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  <subtitle>nrang328</subtitle>
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  <updated>2008-11-24T21:52:44Z</updated>
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  <entry>
    <id>urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:nrang328:3146</id>
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    <title>Danny Boyle interview with EW</title>
    <published>2008-11-24T21:52:44Z</published>
    <updated>2008-11-24T21:52:44Z</updated>
    <content type="html">&lt;span style="font-size: x-small"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Slumdog Millioinaire&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;lj-embed id="1" /&gt;How awesome was the movie?!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.ew.com"&gt;ew.com&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/em&gt;</content>
  </entry>
  <entry>
    <id>urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:nrang328:3022</id>
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    <title>Caan Quits David O. Russell's 'Nailed'</title>
    <published>2008-04-23T17:11:34Z</published>
    <updated>2008-04-23T17:11:34Z</updated>
    <content type="html">&lt;p&gt;James Caan has quit director David O. Russell's political comedy &lt;a class="embedded-link" href="http://popwatch.ew.com/popwatch/2008/03/nailed-catherin.html"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Nailed&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/a&gt; after a dispute that ended with the actor storming off the set. The flare-up reportedly started last week while Caan shot scenes of his character, a U.S. Speaker of the House, choking to death on a cookie. Russell told Caan to cough and choke, but Caan argued that a person can't both cough and choke to death at the same time. He reportedly left after Russell insisted they shoot the scene both ways, expressing concern that the choking version would be used in the final edit. Caan's publicist wouldn't confirm the story but did say that the actor left due to creative differences and that the split was amicable. The part will be recast. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The &lt;i&gt;I Heart Huckabees&lt;/i&gt; director is known for on-set freakouts, well documented in video clips that circulated the Internet last year showing him blowing up at &lt;i&gt;Huckabees&lt;/i&gt; star Lily Tomlin. He also had differences with &lt;a class="embedded-link" href="http://www.ew.com/ew/article/0,,20034162,00.html"&gt;George Clooney&lt;/a&gt;, who starred in the Russell-directed &lt;i&gt;Three Kings&lt;/i&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.ew.com/ew/article/0,,20194500,00.html"&gt;source&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;can one cough and choke to death?? and go.....&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content>
  </entry>
  <entry>
    <id>urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:nrang328:2171</id>
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    <title>Conan</title>
    <published>2008-01-17T14:17:08Z</published>
    <updated>2008-01-17T14:17:08Z</updated>
    <content type="html">&lt;font size="2"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A chimp. A strike beard. Lychee Green Tea. Peek at the secret scribblings of a late-night talk show host lost in a world without writers, trying to make sense of his new TV reality (and ''The Real Housewives of Orange County'')&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;There was an eerie calm before the Strike hit, which made its arrival all the more terrifying. The sky darkened and the cruel November winds howled. Hell hath no fury like a Writer denied his appropriate Internet-participation formula. I was tossed about my quarters like a rag doll, gasping for air and struggling against the relentless tide of angry industry chatter. Then all was blackness...&lt;/font&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt"&gt;DAY 1&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt"&gt; &lt;br /&gt;I am alive, but there is no writing for television and motion pictures. I stumble about my apartment — a stranger in a strange land. Gathering my wits, I take stock of my meager supplies: four original episodes of House, a handful of fresh 30 Rocks, and two Heroes, which I fear have gone bad. I cannot survive long — panic sets in.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt"&gt;DAY 2&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Using three coat hangers and an old T-shirt, I construct a crude device to collect potable water. I then realize that fresh drinking water will not be an issue during a Writers' Strike. I go to the refrigerator and fetch a Pomegranate Lychee Green Tea. It is my first triumph over the elements and I rejoice.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="BACKGROUND: white; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 9pt; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt;DAY 5&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 9pt; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt; &lt;br /&gt;With no sign on the horizon of fresh scripted television, I decide to read a book. The first few pages go well, but I can't help wondering if Meredith and McDreamy will ever work things out. They're so right for each other and yet so wrong. I burn the book for warmth.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="BACKGROUND: white; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 9pt; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt;DAY 12&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 9pt; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Tragedy! A power surge fries my DVR, destroying my meager larder of scripted shows. With little to sustain me, I am forced to subsist entirely on Reality Television. I gorge myself on marathons of &lt;i&gt;The Real Housewives of Orange County&lt;/i&gt; and &lt;i&gt;Flavor of Love&lt;/i&gt;, then collapse in a wretched heap. If this is living, I welcome death.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="BACKGROUND: white; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 9pt; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt;DAY 23&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 9pt; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt; &lt;br /&gt;I hear a plane and decide to make a signal. I head to my roof to spell out ''Help — End Strike — Need New Shows — Make a Fair Deal for the Writers and End This!'' Sadl&lt;b&gt;DAY 37&lt;/b&gt; &lt;br /&gt;I turn my back on TV and venture off into uncharted territory: &lt;i&gt;Halo 3&lt;/i&gt;. I enthusiastically shoulder my rifle and begin my virtual campaign to defend Earth. Within the hour I've been shot in the face six times by a 9-year-old Dutch boy named DeathGiver23.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="BACKGROUND: white; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 9pt; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt;DAY 45&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 9pt; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt; &lt;br /&gt;The solitude is unbearable. Am I alone? Are there others like me? I decide to visit the Internet and check out some blogs. ''How is everyone holding up?'' I post innocently. The response is swift and merciless: ''U R Gay!'' Quickly I retreat to YouTube and hum along quietly to ''Chocolate Rain.''&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="BACKGROUND: white; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 9pt; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt;DAY 51&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 9pt; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am now surviving completely on Game Shows. I have lost weight, my hands tremble uncontrollably, but I am certain that Briefcase Twenty-Two holds the million dollars. I scream at my television, but that stupid Physical Therapist from Tarzana cannot hear me. Seriously — what is wrong with that bitch?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="BACKGROUND: white; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 9pt; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt;DAY 58&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 9pt; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How much can one man endure? Now the heavens themselves are conspiring to destroy me, as a light rain knocks out my DirecTV. I get through watching six hours of video snow by convincing myself I'm watching a director's cut of &lt;i&gt;The Ring&lt;/i&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="BACKGROUND: white; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 9pt; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt;DAY 60&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 9pt; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today, a shocking discovery: I am not alone! In the guest bedroom, I stumble across a woman who refers to herself as my ''wife.'' She tells a harrowing tale, having survived all this time on just one DVD: &lt;i&gt;Reba: The Complete 4th Season&lt;/i&gt;. There is nothing I can do for her, and I slowly back out of the room.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="BACKGROUND: white; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 9pt; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt;DAY 64&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 9pt; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Blasphemy! Horror! The Golden Globes are canceled and the Oscars may be next. I want no part of a world that refuses to congratulate itself. I drag all the now-useless televisions to the center of my room and lash them together to form a crude raft. Soon, global warming will cause the seas to rise and I can float effortlessly out my eighth-floor window. It feels good to finally have a sensible plan...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content>
  </entry>
  <entry>
    <id>urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:nrang328:1868</id>
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    <title>Conan</title>
    <published>2008-01-17T14:14:34Z</published>
    <updated>2008-01-17T14:14:34Z</updated>
    <content type="html">&amp;nbsp;&amp;lt;a href="&lt;a href="http://tinypic.com"&gt;http://tinypic.com&lt;/a&gt;" target="_blank"&amp;gt;&amp;lt;img src="&lt;a href="http://i15.tinypic.com/86r7a0k.jpg"&gt;http://i15.tinypic.com/86r7a0k.jpg&lt;/a&gt;" border="0" alt="Image and video hosting by TinyPic"&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/a&amp;gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;A chimp. A strike beard. Lychee Green Tea. Peek at the secret scribblings of a late-night talk show host lost in a world without writers, trying to make sense of his new TV reality (and ''The Real Housewives of Orange County'')&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was an eerie calm before the Strike hit, which made its arrival all the more terrifying. The sky darkened and the cruel November winds howled. Hell hath no fury like a Writer denied his appropriate Internet-participation formula. I was tossed about my quarters like a rag doll, gasping for air and struggling against the relentless tide of angry industry chatter. Then all was blackness...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt"&gt;DAY 1&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt"&gt; &lt;br /&gt;I am alive, but there is no writing for television and motion pictures. I stumble about my apartment — a stranger in a strange land. Gathering my wits, I take stock of my meager supplies: four original episodes of House, a handful of fresh 30 Rocks, and two Heroes, which I fear have gone bad. I cannot survive long — panic sets in.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt"&gt;DAY 2&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Using three coat hangers and an old T-shirt, I construct a crude device to collect potable water. I then realize that fresh drinking water will not be an issue during a Writers' Strike. I go to the refrigerator and fetch a Pomegranate Lychee Green Tea. It is my first triumph over the elements and I rejoice.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="BACKGROUND: white; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 9pt; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt;DAY 5&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 9pt; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt; &lt;br /&gt;With no sign on the horizon of fresh scripted television, I decide to read a book. The first few pages go well, but I can't help wondering if Meredith and McDreamy will ever work things out. They're so right for each other and yet so wrong. I burn the book for warmth.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="BACKGROUND: white; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 9pt; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt;DAY 12&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 9pt; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Tragedy! A power surge fries my DVR, destroying my meager larder of scripted shows. With little to sustain me, I am forced to subsist entirely on Reality Television. I gorge myself on marathons of &lt;i&gt;The Real Housewives of Orange County&lt;/i&gt; and &lt;i&gt;Flavor of Love&lt;/i&gt;, then collapse in a wretched heap. If this is living, I welcome death.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="BACKGROUND: white; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 9pt; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt;DAY 23&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 9pt; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt; &lt;br /&gt;I hear a plane and decide to make a signal. I head to my roof to spell out ''Help — End Strike — Need New Shows — Make a Fair Deal for the Writers and End This!'' Sadl&lt;b&gt;DAY 37&lt;/b&gt; &lt;br /&gt;I turn my back on TV and venture off into uncharted territory: &lt;i&gt;Halo 3&lt;/i&gt;. I enthusiastically shoulder my rifle and begin my virtual campaign to defend Earth. Within the hour I've been shot in the face six times by a 9-year-old Dutch boy named DeathGiver23.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="BACKGROUND: white; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 9pt; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt;DAY 45&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 9pt; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt; &lt;br /&gt;The solitude is unbearable. Am I alone? Are there others like me? I decide to visit the Internet and check out some blogs. ''How is everyone holding up?'' I post innocently. The response is swift and merciless: ''U R Gay!'' Quickly I retreat to YouTube and hum along quietly to ''Chocolate Rain.''&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="BACKGROUND: white; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 9pt; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt;DAY 51&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 9pt; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am now surviving completely on Game Shows. I have lost weight, my hands tremble uncontrollably, but I am certain that Briefcase Twenty-Two holds the million dollars. I scream at my television, but that stupid Physical Therapist from Tarzana cannot hear me. Seriously — what is wrong with that bitch?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="BACKGROUND: white; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 9pt; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt;DAY 58&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 9pt; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How much can one man endure? Now the heavens themselves are conspiring to destroy me, as a light rain knocks out my DirecTV. I get through watching six hours of video snow by convincing myself I'm watching a director's cut of &lt;i&gt;The Ring&lt;/i&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="BACKGROUND: white; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 9pt; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt;DAY 60&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 9pt; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today, a shocking discovery: I am not alone! In the guest bedroom, I stumble across a woman who refers to herself as my ''wife.'' She tells a harrowing tale, having survived all this time on just one DVD: &lt;i&gt;Reba: The Complete 4th Season&lt;/i&gt;. There is nothing I can do for her, and I slowly back out of the room.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="BACKGROUND: white; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 9pt; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt;DAY 64&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-SIZE: 9pt; LINE-HEIGHT: 140%"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Blasphemy! Horror! The Golden Globes are canceled and the Oscars may be next. I want no part of a world that refuses to congratulate itself. I drag all the now-useless televisions to the center of my room and lash them together to form a crude raft. Soon, global warming will cause the seas to rise and I can float effortlessly out my eighth-floor window. It feels good to finally have a sensible plan...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content>
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