Monday, June 7, 2010
RNWN
I want to write a screenplay about a man who becomes disenchanted with the world and the way that technology has taken over his life, so he decides to follow in Thoreau's footsteps and go live at Walden Pond...and blog about it.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Lost...and Loving It!
I knew this would happen. It was meant to be. Like Ken Griffey, Jr. returning to the Mariners for one final nap. Or the Cowboys imploding in the playoffs. Or waffles and peanut butter. And because I knew that it was inevitable, I avoided it for as long as I could, trying to pretend that I had some control over my life. "I won't let it happen to me," I said. "I am the master of my destiny."
But deep down, I knew better. So I made a compromise; I decided that I wouldn't watch a single second of Lost until the series was over, and then I would watch the pilot and see what happened. Deep in my bones I knew that Lost would be an addiction akin to Dr. Pepper for me, and it had to be on my terms.
And I was right, and it worked.
One week after the series finale of Lost I got season 1, disc 1 from Netflix. That was May 31st. It's been less than a week, and I can't stop. I've watched 30 episodes in 6 days. I'm going to bed way too late. I'm drinking too much caffeine. I'm tired. But this isn't over until It's over. (That's what she said.) Non sequitur alert.
And so here's some bullet point (shoutout) quickies so far, from a newborn perspective...and in no particular order.
But deep down, I knew better. So I made a compromise; I decided that I wouldn't watch a single second of Lost until the series was over, and then I would watch the pilot and see what happened. Deep in my bones I knew that Lost would be an addiction akin to Dr. Pepper for me, and it had to be on my terms.
And I was right, and it worked.
One week after the series finale of Lost I got season 1, disc 1 from Netflix. That was May 31st. It's been less than a week, and I can't stop. I've watched 30 episodes in 6 days. I'm going to bed way too late. I'm drinking too much caffeine. I'm tired. But this isn't over until It's over. (That's what she said.) Non sequitur alert.
And so here's some bullet point (shoutout) quickies so far, from a newborn perspective...and in no particular order.
- I'm in love with Maggie Grace. Let's just get that out of the way. I was quite disappointed by her untimely demise on the show. I also hope she has a great personality. If wishes were dreams and so on...
- There's an awful lot of subtitles to read, which I think they did on purpose so you'd have to pay attention. But it takes it out of me.
- This island is massive.
- I really disagree with the casting of Michelle Rodriguez...in anything.
- I realize that the writers must have been under the gun to figure out where to take the storyline, but it seems extraordinarily haphazard to me. And somehow I don't care. Why?
- Talk about typecasting, what's up with Sayid? I'm pretty sure he's Indian.
- Hurley is awesome.
- Kate apparently has superhuman strength, and can beat the crap out of any guy. She must have broken the FBI agent's jaw 6 times by now.
- Think it's coincidence that the ugly people don't really get their own story lines? And don't say, "What about Hurley?"! Do not.
- This is why the iPhone was invented, to prevent anarchy like on this show.
Anyway, let's hope this all wraps up nice and tidy, 'cause when I'm finished with this marathon I'm betting I'm gonna need to let my noggin rest. I just hope that this crazy obsession isn't what's fueling my recent creativity. I'd hate to be boring again...
Postcard from the Edge
Steve Jobs is delivering his keynote address at the Worldwide Developer's Conference at 10 A.M. tomorrow. And I'm gonna watch. Because I want to see the new iPhone. And then I want him to tell me when I can buy one. And then I'm gonna buy one. Cause I'm a nerd.
Ross Nation out.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Postcard from the Edge
Disappointment today, because some other loser already owns rossnation.com. Poop.
So Much to Say
We'll start this off slow with an update on the Great Shower Curtain Liner Saga of 2010: anticlimax, because it appears to have been resolved. The new $10 liner seems to be everything it was marketed as; a heavy piece of plastic (and supposedly mildew resistant). My shower today was free of the annoying flutter of the old, inferior liner flapping up against my leg. Now I don't have to aim the showerhead at the curtain to keep it at bay. Sweet, sweet relief.
On to heavier issues. Jake the Snake Alger has posed a query with potential for all kinds of fantastic (read, mediocre) comedy. The question is what TV shows and movies qualify for us personally as comfort watching; something that you can put on in the background and just let it be noise. Being the thinker that I am, however, I also must define the other types of film and TV. There's the kind that if I'm watching, I get sucked in automatically, and any chance at completing other tasks is a retarded folly. Case in point, Arrested Development. As soon as I here Gob say something stupid, I'll watch a whole season before I realize my pie is burning in the oven. (Yes, I bake pies.)
Then there's the movie or show that I have to watch all the way through because if I don't, I have no idea what's going on. The Index Case for this type is my new addiction, Lost. I haven't done anything productive in over a week now, and it's getting to be an issue. I have to force myself to stop the netflix and wash my sheets (today) or change the shower curtain (today) or clean the kitchen (well, later.)
But the perfect comfort media for me is a special breed, like a bassett hound or Phil Roland. When I've got things to do, like cleaning the apartment, folding laundry, making my bed, baking a pie, pilates, etc., my background picture and sound looks something like this:
1) Sadly, National Treasure. I've seen this abomination so many times that I no longer even care if the good guys win. Perfect for going to sleep.
2) The Hunt for Red October. Every line by rote, if you like (although most people don't like.) Only pause necessary is for the obligatory aping of Alec Baldwin as he says in a Sean Connery voice, "Ryan, some things in here don't react well to bullets. Yeah, like me. I don't react well to bullets." Freekin' brilliant.
3) Any Law and Order. They all end the same, but I love them anyway.
4) Sportscenter is a special category, because I have to watch the first run of the day, but after they've shown the same show six times, you're a world-beater with this white noise in the background.
5) If you've got no money, Home Shopping Network is perfect because you can't actually stop what you're doing to buy something.
6) The West Wing: What can I say, I've got a man crush on Rob Lowe, you wanna fight about it?
Movies and shows that are definitely not an option: The Shawshank Redemption, Marley & Me, Mad Men. These suck me right in and I'm useless until it's over. I'm useless other times too, though.
By the way, I'm having this problem right now. This is fifteen minutes worth writing that has taken forty five because I'm watching Lost, when I should have know better and put on Sportscenter. So what have we learned today? That Jake Alger shall now be call Socrates Johnson.
CALLBACK! Send it.
Ross Nation out.
On to heavier issues. Jake the Snake Alger has posed a query with potential for all kinds of fantastic (read, mediocre) comedy. The question is what TV shows and movies qualify for us personally as comfort watching; something that you can put on in the background and just let it be noise. Being the thinker that I am, however, I also must define the other types of film and TV. There's the kind that if I'm watching, I get sucked in automatically, and any chance at completing other tasks is a retarded folly. Case in point, Arrested Development. As soon as I here Gob say something stupid, I'll watch a whole season before I realize my pie is burning in the oven. (Yes, I bake pies.)
Then there's the movie or show that I have to watch all the way through because if I don't, I have no idea what's going on. The Index Case for this type is my new addiction, Lost. I haven't done anything productive in over a week now, and it's getting to be an issue. I have to force myself to stop the netflix and wash my sheets (today) or change the shower curtain (today) or clean the kitchen (well, later.)
But the perfect comfort media for me is a special breed, like a bassett hound or Phil Roland. When I've got things to do, like cleaning the apartment, folding laundry, making my bed, baking a pie, pilates, etc., my background picture and sound looks something like this:
1) Sadly, National Treasure. I've seen this abomination so many times that I no longer even care if the good guys win. Perfect for going to sleep.
2) The Hunt for Red October. Every line by rote, if you like (although most people don't like.) Only pause necessary is for the obligatory aping of Alec Baldwin as he says in a Sean Connery voice, "Ryan, some things in here don't react well to bullets. Yeah, like me. I don't react well to bullets." Freekin' brilliant.
3) Any Law and Order. They all end the same, but I love them anyway.
4) Sportscenter is a special category, because I have to watch the first run of the day, but after they've shown the same show six times, you're a world-beater with this white noise in the background.
5) If you've got no money, Home Shopping Network is perfect because you can't actually stop what you're doing to buy something.
6) The West Wing: What can I say, I've got a man crush on Rob Lowe, you wanna fight about it?
Movies and shows that are definitely not an option: The Shawshank Redemption, Marley & Me, Mad Men. These suck me right in and I'm useless until it's over. I'm useless other times too, though.
By the way, I'm having this problem right now. This is fifteen minutes worth writing that has taken forty five because I'm watching Lost, when I should have know better and put on Sportscenter. So what have we learned today? That Jake Alger shall now be call Socrates Johnson.
CALLBACK! Send it.
Ross Nation out.
Random Musings
First, I can't ignore the elephant in my apartment anymore, cause he's trashing the place. It's too damn hot for elephants to just be roamin' around. They should be at the zoo. This elephant's name is Splice, a disturbingly great movie in so many ways.
First of all, yeah, I went and saw Splice on opening night. I request forgiveness for this, seeing as how it was a in the company of a fine lady who also thoroughly enjoyed the film. But I also don't feel I need to offer excuses, cause I'm a grown-ass man (Giuseppi) and am entitled to see whatever flims I choose, regardless of what Roger Ebert thinks. I'm just assuming that Ebert didn't care for it; this flim is not exactly Shawshank.
And as much as I expected to walk into this movie and see a 90 minute glowing turd straight out of the Hollywood turd machine (I think this is located next to the Backdraft ride at Universal), that is exactly what I saw. But it had so many redeeming qualities that I have to say I loved it. First off, classy is right out the window. Can't assign that term to a movie in which both the male and female leads have sex with a half animal/half human splice being, after it transforms from a female to a male. (Honestly, I don't know how this script got approved, or got an Oscar winner to sign on.)
Second, the CGI splicething, Dren, is horribly done. She always looks like a person in a cgi costume, which is a weird effect, and unsettling. That said, it still seems to be the perfect effect for this movie; juuuussssttt a little bit off.
Third, the entire experiment that leads to the end disaster takes place over approximately 3 days, or so it seems, and the whole time the rest of the lab team apparently has no idea that the two leads are creating a supermonster in the other room.
Fourth, the two hero scientists, the brightest of their generation, drive what I believe is a late 70's Dodge Colt. Wait, what?
And last, the sequel(s) are coming, bet the family jewels on it. Or something else valuable. This is the safest investment since LeBron. Meaning, it'll make you money, you just won't win any awards.
My favorite possible titles for the sequels:
1)Splice Twice
2)Splice 2: Spawn of Dren
3)Splice Thrice
4)Splice of Pie
5)I'd be happy to hear more from our readers.
All told, I will watch this movie again, if for no other reason than to see the moment when the "heroine" runs headlong into a treebranch and knocks herself cold, at which point I let out a hearty guffaw that rings through the theatre. Great moment.
May the Splice be with you.
First of all, yeah, I went and saw Splice on opening night. I request forgiveness for this, seeing as how it was a in the company of a fine lady who also thoroughly enjoyed the film. But I also don't feel I need to offer excuses, cause I'm a grown-ass man (Giuseppi) and am entitled to see whatever flims I choose, regardless of what Roger Ebert thinks. I'm just assuming that Ebert didn't care for it; this flim is not exactly Shawshank.
And as much as I expected to walk into this movie and see a 90 minute glowing turd straight out of the Hollywood turd machine (I think this is located next to the Backdraft ride at Universal), that is exactly what I saw. But it had so many redeeming qualities that I have to say I loved it. First off, classy is right out the window. Can't assign that term to a movie in which both the male and female leads have sex with a half animal/half human splice being, after it transforms from a female to a male. (Honestly, I don't know how this script got approved, or got an Oscar winner to sign on.)
Second, the CGI splicething, Dren, is horribly done. She always looks like a person in a cgi costume, which is a weird effect, and unsettling. That said, it still seems to be the perfect effect for this movie; juuuussssttt a little bit off.
Third, the entire experiment that leads to the end disaster takes place over approximately 3 days, or so it seems, and the whole time the rest of the lab team apparently has no idea that the two leads are creating a supermonster in the other room.
Fourth, the two hero scientists, the brightest of their generation, drive what I believe is a late 70's Dodge Colt. Wait, what?
And last, the sequel(s) are coming, bet the family jewels on it. Or something else valuable. This is the safest investment since LeBron. Meaning, it'll make you money, you just won't win any awards.
My favorite possible titles for the sequels:
1)Splice Twice
2)Splice 2: Spawn of Dren
3)Splice Thrice
4)Splice of Pie
5)I'd be happy to hear more from our readers.
All told, I will watch this movie again, if for no other reason than to see the moment when the "heroine" runs headlong into a treebranch and knocks herself cold, at which point I let out a hearty guffaw that rings through the theatre. Great moment.
May the Splice be with you.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Genetics Are a Funny Thing...but Not Haha Funny
I don't place a lot of stock in the importance of looks; that would be foolish for a man of dubious physical stature. But there's one thing that I'm proud of when it comes to this sweet piece of man candy (mandy): I'm not balding.
Small victory, you may say, but this is no small thing when you consider the genetic hand I was dealt. Grandpa Bob, mom's dad, the supposed source of all things hair related, is about as shiny-headed as Telly Savalis (awesome), so the chances of me being bald was solid right out of the gate. But I'm 30 years old now, and while this hair is thinning, it is also holding its ground along the forehead. And anyone who was at my brother's wedding last weekend can see that he has not been as lucky; his hairline is receding quicker than a Cancun sunset. (That was a shoutout, I'm aware it was a lame analogy.) But this just goes to prove the old adage: "Dancers are really attracted to bald men." Well, this adage is not that old...
Until recently, the fact that the Angel of Bald passed over my proverbial door was a source of some comfort to me. (By the way, don't look for that in Proverbs. It's not there.) But this morning, I realized what my half of the equation was: I'm going gray...and it's not one or two hairs, it's the better part of my temples! At this rate, it's a matter of about a year before I'm the spitting image of Sean Connery, sans wrinkles. Let's just hope that it's the distinguished salt and pepper kind of gray, not the crazy pinstripe Ted Danson look. (Ross Nation Wisdom Nugget: The show Becker is not at all underrated.)
So apparently I'm aging about as gracefully as Grant Gibson on a dance floor (callback), but we'll keep an eye on things. I think next time I'll have to delve into the deeper issues of life, such as my new and frightening addiction to Lost, the commercial I saw for a new show called Rookie Blue -- Alger, this is our bread and applebutter -- and an update on the Great Shower Curtain Saga of 2010.
Ross Nation shoutout to Brenda Ceja for being a good writer. I can't read most blogs cause they lack punctuation, spelling, and content. The three pillars of mediocre writing. But Brenda is throwing down the gauntlet in this weird threeway blogbloc, and it's up to Jake and myself to bring the thunder, Vandal style.
Until then, Ross Nation out.
Small victory, you may say, but this is no small thing when you consider the genetic hand I was dealt. Grandpa Bob, mom's dad, the supposed source of all things hair related, is about as shiny-headed as Telly Savalis (awesome), so the chances of me being bald was solid right out of the gate. But I'm 30 years old now, and while this hair is thinning, it is also holding its ground along the forehead. And anyone who was at my brother's wedding last weekend can see that he has not been as lucky; his hairline is receding quicker than a Cancun sunset. (That was a shoutout, I'm aware it was a lame analogy.) But this just goes to prove the old adage: "Dancers are really attracted to bald men." Well, this adage is not that old...
Until recently, the fact that the Angel of Bald passed over my proverbial door was a source of some comfort to me. (By the way, don't look for that in Proverbs. It's not there.) But this morning, I realized what my half of the equation was: I'm going gray...and it's not one or two hairs, it's the better part of my temples! At this rate, it's a matter of about a year before I'm the spitting image of Sean Connery, sans wrinkles. Let's just hope that it's the distinguished salt and pepper kind of gray, not the crazy pinstripe Ted Danson look. (Ross Nation Wisdom Nugget: The show Becker is not at all underrated.)
So apparently I'm aging about as gracefully as Grant Gibson on a dance floor (callback), but we'll keep an eye on things. I think next time I'll have to delve into the deeper issues of life, such as my new and frightening addiction to Lost, the commercial I saw for a new show called Rookie Blue -- Alger, this is our bread and applebutter -- and an update on the Great Shower Curtain Saga of 2010.
Ross Nation shoutout to Brenda Ceja for being a good writer. I can't read most blogs cause they lack punctuation, spelling, and content. The three pillars of mediocre writing. But Brenda is throwing down the gauntlet in this weird threeway blogbloc, and it's up to Jake and myself to bring the thunder, Vandal style.
Until then, Ross Nation out.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Postcards from the Edge
Occasionally I'll bring some info to this shindig that I'm gonna call either "Postcards from the Edge", or "Ross Nation Wisdom Nuggets." Cause I love irony. And the word nugget. Most of these will be worthless, but they bring a smile to my face, and you know what they say: "A spoonful of nuggets makes the penecillin stronger."
See, there it is, the very first Ross Nation Wisdom Nugget (or RNWN, as they will be referred to when this is wicked viral.
The Postcards from the Edge may be a little bit sadder, since the edge of Boring is pretty lame, let's face it. Something like this:
"The highlight of my day was going to Walmart to refill my ambien prescription and buy the previously discussed shower curtain liner. The sad part? I'm saving the receipt just in case the curtain isn't heavy enough..."
Also, brace yourselves, because this blog is gonna be lowsy with ellipses...
Ross Nation out.
See, there it is, the very first Ross Nation Wisdom Nugget (or RNWN, as they will be referred to when this is wicked viral.
The Postcards from the Edge may be a little bit sadder, since the edge of Boring is pretty lame, let's face it. Something like this:
"The highlight of my day was going to Walmart to refill my ambien prescription and buy the previously discussed shower curtain liner. The sad part? I'm saving the receipt just in case the curtain isn't heavy enough..."
Also, brace yourselves, because this blog is gonna be lowsy with ellipses...
Ross Nation out.
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