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.