In Search of the American Dream

Nothing I love more than a misleading title. I'll bet you thought this was going to be a monumental essay on the American experience, because that's what you've come to expect from the New Yorker and this column. (See how I called it a column instead of a blog? I'm allowed to lend myself credibility, right?)

That's not what this is about, however. This is about my American Dream, and it's very simple. It's the search for the perfect non sequitur. I'm a huge fan. If I were a girl, the non sequitur would be my Jonas Brothers. I think. I don't really understand girls. Jake, back me up on this one.

See, that last line? Probably two people in the world got that. It's perfect. Well, not quite, cause even those two realize it's not funny. But you get the idea. It's comedic palladium for those of us who either don't think about what we're saying or aren't funny. And I'm a little bit of both. It's the only reason I can get away with making a "joke" about the periodic table.

The rossnation Dream is the guy who gets to write for 30 Rock, with which I am quickly falling in love. About twice an episode these guys insert a PA voice over like, "Jenna, Ghost Face Killah, and Yo Yo Ma to the stage for 'Muffin Top.'" Or, "Tracy to the stage, please, for 'Pull Your Own Wisdom Teeth.'" The greatest job ever. Making up nonsense for money. That's the Dream. There's probably other elements to it, but we haven't quite hammered this theory out. (I...the Royal We, the editorial...)

And that's why I'm doing this on a Saturday night. In a way, I'm perfecting the American Dream, if you think about it. Never mind, let me worry about it. This is a job for a columnist. Or me. I'll let you know when I get it right...if you know what I mean.

rossnation...out.