powers has turned over several trashcans in your driveway not because he's a prankster but because he loves you and doesn't know how to show how. Also, he's hungry.
Catching Elephant is a theme by Andy Taylor
I don’t know if this is an advertising ploy, but I now desperately want to try the “Ultra” version. What am I missing out on? Oh Joy, you have caught me in your seductive web of marketing once again.
Do we live in such an Ultra world that normal things that aren’t “Ultra” must be labeled “Non-Ultra”? Does that make this the only product in the universe that isn’t Ultra? Every banana you eat is actually an Ultra banana, and every shoelace an Ultra shoelace? Makes you think. Ultra think.
How Much Money You Need To Realistically Recreate The Scrooge McDuck ‘Gold Coin Swim’
Article I wrote for “The Billfold”, a great new website that will legitimately answer all your questions about your finances. This link is not indicative of the wealth of actual, real information available on this website, which is wonderful and you should read it. Almost all of the articles are not about calculating avian wealth.
“American Reunion” Forces 22 to 30 Year-Olds To Face The Failures Inherent In Our Own Lives
American Reunion has already committed a cardinal sin and it hasn’t even been released. The original American Pie movie was never going to rewrite cinematic history with dialogue or plot or production marvels, but for some reason, it had undeniable charm. Most of us born in the mid to late eighties can remember where we were when we first saw Shannon Elizabeth’s bare chest or heard the final payoff for “one time, at band camp…” It’s not a good film but for some reason it lived up to the first half of it’s name and entered our cultural viscera.
And now the 18 year olds we (inaccurately) learned about sex from are coming back as thirty somethings to make a new installment in a series that deflated immediately after the first movie. This film is an utter tragedy in two ways; the first is the film itself. The gang is all grown up with kids and husbands and wives. The crux of the American Pie series has always been “one last hurrah” before some event. So everyone is meeting up again, just like in high school and college, but now there are pre-schools and 401K plans. But of course everyone just wants to act like teens again. Nothing is funnier than adults acting like adolescents (see: Grown Ups). It’s a smart bet that someone will get hit in the crotch, someone will be tempted to cheat by a younger, hotter woman (who gratuitously takes off her top with little to no prompting), and without a doubt at least one of the kids will be overly sexual (he’s also acting just like a teenager!). It will be base and sad.
This wouldn’t be so pathetic if so many of our nostalgia wasn’t at stake. We all know that Eugene Levy will sign up for any iteration of American Pie spinoff but to have the whole original cast back for this sad sack entry is a level of humiliation that permeates beyond the screen, and that is the film’s second, and truly more heartbreaking tragedy. Sean William Scott, a comedic actor who seem to have the world at his beck and call at the turn of the century, now comes with his tail between his legs to reprise his obstreperous role he made famous at 22 as a 35 year old. Jason Biggs, who played the same character in so many romantic comedies that he was actually credited in some movies he wasn’t even in, also comes back as an older, ruined man. Allison Hannigan is the most successful of the American Pie-ers and her claim to fame is a role in an ensemble cast in a occasionally clever but often overwrought and predictable CBS sitcom. People like Chris Klein and Eddie Kaye Thomas are so far off the radar it would be a disservice to you to write about their trajectories.
A sad assemblage of broken, horrible people with nothing to live for
But enough about the cast, who will make millions of dollars for reprising their teenage glory. What does this mean for us? For those of us that watched the feel-good, lovably-profane original years ago, this new film also makes us face our maturity and evolving role in adulthood. But instead of viewing it through the lens of growth or success, American Reunion forces us to confront the failures that are ever present on the horizons of tomorrow. Perhaps if Jason Biggs were landing roles with Colin Firth or opposite Meryl Streep we would be able to view this film as a funnybone reflex, a quick drink of four loko in between sips of beaujolais. But the resume of abject failure that this American Pie cast brings to this thinly-premised, poorly thought out overly lazy idea is so toxic it manages to infect the viewer simply watching the trailer (Stifler is making a Twilight reference? Where does the gold end?). The crushing failures inherent in this film for actors who seemingly could have gone anywhere make this film too much to bear. The worst part is that the 15-18 year old’s who watch this with no appreciation for the B-movie greatness of the original will just think all the 22-30 year olds are weird and sad. And for at least the seven main people on screen, they’ll be right.
Still need to figure out how to stay for free in Vegas, though.
me: wait how will we stay for free in begas
Matthew: lou begas’ apartment?
kelly lou is a friend but I have to say don’t get too hung up on him. he carouses with many women
me: vegas jesus christ
Matthew: Jessica, Monica, the list goes on
Sandra in the sun
me: i want candy
Matthew: that’s your second inadvertent early 2000’s pop hit reference of this gchat
Friday Morning Band Name!
It’s Friday morning on Matt Powers Won’t Leave Your Driveway so that means it’s time for another installment of Friday Morning Band Name! As always, feel free to use this name for your band free of charge, royalty, copyright, and acknowledgement. The only thing that I ask is that if you ever win a Grammy, please thank ‘The Lazer’ in your acceptance speech. That would really help me out of a tough situation. Now, here it is for this week of February 6:
Meat Lozenge.
America, Number One In Pageantry Again
If you thought this year’s Super Bowl was about a football game between the New England Patriots and the New York Giants, you are gravely mistaken. Super Bowl XLVI was merely a staging area for the most indulgent, dazzlingly-choreographed, beautiful-in-all-its-excesses half time show. More specifically, it was a reply to the 2008 Olympic Opening Ceremonies in Beijing—a message to the Chinese that when it comes to fanciful pageantry, no one compares to good ol’ red, white and blue.
Basically, Madonna just told the Chinese to suck it. And she isn’t even from this country. That’s how powerful our pageantry really is.
2008 does seem like forever ago. After all, it’s almost time for the 2012 Olympics! But that’s how long this halftime show has been in development. The second she saw the opening ceremonies three and a half years ago, Madonna was like “let’s make these bastards pay,” and immediately called Nicki Minaj who answered the phone “I saw it. Let’s fucking do this.”
In 2008, the Chinese replaced a little girl who sang a song because she wasn’t cute enough. Someone actually died in rehearsals. Madonna may be near death, but godammit she looked alive on Sunday evening. Legally, medically alive.
The eyes on that sphinx are glowing, much like the eyes of the rest of the world as they fondly look on America’s pageantry.
The Chinese have been trumped because their ceremony featured too much symbolism, tradition, and taste. As impressively as it was executed (all puns intended; I’m sure at least one person was killed dropping a light or something let’s not lie to ourselves), the Chinese ceremony can never stack up to Madonna being pulled in by legions of hot men dressed as Roman gladiators. And there was that guy on a wire. Holy shit, that was cool. And whenever LMFAO are featured in zebra print gladiator gear, well my friends, that is what we call the trump card. Did you see the “World Peace” written in glowing dots that seemingly had no connection to the neo-Roman, evangelical-choir, rave-trash storyline that had taken place? That’s called denouement. Textbook denouement. Look it up. It’s French. But we made it our own.
Sorry Chinese, better luck next time you have an international event with the whole world watching. But until then, the trophy of pageantry will remain in the Land of the Free, where she belongs. Pageantry is why this country was founded, and I’ll be damned if that’s that’s not the way we go out. On top.
This post is dedicated to The United States Of America, 1776-2011
Your preference of Cameron to Ferris is 100% the byproduct of Mr. Ryan Gosling and the strides he’s made for the community. You would be imprisoned for treason had you said the same thing in 1986. God, what a man.
An Ode Of Undying Gratitude For Ryan Gosling
Ryan Gosling is considered one of Hollywood’s hottest leading men, and while this information is usually of no interest to me, for once I applaud and celebrate this man’s high ranking. I would like to recognize Gosling not for his chiseled abs or rugged masculine features, but for the enormous strides he has made for men with long faces. Yes, as a man with a long face myself, I can say on behalf of all other elliptical-visaged (vertically-orientated) men that we are eternally grateful that for once, we are no longer the seedy villain or heartless stock broker or creepy British uncle. We aren’t the weird friend or science nerd or vindictive private school headmaster. We are no longer Cameron; today, we are Ferris. And it’s all thanks to the tireless efforts of one super-hot man named Ryan Gosling. But it hasn’t always been like this—we long-faced men have tracked a long and winding course to get to where we are today.
Adrian Brody got us close to the promised land in the early 2000’s, but he was still too “weird” looking to be considered classically handsome. I’m not going to lie: I quoted “The Pianist” relentlessly when it came out in hopes of snaring one of the more “alternative” women who find Brody attractive, but even that was largely fruitless (although I did come to realize “The Pianist” is a beautifully written film and got completely overlooked for best picture at The Oscars. “Chicago” is a piece of shit. There. We were all thinking it and I said it). We long faced men were inconspicuously in the middle of the crowd, and honestly that’s where we liked it. Little did we know two years later what a crushing blow we would receive.
2004 was a year of intense heartache and set our cause back decades. John Kerry dominated the national discourse and gave all of us a bad name, and an even worse face. Not only was he boring, old, and by all accounts unattractive, but he lost to George Bush, one of the most despised, embattled, and ridiculed presidents since Warren Harding passed out drunk on the Austro-Hungarian ambassador (look it up; it’s true). But worst of all, Bush has a round, regular face. We were once again vanquished by our longtime face-rivals. We had been thrust onto the national stage and then embarrassed beyond recognition. And while the nation as a whole suffered after being plunged into four more Bush-years, the consequences were far graver for us long-faced men. Far graver.
Those were dark times. I don’t like to go there often.
But the prophet has come to lead us out of the darkness! In an eight week span last year I found myself watching “Crazy Stupid Love” and “The Ides Of March” in theaters and after asking myself “did I really just blow twenty five dollars on two genuinely shitty movies?” my second thought was immediately that Ryan Gosling is truly a Rosa Parks-type figure in the great struggle of long-faced men. No more do we have to sit in the back of the face-bus, with the cone heads and guys with weepy eyelids. We can stand jawline to jawline with the most proportionally-faced men. Gosling may not be the best actor, or even a “good” actor. He may constantly try to be charming and come off as condescending; he may always speak in that contrived half-trans-Atlantic half-what-in-his-mind-is-a blue collar East Coast accent that drives you insane after three minutes; he may be more wooden than a church door on Christmas, but god dammit he’s sexy. And I love him for it.
My Apologies To Everyone Expecting More ‘Drifting’
I just found out that “Matt Powers” is a famous race car driver with a bad ass attitude to boot. I apologize if this blog in any way confusing to motor sport fans, especially with “Driveway” being in the title. This was unintentional and I was in no way trying to “ride” the popularity of Mr. Powers when this blog was developed. Again, any sort of logic trying to pin my motivations to “accelerate” my popularity in the racing community is pure conjecture and does not have any “fuel” to continue.
I don’t know what a “speedometer” is.
In case you are a wayward “drifter” looking for “some drifting news”, I will periodically repost things from Mr. Powers’ real blog called driftparty.com. Here is the first, posted on January 2 about his New Year’s resolutions:
My only plans so far are to try to have more fun, take things less seriously, and surround myself with people who give me energy. Straight voodoo shit.
This was listed under the category “drifting.”
I entreat all racing fans who accidentally stumbled here to look around the blog. You just might find something “extreme.” While I can’t recreate the party atmosphere and edgy vibe that driftpart.com so effortlessly has, I can give you a real, open look into my life. I can only give you myself, because that’s all I have. And if you reject that too, well Jesus, man.
Forgetadent
I feel really badly for James Garnfeld because he was one of four US presidents assassinated in this country and still no one knows who he is. We’ve had a bunch of presidents—I get it that even though becoming president is incredibly rare and impressive, no one’s gonna memorize all 44 of em. But if you become president AND get killed in office and still no one remembers you, you must have lacked every human quality that makes a person even slightly interesting. So this post will be in his memory and in tribute to a man that still accomplished much in his life: James Garnfeld. Rest in peace.
