So, for those of you who don't remember this I'd like to welcome you to my Mom's basement. My name is Ryan and I'll be your guide to all the things I enjoy in my nerdy existence.
One of those things is reality television and there is no better summer reality show than America's Got Talent, otherwise known as AGT. I did promise that sometime during the season I would give my thoughts and I originally thought it would be once they announced the top 48 acts. Well, that didn't happen (stupid computer). So what you are going to are my thoughts on tonight's top 10 show with proper rankings about how the acts all did, along with some predictions.
1) Team iLuminate
I really did not want to like these guys much. They reminded me of last year's act Fighting Gravity and they still kind of do. The main difference is that they haven't had a big mistake and are a super group of trained dancers. Tonight they performed a cool act with geometric shapes. Also points for using music by former finalists Nuttin' But Stringz, who I thought should have won their season. Solid performance all around
2) Landau Eugene Murphy Jr.
If you've ever listened to me talk about acts who should win AGT I also hate it when singers win. This year is the first time I can honestly say I would be fine with a singer winning, especially Landau. He's a singer who belts old time Rat Pack songs with a certain class and style that is reminiscent of Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin, tackling "Ain't That A Kick In The Head" tonight. He might not be as good as the two of them but he's pretty darn good. I'd pay to see him sing and he's the only singer I would say that for.
3) Landon Swank
I'm surprised I have him this high, but Landon is a very solid magician. Sure, some of his tricks are incredibly obvious to figure out but even still I enjoy his magic. His act tonight was very suave, creating an illusion where he spit up a fish after eating a Goldfish cracker and then places the fish into a tank putting his hand through the glass. Sure it might be simple, but sometimes simple works. It brings the magic back.
4) Anna Graceman
This little 11 year old sure can sing!
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Bye Bye Bye
Did you expect anything less from me guys? honestly, I love this song and could still probably throw down the moves to it if I wanted to, but that's for another day.
Yes, this is the final blog entry for CRW 408. I've even changed my subheading to show this. However this is not the end of my blog, nor my attempted domination of modern media. This is my attempt to shill and show you other spots you can find me.
First, Thoughts From My Mom's Basement will continue to be operational for the foreseeable future. I will aim to continue with one update a week, maybe even extending into the world of video blogging. If the world is my oyster, I'm going to try to eat that oyster in many different ways.
If you like this irrelevant nonsense and wished that it wasn't just my opinion but the opinion of my friends Australia bound Andrew Lambe and Pro-Wrestling Superstar Kevin Graham? Well you are in luck. We came up with a radio show this semester called The Three Mic Circus. We have back episodes recorded and podcasts ready to distribute to the unsuspecting public. You can see when those things are coming right here.
For something a little different, you can check out my other blog, The Musings of Bergman. This is a spot where I like to place some poetry and even some non-fiction stuff I work on. It's very scarcely updated with no real updating plan, but when it is you'll know that I've let my emotions out for a stroll. The link is right... here.
Alos, you can add me on FaceBook. I like having friends I know, and you guys seem cool. Your choice though with what to do. Same goes for my Twitter. Follow the links to my pages.
In all I'd like to thank those who have taken this journey with me, it was fun and I hope you've learned how to let you inner geek and freak flag fly. For without the oddities in life, we are all normal, and who wants that?
Much Love,
Ryan Bergman
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Free Comic Book Day!!!
Yeah, see that, 3 exclamation points. That's how pumped I am for national free comic book day. It's May 7th this year always on the first Saturday in May and I can tell you that this will be the first one I'm going to.
My friend Kevin and I have scoped out 7 stores to hit up to just take as many free handouts as we can get, and it's not because we are cheap or college students, or even broke. Actually, that is part of the reason, but the real reason is that it's a day to nerd out.
I remember going to my first comic conventions, the now cancelled Heroes convention in Syracuse. It was a nifty place, tons of comics, video game tournaments, people cosplaying (for those not in the now, Cosplay is when you dress up like a favored character from a comic or Japanese anime series), it was an interesting crossroads to see all these people together in one place.
You see, comics have always been in my life. As I type this if I turn around I can see my big X-Men poster that I've had on my wall for almost 18 years now. I don't really have a religious path to follow b ut I do live my a simple credo from the pages of Spider-Man, "With Great Power, comes Great Responsibility." It's a hell of a motto to live life by!
Last year is when I got back into actually buying comics, and I was shocked to see how expensive they were. It surprises me even to this day with most comics from Marvel and DC going for around $3-4 dollars an issue people are able to keep up with the different issues and storylines going throughout the comic scene.
The reason I really like Free Comic Book Day is that if offers me a bit of hope, like a young me may find something in reading that makes him want to be an artist or a writer some day. I can tell you that I often thought about writing fictional tales as a young man, different story lines and ideas based in comic lore, and part of that is what made me want to write for living, but also fostered a love of reading within me.
With the national reading rate remaining stagnant for almost 20 years now, get your child or yourselves out to Free Comic Day, who knows, you might just find something you love, like reading.
My friend Kevin and I have scoped out 7 stores to hit up to just take as many free handouts as we can get, and it's not because we are cheap or college students, or even broke. Actually, that is part of the reason, but the real reason is that it's a day to nerd out.
I remember going to my first comic conventions, the now cancelled Heroes convention in Syracuse. It was a nifty place, tons of comics, video game tournaments, people cosplaying (for those not in the now, Cosplay is when you dress up like a favored character from a comic or Japanese anime series), it was an interesting crossroads to see all these people together in one place.
You see, comics have always been in my life. As I type this if I turn around I can see my big X-Men poster that I've had on my wall for almost 18 years now. I don't really have a religious path to follow b ut I do live my a simple credo from the pages of Spider-Man, "With Great Power, comes Great Responsibility." It's a hell of a motto to live life by!
Last year is when I got back into actually buying comics, and I was shocked to see how expensive they were. It surprises me even to this day with most comics from Marvel and DC going for around $3-4 dollars an issue people are able to keep up with the different issues and storylines going throughout the comic scene.
The reason I really like Free Comic Book Day is that if offers me a bit of hope, like a young me may find something in reading that makes him want to be an artist or a writer some day. I can tell you that I often thought about writing fictional tales as a young man, different story lines and ideas based in comic lore, and part of that is what made me want to write for living, but also fostered a love of reading within me.
With the national reading rate remaining stagnant for almost 20 years now, get your child or yourselves out to Free Comic Day, who knows, you might just find something you love, like reading.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
The Cure To End My Life As A Single Man
That's right folks, you better read the title again, because if you are a single man I have found the secret that will make you so desirable to women, you'll be swimming in ladies by the end of this post. See, if you're like me you've often wondered how to land the lady you'll spend the rest of your life with. Sometimes it's as easy as talking to her, while to other's it's just being a ripped guy with chiseled good looks. But if you have the social skills around the ladies of a stucco wall and the body shape best described as spherical like myself, you have to go the extra mile.
For me, it begins with a move so simple in nature I know it will get rid of my lonely nights curled up in my bed with my beagle puppy down by my feet in the morning. Being a nice guy with a loving heart is great, but it you have the most devastating thing ever to a woman, you're cursed for life. Gentlemen, look in amazement as the key will be revealed, and ladies look away, because even seeing these things may make you go into a rage!
That's right THE JORT!!
Look at how even all-around good guy Tim Tebow becomes a hideous monster in these short jeans! Truly a horrifying look.
Ok, as I'm sure you've realized by now, I'm pro-jort, and hopefully with warmer temperatures I'll get to bust mine out again, but why are these garments so detested my the fairer sex, let's list possible reasons
1) They aren't jeans. That's true, they aren't, but the concept is the same. They are heavy duty shorts, and usually cheaper than khaki, so you know your man is waiting to spend that money on the most important thing in his life, you!
2) Women also hate jean shorts. This is less true than anything I can think of. Heard of Daisy Dukes, cut-off jean shorts worn my women to attract attention to the firmness and shape of their behind, therefore making them sexier to men. The Jort works the same way for men, we want to frame our calves in a nice way to show you that we have decent to good lower leg strength, therefore making it easier for use to run around, and pick heavy stuff up.
3) The redneck factor. Ladies, let me tell you a little something about myself. I live in the country with 2 tractors, a rabbit barn, a big yard, and a John Deere mower. If I didn't wear jean shorts I wouldn't be true to who I am as a person. I'm just a guy from the country, not a slick city dweller who gets a nice three piece suit. I'm much more at home with my jean shorts, a ball cap, and a t-shirt.
So, in closing, I say that if you want to find a date, it might be as easy as throwing the jorts out of your closet, but ladies, I ask you to let the man who wears jean shorts into your life, and maybe you might find what you've been looking for.
For me, it begins with a move so simple in nature I know it will get rid of my lonely nights curled up in my bed with my beagle puppy down by my feet in the morning. Being a nice guy with a loving heart is great, but it you have the most devastating thing ever to a woman, you're cursed for life. Gentlemen, look in amazement as the key will be revealed, and ladies look away, because even seeing these things may make you go into a rage!
That's right THE JORT!!
Look at how even all-around good guy Tim Tebow becomes a hideous monster in these short jeans! Truly a horrifying look.
Ok, as I'm sure you've realized by now, I'm pro-jort, and hopefully with warmer temperatures I'll get to bust mine out again, but why are these garments so detested my the fairer sex, let's list possible reasons
1) They aren't jeans. That's true, they aren't, but the concept is the same. They are heavy duty shorts, and usually cheaper than khaki, so you know your man is waiting to spend that money on the most important thing in his life, you!
2) Women also hate jean shorts. This is less true than anything I can think of. Heard of Daisy Dukes, cut-off jean shorts worn my women to attract attention to the firmness and shape of their behind, therefore making them sexier to men. The Jort works the same way for men, we want to frame our calves in a nice way to show you that we have decent to good lower leg strength, therefore making it easier for use to run around, and pick heavy stuff up.
3) The redneck factor. Ladies, let me tell you a little something about myself. I live in the country with 2 tractors, a rabbit barn, a big yard, and a John Deere mower. If I didn't wear jean shorts I wouldn't be true to who I am as a person. I'm just a guy from the country, not a slick city dweller who gets a nice three piece suit. I'm much more at home with my jean shorts, a ball cap, and a t-shirt.
So, in closing, I say that if you want to find a date, it might be as easy as throwing the jorts out of your closet, but ladies, I ask you to let the man who wears jean shorts into your life, and maybe you might find what you've been looking for.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Today Was An Interesting Day
So before I get started I'd like to welcome everyone to the relaunch of my blog, now going as Thoughts From My Mom's Basement. I thought about what Professor Steiner said, and after thinking about letting my geek flag fly and reading Emily's critique where she said that my pizza theme was lost, I decided to go with what I know, being so far outside the mainstream in my own little corner of geekdom! Remember folks, geek is the new cool, so this place is for the cool kids!
So, onto today. It was a very sad and yet interesting day. As you now know, I am a wrestling fan and today the world of wrestling lost a great bright young star in Larry Sweeney. Sweeney (real name Alex Whybrow) hung himself at a wrestling school sometime last night or early this morning. He battled depression and bipolar disorder for his entire life after having a documented breakdown in 2009. He was 29 years old, and I almost feel bad using the term old here.
Also today, Edge (real name Adam Copeland), a wrestler with the WWE for 15 years was forced into retirement at the age of 37. Copeland was suffering from symptoms of nueropraxia, a disorder in the nervous tissue causing loss of motor skills. Had Copeland continued to wrestle he would be risking paralysis or even death.
Of course, this summer marks the 4 year mark since the infamous Chris Benoit murder suicides, a case so horrifying that it caused pro wrestling to look itself in the mirrior and make some big changes in a big way. I feel as if today's news of the eaath of LArry Sweeney may be another one of those wake-up messages.
So, you may be asking what these two stories have to do with anything? Well, it's actually quite simple. The fact of the matter is that these entertainers go out nearly 300 days a year and put life and limb on the line and don't even have any kind of unionizing body to grant equal rights to all wrestlers. Now, at the highest levels, like the WWE, this is not a problem. The company is large enough to get the help and services their employees need to stay in good shape.
The people a lack of a union hurts is those 'weekend warriors' the wrestlers on the independent scene trying to make a living and possibly get discovered by the bigger companies. The money is just not there to allow them to get some of the help that they may need. More often it is the coverage they get through whatever their 'dayjob' is that gets them the health benefits that they use and even some will not cover some wrestlers due to the amount of pre-existing conditions in their life.
Therefore what I suggest is this, a move toward some kind of independent wrestlers union. I don't know the logistics of the move, I don't know the cost, but I know the benefits. Less lives like Larry Sweeney lost at a young age.
So, onto today. It was a very sad and yet interesting day. As you now know, I am a wrestling fan and today the world of wrestling lost a great bright young star in Larry Sweeney. Sweeney (real name Alex Whybrow) hung himself at a wrestling school sometime last night or early this morning. He battled depression and bipolar disorder for his entire life after having a documented breakdown in 2009. He was 29 years old, and I almost feel bad using the term old here.
Also today, Edge (real name Adam Copeland), a wrestler with the WWE for 15 years was forced into retirement at the age of 37. Copeland was suffering from symptoms of nueropraxia, a disorder in the nervous tissue causing loss of motor skills. Had Copeland continued to wrestle he would be risking paralysis or even death.
Of course, this summer marks the 4 year mark since the infamous Chris Benoit murder suicides, a case so horrifying that it caused pro wrestling to look itself in the mirrior and make some big changes in a big way. I feel as if today's news of the eaath of LArry Sweeney may be another one of those wake-up messages.
So, you may be asking what these two stories have to do with anything? Well, it's actually quite simple. The fact of the matter is that these entertainers go out nearly 300 days a year and put life and limb on the line and don't even have any kind of unionizing body to grant equal rights to all wrestlers. Now, at the highest levels, like the WWE, this is not a problem. The company is large enough to get the help and services their employees need to stay in good shape.
The people a lack of a union hurts is those 'weekend warriors' the wrestlers on the independent scene trying to make a living and possibly get discovered by the bigger companies. The money is just not there to allow them to get some of the help that they may need. More often it is the coverage they get through whatever their 'dayjob' is that gets them the health benefits that they use and even some will not cover some wrestlers due to the amount of pre-existing conditions in their life.
Therefore what I suggest is this, a move toward some kind of independent wrestlers union. I don't know the logistics of the move, I don't know the cost, but I know the benefits. Less lives like Larry Sweeney lost at a young age.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
A Slice of Norway, and maybe some renovations?
So, for this blog I will be infringing on the territory of my good friend Rich, sorry buddy. I'm all for finding new music to enjoy and sometimes I need to go outside the United States. Luckily for all you music fans there is the Eurovision Song Contest, a competition that finds the best original song written by an undiscovered artist throughout Europe.
It was thanks to this competition that I was introduced to the music of one Alexander Rybak. He's Norweign, he plays the fiddle, and he's awesome. Most of his music is derived from the music of Norway, very folk driven beats and pieces. The best part is that most of his music is typical pop in English, so it is relatable to any audience. Here's his track "Europe's Skies", don't ask me why he's on that mountain, just go with it.
Now, in seriousness this is the reason I really wanted to write this blog. I know that most people had a very strong reaction to the previous post. So what I ask is this, would you guys like me to continue on in that vein, and if so, do you think that is could involved and have a solid theme. If you read this blog for enjoyment or because you are forced to, leave a comment below with your thoughts and we'll see what happens this weekend.
~Ryan
It was thanks to this competition that I was introduced to the music of one Alexander Rybak. He's Norweign, he plays the fiddle, and he's awesome. Most of his music is derived from the music of Norway, very folk driven beats and pieces. The best part is that most of his music is typical pop in English, so it is relatable to any audience. Here's his track "Europe's Skies", don't ask me why he's on that mountain, just go with it.
Now, in seriousness this is the reason I really wanted to write this blog. I know that most people had a very strong reaction to the previous post. So what I ask is this, would you guys like me to continue on in that vein, and if so, do you think that is could involved and have a solid theme. If you read this blog for enjoyment or because you are forced to, leave a comment below with your thoughts and we'll see what happens this weekend.
~Ryan
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
A Slice of Truth
So, while I was in France I spent some nights writing (spare me the boos I know you are throwing from behind your monitor). I was trying to come up with something decent that summed up my trip for you guys, and I think I got close, but also got really introspective into a side of me I don't like to bring out often. That being said, here's my little non-fiction essay about my time spent in France.
The Americans in Paris
As you read this, you should know I am writing on Thursday, 17/3/11. It is Saint Patrick's Day and I am sitting on my twin bed at the FIAP Jean Monnet in Paris France. I stare at a white sheet of paper and white stucco walls as I begin to write this piece with my favorite red pen. It is just past midnight, Thursday has just begun and for the majority of us, the night is young.
My roommate for the week Barry has stepped out with Diana and Amy to hit up the clubs and bars of Paris, while I have chosen to stay in as I always do. Tomorrow I will visit the cemetery where Oscar Wilde, Chopin, and Jim Morrison are buried before embarking on an adventure to a European football match.
The night is as young as an infant to most, this is my 4th day here, but I feel as if I have only just arrived. As the rest of the group descends on Paris, the night glows bright like Times Square on New Years, it is a night of celebration, a night to party. The flags have been raised and Paris has been put on notice, the Americans have arrived.
However, it is not just us who have arrived, world travelers from all corners of the globe has descended on Paris. Outside my window I hear the shouts of an Argentinean rugby team and outside my door I hear the conversation of some Canadians. If America is a melting pot, Paris is a petri dish of culture, all forms and different people thrown together in one large social experiment, all existing as different strains of the same DNA, the DNA of humanity.
I reflect on the week to that point. I have seen things so majestic and moving that some people may only see once in a lifetime. It is in this moment that the true paradox of Paris becomes clear. It is a city tied to the past with such reverence for the days of European strength, trying to exist in the world of an ever changing and complex future. Parisians and tourists then are prisoners of the present, caught in a place where moments last for eternity as time continually moves forward.
It is in this cruel constraint that we must exist, I have gone without any type of electronic technology for 4 days, and I am perfectly ok in saying that. Others through wait for the moment in which they can return stateside to cradle their effective cell phones again.
It is in small moments where time freezes where I hope to remember this vacation. I fear however that for most of us, the stories and moments they remember will be nights of wild parties and sweet wine. Instead of being left breathless by viewing the Eiffel Tower at night, they may remember the flashing lights of a nightclub. Instead of marveling at the Mona Lisa, they will marvel as they made it back to the hostel at 5:15 in the morning.
It is not that I hate people who drink, far from it. It is that after seeing how alcoholism makes people act and having it be in my family, I have never had a drink of alcohol. I know plenty of people who do, but the idea of a night I can't remember is much less pleasant to think about than a night I'll never forget. Plus, I'm fun enough without drinking anyway.
It is in this moment that I realize that I am not having as much fun on this trip as I should. That is not to say I'm having a terrible time, but the truth of the matter is that I have nothing in common at all with any of the people I am traveling with. Once this trip is over, I will probably never talk to any of them again, while they have formed some connection. I feel ostracized from the group, a lonely traveler through France.
The other question I needed to understand the answer to was why was I here. What had I come to Paris to find? Pictures fade over time, memories fade as we age, but it is the stories that we have to hold onto. For most it'll be the crazy nightlife, but what is it for me?
It won't be of the food, although Steak Tartar and Creme Brulee were surprising good. It won't be of the spiritual experiences, even though Notre Dame is enough to bring any man to their knees. It will not be of the history, enough though seeing all the tourist spots makes everything seems so small over time.
It is then that I think of a few hours earlier. I got on the metro on my way back to the hostel after a group dinner. On the train with me were two attractive American girls, one blond, one brunette with southern drawls. A few stops before I saw supposed to get off, the brunette stood to leave. I knew that I could keep going on, but I also knew that I could transfer back to this line. I needed to find her, for that moment where ever she was was where I wanted to be.
I dashed off the train and followed her through the largest metro station in Paris, getting short of breath and slightly irritated that she has always just out of reach. She got in front of a group of tourists on a moving walkway and with one more turn she was gone, another shadow in the City of Lights.
As I think back to that moment, I thought why did I do it? In asking this question I found not only the answer, but also the answer to what I came to Paris to find. I came to rekindle the magic of life. I had been swept up for a moment in a opportunity that never arose. I learned that magic is where fortune and luck meet at the intersection of life.
As I sit here, I here the Frenchmen outside my door say Merci to someone and I want to take this moment to say Merci Vocu to Paris. Thank you for letting this American be swept up in the magic of your city if only for a little while.
The Americans in Paris
As you read this, you should know I am writing on Thursday, 17/3/11. It is Saint Patrick's Day and I am sitting on my twin bed at the FIAP Jean Monnet in Paris France. I stare at a white sheet of paper and white stucco walls as I begin to write this piece with my favorite red pen. It is just past midnight, Thursday has just begun and for the majority of us, the night is young.
My roommate for the week Barry has stepped out with Diana and Amy to hit up the clubs and bars of Paris, while I have chosen to stay in as I always do. Tomorrow I will visit the cemetery where Oscar Wilde, Chopin, and Jim Morrison are buried before embarking on an adventure to a European football match.
The night is as young as an infant to most, this is my 4th day here, but I feel as if I have only just arrived. As the rest of the group descends on Paris, the night glows bright like Times Square on New Years, it is a night of celebration, a night to party. The flags have been raised and Paris has been put on notice, the Americans have arrived.
However, it is not just us who have arrived, world travelers from all corners of the globe has descended on Paris. Outside my window I hear the shouts of an Argentinean rugby team and outside my door I hear the conversation of some Canadians. If America is a melting pot, Paris is a petri dish of culture, all forms and different people thrown together in one large social experiment, all existing as different strains of the same DNA, the DNA of humanity.
I reflect on the week to that point. I have seen things so majestic and moving that some people may only see once in a lifetime. It is in this moment that the true paradox of Paris becomes clear. It is a city tied to the past with such reverence for the days of European strength, trying to exist in the world of an ever changing and complex future. Parisians and tourists then are prisoners of the present, caught in a place where moments last for eternity as time continually moves forward.
It is in this cruel constraint that we must exist, I have gone without any type of electronic technology for 4 days, and I am perfectly ok in saying that. Others through wait for the moment in which they can return stateside to cradle their effective cell phones again.
It is in small moments where time freezes where I hope to remember this vacation. I fear however that for most of us, the stories and moments they remember will be nights of wild parties and sweet wine. Instead of being left breathless by viewing the Eiffel Tower at night, they may remember the flashing lights of a nightclub. Instead of marveling at the Mona Lisa, they will marvel as they made it back to the hostel at 5:15 in the morning.
It is not that I hate people who drink, far from it. It is that after seeing how alcoholism makes people act and having it be in my family, I have never had a drink of alcohol. I know plenty of people who do, but the idea of a night I can't remember is much less pleasant to think about than a night I'll never forget. Plus, I'm fun enough without drinking anyway.
It is in this moment that I realize that I am not having as much fun on this trip as I should. That is not to say I'm having a terrible time, but the truth of the matter is that I have nothing in common at all with any of the people I am traveling with. Once this trip is over, I will probably never talk to any of them again, while they have formed some connection. I feel ostracized from the group, a lonely traveler through France.
The other question I needed to understand the answer to was why was I here. What had I come to Paris to find? Pictures fade over time, memories fade as we age, but it is the stories that we have to hold onto. For most it'll be the crazy nightlife, but what is it for me?
It won't be of the food, although Steak Tartar and Creme Brulee were surprising good. It won't be of the spiritual experiences, even though Notre Dame is enough to bring any man to their knees. It will not be of the history, enough though seeing all the tourist spots makes everything seems so small over time.
It is then that I think of a few hours earlier. I got on the metro on my way back to the hostel after a group dinner. On the train with me were two attractive American girls, one blond, one brunette with southern drawls. A few stops before I saw supposed to get off, the brunette stood to leave. I knew that I could keep going on, but I also knew that I could transfer back to this line. I needed to find her, for that moment where ever she was was where I wanted to be.
I dashed off the train and followed her through the largest metro station in Paris, getting short of breath and slightly irritated that she has always just out of reach. She got in front of a group of tourists on a moving walkway and with one more turn she was gone, another shadow in the City of Lights.
As I think back to that moment, I thought why did I do it? In asking this question I found not only the answer, but also the answer to what I came to Paris to find. I came to rekindle the magic of life. I had been swept up for a moment in a opportunity that never arose. I learned that magic is where fortune and luck meet at the intersection of life.
As I sit here, I here the Frenchmen outside my door say Merci to someone and I want to take this moment to say Merci Vocu to Paris. Thank you for letting this American be swept up in the magic of your city if only for a little while.
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