Misadventures of a Missed Cineaste
I'm back! I don't imagine those two words conjure up memories of a famous press release from only the greatest basketball player alive? Whether they do or don't, I'm back like Die Hard: With A Vengeance. Actually, scrap that analogy...Unless we could trade Zeus Carver for Jules Winnfield? In that case "with great vengeance and furious anger," FilmMattic announces his return. Needless to say, my posting attendance record would make Ferris Bueller shriek in horror. Of course, then Brian De Palma would finally (as if he's been tirelessly in search of such a thing) have the perfect scream to conclude Blow Out. Heck, even a stoned out-of-his-mind Spicoli from Fast Times at Ridgemont High would disown me. I can hear the chants already: Truancy, truancy. And to my dismay, they're charged with the same stoic passion as the Notre Dame Football team chanting Rudy, Rudy. In other words, my unexcused absence from the blogosphere warrants the deepest of scorn even from the likes of the Dazed and Confused.
It's been a while, since I could, hold my head up...just kidding (lyrics from take a guess?). Though I must admit, belatedly, it has been a LONG, long while since I've last posted. Updates have been, at the very best, sparse. What we've got here is failure to communicate.I grant sincere apologies to all my loyal readers. Therefore, today marks, for the galactically unaware who may need further clarity, a date which will live in infamy—the blogosphere was suddenly and deliberately attacked by film-centric and pop culture laden forces of the empire of FilmMattic (for those galactically unaware, this is a cautious misquote from a watershed moment in U.S. History). Google is your friend.
The nature of my long-delayed post—beyond the fact that I love the smell of napalm in the morning—is that I have progressed to the Top 5 round of "The Movie411 Blog Awards," which as we know have surpassed the Academy Awards in all areas of evaluating excellence. Per Notorious BIG, if you don't know, now you know n----. There is an online poll that runs until December 18. It gives you readers, I sincerely hope, the ability to cast a vote for yours truly. Of course, I may have to grease a few palms, but if bribing doesn't work feel free to vote for whomever your heart desires. Two people and perhaps a litany of anonymous readers (thank you, thank you, thank you), deserve my most gracious affection, or in their case, share blame for this egregious error (I kid): specifically, Melissa Bradley of Melissa's Imaginarium and Craig Edwards of Let's Get Out Of Here! Without either of your praise and studied attention, The Movie411 Awards and FilmMattic, as an unlikely union linked in perpetuity, would cease to exist. So again, thank you both, and everyone else who played a part, whether considerable or infinitesimal, in my nominations.
So where have I been? Questions will arise inevitably. Well, for starters, I was lead astray, duped into a challenge with Cool Hand Luke, which seemed like an impossible egg-eating contest that would even make Takeru Kobayashi and Joey Chestnut, in the fashion exhibited by LeBron James in fourth quarters of the NBA Finals, cower in abject fear. After an unheralded showing, I spent the remainder of my summer exploring the streets of Paris with Owen Wilson, ruminating on the legacy of the Lost Generation. Before I could acclimate to Parisian culture, however, disaster struck. While Jason Bourne, my main comrade, or as I like to call him, the Sundance Kid to my Butch Cassidy, was off fighting cagey assassins, I was busy stealing one-liners from John McClane, trading near death blows with the T-1000—with more brutal frequency than Rocky Balboa in the ring against Apollo Creed—and arguing incessantly with Alex DeLarge, who by the way has an unhealthy affinity for classical music. All the while, I'm trying, with glum frustration, to outrun and outmaneuver Mr. Rooney. Let me say this: Ferris Bueller, I commend you. For the past half-a-dozen or so fortnights, and between infrequent, indescribable bouts of amnesia (must be the Bourne influence), I've been trapped in what can only be characterized as a space-time continuum. Ladies and gentlemen: These are the lessons one learns from an imprudent, hasty purchase. When confronted with an uncertain reality and a used DeLorean, whose previous operator was a guy named "Doc" Brown, who, according to lore, had an interminable obsession with the phrase "flux capacitor," and could make even Steve McQueen wince in pain, simply and shrewdly heed the advice of a famous, if oft-forgotten advertising campaign: Just Say No. I'm still trying to make sense of it all.
You see, being trapped in a time warp without X-Men caliber superpowers or the unfettered support of Stark Industries, one has to neglect certain joys, like the comfort of an antique, dust-gathering blogspace. Really, inexplicable misadventures with famous, to borrow a phrase from Tarantino, fellas, while engaged in endless thrill-seeking affairs, one must succumb to a cold-reasoned reality: Something's, shall I say, are not meant for the faint of heart. These past few months were really more of a dour enterprise. More Die Hard, John-McClane-lamenting-on-the-fortuity-of-his-escalating-misfortunes-in-the-Nakatomi-Plaza than rainbows and butterflies...it's compromise that moves us along. Plus, I sustained a few scratches on the back, minor bruises in the face, and I'm coping with slightly impaired mental functions, irregular brain activity, and an uncontrollable urge to shout "T-T-T-Today Junior!" I guess it means I'm Billy Madison, which of course, engenders the company of one Ms. Veronica Vaughn. Not too bad. I'm as good as new. Raymond Babbitt and Karl Childers: Eat your heart out.
One need not be Sherlock Holmes to ascertain the true motive behind my abrupt re-emergence. The Movie411 Blog Awards, baby! Neither the Golden Globes nor the Oscars could rival its cachet or prestige. Speaking of The Prestige: It's a brilliant film (I finally got around to seeing it). But honestly, someone in the blogosphere has to soldier the responsibility of professing, with my usual machine gun, Aaron-Sorkian clip, the ubiquitous fun of pop culture banalities. And, who among us could shamelessly protect the indefatigable legacy of The Godfather with as much passion and prejudice as yours truly?
All kidding aside, I've been hellaciously busy with other weighty, time-consuming preoccupations, which have consumed the (Go Detroit!) lion's share of my waking hours, not to mention, unfortunately, impeded the regular flow of my blogging activities. Blogging is something I cherish, and the predominant reason, far from being selfish, is an opportunity to engage a curious swath of like-minded cinephiles. Cultivating my knowledge of film, nursing my fledgling cinematic career, and furnishing my nascent authorial ambition, this blogspace is, for me at least, a Holy Grail of dialogue. Critics, aspiring or merely wishful, and movie lovers, hardened or malleable, constitute a robust, collective community, which beyond a pursuit of mundane cinematic coverage, provide a vital resource: the ability to think critically about that everlasting, ethereal invention we call film. To quote myself: What nurses the movie industry's ascension into the future, and dispenses the creative celerity unique to our film appetite, is the fact that the filmmaking industry must reach for the highest point to which the creative spirit can sour. Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in. I hope you all accept me back.
So where have I been? Questions will arise inevitably. Well, for starters, I was lead astray, duped into a challenge with Cool Hand Luke, which seemed like an impossible egg-eating contest that would even make Takeru Kobayashi and Joey Chestnut, in the fashion exhibited by LeBron James in fourth quarters of the NBA Finals, cower in abject fear. After an unheralded showing, I spent the remainder of my summer exploring the streets of Paris with Owen Wilson, ruminating on the legacy of the Lost Generation. Before I could acclimate to Parisian culture, however, disaster struck. While Jason Bourne, my main comrade, or as I like to call him, the Sundance Kid to my Butch Cassidy, was off fighting cagey assassins, I was busy stealing one-liners from John McClane, trading near death blows with the T-1000—with more brutal frequency than Rocky Balboa in the ring against Apollo Creed—and arguing incessantly with Alex DeLarge, who by the way has an unhealthy affinity for classical music. All the while, I'm trying, with glum frustration, to outrun and outmaneuver Mr. Rooney. Let me say this: Ferris Bueller, I commend you. For the past half-a-dozen or so fortnights, and between infrequent, indescribable bouts of amnesia (must be the Bourne influence), I've been trapped in what can only be characterized as a space-time continuum. Ladies and gentlemen: These are the lessons one learns from an imprudent, hasty purchase. When confronted with an uncertain reality and a used DeLorean, whose previous operator was a guy named "Doc" Brown, who, according to lore, had an interminable obsession with the phrase "flux capacitor," and could make even Steve McQueen wince in pain, simply and shrewdly heed the advice of a famous, if oft-forgotten advertising campaign: Just Say No. I'm still trying to make sense of it all.
You see, being trapped in a time warp without X-Men caliber superpowers or the unfettered support of Stark Industries, one has to neglect certain joys, like the comfort of an antique, dust-gathering blogspace. Really, inexplicable misadventures with famous, to borrow a phrase from Tarantino, fellas, while engaged in endless thrill-seeking affairs, one must succumb to a cold-reasoned reality: Something's, shall I say, are not meant for the faint of heart. These past few months were really more of a dour enterprise. More Die Hard, John-McClane-lamenting-on-the-fortuity-of-his-escalating-misfortunes-in-the-Nakatomi-Plaza than rainbows and butterflies...it's compromise that moves us along. Plus, I sustained a few scratches on the back, minor bruises in the face, and I'm coping with slightly impaired mental functions, irregular brain activity, and an uncontrollable urge to shout "T-T-T-Today Junior!" I guess it means I'm Billy Madison, which of course, engenders the company of one Ms. Veronica Vaughn. Not too bad. I'm as good as new. Raymond Babbitt and Karl Childers: Eat your heart out.
One need not be Sherlock Holmes to ascertain the true motive behind my abrupt re-emergence. The Movie411 Blog Awards, baby! Neither the Golden Globes nor the Oscars could rival its cachet or prestige. Speaking of The Prestige: It's a brilliant film (I finally got around to seeing it). But honestly, someone in the blogosphere has to soldier the responsibility of professing, with my usual machine gun, Aaron-Sorkian clip, the ubiquitous fun of pop culture banalities. And, who among us could shamelessly protect the indefatigable legacy of The Godfather with as much passion and prejudice as yours truly?
All kidding aside, I've been hellaciously busy with other weighty, time-consuming preoccupations, which have consumed the (Go Detroit!) lion's share of my waking hours, not to mention, unfortunately, impeded the regular flow of my blogging activities. Blogging is something I cherish, and the predominant reason, far from being selfish, is an opportunity to engage a curious swath of like-minded cinephiles. Cultivating my knowledge of film, nursing my fledgling cinematic career, and furnishing my nascent authorial ambition, this blogspace is, for me at least, a Holy Grail of dialogue. Critics, aspiring or merely wishful, and movie lovers, hardened or malleable, constitute a robust, collective community, which beyond a pursuit of mundane cinematic coverage, provide a vital resource: the ability to think critically about that everlasting, ethereal invention we call film. To quote myself: What nurses the movie industry's ascension into the future, and dispenses the creative celerity unique to our film appetite, is the fact that the filmmaking industry must reach for the highest point to which the creative spirit can sour. Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in. I hope you all accept me back.
Without further ado: Here are my nominations. If you're not disheartened with my extended absence and have the power to forgive, please feel free to cast a vote for moi. Think of it as a vote of confidence; an endorsement, not only of FilmMattic, but the broad, conscientious congregation of cinephiles. Yep, I should run for political office.
Best Newcomer
2011 Sexiest Male Blogger
(Can't be a joke. It's not a joke. Really. I must keep reassuring myself).
(Can't be a joke. It's not a joke. Really. I must keep reassuring myself).
The contest runs until December 18th. Fasten your seatbelts. It's going to be a bumpy night. By bumpy, I mean amazing. And thanks again. Without your support and proclivity for engagement, I'd be an anonymous soliloquist merely taking up non-rented space in the vast merryland of blogger.
I can't believe you're back, Matty!!! You can't even imagine how glad I'm to see you back at blogging. We've all been missing you big time!
ReplyDeleteVoted for you already. And hey, you're way hotter than Mitch! :) Hope you win, buddy!
I am so happy to see you back, my friend. I have missed your brilliant posts and the wonderful discussions they engender here. Good luck with and congratulations on, all your nominations. They are well-deserved, even the sexiest. Now don't let that go to your head, I don't want to see you strutting about to your own soundtrack. ;) Anyway, welcome back, my friend. It is GREAT to have you back here where you belong. And thank you very much for the shout out.
ReplyDeleteCongrats! I voted for your site on Movie411
ReplyDeleteMATTY! So good to see you! Congratulations and welcome back!
ReplyDeleteOh Yay!! Good to see you're back!
ReplyDeleteHappy to see you back, bro! And congrats on the nominations! Damn, those are some epic adventures, you'll have to take me to your dealer/travel agent. I'm looking forward to reading new Matt posts!
ReplyDeleteCasinos in the UK - How to find good games - GrizzGo
ReplyDeleteSo, what do we aprcasino mean by “casinos in the UK”? to find a casino and mens titanium wedding bands live casino games on a gri-go.com mobile phone https://access777.com/ device in 2021. 바카라 사이트