The Incredible Importance of Beautiful Words (that aren't mine)

“Pay close attention, and write down everything I say, exactly as I say it.  The first book of Moses, called Genesis.  Chapter one, verse one.  In the Beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.  Verse Two.  And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep.  And the Spirit of God was hovering over the face of the waters.  Verse Three.  And God said, “Let there be light.” And there was light.”

“Dear Lord, thank you for giving me the strength and the conviction to complete the task you entrusted to me.  Thank you for guiding me straight and true through the many obstacles in my path.  And for keeping me resolute when all around seemed lost.  Thank you for your protection and for your many signs along the way.  Thank you for any good that I may have done, I’m so sorry about the bad.  Thank you for the friend I made.  Please watch over her as you’ve watched over me.  Thank you for finally allowing me to rest.  I’m so very tired.  But I go now to my rest, at peace, knowing I have done right with my time on this earth.  I fought the good fight, I finished the race.  I kept the faith.”

rossnation... defines and defies the universe

Who among the faithful is acquainted with the PBS show "NOVA"?  As a youngun' (not to be confused with a young gun) whose only real television choice was PBS, Nova seemed to have all the answers.  That was probably because of the flashy 80's graphics and the fact that it was on at night.  Turns out the best program on PBS was actually Square One TV, with Mathnet and it's incredibly realistic portrayal of the LAPD (they carried calculators in their shoulder holsters.)  Now that I'm older I see these things clearer, and realize that the world needs a new NOVA, and that's where rossnation... comes in.  So to the adoring public, we present the following theories:

• Black Holes -- Traditional science would have you believe that a black hole is an area of mass so dense that nothing can escape from it.  What Stephen Hawking won't tell you, though, is the truth: black holes are formed from enormous amounts of cheese.  I know, it makes so much sense now, right?  Think about how weird cheese is, and it's clear that we didn't invent it; cosmic intervention is the only possible explanation.  But don't get me started on how this cheese is harvested.  Let's just say there's a reason Tillamook can charge 13 dollars for a block of cheddar...*
• Antimatter -- This will blow your minds, both individually and collectively.  (Yes, rossnation... is a hive mind.  You know, like the Borg.)  Antimatter is the opposite of matter, supposedly.  But I find this too simplistic.  I think antimatter is nothing more than energy, and has a single purpose: it is the source of all rossnation... ideas.  I'd write an entire essay on this, but it's about as likely to be published as a children's book written by Michael Vick.
• The Bermuda Triangle -- This is nothing more than a joke that got out of hand.  I surmise that it was probably someone making fun of Bermudian's math skills (which are notoriously suspect, but they're good people), but was warped into the current conspiracy theories as a way to explain why so many people seemed to go to the Caribbean and never come back.  The real reason they were never heard from again is that it's warm there.
• Justin Bieber's Popularity -- Forget it, even I don't have an explanation...
• The Extinction of Dinosaurs -- My head tells me that the dinosaurs were obliterated by the climate change caused by a giant meteorite striking the earth.  If I'm not mistaken, this is also the plot line of The Land Before Time, so I may just be flashing on that movie.  What my heart tells me is slightly less believable: that the dinosaurs were actually hunted out of existence by - wait for it - Winston Churchill.  I can't really figure why he held so much animosity toward the dinosaurs, but I imagine it has something to do with not enough hugs as a child.

So there you have it, there's some definitions.  Have questions of your own that can't be answered with traditional science?  I'll accept submissions, and you can help us defy the universe.

rossnation... out.

*  According to Fish Master Matt Abrahamse, "All dairy products are better when reduced to a singularity."  I concur.  Also, is it a sign of the times that you can buy cheese on amazon.com?

The Incredible Importance of Saying Nice Things

I had a very Mark Twain-esque moment today.  It was one of those moments that is not really that funny, unless you think about it in a certain way.  (My way, that is.)  But no matter how you look at it, at the time it was hysterical, and no one is ever there to share the laugh with.  Let’s just say that Matt or Mike would have pooped on themselves had they been there.

Twain once said, “I can live for two months on a good compliment.”  I can certainly attest to that, and I think you’ll all agree.  A real and true compliment from someone - friend, foe, or complete stranger - is a game changer.  It’s a sad fact that in today’s culture a sincere compliment is a very rare thing, I think because most everybody is so incredibly self-centered.  Because of this, I find that when someone says something nice to me (i.e. “You are extremely handsome and talented.”) the rest of the day is about 5 degrees warmer, so to speak.  A sincere compliment can change someone’s week, and it costs nothing.  And it doesn’t even have to be intentional praise, as I discovered today at the laundromat.

First, a word about my laundromat, Sudzees.  It’s clean.  It’s warm.  It’s close to my house.  It has free wireless internet (so slow as to be unusable, but it’s the thought that counts.)  And it is generally not inundated with large, smelly trailer dwelling folk.  And (very) occasionally there is a lovely lady there, also cleansing her unmentionables.  Sudzees is the Peter Luger’s of laundromat’s.  

So Saturday is laundry day in rossnation..., a tradition that dates back all the way to last year.  Occasionally it has to happen on Sundays, depending on the level of apathy in the water.  But it must be done, as rossnation... lays claim to only 6 work shirts, and would prefer not to be known the world over as “the stinky cable guy.”  Thus, I found myself there today, cleaning my whatnots, when two older women approached me near the change machine with a pointed question: “Do you have a knife?”

The women were trying to open their detergent package, and being old, did not have teeth sharp enough to bite it open as I would probably have done.  Not to worry, though, as I just happened to have a pocket knife gifted to me from my sister and brother in law not one day before.  The timing could not have been more perfect, which leads me to believe that my density has bought me to you.  (Back to the Future reference.)

I know you’re in suspense, so I’ll allay that by telling you that I did open their detergent.  After all, I am a gentleman and a scholar, with many gentlemanly and scholarly things to do.  But it was the few seconds afterward that changed my day for the better, when out of the wind, one of the women said to me, “You didn’t strike us as a knife kind of man.”  Oh, be still my racing heart.

Her comment was so offhand that I almost didn’t catch it, and she clearly didn’t intend it as a compliment, but I couldn’t help but smile.  For some reason, it was very comforting to me to know that I don’t look like a person who carries a knife.  On the other hand, she might have meant, “You look like a person who can’t help.”  I think I’ll take it either way, because if I look useless, perhaps I won’t be bothered with the trivial.  But I opened the detergent, bowed deeply, and walked off into the sunset (and by sunset I mean the dryer section.)

The key here is that it made my day, and a compliment is such an easy thing to give.  And imagine how big a difference it can make if it’s thought out and intentional.  It can change the world, like Eric Clapton, except without the British-ness.  And it’s better that way.

rossnation... out.

The Incredible Importance of Loyalty

The Vandals need us.  They’ve never needed us more.  

We’re beyond the point of being able to call any loss “crushing,” simply because there have been so many losses in the last fifteen years.  But after today’s one-sided defeat against Nevada, I can feel the passion draining from Vandal fan’s souls, and I think we might be at a crossroads.  Now, far be it from me to suggest that I have any pull in the Vandal universe, so forgive me if I overstep my authority.  I am but a lowly alumnus with an opinion: Idaho is a hair away from returning to the dark ages of Vandal football, and if that happens it will be partly our fault - and mine - as fans.

When I say the dark ages, I am referring to my own experience, the dismal years following 1998 when the Vandal football team posted a record of 30-86 (1999-2008).  1999 was a better year than most people may realize, especially when you consider that an 8-5 record is merely above average, and a bowl win is cool, but not earth shaking.  Imagine the best meal you’ve ever eaten at Applebee’s, followed by a cone at Baskin Robbins.  (You’re not gonna write a column about it, is my point.)  But 1999 delivered something that I actually cherish more than wins: a head coach that I’m proud of.

I missed the salad days of Idaho coaches.  John L. Smith, Dennis Erickson (the first time), and Keith Gilbertson helmed Vandal teams of note, but what I got was Chris Tormey (interviewed him once: kinda of a jerk), Tom Cable (terrible coach, keeps getting better jobs somehow), Nick Holt (leaves for a better gig every two years), and Dennis Erickson (the liar).  Then comes along Robb Akey.  I was skeptical to the max, as the kids say.  After all, the man was a coach on one of the worst PacTen teams in history.  But Senor Akey is infectious.  He’s gotten under my skin with his passion and his perfect soundbites.  He makes me want to believe in Vandal football, that there are better days ahead, that mediocrity isn’t everything.  And now that I have that feeling I’m scared of losing him (insert weird comment here.)

But the awful truth is this: I wouldn’t stay if I was him either.  Not with the support that we give him.  I know Moscow’s a small town, but the Kibbie Dome is a small building, and filling it can be done.  (In related news, I’ve heard an inordinate amount of complaints about the way ticketing was handled for next week’s “game” against Boise State, but I don’t think anybody gets to complain if we don’t sell out every game against top 25 teams.)  Why would Coach Akey stay if we don’t show him that he’s wanted?  Yes, that probably includes a significant pay raise, but money is less of a concern than showing up.  Playing for a half-full dome can’t be uplifting.  

On the flip side, how incredible would it be if in 25 years, we were Penn State.  I know that Joe Paterno’s teams have not been dominant recently, but the man has won 400 football games, 24 bowl games, and two national championships.  He has been the head coach at Pennsylvania State University for sixty one years.  He is 84 years old, and still stalks the sidelines of Happy Valley as often as his legs will allow him.  This is loyalty at its finest.  Over the last year I have realized that loyalty (aka, commitment) may be the most important human quality that we possess.  Or not possess, sadly.  And that’s why, speaking only for myself, Joe Paterno is a hero.  He’s a man with a passion for his work, for his employers, for his students and for his supporters, and doesn’t exhibit an ounce of selfishness.  I sense the same aura from Robb Akey, and I want (perhaps naively) to see it even more in a quarter century.  That kind of loyalty from him, and from us as fans and alumni, is what turns a mediocre program into a juggernaut.  It can be done, but it isn’t easy and it doesn’t come cheap, and it won’t happen overnight.  It will happen when we decide that being there for the team is important, every week, for every snap, for every rendition of Go Vandals.  When we tell them they’re important by staying for the last whistle, even though it means getting stuck in traffic leaving the parking lot.  When we do that, Coach will have good reason to think twice when the University of Whatnot comes calling with a bigger program and bigger wallet and a bigger...well, you know.  When, not if, that happens we’ve got to make a stand for our coach, and be able to tell him, without a hint of inconsistency, that we are behind him to the end.

These principles apply to so many more parts of life, but that’s material for a different rant.  The nuts of this column are a call to arms for all Vandal fans, alums, or Moscow indifferants.  Let’s stop acting like football is just a game (even though it is), and treat our Vandals as a student that we’re trying to raise to be the President of the United States.  It takes all of us to make that happen, by showing up, always, even if the game doesn’t matter.  It takes all of us telling Coach Akey that we believe in his talent as a coach, and that we want him here.  It takes all of us yelling ourselves hoarse, even if we’re down by double digits, to tell the players that we believe in their talent and drive, and that win or lose we will be with them next week, and next season, and the season after that.  If we do that, they’ll talk about Idaho football on SportsCenter with the reverence they used to reserve for Notre Dame.  

And in ten years (or so), Idaho will beat Boise State again.  And this is my prayer, that we’ll prove them wrong.  BSU will want to play in the Dome, because they have a worthy opponent there, or they will fear the Dome, because they have a butt-whooping waiting for them inside.  I want to be part of that.

Until next time then.  rossnation... out.

The Incredible Importance of Next Year

    The refrain of Cub’s fans everywhere has always been, “Well, there’s always next season.”  I don’t know what it is about Cub’s fans that makes them so innately optimistic and pessimistic at the same time, but whatever it is I seem to have contracted it, and it is a most displeasing feeling. 
    It’s a phrase that reeks of sadness and resignation.  There’s a comparable phrase outside of the baseball world that has the same feel to it: “Tis’ better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.”  Borrowing from the great George Will, this is nonsense on stilts.  Anyone who has lost knows that ignorance would have been preferable to pain.  And it turns out, this is just as true in baseball.  I once stated that I fell in love with a team that would never be good enough to break my heart.  But then the sky fell in, and the Texas Rangers were just good enough (and just lucky enough) to get to the World Series.  All of a sudden, life isn’t so simple anymore.
    I thought I wanted the Rangers to go to the World Series.  And I knew, from my teeth to my toenails, that they were going to win.  They had won on the road in Tampa.  They’d beaten - nay, torched! - the hated Yankees.  They were as hot as a Texas PWI in August (but less humid.)  The Rangers were unstoppable, and my spirits were indomitable (forgive me if this writing is abominable.)  What could go wrong?
    Here’s what: life does what it wants.  I have no control over it, and thus no control over the happenings of baseball.  And then the Rangers lost the World Series in five games, behind mediocre pitching and truly sad hitting.  It was so one-sided, I am convinced that there was a conspiracy.  Here’s what rossnation... thinks.
    I think you can draw your own conclusion from this factoid: Giants outfielder Jose Guillen has been tied to performance enhancing drugs.  Even though he wasn’t on their postseason roster, this clearly implicates every Giant.  Plus, this is the team that tolerated Barry Bonds for all those years.  You do the algebra...
    Actually, that’s all I’ve got, and now that it’s in print it looks a little bit flimsy.  Ah, never mind.  Let’s face it, the Rangers got worked.  And I think from now I’d be just fine with going back to the old ways.  It was easier when they led the division at the all-star break and then lost 16 in a row because the bullpen had an ERA of 12.6.  When they didn’t make the playoffs, I could move on to other things in September.  It was a simpler time.  But now I’ve tasted the forbidden fruit that is the World Series, and now October won’t matter unless Texas is in the hunt.  And this makes me as bad as the Scott Mahurin’s of the world, with their Red Sox Fever and whatnot. 
    Sighhhhhhhh... I’m already tired.  But, hey, there's always next season!

rossnation... down and out.

What Once Was (Small Group Edition)

Are you listening closely?  I'm only going to say this once.

The stars are aligning, conspiring against me.  And worse yet, they're conspiring against my brother.  Me and He are a lot alike, in the one way that matters: we love the same things.  The Vandals, the Rangers, the Cowboys, and our hatred for Boise State football.  And because of these Four Pillars of rossnation..., this year has the potential for more pain than all previous seasons combined, and I'm not sure if I'm emotionally prepared.
It breaks down thusly.

1. The 2010 Vandals are average to slightly above average, but they're still looking at getting shellacked twice more this season.  Nevada and Boise State both have compelling reasons to put up a 70-spot on us.  Add in the very real possibility that the Idaho/BSU game will never happen again in the majestic yet confining confines of our beloved Kibbie Dome, and you've got a recipe for pain.  
2. The Texas Rangers are not expected to pull out a postseason win against the Yankees, but they are the only reasonable hope I have for magic.  So either they win the pennant, or they lose to the Yankees, which is akin to losing the Cold War for me.  Or am I being over dramatic?
3. The Cowboys have a top 5 defense and a top five offense, and they are 1 and 4 on the season.  In layman's terms, they sucketh.
4. The entire college football landscape seems to be in cahoots, beating up on each other to the point where BSU could potentially be the only unbeaten team left.  If they were to win the national title, this would be the worst thing that could possibly happen, ever.  Like if Red Dawn actually happened, except worse because we wouldn't have Patrick Swayze to defend us.
5. My young friend Jordyn guessed my age at 38 today.  I am not.
6. I had a conference call today with the Rent's small group.  LIKE A BOSS!

All told, there's a lot of things that could go wrong this fall, and the sum of these is a ton of hurt for the Gibson boys.  The only thing that will redeem a year like this will be the immensely successful launch of the rossnation... PWI.  And then we'll be making it rain in the club.

Or whatever.

rossnation... out.

Addendum to What Once Was (Playoff Edition)

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I hate the Yankees.

What Once Was (Playoff Edition)

Last night I got to watch (in HD) the most significant sporting event of my life.  Not the most significant ever -- that would be hubris -- but for a young-at-heart-Texan-by-birth, watching the Texas Rangers win a playoff series in a deciding game was a revelation.  (Side note, the Miracle on Ice is probably the most significant, but I was negative two months old.  Mom didn't have HD in the womb.)
My first memory of any kind probably involves baseball.  But for sure, my first memory of sports involves the Texas Rangers.  Being born in Dallas gave me a birthright of sorts: the "gift" of falling head over cleats in love with a team that would never be good enough to break my heart.  I'll admit to dabbling in Oakland A's fandom in the late 80's, but we were all taken in by Jose Canseco's muscles, and Dennis Eckersley's mustache.  But my whole life I've been enamored of the red and blue, the extreme heat of a game in Arlington, taking my glove to the stadium, and Nolan Ryan (the greatest pitcher in the history of pitchers.)
The Rangers (nee Washington Senators) moved to Texas in 1972, which means 38 years of utter futility.  Before October 12, 2010 the Rangers were the only major league team that hadn't won a postseason series; that makes them the least successful team ever, kind of.  They've been to the playoffs three times in my life, and lost to the Yankees each time.  This is where my hatred for the Yankees originates, but it doesn't stop there.  And for a long time, I actually held the (semi) misguided idea that the Rangers actually lost when I was watching.  They always seemed to find ways to lose, like whoever was fighting Rocky.  At any rate, I've always loved the Rangers, and have always expected the worst.  Tonight was no different; they were in danger of dropping a third straight game to the Rays and effectively ending my baseball season, thus forcing me to place all of my hopes on the Dallas Cowboys.  Not an appetizing proposition.  This is the choice between waffles and cauliflower.  Gross.
But it didn't happen the way it usually does.  They got timely hits.  They ran with abandon.  The Rangers were even the beneficiary of a horrific call by the first base umpire.  But first and foremost, they had a pitcher.  A player they weren't afraid to send out every inning.  Even in the glory days of Nolan Ryan, I never knew if he was going to throw a no-hitter or get shelled for 8 runs in 3 innings.  But for some reason, Cliff Lee makes me feel totally safe.  And that is an uncomfortable feeling for a worrier.
When Elvis Andrus didn't drop a routine popup, thus winning the series, I didn't feel what expected.  I expected to feel a sense of euphoria, a sublime happiness that I would struggle to explain herein.  Instead, what I felt was more akin to ... contentment.  Like being with someone that you love, and not caring if there's something fun to do, or something good on tv.  You're just good.  This is only important because it made me realize what true happiness is: your team winning once every 40 years, an idea for a great invention*, and a nice pen.

rossnation... will try to explain himself later.

*PWI

Return of the Mack (I'm the Mack, btw)

I used to be wicked skinny.  Actually, scrawny might be a more appropriate word.  Consider this: in high school I could do pushups for days, because there was hardly anything to push up.  I have since "grown up."  (Or out, if you will, and I imagine you will, because rossnation... requires it.)

And all this was before I discovered the world's greatest weight loss program.  Please understand, I did not invent this program.  There is nothing new under the sun*, as the saying goes.  But I'm here to tell you that there is no better way to shed 20 ell bees, and it doesn't involve liposuction, treadmills/ellipticals, gym memberships, Dexatrim, or eating disorders.  All you need is 10 weeks in the world's hottest and least forgiving climate, and the will to survive.  In 1998, I had the former, and God gave me the latter.

Please let me clarify a few things for you.  To begin with, the rossnation... weight loss experience (rWLE) is neither easy nor cheap.  It will cost a fortune, actually, but is well worth it.  First, you need a plane ticket; Salt Lake City to Dallas, Dallas to Miami, Miami to Chicago, Chicago to Frankfurt, Frankfurt to Bombay, Bombay to New Delhi, New Delhi to Calcutta.  (This is the preferred route, but it can be adjusted; I've heard tale of flights that don't originate in SLC.)

Next, you need to take this trip in the summer.  The rWLE isn't nearly as effective when it's snowing in Canada.  I got off the plane in India in the dead of night, and it was over 100 degrees.  And as humid as Houston in August (and Mom and Dad wonder why I only visit at Christmas).  I've never experienced something comparable to it, and there's no need for a metaphor.  All I need say is that is was so hot/humid that I would be drenched in sweat immediately after getting out of the shower.  I was probably dry for a total of three hours that summer.  But now, rossnation... chooses not to sweat.

Step three is not a sure thing, but certainly a good bet.  Any guesses?  If you said giardia, you get a cookie.  (You'll have to buy the cookie yourself though; I ate all of my cookies.)  I'll never know exactly how I got my little friend, or my Dark Passenger, as I like to call it.  I was careful not to drink the water, but it turns out that protozoa don't care how cautious we are.  I'm actually pretty sure that protozoa don't have souls, but I'm researching it thoroughly, as I do with everything I write here.  At any rate, giardia makes for one helluva companion.  (We've been together 12 years now, and she keeps getting on me about forgetting anniversaries and writing thank you notes.)  I'm betting that any kind of stomach ailment will do just fine for your own rWLE.  Just as long as you're sick, that is the key.

If you're a huge fan of Indian food, the rWLE is probably not for you.  I wouldn't try to lose weight by living next to an In n' Out Burger.  But seeing how I don't especially care for curry and rice, I wasn't tempted to binge.  In fact, all I could really bring myself to eat was soup (aside, soup isn't really an Indian culinary specialty.)  Though I'm fairly certain that I may have eaten dog while I was there; no proof, but I've not eaten anything like it to this day.

The last step is the easiest.  You walk everywhere.  FYI, you can do this part at home, it's just not nearly as effective.  (Do you like how I just told you that exercise is possible in the US?  I thought so.  I DO WHAT I WANT!)  5 to 10 miles a day will do the trick.  

So, would you like to lose 20 pounds, even if you don't have it to spare?  Combine one part extreme heat with one dash of Mahatma's Revenge, stir in a dollop of undereating and a gallon of exercise daily.  (I think a food analogy is appropriate.)  You too can go from a trim 150 to a sparse 130.  This program is endorsed by Skeletor, and the funny looking kid in the picture.  Anyone else think it's ironic that the Indian street kid is fatter than me?

rossnation... out.

*Or so the Germans would have us believe.

Babs as Inspiration?

In an attempt to goad the ross into writing a new column (or blog, as he called it... not sure what that is), the hoot posted this to my facebook:

Blog please. Do you need a topic? Barbara Striesand.

I don't know about you, but I find no inspiration in this.  (Nor will rossnation... be bullied into writing.  IDOWHATIWANT!)  Barbara Streisand awakens only painful memories in the depths of a tortured soul, the detritus of a misspent youth, forced upon a young the ross by a domineering older sister who loves musicals.  Let's just be clear about this: it's all Amy's fault.  She was the one who made me watch Hello, Dolly hundreds of times.  Sadly, I don't think that's an exaggeration.  In more news, there is actually a comma in the title of that movie, and it's Amy's fault that I know that, too.  And that I know most of the lyrics.  And that I love Walter Mathau.  And that I know that beyond this hick town, Barnaby, there's a slick town, Barnaby.

What else did she force on me?  How many of you know the words to The Sound of Music?  Maybe a fair amount.  How about My Fair Lady?  (Transition joke.)  Guys, who among you has sat through Gone With The Wind?  More than once?  This guy.  I also have two thumbs.  (Backward joke.)  Pillow Talk with Rock Hudson and Doris Day?  Grease.  Dirty Dancing.  Sixteen Candles.  Sigh.....  so much time lost.  Come to think of it, I don't really remember getting to watch anything that I wanted!  And why, when I've pretty much always been bigger than Amy?  When I was born, I was already bigger than her!  That is factual, ask my mom.  rossnation... is a nation of truth.

So this is why I'm not inspired by Barbara Streisand.  She, Julie Andrews, Molly Ringwald, et al, stole my childhood.  And the Mathau is gone.  That might not be Amy's fault...

rossnation... out

"The News from Moscow" or "What Once Was"

This is much better if you read it in Garrison Keilor's voice.  Actually, everything is...

Well, it's been a quiet week in Moscow, Idaho, my home town, out on the edge of the Palouse.  The students are back after what seems like an unseasonably short summer break.  Less than three months ago, they packed up their dorm rooms and apartments and loaded their earthly possessions into uhauls (or the family horse trailer) and took off.  Most of them couldn't hie out of here fast enough, they high fived their friends and hit the gas, headed for the parents' house, summer jobs and laziness, and the promise of a hot sun to bake under.  It reminds me of the summer of 2001, when I had finished my third year of college, and I was closing in on a degree in geography.  This would prove to be folly later on, but at the time I was going to light the world on fire with my map making.  That summer was my internship, 10 dollars an hour working at the Idaho National Engineering and Environmental Laboratory.  It was supposed to be the launching pad to a high paying career in the fast paced world of computer mapping, the real rat race.  Geographers are known the world over for their hard living so you can see the attraction.  

I found that summer that it wasn't the ideal job, in the sense that it required me to wake up at ungodly hours like 6 am, and to input numbers into an Excel spreadsheet for 10 hours at a time, I had been lied to.  It also required that I live in Idaho Falls for three months, a prospect that I seemed OK with at the time, but now I doubt I could stomach.  Not that I have anything against the town, but by this time I had been acclimatized to Moscow, it's a different life.  But I also found that despite a full adult workweek I had plenty of downtime, and so went in search of a second summer job to fill my hours and my pockets.

What I came up with was Yen Ching, Idaho Falls' newest Chinese eatery.  I couldn't even tell you if it's still open, but I can say with certainty that it was about the strangest business I've ever been a part of.  YC was owned by Chinese people.  The cooks were Mexican.  The wait staff were high school age girls, all, of course, with boyfriends serving their Mormon missions.  And I was the 21 year old delivery driver.  It would make a great sitcom, and I think we'd have to call it "Chinese Checkers."  

Monday through Thursday from 7 to 6 I typed numbers into a computer, and Friday through Sunday and some weeknights I delivered Chinese food to the hungry people of Idaho Falls.  This is the kind of thing you do as a student on summer break, and so it's no wonder that they're so excited to get back to Moscow, and that's what they've done this past week.  First came the freshman, new students desperate to get away from their parents and assert their independence but scared to death to be on their own.  Their parents bring them en masse, parking haphazardly all across Moscow, in the middle of the street sometimes, seemingly just to get in my way as I drive around in my unmistakable purple cable van.  A few days later the upperclassmen come back and move into their new apartments, which are just now recovering from the last battle with the student body.  Many of them are first time renters, and for most of them this is the day they realize that they need TV service, and more importantly Internet.  So they call the good people at Time Warner, not realizing that ten thousand people just like them moved into the area within a few days, and therefore not understanding why it would take two or even three weeks for a technician to come and install these services.  And so even though we're ready for it, we know they're coming, we still end up in the same position every year.  Working the dreaded ten hour day, 15 technicians doing nothing but installing Internet and TV for people who may or may not go to class on the second day because of my work.  This is the life that we lead here in Moscow, as the days turn into increasingly cold nights and the students begin to look forward to the next break.  It's been one week of school and they're already looking ahead to Thanksgiving.  And right now I'm everyone's favorite person; in a month I'm just the cable guy.  But hey, it's a living.

That's the news from Moscow, where all the women are too young, all the men are saucy, and all the children are hippies.

rossnation... out.

RNWN

A quickie: Three things rossnation... loves about the movie Backdraft:

1. You know a movie is good when it makes Billy Baldwin look cool and Scott Glenn look lame. Seriously, I love this movie, but it lays claim to maybe the widest range of acting ever. Donald Sutherland is awesome (of course), Kurt Russell is average, Jennifer Jason Leigh is horrendous, Robert De Niro is...himself. And Billy Baldwin is a Baldwin. So weird.

2. Baldwin's sliding-hose-tackle near the end is about the coolest move in the history of film. Perhaps that's why the call them movies. Yeah, wrap your noggin around that. It's also possible, though not likely, that we called them movies before Backdraft came out.

3. Kurt Russell's dying words: "I'm tired of hearing these sirens."  Seriously, I hope I can think of something that cool.  But I'll definitely be using that line as much as possible in everyday conversation.  What's that, you say you'd like an example?  Ross' friend: "Hey, Ross, how was work today?"  Ross: "Busy.  I'm tired of hearing these sirens."  Ross' friend: "I know, we should stop meeting up at the fire station."  A close second is D. Sutherland (for a real treat check him out in Kelly's Heroes) asking Billy, "Did it look at you?  Did the fire look at you?"  No, Donald, that was me looking into those beautiful, hazel-green, liquid... acting ability.  Sorry, I gotta go, I'm doing something manly...

rossnation... out.

Sadness Afficianado

Chong Li just laid out Ray Jackson. He almost killed him with a heal to the back of the head. And now he's flaunting it by taking Ray's bandana and waving it around like a Terrible Towel. Ray will be fine in a week or so, but it's still one of the saddest scenes in movie history. Don't mistake that for GOOD movie history; I'll not put Bloodsport in the pantheon of movies that are worth watching. But it got me thinking about movie scenes that make my eyes rain. What are the best tearjerking scenes in cinema? rossnation... presents some of our favorites.

>Field of Dreams: "Hey...Dad? You wanna have a catch?" "I'd like that."
This just slays me. I am a bucket of saline as father and son get their second chance, and
toss the ball back and forth in the growing darkness, while the people come. Anyone who ever
played catch with their dad is hard pressed to hold back the waterworks. After all, if you
build it, he will come. Or so the Germans would have us believe.

>The Shawshank Redemption: "I guess I just miss my friend."
Girls are super catty, and seem to go through friends like crazy, and I think that's why they don't get all choked up by Shawshank; but I don't know if I've ever met a guy who wouldn't list this among their favorite movies. Part of it, no doubt, is the revolving girlie posters that cover Andy Dufresne's escape tunnel, but the bigger part is the end/closing credits. If I ever open a store, maybe I'll call it The Sensitive Male, and I'll just loop this movie in the store. I can't imagine what I would sell; probably shaving cream and PWI's.

>The Hunt for Red October: "I would've like to have seen Montana."
Sam Neill gets shot, fatally, and Sean Connery gets shot and puts a sling on it. I'll never understand that. All Sam Neill's character wanted was to marry a fat American woman and raise rabbits. It destroys me when someone can't realize a goal as modest as that, just because the cook's assistant happened to be KGB. But isn't that how it always is in life? And it begs the question, are all cook's assistants communists?

>The Green Mile: "I call him Mr. Jangles."
This movie has an overall tone of sadness, but several scenes specific that just reduce me to a rossnation... compote. (Side note, rossnation... compote goes amazing with waffles.) This whole movie is one big sobfest, but when Big John is executed I think only those with dead souls can watch without weepiness. "He ain't never done nothin' to hurt nobody."

So what about the rest of rossnation...? What brings water to your face?

rossnation... out.

Do you have what it takes...

to be a member of rossnation...?

Many apply, fewer are read, even fewer are accepted. Only the finest for rossnation...; and family, friends, distant relatives, exes, and dogs. rossnation... must be very selective about our initiates, simply because I must be able to trust each of them with my life. It's kind of like Fight Club, but without the soap.
But when you are accepted into rossnation... there are -- shall we say certain perks that come with membership. This is to outline some of those benefits.
>
>The fame is clearly the defining perk of being a member of rossnation... Being associated with this prestigious society* will put you in a pantheon of greats. (Ross McCrorie, Dr. Ross Van Camp, Jake Alger, the Dalai Lama, Tim Tebow, Clive Owen, Shia Labeuf, Megan Fox because of Shia, the list continues. So don't worry about being famous, it just happens.
> Can you imagine how easy job interviews will become when they see your affiliation to rossnation...? You're hired. And we'll throw in 2 extra weeks of paid time off.
>At some point, all members will have their own rossnation...corporate credit card to be used for business travel and what not. But instead of skymiles, rossnation...card holders get johnnycash that can be spent on great items such as face time with the ross.
>Members aren't required to wear pants in public.
>Members get first preference to be on The Real World.
>Members receive discounts at Nordstrom. Technically, they also get discounts at Ross Dress for Less, cause that crap is cheap.
> Members get to vote.
> Members are exempt from Lent, but not Easter.
> Members are not required to renew their vehicle registration.
> Members get priority seating at Seattle Sonics games.
> Members are at the top of the list to ride the Delorian once I get a new flux capacitor. Don't hold you're breath on this one.
> Free water when visiting Moscow.

More benefits to come.

rossnation...out.

*This is not a cult. I don't think.

Classy Action Suite

I pose to my loyal readers, a question that has not been posited, ever. Why, in this age of liability and free money, have sufferers of gout never sued Hickory Farms?
Go ahead, digest that statement. It should only take a few minutes, as opposed to digesting a log of their summer sausage.
I ask, because as I was being diagnosed with gout at the QuikCare today, I asked my doctor the cause of this affliction. The scientific explanation is excessive levels of uric acid in the body, which form crystals in your joints, starting, of course, at 4:20...these crystals are causing the pain in the joint between my big toe and my foot. So where does the uric acid come from?
- Excessive amounts of alcohol. Not this guy
- Sweetbreads. Not bread that is sweet, but the throat, heart, liver, etc. of cattle. Definitely not this guy.
- Cheese. OK, but I'm not eating a block of colby jack everyday. Cheese costs more than gas.
-Summer sausage. Only in the fall, and at Christmas. I'm still trying to figure that out.
So back to the original question. Shouldn't I, as a gout sufferer, be filing a class action suit against Hickory Farms? After all, this is the company that every year puts a kiosk in your local mall with the express purpose of selling you boxes packed exclusively with summer sausages, "cheeses" of all kinds, and occasionally wine. And crackers, but Doc Henry did not seem concerned about crackers. But at any rate, they might as well call these gift packs, "The Gift of Gout." I know why they don't; sales would probably drop significantly. But somehow I think we're being cheated a little. Those boxes of junk look so inviting, and we buy them to give to friends and family, and eat on Christmas Eve, without concern for the painful toes in the morning.
Alas, I smell a National Lampoon to come out of this hilarity any time now, and I'll no doubt see nary a dime for this lightbulb of invention.

rossnation...out, but slowly, and favoring the right side of his left foot, as he heads to the fridge for a Philly liver steak sandwich.

RNWN

WebMD mobile is the greatest diagnostic tool since the thermometer.

Case Study:  the ross' foot hurts.  Presenting symptoms: pain in the ball of the foot, brought on by placing weight on the foot.  Possible diagnoses according to WebMD iPhone app:

Broken (fractured) foot -- possibly from kicking ass.
Sciatica -- possibly from being old.
Peripheral neuropathy -- the IBS of the peripheral nervous system.
Metatarsalgia -- Athletes who participate in high-impact sports involving the lower extremities commonly present with forefoot injuries, including metatarsalgia.  No kidding.  It's probably not this.
Corns and Calluses -- Nope.
Osteomyelitis (bone infection) -- I don't think so, but hey, I'm not a doctor.  I just play one off-Broadway.
Poorly Fitting Shoes -- Insert caption here.
Lumber Spinal Stenosis -- Toe pain as a result of a bad back.  Fantastic.
Multiple Sclerosis -- I think this is worst case scenario.
Shingles -- I sure hope not.

Indian Summer

Titles don't get any easier than that.  The rest of this story is much harder to tell.  But you'll have to wait a bit, so I can get this right.

Who Do We Hate?

Not Boise State!

Huh?  Did I just say that?  Yes, I did.  And I surprise even myself, I'll not tell a lie.  Because most any day of the year, I have...call it an extreme dislike for Boise State University as an Idaho alum.  It's not unhealthy.  I don't spend my nights dreaming of stabbing BSU fans in the knee with a box cutter or anything.  But when you go to a school that has a natural rival, you have a tendency to adopt that mutual dislike.  (And don't tell me BSU fans don't feel the same about Idaho.  That's just dishonest.)  And it really doesn't extend any farther than football and basketball.  I seriously do not care who has the better engineering program, the better music school, the better toddler education program, etc.  I am passionate about Idaho beating BSU 3 times a year, and (previously) in the basketball conference tournament.  That's it.  But today is different, because try as I might, I cannot muster anything but pity for BSU today.  Because Bob Kustra, 67-year-old former Lt. Governor of Illinois and current president of Boise State University, opened his big yapper and stuck his geriatric foot in it.

When I first read his comments, I couldn't help but be upset, because BK didn't really make a distinction between the culture of Moscow and the culture of the University of Idaho football fans.  At least the way it came out, it was pretty insulting to me as someone who lives in Moscow and calls it home.  I'd be willing to bet that he's never been sitting in a restaurant in Moscow and been accosted by a "nasty, inebriated" Idaho fan.  You know why?  Because I've been a Vandal fan since I started school in 1998, and I've never heard his name until today, and I sure as shootin' couldn't pick his face out of a lineup.  If Michael Jordan was a huge BSU fan and came to Moscow, someone would probably throw some snide comments his way.  But we don't know who you are, Bob!  When have you encountered this incivility?  

Three years ago when BSU beat the tar out of Idaho here at the Kibbie Dome, I was bartending that weekend and sold almost $5,000 worth of booze in two days, by far the most I'd ever poured.  The bar was packed with damaged Idaho fans and exuberant BSU fans, coexisting, drinking, having fun.  To the best of my knowledge, zero fights occurred, even without a sober customer within a Moscow city block.  Drunk, maybe, but uncivil?  What's he talking about?

But then I started thinking about it, and realized I don't need to get worked up about it.  If BK had stood up and said, "I really enjoy Moscow and the people there, and we have a great time at games there, and I respect the students and faculty, wah wah, wah wah," I would still hate Boise State for those several days a year.  That wouldn't change, 'cause I'm an Idaho fan.  It's the same way I feel about the Philadelphia Eagles, 'cause I'm a Cowboys fan.  So if I have no real reason to be angry about his comments, what's left?  Just the pity, and here's why.

I understand that Senor Bob probably never dreamed his retirement job would be trying to sell people on a university that is judged by its football success, but I don't think anyone is deluded into believing that their money doesn't stem directly from the Statue of Liberty Play.  And I think there's worse hands to be dealt; it would be very difficult for anyone to say BSU is a serious national playa without the football team, but it's impossible for Idaho to say, because we don't have that.  Fine, we all accept that you're in the middle of an awesome run, so don't try to tell me that BSU is an academic juggernaut.  We make fun of your academics because we can.  Don't take it personally, it's just all that we have right now.  So what BK should have done is this:  NOTHING.  If he wants BSU to be recognized academically, he needs to accept that BSU is a football school, take the money, and build from there.  Idaho certainly would.

Let Chris Peterson talk the smack.  That's what the coach of a winning team gets to do.  Does it benefit BSU to keep playing Idaho?  Of course it does.  Every powerhouse football team in the country plays filler games. It's why Idaho is playing Nebraska next year.  The money is good for us, the win is good for them.  But try this on for size -- if, instead of Idaho, Nebraska could schedule a local rivalry that was a certain victory, why wouldn't they?  A win's a win's a win, and right now, sadly, Idaho is a sure thing.  But Coach Pee is saying exactly what he's supposed to...and President Kustra should have stayed out of it.  All he succeeded in doing was pissing off half of the state and revealing exactly what he is:  not from Idaho.  

What's the real problem here?  Kustra is a Midwesterner, and no kidding, if you say U of I, he is thinking University of Illinois.  He doesn't understand that a lot of us care about Idaho/BSU, and we should.  Most Idaho fans have never shouted an obscenity at BSU.  One of my best friends works for BSU athletics, and got his undergrad and masters at Idaho.  I went to summer events at BSU when I was in high school.  But at least for a couple days a year, I find a passion in me that I think is admirable at the least.  If we win, I go home happy.  If we get trounced, I go home in a blue funk (Bronco farts are blue).  I live in Moscow, I'm a Vandal, and I don't care for Boise State.

But I'm not nasty, inebriated, or uncivil.  Sorry if that disappoints you, Bob.

The Secret

If you're looking for a review of the book The Secret, you have come to the wrong place.  I haven't read it, and I don't plan to, because I don't think you can shove something truly revolutionary into less than 200 pages.  Rather, this is THE secret to finding your soulmate.  Some of you may be saying, there is no such thing as a soulmate.  If so, you are a cynic, and need a dose of rossnation...to fix that.  Some of you may say that there is no single way to find your soulmate.  This is also incorrect, because the ross says so.  I have figured it out, and I did so simply by observing love on TV.  Not from a silly sitcom, or a drama that tells you never to date at work, but from a commercial.  Yes, the good people at AT&T have had the answer for who knows how long, and have been holding out.  So how do you find your true love?

Go to the train station.  If you are male, stand on the platform and wait until you make eye contact with a woman who is already on the train.  Then, buy a ticket for that train on your smartphone, and try not to miss the train.

If you are a woman, you have to work a little harder, because your job is to sit on the train and wait, but you might have to try multiple trains.  This can get expensive, but it's the only way.  When you spot your soulmate, you'll have a whole train ride to get to know each other, which is more than enough time.
So really there are only a couple things that make this less than fool proof.  I understand that not everyone has a train station, so you'll have to move.  And it has to be an underground train station, sorry.  And you need a smartphone (I'm assuming with AT&T service.  It may work on Verizon, but you wouldn't want to take any chances.)  You need to be savvy enough to buy train tickets on this phone.  Truth be told, I don't even know if I'm this savvy.  But I know that if you are able to get it done, you'll certainly be able to order a PWI* after you get on the train.
So go ahead, give it a try next time you're waiting for a train.  But when it works for you, don't forget rossnation...told you so.  But consider yourself warned -- as far as I know, this happens every time, so unless you're looking for love, the train is out.

As is rossnation...

They Call Me the Matchmaker

Some of thee may have thought in the past about trying an online dating site.  Allow me to disuade you with this one fact:  I've got a better way.  It is simple, cheap, and matches you with your soulmate in one easy step, without filling out endless forms, "communication", or blind dates.  Want to know the secret?  Check out my upcoming book, One Step to Compatibility with the Love Technician.  It will be available tomorrow at the rossnation... site.  Leave your preconceptions at home, they'll do you no good here...

As always, no charge for awesomeness...or attractiveness.

rossnation...out.

rossnation...is faster than the speed of sound

rossnation... breaks rocks with sass.
rossnation... is garlic flavored.
rossnation... can bake without an oven.
rossnation... needs no introduction, but probably needs an introduction.
rossnation... patented hyperbole.
rossnation... leaps tall buildings in as many bounds as he wants, but usually not one.
rossnation... runs the atomic clock.
rossnation... grows grey hair on purpose.
rossnation... spells things the British way.
rossnation... invented the Vespa.
rossnation... can spot a narc from a block away.
rossnation... used to run the dock workers union.
rossnation... runs unopposed.
rossnation... is in high-definition.
rossnation... does not have a dragon tattoo.
rossnation... can act his way out of a paper bag, but chooses not to.
rossnation... is OSHA-approved, but not ergonomic.
rossnation... thinks spell-check is for the burds.
rossnation... can charge your phone wirelessly.
rossnation... has never been accused of gerrymandering.
rossnation... can break you, fool.
rossnation... reinvented the wheel.
rossnation... will program your VCR, but will call you on still owning one.
rossnation... is the Beeper King.
rossnation... types in cyrillic.
rossnation... is a spicy meatball.
rossnation... will make the comb-over look good.
rossnation... is finally in my computer's dictionary...

Finish Him!!!!

A couple things are hanging out in this head of mine tonight.  They are in no way complimentary topics; the only place they happen to cross over is in my brain.  Scary proposition.  One of them is the fact that I watched The Book of Eli last night.  I hadn't seen it before, and was actually quite surprised by it.  It was the first movie in a while that I haven't expected anything from (or expected to dislike), and instead really liked it.  First of all, Denzel is a bad, bad man.  I did not see that coming.  Although part of me thinks that it's mostly the sunglasses doing the heavy lifting.  Exhibit A is how amazing I look with the same sunglasses (I took this earlier).

See what I mean?  But Denzel isn't what I'm thinking about.  It's more the ending of the movie that got my butter churning.  No spoiler here, it's just what Eli says: "Thank you Lord for giving me the strength.  I finished the race."  If you know any of the Gibson men, you know we're big on the concept of running to the tape, finishing the race.  So here's the problem, and the other half of my "head movies."  The race I'm currently running?  I have zero interest in finishing it.  (Let me be clear that there is no actual running going on here.)  This race is my little Facebook project that I've previously outlined.  Seemed like a good idea at the time, but after 4 days of doing everything that my homepage suggested, I'm about to lose my marbles (or head waffles, as we call them in rossnation...)  Here's a quick recap of the junk I've had to like.  We'll call this our ReCrap:

• How I Met Your Mother             I do not care.
• Britney Spears                             Kill me now.
• Selena Gomez                             Am not familiar.
• Jackie Chan                                Well, he can kick things.
• Pawn Stars                                  Poop.
• Knitting                                       Super lame.
• Glee                                            Super wicked lame. 
• Tyler Perry                                  Not funny.
• System of a Down                       Not music.
• Two and a Half Men                   Feel bad for people who watch this.
• Twilight                                       Not a chance.
• Titanic                                         Longest 6 hours of my life.
• Sponge Bob                                I don't get high.
• Avril Lavigne                               Canada is super clean, which is why Avril lives in the US now.
• Ashley Tisdale                             Nope.
• Vanessa Hudgins                         Not talented.
• Converse                                     Eh, they can be comfy, but I can't pull it off.
• Grey's Anatomy                           Never.
• Farmville Sheep                           Not Farmville, just the sheep.
• Vice Ganda                                 ?????????? 
• And everyone's fave, Justin Bieber           I do not have Bieber Fever.  I am perfectly healthy.

Perhaps you can see where I'm coming from.  I have no desire to add more crap like this for the next 27 days.  It's exhausting, and takes away the actual fun of communicating with friends, and turns the one hour into a chore.  And I don't "like" chores for a reason.  I'm a bit surprised that no one has suggested that I "like" chores yet, those of you looking to sabotage this endeavor.  I would be perfectly happy to let this go away, and go back to life as it used to be (boring & sad), but if Denzel can finish the race, I pretty much have to.  Especially now that I'm wearing the sunglasses.  This is now a labor of love.  Or a labor of loathe.  Hence the Mortal Kombat reference in the title.  FINISHHH!!!!!!

And as always, there is no charge for awesomeness...or attractiveness.

rossnation...out.

RNWN

It has been said, "The fact that no one understands you doesn't mean you're an artist."  Clearly, they don't get it.

Two Days Down

As it turns out, my Facebook project is more ambitious than I thought.  This is disturbing only because I don't like to be surprised; I would like to be exactly as ambitious as I set out to be.  But Facebook has some tricks up its digital sleeves, and these illusions (AD reference) are what turned my one hour on FB into an extra two hours cleaning up the mess that I made.  I may be amending my own rules to keep me from having to unsubscribe from a bunch of crap.  Sadly, Facebook told me to win an iPad last night.  Ahhh, if it were that simple.  By about 2 AM, I had successfully unsubscribed from 5 or 6 text message services, ranging from daily horoscopes to daily PWI* giveaways.  I only have one thing left to deal with, and that is the law firm that left a message on my voicemail this morning saying that they will call back tomorrow about my free consultation...and I'm pretty sure I'm not getting an iPad.  This is what I signed up for, but I think next time I'll lay out my proposal a little better, and perhaps line up some financial backing, so I don't have to do any real work for the rest of my days.  Because that's what the Founding Fathers would want.

So it's quite possible that this project will turn into a rant about FB and internet privacy and what not.  I will certainly turn into a rant against my friend Soap for forcing me to "like" her cat, and against Justin Bieber for, you know, being alive.  Alas, this will all be worth it, no doubt, because those of you paying attention are crapping yourselves with joy.  So yuck it up, folks, I will have my retribution.  In monetary form.

So in the words of The Great Panda,
"There is no charge for Awesomeness...or Attractiveness."

rossnation...out.

P.S.  If the offer had been "Get a free PWI!", I would've seen that one to the end.

Facebook's Finest?

I'm trying something new tonight, and I have no idea where it's going to lead.  Please, don't be frightened rossnation...; let me take care of that.  Simply trust that I would never lead the nation into anything I can't get it out of, for that is a leader's credo.
Tonight was Day 1 of a social experiment that I am calling, "The Facebook Driven Life."  Rest assured, I do not plan to make this a lifestyle choice, I am just curious what will happen, and I want all of you to be in on the fun, or disaster, depending on how it plays out.  So here are the ground rules that I have laid out for the ross.

1. Every night for the next 31 days, I will spend one continuous hour on Facebook.
2. During this hour, I will record what happens with my web cam, and with screenshots from my Facebook homepage.
3. During this hour, I will do everything, with few exceptions, that my homepage tells me to do.  If it tells me to reconnect with someone by writing on their wall, I'm on it.  If it tells me to like graffiti because many people who like walking like graffiti, it's on.  If it suggests a friend that I have at least one mutual friend with, I'm sending a friend request.  I am assuming many of these will get ignored, because of the 40 requests I sent tonight, I don't remember at least half of them.
4. After the hour is complete, I will return to business as usual, which may or may not involve FB, who knows.
5. I can make up more ground rules as I need, but if you have a suggestion, I am listening.
6. I think the ultimate goal is rossnation... becoming the "six degrees" of Facebook, and then we'll be famous.  But really, I just hope I don't have to go to rehab after this is done.

Let's do this.

rossnation...out.

Road Trip Much?

I'm taking my first real vacation tomorrow.  To clarify, by vacation I mean I'm leaving town and have no particular plans.  I have nine days in a row of paid time off.  I'm getting in my car and driving to Boise.  I'm going to park my suitcase in my brother's guest room and...nothing.  I don't know.  This week is so wide open that the only actual appointment I have is for the Treasure Valley Rollergirls.  I don't know if this is going to be awesome or just retro, but it doesn't matter, because I'm on vacation.  Most of the week I'll probably sit in a coffee shop and abuse the free wifi, maybe buy an iced lattesso every 6 hours or so.  Make friends with the barista lady and tip big so they don't throw me out, that kind of thing.  Because I'm on vacation.  Write two columns a day, because I'm on vacation, and I'll share the love.  Or I might not.  I'll watch ESPN just like at home, 'cause I'm on vacation.  I'll go fishing if I want.  I don't want to, but you get the idea.  Gonna try to record a podcast with the Alger.  Why?  Because you deserve it.  And because I'm on vacation. I'm gonna overstay my welcome everywhere I can; Boise's gonna wish they never heard of me.  And when I get back we'll go out for ice cream, I promise.

Simplify-ification

The more I think about it, the more I'm intrigued by the idea of simplifying. I'm not thinking large scale yet, I just look around and see all the stuff sitting in my apartment and wonder why I have it. Generously, I might need about 50 percent of what I own, and the rest of it is just, well...stuff.
My dad (Handsome & Humble Hoot) is in the midst of the process of simplifying. I was not a fan at first, because out of nowhere I started getting packages chock-full of my old junk. This seemed counter intuitive, because parents are supposed to hold onto our stuff until we're ready for it. But then I started to realize, the only problem with dad's plan was that he should have started mailing me my crap years ago! (Can I get an amen pops?!)
Part of my current thinking has to do with a selfish desire: I'll have to move sometime in the near future, and it would be wicked awesome if I had less crap that had to go with me. If I could fit everything I owned into a small U-Haul trailer, how sexy would that be?! (Especially for the guys I'll guilt into helping.) Less stuff to pack, less stuff to unpack - or leave in boxes for 3 months - sounds pretty good to me. Especially when I consider the fact that most of that stuff is still in boxes! I've lived here for 9 months.
Beyond the craving to lift less, however, are a couple of deeper thoughts. For instance, there's a good chance that I don't need 5 winter coats (maybe that's just the heat talking.) Come to think of it, where did I get 5 coats?! Perhaps there are others who could use a warm coat. And no one has ever accused me of being fashionable, so we're not talking about Banana Republic here. (THOSE COATS ARE GAUCHE!)
Or how about this one: if our living space is less cluttered with things, why wouldn't our minds? How do you like them kumquats?
But here's my piece de resistance: I've been in a lot of homes as a cable tech, and some of the saddest ones are those of elderly people who have all the knick knacks of their lives saved, and their homes overflow with it. In places like this, I can't help but wonder, "Who will take care of all this stuff when this person dies?" I know that's a super morbid thought, but I can't help it, you wanna fideaboudit? My dad says when he dies he wants to own the clothes on his back and a Bible. And for that I say, Thanks Pops. (But it'd better not be for a long time.)
So in the interest of good journalism (or whatever this is), here's a couple of things I'm gonna try, and I dare you to. I triple dog dare you.

• I own over 100 DVDs. And I haven't watched any of them in months. Yard sale much? Get a Netflix account, it's OK.
• Coats for Kids. Or Goodwill. Salvation Army, whatever, I have clothes I never wear, and someone else might. If they have no style, that is.
• Books. This is easy, and my favorite. A lot of used book stores will take your books and put the money you'd get into a fund for needy seniors. Leave a box of books and forget it. It's a great feeling in a bunch of ways.
• Shoes...ahh, forget it.
• CD's, papers, PWI's, etc. Digitize everything and save to an external hard drive. I bought a 1 terabyte model for $75. That's way more than most of us need. But keep in mind that PWI's take up a lot of space, depending on the number of little syrup squares.

So there it is, that's how we do in rossnation... Well, we're gonna try. Admit it, you didn't think I'd fit in the waffle reference. So little faith...

rossnation... out

Book 'em, Danno.

Customer request: Top Ten Summer Reads or, ten books to read at the beach. I thought about this overnight, and came up with a couple of thoughts on the subject. My first thought was, of course, I believe in good customer service. And as we all know, the customer is always right (unless you’ve ever worked in retail.) So I really have no choice but to give you my top ten. My second thought was, “I don’t know if I’ve read enough books.” I have chosen to ignore this, and simply provide ten books that I have either read, or that I might read. Don’t let this concern you, because I’m not the kind of person who will continue reading a book if it sucks. So if you actually take me seriously and pick one of these up, please feel free to put it down if it reads like the Spanish half of a portable waffle iron manual* (you all know I would learn Spanish for that.) My last thought was, “Should I really alienate 90% of my considerable readership by writing something that isn’t interesting?” My only option? Make it interesting. So here’s my best shot at, in no particular order:

rossnation… Must Reads for Summer ‘10

• Medium Raw by Anthony Bourdain: This guy is really a TV personality, and he’s not for everyone. But if you like travel and learning goofy things about other cultures, he brings a unique perspective. That being said, he can be pretty foul, so beware. Haven’t read it yet, but I will as soon as I find a way to get it without paying.
• The Overton Window by Glenn Beck: Want to read it just because this guy seems like a bag of hot whipped cream, but from what I’ve heard he can write like he’s a member of rossnation… And everyone needs a good political thriller in the summertime. Rumor has it the hardcover addition will also apply your sunscreen (as well it should for $26.)
• Innocent by Scott Turow: Turow is the master of the law book*. The sequel to Presumed Innocent. Even The New York Times liked it. Case closed*.
• Beach Music by Pat Conroy: This is the first on the list that I’ve read. And I’ve read it about 5 times. I wish I could write like Conroy, and you’ll wish I could too once you’ve read him. This is a beautiful example of descriptive writing, and a sad story that you can’t turn away from. Plus, it has beach in the title. So…take it to the beach with you.
• The Facebook Effect by David Kirkpatrick: This looks like a pretty interesting look into the world since FB, and let’s face it*, no one would know this column existed if it weren’t for the Evil Empire. Non-fiction alert.
• Harry Potter & the Deathly Hallows by J.K. Rowling: I know it’s not new, but if you’re a fan, this is a good re-read for the movie that’s coming this fall. Plus, isn’t it nice to pretend you’re a wizard sometimes? Nobody? Nevermind…
• The Sea Runners by Ivan Doig: One of my favorite books, and my dad likes it too, so if you don’t believe me, ask him. And as we all know, everybody loves Dave! Blammy!
•  No Country for Old Men by Cormac McCarthy: Or anything by him. McCarthy makes reading interesting again, but you have to pay attention. I wouldn’t bother if you’ve got a short attention
•  Poop My Dad Says by Justin Halpern: I’m only gonna read this because I’ve seen some of the “poop” that his dad says, and it seems genuinely funny. I only wish the book was actually called this, because poop is a hilarious word.
•  30 is the New Boring by rossnation…: I’m such a huge fan of self promotion. This is the ESPN theory; they’re watching it already, we might as well advertise ourselves. But seriously, this is a must read for the summertime. It’s also the reason that the mobile web was invented, so that you could take rossnation… to the beach with you. And please do, because I doubt I’m gonna see the ocean this year. Send the ross a picture? I promise, I’ll try to make it worth your while to stop by every couple of days.

This one’s for rossnation… follower Matt Curtis. rossnation… out.

[1] For the foreseeable future, I will try to add one reference to the mythical PWI in each column. You’ll want to keep reading just to see if you can spot it. It’s like Where’s Waldo with mediocre Righting (callback).

[2] This is the technical term for the genre.

[3] Law pun.

[4] This one’s a freebie.