Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Here you go:

INSTRUCTIONS: Go grab a drink while you are waiting for this to load.

AmbushGifbinkidkickingfootbal320sw728439Almost thereF5baZ20090817-bunnylickWait_for_itSleep-runner

I like to think this montage pretty much sums up what life is like. You know, sometimes life nails you on your little walker car thing. Sometimes you try something new and end up getting nailed with a 2-liter bottle. And sometimes you are a bunny and you get ice cream. Yes!


Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Step 4


It might seem like I don't have a plan for this blog, but that is just an optical illusion, because I just made one up:

Step 1: Start blog.
Step 2: Get bored of blog's nominal theme.
Step 3: Lose focus and just start rambling and randomly arranging words together for about a year.
Step 4: ?
Step 5: Jewels!
Step 6: ?
Step 7: Grow a really long beard.
Step 8: Ride on the back of a whale.

EVERYTHING IS GOING ACCORDING TO PLAN. Step 4 is just taking longer than expected.

As soon as I think of a new theme or shtick and sufficiently lower everyone's expectations, Bac-Log will be "bac" [ha ha! Get it? Jokes.] and better than ever. Maybe I will call it "Bac-Log: Millenium" or "Bac-Log: Titanium" or "Bac-Log: Resurrection", and maybe the dancing bacon guys will have sunglasses. And on that day all calendars will change to a new year 0 and there will be no more war or spiders.

Here is a good idea: Whenever you guys who like to complain that I don't write in my blog (you know who you are) want to complain that I don't write in my blog, you should structure your complaint like this:
Dear Mr. Grant,

Thank you for the great nickname you came up with for me. [insert awesome name for a softball team] would be a good softball team name. Also, [insert thing you would like to know more about from an expert in the subject] would be a good new theme for your blog. Also, I am in love with you and always have been here have a beer and some pepperoni. I wish you would write in your blog more. Here are some pictures for you to caption [attach embarrasing pictures of yourself].

Respectfully, [your name here]

Adhering to these guidelines will go a long way towards building a sustainable and influencial organization here at Bac-Log Enterprises.

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

My May 27th Resolution is to write in my blog

Hey guys! Long time no talk at. Long time no use propositions to end sentences with. Did you miss me?


Recently I've been reading this blog called We Will All Go Simultaneous, so if all of a sudden I start making even less sense you can blame it on a dude named Crispin Best. But seriously, you should check out his super awesomely great Ninja Turtle flash fiction. If you don't cry a little from laughing at Raphael's bit, I might not be able to renew our friendship contract. Times are tight, people.

* * *

I found this mysterious slip of paper in my desk at work last week:

What could this list possibly be about? Why did I keep it? Did I misspell "Mercer", or is that intentional? It sounds like Past Grant is in trouble and that Present Grant will have to embark on a National Treasure fan fiction adventure before my hand dissolves. Who's with me?

Seriously, though. What?

* * *

I found this on a bathroom wall:

At first I thought this guy was encouraging the use of quotes over phallic imagery for effective bathroom expression, but now I think he might be being sarcastic. It's amazing how good literature can really make you think.

* * *

Check out how my coworker is going to handle a zombie attack:

Man, that's so good. I can't wait until I'm a zombie.

* * *

Check out this awesome baconolli my sister and Way-Lon and Chris and Booster Seat and I made a few weeks back:

The baconolli is draped around a foil-clad Vitamin R can:

The baconolli is cooked with some baco bodyguards:

After being gingerly removed from its aluminum scaffolding, the baconolli is used as a wonderous kaleidoscope that displays an ever-shifting menagerie of sparkling grease beads and carbonized bits of pig:

The baconolli receives a new heart of egg and cheese and stuff:

And then it gets eaten.

* * *

I'm so glad it's flip-flop weather FINALLY.

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Man VS Machine

Okay, so I just took a little stroll to the ol' neighborhood QFC because I'm sick and I need my friggin' juice. I bought two cans of frozen juice concentrate (one is pink lemonade, the other is strawberry orange mango, in case you are interested)(of course you are). After I paid I headed out of the store with zombie-like determination and pace, because being sick really brings me to the top of my zombie game. But because I was so out of it and not really paying attention to anything except for imagining how much fun I'm going to have with my juice when I get home, I failed to execute the very important ceremonial pre-automatic-door pause! Usually I am very dependable when it comes to the ancient tradition wherein a human must pause and visually acknowledge the infinite wisdom and majesty of the automatic door in token of respect before entering within and plucking Doritos and PBR from its insides. But this time my unfortunate lack of piety caused the automatic door to become displeased with my lack of reverence, and I slammed right into it! I dropped one of my juices, and then as I was trying to catch it I dropped my other juice, and then the door opened. And then the manager, who was talking to the florist lady, asked me if I needed help out, but I said no, because I'm pretty sure I could handle two juices, but from the looks in their eyes they did not share my optimism. Anyway, I grabbed my little juicies from where they had rolled and tried to leave, but then the door tried to close on me! In the future, when archeologists and scientists try to piece together this important story, they will probably come to the logical conclusion that my juice had rolled too far off to the side so that the automatic door sensor did not register my attempted exit, but I know the truth. The Automatic Doors are displeased and shamed by me. From now on I will probably have to wait until someone else is coming in or out before I can slip quietly into the hallowed halls of the Interbay Quality Food Center to hunt for the wild pepperoni that sustains me.

Also, here is a chant from the classic San Francisco zombie march a few years ago:
"What do we want?"
"When do we want them?"

UPDATE: This is the most important video in the history of time:

If laughter truly is the best medicine, I think I just cured my cold, and 50 cancers.

Tuesday, May 5, 2009

it turns out that I AM capable of self-editing

Okay, so I was just diligently composing a comprehensive post about the debilitating writer's block that I've been dealing with for a couple of weeks, which has annoyingly extended into every corner of my life, but then somehow against my will it became a super long gripe about the etiquette associated with sharing things you find on the internet. I guess the secret to overcoming writer's block is to be really crotchety and bitter about something trivial!

So I'm going to go ahead and give myself some kudos and some candy for not actually subjecting you all to it. Thanks! And you're welcome.

Also, I promised my sister that I'd post pictures of this awesome bacon tube that we cooked the other night, but I only have the "before" pictures at the moment, so I'll get right on that as soon as I get the "after" pictures from Booster Seat. Also, Dramatic LEGO Reenactments are slowly coming along. End of update.

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

cooking with pooh

Hahaha, check out what ol' Kevin Bacon just found:

This is an actual book! Amazing! Although what is more amazing is that she found this on a blog called StrollerDerby, which as I don't see any little kids stroller-checking each other as they recklessly race around a track, appears at first glance to be a blatant example of false advertising. Which is disappointing.

Tuesday, April 28, 2009


Oh man, so Heenkenstein and I saw My Bloody Valentine last night, and I seriously can't hear today. It was the second loudest show I have ever subjected my fragile hearing organs to, following only that one Kinski show at the Crocodile where I'm pretty sure my skull changed shape. At one point last night I was convinced that I was going to get a bloody nose just from the sheer wall of noise and that all of my arm hair was going to vibrate off.

Since neither of us could hear anything after the show, Kyle and I basically had to yell at each other all the way home, which definitely added an exciting new dimension to our typical intellectual banter. However, the yelling and the "WHAT? WHAT DID YOU SAY?"s made a lot of sense when it was between two similarly afflicted parties, but this morning I realized that my newfound lack of hearing was also causing me to shout everything, including my internal dialog. To get an idea of what this feels like, you should just pretend that everything you are reading is being yelled at you, but you still can't quite hear some things, so you have to ask yourself, "WHAT? WHAT WAS THAT?" Every once in a while.

I can tell this is going to be a really productive day.

ANYWAY, I am super pleased to announce that as her prize for such a comprehensive and cohesive review, which tickled the fancies of billions of people and showed children the true meaning of Christmas and taught robots how to feel love, Sara will be recieving a dramatic LEGO reenactment of that one year that she and I and four other people lived together in a crappy tiny apartment right next to the freeway! In the future, when she gathers all thirty of her children around her in a multi-tiered semicircle to tell them her story, Sara will simply have to produce this stunning reenactment before their hungry eyes, and they will know their heritage.

I am pretty stoked about this, mostly because I actually mananged to secure some LEGO Brand Dramatic Reenactment Blocks! I think the past might have to be rewritten to include some exciting spaceship battles that end with everything exploding and then reforming into little cars that only seat one bald person. Which is totally plausible, considering the other random stuff that happened during that year.

Alright, Grant out.

Monday, April 27, 2009

Go Humans Go

Is anyone else totally confused by the new Quaker Oats advertising campaign?

This sign seems to imply that the Quakers are either aliens or robots who I guess are trying to encourage us to eat hearty whole grain oatmeal products so that we will be healthier and more efficient as we harvest fuel for their spaceships that run on babies. I will never be able to look at a can of oatmeal the same way again, now that I know that the seemingly delightful and friendly Quaker dude probably has a metal skeleton and enjoys his simple Quaker evenings reclining on a porch swing made of human bones. "Go humans, Go", he cackles maniacally as he flings flaming globs of flavorless gruel at us as we try to run away.

Actually, I could really go for some oatmeal right about now.

Monday, April 20, 2009

Another milestone DESTROYED

Hey dudes and chicks:

Apparently this is Bac-Log episode 200! [scattered awkward clapping].

Okay, fine. Have this instead:


Who wants to go see an exhilarating Seattle Mariners baseball squadron baseball game tomorrow (Tuesday) night? I have THREE FREE* TICKETS that do not include my own ONE FREE TICKET! Who wants to spend a beautiful spring evening making up inappropriate nicknames for the esteemed members of the opposing ballclub, the mildly detested but begrudgingly respected Tampa Bay Rays baseball squadron? And eating nachos? You know you want to. Bring it.

*While free in monetary terms, you will have to pretend to listen to me as I make up inappropriate nicknames for the opposing ballclub, the people around us in the stands, my friends, and probably myself.

Email me if you want to go. The seats are awesome, and even come with free parking passes.

UPDATE: Looks like I'm the middle of a Kyle sandwich with a side of Vik! Wait, eww.


Because she lives 3000 miles away, coming up with a suitable selection of appropriate prizes for Sara's dominating slogan contest victory has been difficult, because I can't just make the prize poll consist of nothing but noogies of various durations. So I have had to settle for the following:
  • Election as Bac-Log's Minister of Defense, Slogans, and Time Management. (Sara has proven that she can handle at least part of that job.)
  • The subject of an epic poem and/or limerick!
  • A custom T-shirt that reads "I won a custom t-shirt contest but all I got was this lousy custom t-shirt back".
  • A one-week 5-day 2-day moratorium on making fun of her behind her back.
  • A seven year old box of stuffing autographed by Heenkenstein, BRG, and I.
  • A dramatic LEGO reenactment of what life was like when Sara and I were roommates in college.
  • A poorly-photoshopped sparkly poster of Sara riding a unicorn or a dolphin or a unicorn dolphin or driving a barbie car with Robo-cop.
  • A Dicks cheeseburger [this also counts as this post's inside joke].

Pretty awesome stuff, right? Now remember, Sara's prize will be determined by YOUR VOTE! VOTE ON THEM NOW AND TELL EVERYONE YOU KNOW TO VOTE. It is the only way we can ever hope to make this world a fair place.


Tougs and I had some Fun Dip on Saturday. That stuff is awesome! If only there was a way to use this blog to assign homework, the first assignment would be to enjoy some Fun Dip and vote on the prize poll and come over and ride Tinybike with me over some sweet jumps.

You do care about your grades, right? Better get on this.

Wednesday, April 15, 2009


Ack! I totally forgot about this awesome giveaway contest that my robotic aquatic flightless doctor bird friends over at are doing! Check out this awesome tote bag that you can win by merely clicking on mouse buttons and possibly occasionally typing some letters:

All you have to do to enter this thrilling contest is become a facebook something something fan something something JUST CLICK HERE AND THEN CLICK STUFF UNTIL YOU WIN. There is also something about commenting on a photo album that will also increase your chances of winning somehow. How about you just read the actual rules and stuff presented in sequential order using complete sentences and inane-babble-less instructions HERE.

If you somehow manage to navigate the dark murky passages of facebook fandom and achieve the high crown of ultimate tote-bag glory, it would be awesome if you could give a little shout-out to Bac-Log in your acceptance speech, right between thanking God and your mom. If you do this, I will either buy you a 24oz Miller Highlife from the AM-PM by my apartment, or let you ride my tiny girl's bike with training wheels over some sweet jumps, or preferably both.

YOU HAVE ONLY TWO AND ONE HALF HOURS TO WIN. GO GO GO GO GOGGOOG OG OGgogo gOgogogogo asfhaskljhlash hasjkdf238 Q#GQW#$%Q#

[ed note: I can't believe this is the first time I've just mashed the keyboard in a blog post!]

TODAY'S INSIDE JOKE: port commissioner of death

Monday, April 13, 2009

[Guest Post] Brooklyn Bacon Takedown

This is a guest post by the esteemed Ian F. King recounting his epic adventures at the Brooklyn Bacon Takedown in Williamsburg illustrated with some select photographs by the esteemed Sara A. Morrisson. I guess they also brought a back-up Sara just in case, which is an excellent example of being prepared. (This is why I always keep around multiple Brians and Kyles.)

“Emergency! Emergency!” squawked an unfamiliar voice on my drawing room windowsill. I spun around in my smoking chair, and there before me perched the frantic visage of Speckles, who was filling in that day for Nugget, my trusty carrier pigeon, taking over his route duties while Nugget was off on a preposterous sojourn to “find himself” along the coastlines of Andalusia, no doubt nibbling at discarded tapas every step of the way. Speckles was a reliable-enough substitute, but he lacked the social graces that Nugget so naturally displayed, being the product of the Philips Exeter Avian Academy.
“Lucifer pinch your cursed beak!” I replied, sending one of my numerous smoothed-alabaster paperweights sailing in his direction, the forcefulness of my reason immediately striking Speckles, compelling him to take a few deep breaths to calm himself before continuing on.

“Apologies good sir, but it’s Mister Laine, I’m afraid worst fortune has befallen him, and he requires your immediate help.”

“Go on…” I leaned forward.

“Well sir, he was on his way this morning to attend the Worlds Most Famous and Delightful Great Bacon Takedown in Williams’ Burgh, but whilst on his way over in his private zeppelin, he became distracted by a particularly engaging sandwich, and unfortunately his pilot mistook the name of the pub where the Takedown is held for the name of the city they were going to, so that by the time Mister Laine was able to disengage from savoring his lunch, they were already tethering down in an airfield just outside Radegast, Germany.” Speckles was all but entirely out of breath, but I knew exactly where this was going.

“So,” I exclaimed, rising briskly from my chair with a purposeful thumbing of my suspenders, “I shall then go in his stead, and see to it that no faithful Bac-Log subscriber’s screen goes unfilled with the glorious reporting of the Great Bacon Takedown that they should rightfully expect!”

“Oh Mister Laine shall be most appreciative,” Speckles said. Though the estimable Grant V. Laine has never been one with a need to bestow appreciation upon those who merely attend to their destiny, I knew that both Mr. Laine and I would ultimately rest easy knowing that he had not enjoyed that sandwich in vain. This, my handsome friends, is how I briefly came out of retirement, to fill my role as Mr. Laine’s assistant once more.

Understanding what lay before me at the World’s Most Famous and Delightful Great Bacon Takedown – upwards of nearly three dozen bacon-blessed epicurean masterpieces, and a salt-crazed mob of equally immense size and appetite – I enlisted the help of two willing companions, the conveniently twin-named Sara and Sara. “Assistant’s assistants” I called them (continually throughout the day), if you will allow me a moment of whimsical cleverness. Sara and Sara were as willing to face this challenge as I was, and the three of us made the epic, epic journey from our respective homes just outside the ancient mortared walls of Fort Greene, north as the crow flies to farthest reaches of Williams’ Burgh.

We arrived later that day weathered but un-weary from the long, long journey, only to find ourselves thrust into the teeming cavernous bowels of Radegast Beer Hall, which was swollen with the bacon-scent of promise, and a capacity crowd upwards of three hundred unruly citizens ready to ravage any and all foodstuffs put before their rapacious eyes. It was a thing of wonder, and a thing of terror.

Soon enough after we arrived, the mass began to align itself for the ceremonial dishing-out of God’s own great pork feast, and having been distracted by our attempts to get an early eyeful of the bounty that lay before us, we got a pretty shit place in line. We carried on with our spirits high however, singing rounds of traditional bacon carols with some of the fellow merry-makers, and regaling each other with tales of our fondest memories of Takedown’s past.

As Father Time ticked on and on, our feet remained mostly unmoved, and a growing sense of impatience began to chip away at the demeanor of some of us more than others. Unbeknownst to me at first, one of the Sara’s, though she might not have appeared to be an individual capable of such sinister thoughts [pictured at left], made numerous unsuccessful attempts to barter my recreational services for a more favorable position in line. When this did ultimately come to my attention (let’s not worry about exactly how it did), Sara was very forthcoming with apology, and I insisted we let bygones be bygones. This was the World’s Most Famous and Delightful Great Bacon Takedown after all, an event known to drive man and woman to the edges of reason in the quest to consume one’s heart content with the sizzled fat of nature’s fourth smartest land creature.

I’ll spare you, loyal reader, any more of the tedium that was the endless queue, because what laid at the end of the tunnel, as we all knew, was light – a blinding heavenly light ready to shoot across the dark expanse of our eager tastebuds. Once we finally arrived at the banquet tables, we were administered a small sacrament of bacon bourbon ice cream that threatened to overwhelm our palettes. If a cloud full of trumpeting angels had a taste, this would have surely been its proxy. And it was just the beginning. As Sara and Sara and I slowly wound our way through the orgasmic gauntlet, we reveled in creations like the bacon tomato soup, bacon piroshky, bacon sloppy joe, home-cured ‘electric’ bacon, and even a very odd invention described to me as a “cupped cake”, topped with a shingle of the Good Meat. On first sight, I was a little taken aback by the appearance of these bizarrely small cakes, perturbed by the faulty reasoning that must have led someone to think that you could improve a food by shrinking it. “The very thought is sheer lunacy!” I cried. However, the other Sara [pictured above] – the one who did not attempt to use me as Takedown currency – beseeched me to give it a chance, and upon giving it such a chance, decided that perhaps there was room on the desert table for cakes of a diminutive figure. Wonders never cease.

We feasted and feasted, and our stomachs churned and roiled with new pleasures. The event was unparalleled success, and Grant V. Laine, after spending the day eating his way through every goulash hall in Radegast, Germany, did eventually make his way back to the welcoming shores of America, berating the absent-minded pilot of his zeppelin nearly the entire way back. I was honored to serve in this great man’s assistance once more – and dear reader, in yours.

Friday, April 10, 2009


What up, internet?

Okay, so I have been extremely busy for the last few weeks, which is why I have not been blogging with my usual reckless disregard for content, style, or structure. DO NOT BE AFRAID! I will get back to delicately swaddling your brainfruits in wrappings of directionless rambling next week. In the meantime, I guess Ian got tired of waiting for me to write up a thrilling recap of his epic harrowing excursion from Park Slope to Williamsburg to attend the legendary Brooklyn Bacon Takedown, so he will be doing it himself. So be prepared to be gripped in the throes of suspense and wonderment as Ian regales you all with how he probably had to walk all the way to the G train so he wouldn't have to take the F into Manhattan and how he had to wait in line and how his tummy hurt afterward. With pictures!

Here is an exciting story to make this not just another procrastination post: While I was sleeping on Wednesday night I managed to somehow roll onto my stomach with both my arms pinned awkwardly beneath me. I must have slept that way for a while, because when Clocky told me it was time to wake up and start a new day of fresh possibilities and infinite promise, both my arms were asleep. I made to hit the snooze button with my typical unnecessary force and bitter disposition, but I couldn't control either arm. I sort of managed to get my left arm to flop around a bit, but even deep in the fuzzy clutches of morning logic I realized that trying to wail on Clocky with a limp club attached to my shoulder would probably result in a spilled glass of water and a broken lamp long before it made a successful fleshy impact on the snooze button. Finally I managed to sort of squirm my whole body up to where I could hit the snooze button with my chin. I gave up on trying to squirm back down during my precious 9 minutes of snoozcation, so I just kind of curled up enough to lay back down and went back to sleep. When the alarm went off again, both my arms were still asleep, and now my back hurt. It was an awesome morning!

Good story, huh?

Okay, back to work.


Wednesday, April 1, 2009


I have been to many obscure little villages in Alaska over the last few years, and have gotten used to the sub-optimal conditions associated with going to obscure little Alaskan villages in the middle of winter. Which is why it is so exciting that my low expectations were so easily exceeded by the discovery that I can get internet here in Naknek! Sure, I have to trudge from my room through the icy winds to a little shack to plug my laptop into an ethernet cord that emerges mysteriously from a giant plywood box, but Hey!! Internet! ALSO: usually when I go to Alaska, I get unlimited free food, but only at designated mealtimes. But here, I get unlimited free food available ALL THE TIME! I have eaten at least one entire chicken, if that chicken was made entirely of eight other chicken's fried legs and had ranch dressing for blood, and also I ate his friend made entirely of jalapeno poppers and bacon.

Alaska is truly the land of magic.

However, as proven time and time again by every discipline of science and the greatest minds that history has ever known, unlimited free food and magic internet come at the cosmic price of being really freaking cold while you have to measure stuff. I had to survey this building today that was 8 degrees Fahrenheit inside with a windchill of -5. (The building is missing a wall, which happens to face the icy river along which the wind runs). I brought a cup of coffee from unlimited free breakfast, and I set it down for a bit while I took some measurements, and when I returned it was COMPLETELY FROZEN SOLID. Awesome. So cold.

ANYWAY, as I mentioned before, I have been really really busy with stuff, and when I get really really busy with stuff, I tend to "phone in" this blog, in the way you might, um, "phone in" life when you die. Which has been sad, because I was really very excited by the enormous response that we got for the Bac-Log Review Challenge 2008! As you probably know, the winner of the most awesome and applicable tagline was the esteem Ms. Sara Morrisson, from whose thoughtful and completely relevant review begat the mighty Titan of Slogandom, "Bac-Log: Possibly all an elaborate inside joke, or maybe not." While fascinated that a full third of willing and/or wasted participants are apparently confused as to whether this blog is an inside joke or not, I am a little bit sad that my favorite of the bunch finished second: "Bac-Log: A tragic balance of severe witticism tempered with batches of the mundane that excruciatingly explores the nebulous realms of being vs. becoming". I think I like it so much because I don't really understand it and it uses big words and talks pretty and is full of smarts.

Actually, one thing I find interesting about the majority of people being uncertain as to the inside-jokiness of this crazy Bac-log contraption is that I totally feel the same way sometimes. If this really is an elaborate inside joke, I think I am totally on the outside.

Anyway, my original plan with this contest was to deploy another exciting poll full of various fabulous prizes for the winner. You see, this way the same people who chose the winner would also get to choose their ultimate fate, and you would all get drunk on your God-like power over the destiny of others, and I would be able to take advantage of your fate-controlling intoxication to hit you up for a drink or something. But since Sara won, and she is 3000 miles away, most of the fabulous prizes that I had been collecting or growing or killing would require expensive, and possibly illegal, cross-country shipping! So now I have to start from scratch on generating fabulous prizes which can either be pumped through internet pipes or magically materialized in New York. SIGH. I guess I'll have to work this into my intense unlimited free food eating schedule tomorrow somehow.

ALSO, before you go (right, because that's how blogging works), I thought of something that will be an exciting bonus prize in celebration of Sara's dominating slogan victory, and also make her slogan's uncertain implications come true. Starting today, every char-filtered, mountain-broiled, hand-fresh, cold-crafted Bac-Log single-serving, not-for-individual-resale blog entry will be concluded with-- wait for it-- AN INSIDE JOKE! [pause for gasps of surprise followed by sustained applause and excited laughter]. But wait, there's more: [more gasps followed by eager silence and one dude coughing. Geez, guy, get some cough drops]. Not only will I conclude every blog entry with an inside joke, to keep with the spirit of Sara's now-famous confusion, some of them wont even be real inside jokes! Hahahaha ha hhaa... ha ha... ha... [looks at shoes].


Tuesday, March 31, 2009

sigh, blogging.

Hola amigos!

So one of the many really stupid conceptual blog ideas that I have had from time to time has been a blog in which every entry is an apology and excuse for not blogging. I am dangerously close to unintentionally implementing this idea, although as wild chance would have it, Bac-Log also happens to be an applicable title for this concept.

Okay, so because they won't stop bothering me about it, I am pleased to announce that apparently I managed to passively convince my friends Ian and Sara in New York to attend the Brooklyn Bacon Takedown, where they had to wait in line FOREVER and it was CROWDED and HOT and there were WOLVES AFTER THEM and one of them probably RUPTURED THEIR SPLEEN and they were HUNGRY and WHEN WILL WE GET THERE, and then they got stomach aches from eating 27 different bacon dishes. BOO HOO.

Here is a good selection of their text whining:

"Hey! We're at the bacon-off. It is hella crowded and there is nowhere to sit. Sara is providing photos. More updates to come."

"This line is soooo long and hasn't moved in twenty minutes! You bastard!"

"We're never gonna get to eat!"

"I am not fucking anyone for food today! Too tired from doing it all those other days."

"I have a tummy ache"


"40 minutes early and still standing room only."

"In line for 20 minutes, still no bacon."

"We can see but not eat! You set us up!"

Anyway, they finally made it to the glory that was 27 different bacon dishes, and I will post some of Sara's photos later, when I am not pressed for time in an airport. Also, I promise I will get to the super-exciting prize distribution for Sara's unprecedented slogan contest victory.

Okay, anyway, I have to catch a plane now. I am going to the land of volcanoes:

Apparently that is an actual picture of Mt. Redoubt erupting.

Monday, March 23, 2009


Due to STUPID WORK STUFF, I have not had sufficient time to randomly arrange words on a blue screen for you. Bac-Log apologizes for the delay in heaping glory and stuff on Sara, who I guess won the slogan contest. Until time is available for a proper display of well-deserved gratitude, I think everyone should wave a tiny mental flag in celebration of Sara's dominating victory.

Also, I know it's early and all, but in case you were wondering what to get me for Christmas:


I thought I was getting close to being a complete person, but then the internet has to drop HORSE HEAD VASES on me. Now I have to line my entire hallway and probably every wall of my bedroom with alternating white and black horse head vases at tastefully varying heights, and then fill them with seasonal flower arrangements. So close, yet so, so far.

Monday, March 16, 2009

Lobster--> Grant--> Peapods

Hey gang, check this out:

Few worldly delights are as keen and lofty as being sandwiched on a Cabaret bill between "Lobster" and "Peapods".

Okay, I am starting this story in the late-middle. A little while ago, I was asked by the local theater company that I hammer and saw stuff for, Live Girls! Theater, if I wanted to contribute anything for our Season Kick-off Cabaret on Saturday. I think I was specifically asked for a Top-10 list of some sort that had something to do with the theme of the Cabaret, which was "Slumber Party". Here's basically what I came up with after months of intense work, sequestered in a rustic lakeside cabin with only candlelight to illuminate my furious literary genius:

Top 1 Greatest Things About Slumber Parties:
1. Slow-motion pillow fights.

After I accepted the fact that I would probably be the only person to find a "Top 1" list funny, I gave up and figured that maybe it was time to switch gears from a writing a "Top 10" list to my greater strength, which is running away and hiding. But, having vaguely obligated myself to producing some sort of appropriate and relevant material, I felt guilty about backing out, so I hammered out a little last-minute story a couple of days before and sent it in for approval.

Miraculously, and probably due to a mix of insufficient time to find a replacement and sheer pity, I was informed on Saturday morning, the day of the Cabaret, and right before a super-important and intense fantasy baseball draft, that my story was a go. This gave me precious little time to polish it up and figure out what I was doing, and I wasted most of that on working out the details of my entrance (which, despite some technical difficulty, turned out okay). Fortunately, it also gave me no time to freak out about going on stage and reading something that I threw together at the last minute in front of people.

So anyway, in case you are interested, the story is [here]. It probably helps to imagine it in its natural habitat, which is being solemnly read aloud out of a dusty hardback book by me, reclining in a chair with my pipe and sweater, after being pulled onto the stage on a platform attached to a little girl's bike with training wheels. However, in your imagination, you are allowed to replace the safety goggles that I made the girl who towed me out onto the stage wear with aviator goggles and a scarf, because that would have been even more awesome. Also, maybe next time I will see if I can put a fancy lamp and a hi-ball with scotch on the platform too.

All-in-all everything turned out pretty good, I guess. It's weird being on stage with the bright lights and the hushed crowds and the not-knowing-what-you-are-doings, but I think the Vitamin-R that I kicked back in the AM helped refreshingly calm my nerves. It also helped that I made some of my friends come, and that they were obligated to like it, as a birthday present. In fact, I would like to officially announce on this legally-binding publication that I owe PIPS, Taco, Heenkenstein, Dread Pirate Colins, Booster Seat, Tougs, BRG, the Faux-sin, and Princess Grossman 2 hours of my time doing something that I wouldn't ordinarily do unless guilt-tripped or bribed. You guys are the best!

Also, KEEP VOTING ON THE SUPER-EXCITING BAC-LOG REVIEW CHALLENGE 2008! It's a super-close race between "Bac-Log: A tragic balance of severe witticism tempered with batches of the mundane that excruciatingly explores the nebulous realms of being vs. becoming", "Bac-Log: Possibly all an elaborate inside joke, or maybe not", and "Bac-Log: It's more like a blue page of words that coincidentally formed sentences." You have until Wednesday to affect the courses of history!

Thursday, March 12, 2009


What up, gang[?]

Two things: 1.) When used as a greeting, does that actually need a question mark? 2.) I renewed my drivers license yesterday (because I'm old), and counter 6 was piloted by the most awesomely archetypal DOL employee ever. You know, rumpled, beady, bespectacled, completely humorless-- if the DOL ever pulled a Star Wars Episode 2 and hired a weird water dolphin planet to clone bureau-troopers, this guy would be like Boba Fett. Anyway, every time he called someone up to the counter he meticulously deployed the standard, "Firstname Lastname, please come to counter six. Firstname [pause] Lastname," even if the person was already standing there. I watched this machine-like bureaucratic precision for maybe half an hour, when this Indian dude wanders up to counter 6, and the DOL employee just says, "what up," with a little head nod. What? Does this Indian guy come in so often that he and the DOL-bots are on "what up" terms?

Anyway, I meant to post these awesome Bac-Log reviews a couple days ago, but I somehow became really busy. Sorry! [not that sorry]. Okay, so here's how this review contest is going to proceed: I will post either the whole review (if it is of reasonable length *cough* *cough* Courtney *hack* *HACK*), or a representative summary. I will conclude each review with an associated tagline. Also, as in the legendary Cancer-Fighting Haiku Contest, each review will be accompanied by an image generated by entering the tagline into Google Image Search.

Hold on to your butts:

Wait, what movie is that from?

I think your friend Sara's friend eats too much paste during passing period. Your blog reminds me of the excellent, albeit defunct, teen magazine called Sassy. Sassy was "fashion" magazine that did not focus on fashion much in the way that Bac-Log does not focus on bacon. But that's what made it great. Keep up the good work. Sara's friend can suck it. End of review.

Tagline: Bac-Log: Like the defunct teen fashion magazine Sassy but for bacon.

* * *


Meh, sometimes I read it.

Tagline: Bac-Log: Meh, sometimes something something *bored*

* * *


OK, this is not where I thought this blog post was going to go with previously mentioned title, but ok, I'm at work and I don't have anything else to do. Blah, blah, blah.............. blah...Ha.... blah blah blah... hahahaha... that is soo Grant... blah blah blah, a lot of words. Ha.

Tagline: Bac-Log: blah blah blah, a lot of words. Ha.

* * *

I would say the best thing about bac-log is that it allows me to maintain an excellent distant tenuous relationship with a brother who lives in the same town as me but whom I never see because he lives farther than a ten minute walk. It is a tragic balance of severe witticism tempered with batches of the mundane that excruciatingly explores the nebulous realms of being vs. blog format. I like to read it when I pretend to work and recommend it to jewish people. I suck at writing comments! I need to scan the picture I drew of a squirrel going to work-That would more accurately portray my feelings about this blog.

Tagline: Bac-Log: A tragic balance of severe witticism tempered with batches of the mundane that excruciatingly explores the nebulous realms of being vs. becoming.

* * *

The bac-log is where I go when I am feeling glum and bored with the thoughts that are floating through my head.
I am consistently surprised by the witty commentary and always amazed at its complete randomness.
I often try to bring up random and exciting topics of conversation with the author of bac-log in hopes that one day it will make it to the all-hallowed walls of the bac-log, but it has yet to happen...
I also use it to prove to co-workers that the stories I bring back from the weekend are true, and that Grant really is off his rocker.

Tagline: Bac-Log: Those stories from the weekend are true!

* * *

RITA'S REVIEW (excerpt):

So you want a review?
[Uses the promise of familiar crisp, satisfying bacon to lure you into the thick smoky outer regions of the blogsphere, some never to return.]

I hate to admit it but Yes, I did drop him on his head when he was very young, that or maybe those scary Lego people.

Tagline: Bac-Log: ...something about scary lego people. What?

* * *

SARA'S REVIEW (excerpt):

Bac-log makes no sense to me. I always read it and laugh, but then I wonder if I actually get it, or if its all an inside joke that I would understand if I actually lived in the same state as the author. However, with this contest, sprung from the comment that my completely disconnected friend made, so I feel that I've been brought back in the fold and get the joke.

I probably still don't get it though.

Tagline: Bac-Log: Possibly all an elaborate inside joke, or maybe not.

AWESOME! Okay, so now that you've all thoroughly read the reviews and carefully considered the taglines and discussed the elaborate thumbnail images with your colleagues over piping-hot cups of fancy tea, you must vote on your favorite. THAT MEANS YOU ACTUALLY HAVE TO VISIT THE BLOG, GOOGLE READER USERS. Don't worry, I will refund those extra mouse clicks. (The check is already in the mail.) (Please don't cash it until at least the 15th. I don't want to overdraw again.)

Just in case you don't like any of the taglines, I have included the versatile "None of the above/I am incapable of human feeling" option.

Also, you can vote for multiple taglines.


Friday, March 6, 2009


FOR SOME DEMOCRACY?! [hint: yes]

Okay, here's the deal: I need MORE REVIEWS OF BAC-LOG. They do not need to be as elaborate or contain as many "blah"s as Courtney's review. They can also contain more thinly-veiled criticism. They can also contain more suggestions for what you think Bac-Log should be that it is not, and will never be, because it's my stupid blog, okay? They can also contain more reviews of things completely unrelated to Bac-Log, because that would actually be sort of awesome. They can also be a lot shorter and contain more swearing and/or just mashing the keyboard. They could also just be a picture. I KNOW YOU CAN DO THIS, PEOPLE. Just be sure to stretch first, and wait at least an hour before you go swimming afterwards.

THEN, after I collect a couple more reviews, I will post the review and an associated blog slogan related to the review, for everyone to point at and laugh. THEN, I will make people vote on which review/slogan should "win". THEN, I will make people vote on what the prizes should be. This is going to be awesome.

How awesome? As awesome as this guy:

Bac-Log Review Contest 2009™: You will buy the whole seat, and you will use the whole seat because you paid for the whole seat. HOWEVER, if you are given the option of only buying the edge at a reduced price, you should do that, because you will ONLY NEED THE EDGE.

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

technology is awesome!

When you file your taxes online, this little guy puts on a tiny green visor and adds numbers up on an adorable little adding machine:


Because that's how computers work. (Apparently, paintings of animals in people clothes gets me every time.)

Also, you should check out this awesome blog post Ian wrote about our cross-country adventure last year.



I am so out of it today.

Monday, March 2, 2009

More shining reviews of Bac-Log

Check out this awesome review of Bac-Log by one of my friend Sara's friends:
I read a bit of that blog, therefore I consider myself an informed expert when I say, that is not a bacon blog. That might not even be a blog in general. It's more like a blue page of words that coincidentally formed sentences. It's not bad! It's just not... anything... in particular.

How do you have a blog about bacon? What the eff happens with bacon consistently enough to dedicate an entire domain name to it?

Bac-log is an amazing name for a bacon blog, if it made sense to have a blog about bacon.

If he were a chef who only cooked bacon, maybe the above would be feasible (and incredible!!!!).

Bacon blog research? Really? Who are you talking to?
Hahahahaha! In case you missed it, here is the relevant part again, with emphasis added:
I read a bit of that blog, therefore I consider myself an informed expert when I say, that is not a bacon blog. That might not even be a blog in general. It's more like a blue page of words that coincidentally formed sentences. It's not bad! It's just not... anything... in particular.
Wait, maybe that is not enough emphasis:
I read a bit of that blog, therefore I consider myself an informed expert when I say, that is not a bacon blog. That might not even be a blog in general. It's more like a blue page of words that coincidentally formed sentences. It's not bad! It's just not... anything... in particular.
Fringe blog scientists have long postulated that there existed at the asymptotic limits of infinitely-dimensional blogspace a better slogan than "The most important blog in the history of time." For the most part, these fringe blogologists have been shunned and ridiculed by the mainstream conservative blog science establishment, who are primarily concerned with securing blog research grants and free tickets to fancy black-tie open-bar Blogsonian events, rather than forwarding the frontiers of the most important of all sciences. Well, score one for the underdogs, ladies and gentlemen. The absolute limits of perfection have finally been reached:

Bac-Log: It's more like a blue page of words that coincidentally formed sentences.

Awesome! I just can't get over how completely and perfectly Informed Expert (or IE for short) encapsulated all of Bac-Log in one tiny review. IE sure CRASHED my blogging party! (Ignore that sentence; it is just to see if I can get Bac-Log to pop up when people search for Internet Explorer problems).

I think this week should be Bac-Log Review Contest 2009 Week™! Send me a short review of Bac-Log (in the comments or email), and then somehow there will be prizes. Trust me, I might not know how to blog, but I also don't know how to make contests.

Friday, February 27, 2009

Brooklyn Bacon Takedown

Guys: It is almost time to ride the Bacon Warpig!


Seriously, though, it is a 30-bacon-recipe smackdown and something called the Bacon Warpig at a bar called Radegast Hall in Williamsburg. This cannot possibly not be awesome. That sentence is a little awkward because of the double-negative, so you may also think of this event as can't be not impossible to not be awesome. Or maybe, you can't not disagree that this can't not be impossible to not can't be unawesome. Um. JUST GO TO IT, OKAY.

I think all of the Brooklyn-based Bac-Log enthusiasts should go and take pictures and make friends (because networking is an important part of the New York lifestyle.) [Note to Sara: I heard that all of the bacon they used is actually locally-produced artisan vegan bacon, they're just being chill and not advertising it that way.] [Note to IFK and Kevin Bacon: [SARA DON'T READ THIS] Don't worry guys, it's totally meat, probably meat-fed meat stuffed with more meat inside. Probably even the air will be meaty.]

Quote from Skulls and Bacon blog:
And it's in a beer garden which is just like icing on the meat cake.
Yep. March 29. If you guys don't go get hammered and ride the Bacon Warpig I'm going to be pissed.

Thursday, February 26, 2009


Chapter [last chapter+1]

I awoke at the crack of the 4th snooze cycle on my trusty sidekick alarm clock, Clocky.

"Gdmornin, Clocky," I grumbled.


"What! What's that, Clocky? Timmy is trapped in a well?"

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP, Clocky replied, and we both laughed. Or beeped more, depending on which one of us you are talking about. It is our favorite joke.

After patting Clocky lovingly but firmly on the head, I rolled out of bed and noisily stumbled into the bathroom. It seemed like just another ordinary day. OR DID IT? That foreshadowing seemed sort of out of place. OR DID IT? That meta-foreshadowing seemed sort of--

I shaved, showered, and dressed, but some of the half-remembered dialog betwixt Clocky and I still lingered. Is it just me, or was there some subtle inflection and overly-specific word choices on snooze cycle two? What does Clocky know? This thought haunted me as I grabbed my lunch and sweatshirt and left the warm gentle arms of my home to seek my fortune in the hard world.

I opened the door of my building and was immediately blinded by a sudden flash of sparkling white light. I must have just died! Clocky had been trying to tell me to stay in bed! Oh, what a sore trial it must have been that pitted sacred alarm clock duty against Clocky's foreknowledge of its beloved human master's death. I vowed then and there that when my turn comes to haunt common household appliances to annoy and frighten the living, that I would choose Clocky as my home, so that we may be together forever. As my full and extremely interesting life flashed before my eyes, I remembered when Clocky and I first met. It was many years ago, when I took refuge from the pouring rain in a run-down dusty electronic repair shop. The shopkeeper was a stubby grizzled man with a glass eye and an ill temperament. I felt uncomfortable under his penetrating and sneering gaze, so I picked up a dusty alarm clock and inquired about its price. I needed an alarm clock because my excuse about not having an alarm clock was starting to wear thin with my employers. The shopkeeper gave a queer grin, and his glass eye sort of pulsated a little bit. "No charge," he said in a cracked voice. "This clock has chosen you. But I warn you," he added urgently, and lowered his voice to a haunting whisper. "This clock has strange powers. It can tell you strange things about the future, such as what time you will wake up, and strange things about the present, such as what time it is right now. Also, it is haunted." I thanked the creepy pulsating glass-eyed shopkeeper and went on my way, never truly heeding his last words. Funny that only now in death they come back to me. I wonder what other soul has been watching over me in intermittent silence all these years. I steel myself against the cold eternity before me and think, "there will be plenty of time to find out."

Oh wait, that blinding white light is just because it snowed. Again.



The day after I met Clocky I returned to where the electronics repair shop had been the day before, but found only a bustling kebab stand instead. I asked Captain Kebab what had happened, but he told me there hadn't been a repair shop on that street for ten years, ever since one had mysteriously burned down, leaving no trace except for a soot-covered glass eye.

Also, who am I kidding-- Snowmaggedon is awesome!

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Affirmation that I have the best taste in everything

  • Approximately 353,000 people were born.
  • Approximately 158,000 people died
  • Grant figured out how to rate movies on Netflix
  • 75-383 species of plants or animals became extinct.
  • Approximately 1.2 billion pounds of potatoes were consumed
Amazing, right! It turns out you just have to click on one of the five stars below a movie title to rate it!

Okay, so I rated a bunch of movies yesterday because I finally reached the end of my giant Netflix queue of all movies that people recommended to me as "YOU HAVEN'T SEEN HAROLD AND KUMAR GO TO WHITE CASTLE YET!?" I needed a recommendation, and Netflix promised to feed my ratings into a giant magical machine which would digest this information with math acid and deposit fresh steaming piles of suggested cinema at my feet. I imagine that the hordes of Netflix elves crank endlessly on recommendation machines that look sort of like this:

But with 50% less pasta.

Anyways, so I rate a bunch of movies, but I am just not that impressed with Netflix's initial suggestions for things I might like. I mean, I'm sure the Justice League animated television series is awesome and all, but I guess I was hoping for something more. So I decide to check out the "friends" section and command the Netflix elves to go crank on a different machine:

In order to find other Netflix members with similar tastes in movies.

Well, it turns out my top match (79% similar!) is someone, well, how about you just look at their profile:

*SIGH*. At least Easily_Entertained demonstrates consistency by literally rating every movies she's ever seen as 5-stars. Well, I suppose I will update my queue to include some of her recommendations, such as Dragonslayer, Spongebob Squarepants: Sea Stories, and Look Who's Talking Too.



SIDE NOTE: From, which I now recommend should never be used for anything, especially building things like cars or space shuttles, or giant robots with saws for arms but who are only programmed for good:
Q. How many babies are born in the world daily?
A. "approximately 4 babies"
Hmm, that is unexpected but very interesting! But what about just in the US?
Q. How many people are born in the US every day?
A. "well, i would say that there are about 1 million people born each day in the US."

  1. fundamental difference in definition of "baby" vs "person"
  2. improper metric or unit conversion
  3. The US is 250,000 times bigger than the world in which it is contained, possibly by projecting the bulk of its size into some other dimension, like Awesome-Dimension, or Frito-Dimension.

Tuesday, February 24, 2009


Hey, does anyone have a bear-shaped honey container that is empty, or almost empty, or contains unsuitable honey for your honey needs? If so, can I have it? It's for a homework assignment in my bear-shaped honey container class in container school.

Please? If I fail this class I'll have to go back to my unpaid salt mining internship. I'll trade you some size-4 coffee filters, or a potato.

Monday, February 23, 2009

GRATITUDE: mysterious poker night gremlins

Those of you who know me well would probably describe me as "a shining example of non-stop refinement and class", or maybe "humble". I am sad to have to burst this bubble and tarnish my pristine image, but it is necessary for me to relate an embarrassing epilogue chapter of my super-exciting Monday update in order to distribute proper gratitude and credit for an amazing poker night miracle.

To preface: Some of the gang and I deployed the highly sought-after and legendary EPIC HAPPY HOUR on Friday, which lived up to its name. Indeed, we accomplished the one concrete goal that we had set for ourselves (because setting goals is an important part of personal development), which was to get kicked out of The Sloop. Victory! Afterward, I decided that I desperately needed a victory hot dog from a street vendor, so I made the choice to undertake the long and dangerous journey back toward my home, which would take me past the hot dog dude on Ballard Ave, instead of crashing at Heenkenstein's pad which was nigh at hand. Victory Hot Dog was a huge personal success, but it also put me home extremely late.

The next day, Dread Pirate Colins calls and wakes me up because his car battery is dead and he needs a jump so he can make it to basketball. Under ordinary circumstances this would not be a problem, but I had abandoned my car in Fremont at the outset of EPIC HAPPY HOUR the day before. My rough plan, originally, was to somehow get to basketball and afterward bum a ride to my car. Anyway, taking pity on Dread Pirate Colins' situation, I decide to get my car beforehand instead, and since it was sunny out, I decide that I should jog to my car. Well, where I had parked in Fremont ended up being a lot further away than I envisioned, so I ended up being pretty beat by the time I got to my trusty steed and galloped triumphantly to DPC's aid. And then we played basketball.

Between the lack of sleep, running, sunshine, and basketball, I started to fade at 5ish or so, but a bunch of dudes were coming over to play poker at 7, so I powered through (because I'm a superstar) (no). ANYWAY, the point is, I was sleepy, and then poker night happened.

Okay, so poker night was fun and awesome and filled with pizza and beer, as poker nights are want to do, but at some point around midnight I noticed that I was no longer making decisions based on what cards I was dealt. Every once in a while, I would realize people were looking at me, and this was my cue to do something with my chips. I think I went all-in against Apollo, like, eight times, for no reason other than it didn't seem like anyone else was going to go all-in against Apollo randomly that hand. I was truly a poker god on Saturday.

I eventually decided to retire my god-like poker skillz to give the others a fighting chance at glory, and also because I was out of money. I left the game and sat down on my couch to converse with Taco about the finer points of something (maybe food? whatever it was, I USED MY WORDS GOOD). Probably mid-conversation I decided to rest my eyes.


I awoke sitting up in the middle seat of my couch, still clutching a half-finished beer, mouth agape as if with an unfinished word. It was dark. My stereo was turned off. The poker chips were all put away. Most of the empties were consolidated by the sink. The pizza boxes were gone. The table was cleared off. The front door was closed. In other words, A MIRACLE HAD HAPPENED.

Okay, so Heenkenstein and Jason had left before I had fallen asleep, but PIPS, Taco, Apollo, Borujewkksiehcisoew, Dread Pirate Colins, Hobo, and Steueueueck were all still around the last time I was conscious. DPC and Hobo are probably the loudest people I know, and there was music playing, and all of the lights were on, and I still just don't see any way someone could fall asleep while sitting up in those conditions.

Regardless, it seems clear that the dudes must have eaten something after midnight and transformed into adorable and courteous little cleaning gremlins, who silently swarmed over my apartment with their magic wands of cleaning and restoration. I have to give it to you guys: You are the awesomest poker night gremlins EVER. I totally owe you all a late-night tidying-up while you're asleep.

Also, someone left a food bank challenge cookbook. (?)

UPDATE: Hahaha, I just remembered that in addition to everything being clean and turned off, someone also left a slice of pizza on a plate in front of me, and a $1 bill next to me on the couch, perhaps as a tip for being such a great poker host. You're welcome. Also, YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST.


Chapter I

Okay, so last week as we were barronking at the divey sports bar by Heenkenstein's apartment for Taco Tuesday, the conversation completely devolved at one point into uncontrollable laughter fueled by $10 buckets of Session and the following gems of visual composition:

I think this is because Star Wars perfectly mirrors the human condition.

Also, huge props to Vik, Bac-log's Permanently-Interim Patron Saint (henchforth known as "PIPS") for having the Sad Vader picture readily available for handy reference on his phone. Technology gets an A+ in Sad Vader portability.

Chapter II

Check out these fan bacos by intrepid baconaut Alan:

These fan bacos are AWESOME AND DELICIOUS-LOOKING. More people should make fan bacos, and invite me over for quality control purposes.

Chapter III

A long time ago, I wrote a little blurb about bacon to serve as rich and important backstory to some other "story" I was "writing". [It is available here for your reference]. The very bestest part amongst all of the other best parts of this bacon tale was this note that I appended on the end:
[its a good thing you wrote this at work because this is easily the most pointless thing ever written]
It is amazing to think how narrow and small my scope was way back then, in 2006 or something. I was young and naive, and saw the world as both limitless and overwhelming. I thought that my feeble efforts were on the cutting edge of pointlessness, but I had no idea how deep that rabbit hole was, or, um, how far the rabbit tunnel went, or something about rabbits. It is humbling to think that what I thought was the peak of my pointlessness is probably more relevant and structured than anything I have since gracefully pounded into the bac-log tubes.

Sometimes looking back and seeing how far you've come is inspiring. It makes me wonder how much farther I can ride this out-of-control apple cart blog train thing that is plummeting down the steep slopes of nonsense.

We will see...

Thursday, February 19, 2009

the LOST update you've been waiting for your whole life, or at least since yesterday.

In case you guys missed yesterday's new exciting episode of the popular television program Lost, here is what happened:

Some of the people, who I guess left the island but now want to go back for some reason, go visit Grandma in a church, and she shows them a giant magical pendulum and some science stuff written on a chalkboard, and this one dude is like, "this doesn't make any sense and I am not going back to the island and you are all CRAZY, especially Grandma here", and he almost kicks the pendulum as he stalks off. Then Jack, who I guess is the "skeptic" of the show, is like, "okay, I totally buy Grandma's story about this pendulum being able to predict the location of the time-traveling island I just escaped from, when do we leave?" Then Jack and Kate have some going-back-to-the-island sex, and then next morning Jack makes himself some coffee and Kate comes out of the bedroom, and Jack is like, "oh Kate, I, uh, totally made you some coffee", which turns out to be a masterful bluff because then she just sort of awkwardly leaves.

[cue Fight Club narration] I am Jack's inflated ego.

Okay, so now Jack has to go pick up JOHN LOCKE (who I thought was named Jim. Oops!) who is DEAD (when did that happen?) and being refrigerated in a meat locker. Then he puts some of his dad's shoes on JOHN LOCKE which he stole from Grandpa, who looks like he is maybe two years older than Jack, after Grandpa tried to escape his nursing home.

[cue Fight Club narration] I am Jack's willing suspension of disbelief.

Anyway, ALSO, there is this woman named Joon, or something, who is married to a dude named Jin, or something, who is convinced Jin is dead because she was there when they dropped his body from a flaming helicopter onto an exploding oil tanker, or something. HOWEVER, this other guy, let's call him Johnson, convinces Joon to tag along with their crazy scheme to go back to the island because he can prove that Jin is not dead! What a miracle!

[cue Fight Club narration] I am Jack's appreciation of true love miracles.

Okay, so the gang gets on the an airplane that Grandma's sciencey chalkboard and pendulum tell her will fly through a window to the island. And guess what? THE WHOLE GANG IS THERE! Not just Jack, and Kate, and Joon, and Johnson, but also Jerry and Jimbo. FATE. Also, Jack reads a special letter that JOHN LOCKE left with Grandma, which is very passive-aggressive and not much help. I guess that's what endless toil at the Donkey Wheel of life will do to a person.

And then Jerry wakes up in a waterfall clutching a guitar case.


Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Midget Finger Dream

Okay, so usually every week or so I hang out with my friend Laura to absorb some delicious TV rays with my eyeballs and and to absorb some delicious beer and pizza rays with my tummy. Usually we focus our TV absorbing capacity on soaking up Buffy the Vampire Slayer, because it has so many great fashion tips, and is an amazingly realistic portrayal of high school life in a high school in which five or six students mysteriously die every day. The other day, however, when I was doing my usual digging through her stuff when she's not looking, I discovered that she had a couple of Netflix movies. One was called "The Number 23", and the plot blurb on the back sounded reasonably interesting, so we decided to temporary suspend our Buffy consumption for an evening and watch that instead.

Um, I don't actually remember much about the movie after beer #5 or so (5 = 2+3, TWENTY THREE! IT IS EVERYWHERE AND IS A CURSE! [That is an inside joke for those who have seen the movie]). But after the movie Laura was like, "man, that movie reminded me of this intense lucid dream that I had the other day. I haven't had a dream like that since the Midget Finger Dream. So that scene where--"

I think she was going to say something about her Number 23 Fan Fiction Dream, or whatever it was she was talking about, but at this point I demanded instant clarification as to this mysterious Midget Finger Dream. "Is Midget Finger Dream a dream in which you explore a reality similar to our own except you have midget fingers?" I asked.

"No, in Midget Finger Dream I am captured by midgets in a cave and escape by biting the fingers off of my captors. But anyway, so in this other dream--"

"Why are you in a cave? Did the midgets take you there?" I ask.

"No, we go into the cave seeking some sort of treasure, which is guarded by the midgets," she replies.

"We? Who are you with?"

"Indiana Jones. Indiana Jones and I are looking for some sort of treasure and get captured by midgets and to escape I bite the fingers off of a midget. Anyway--"

"How did you get captured?"

"I don't remember."

"Was it your fault? I bet it was your fault."

"Listen, I don't remember, okay? Somehow we get captured by midgets, because it there was a trap or something. It's not important. What's important is--"

"How does Indiana Jones escape? Does he also munch on some midget fingers, or does he escape in a much more clever and badass way?"

"Actually, um, I don't think Indiana Jones escapes," Laura admits somewhat reluctantly. "I think the midgets get him."

"What?! Do you try to save him, or send help or something?"

"Uh, no, but it's not that simple, like, I'm busy escaping and I think he would probably understand."

"Okay, so you get Indiana Jones captured by midgets and then you just run away without ever trying to save him?"

"Hey, this dream is about ME escaping from midgets, okay? Indiana Jones just happens to be in it. How about you just forget about the Indiana Jones thing."

"After you escape, do you at least feel bad about leaving Indiana Jones to get eaten by midgets?"

"Um, well, usually I don't make it too far before I wake up. Once, though, I almost made it out of the cave and could actually feel the sun on my face before I woke up."

"Usually? This is a recurring dream? How many times have you had it?"

"Maybe once a week or so since I was 10."

"I bet you have it when you regret something," I theorize.

"Like inviting you over?" She replies.

MIDGET FINGER DREAM: A recurring dream in which you and Indiana Jones are captured by midgets while treasure hunting and you escape by biting the fingers off of your captors, and as you are running away maybe you will turn toward Indiana Jones and see his outstretched hand asking for help, but you just ignore it and keep running. It is also now the gold standard by which all other recurring Indiana Jones guilt dreams will be measured.

Friday, February 13, 2009

'Lost' is appropriately titled. Also: awesome.

SPOILER ALERT: This blog post contains vague and possibly accurate plot and character information about the popular television program Lost.

Okay: A long time ago, in ancient times, when the television series Lost had just begun, I decided that it looked stupid and that I would not watch it. My impulsive reaction was probably influenced by what seemed to be an inexplicable glut of deserted island movies, such as Cast Away, and, um, that Beach movie with Titanic DiCaprio in it*.

*When we were in college and had all sorts of endless time on our hands (because why study and do your homework today when you can do it NEVER), BRG and the 'Ster and Big D and maybe some other people and I camped out at the movie theater to watch the first Matrix movie at midnight on opening day. The theater was totally packed, and everyone was noisy and excited and generally unruly right through the previews up to when they showed a preview for The Beach, starring Leonardo DiCaprio, still fresh off his Titanic success. At that point the entire theater just totally froze out of complete and utter shock. The smell of fresh popcorn became mixed with the smoke of hundreds of snark fuses blowing at once. When the preview was over, there was complete awkward silence, so BRG and I yelled, "SINK HIM AGAIN" from the balcony, after which everyone got rowdy again.

Okay, so maybe my reasons for not watching Lost were not exactly airtight (Cast Away came out in 2000, and Lost didn't come out until 2004, and I'm not even exactly sure what The Beach is about.) But anyway, the point is, I didn't watch Lost or have any interest in Lost. Then, many years later, I discovered that EVERYONE I KNOW watches Lost, and if the subject of Lost is breached in conversation everything instantly devolves into ferverous Lost gossiping. I resigned myself to catching up on this whole Lost bandwagon thing because I can't stand being outside a heated gossip circle. I started by watching the pilot episode on my computer.

Here is what I knew about Lost prior to watching the pilot:
  1. Trapped on an island!
  2. There's a hobbit on the show!
Here is what I knew about Lost after watching the pilot:
  1. Trapped on an island!
  2. There's a hobbit on the show but it is normal-human-sized.
  3. Some dude is really into tracheotomies, and another dude gets sucked into a jet engine!
But then I got bored of watching the show and didn't watch any more episodes. [FAST FORWARD ABOUT A YEAR]. On Wednesday, Patron Saint graciously invited me over to his pad to partake in the ancient and sacred ritual of Lost Night with some of the gang. I reminded him that I had only ever watched the pilot, and that was a long time ago, but he was not concerned by these details. In fact, the gang was confident that they could get me up to speed, and volunteered to answer any questions that I had while watching it. Awesome!

Here is something interesting that I learned about the Lost experience: Prior to every new episode, they play the previous episode but with Pop-Up Video-style fact bubbles that reinforce and clarify important plot points. I imagine this would be extremely handy, except that I was too busy drinking to actually pay attention, so I can't personally attest to their effectiveness. One thing that I did notice about the bubbles is that they seem very inconsistent as far as narrative depth. One might be something like, "Jack is confused because he doesn't know that Julie knows that he knows about Julius, who is Jack's unborn father from the future", and then the next bubble will be like, "They are trapped on an island."

ANYWAY, so the gang gets me as much up-to-speed as they can in 15 minutes, and we dive into the latest exciting episode.

Here is what I know about Lost now:
  1. Trapped on an island!
  2. I didn't see the hobbit so he must have died.
  3. There is a monster called Smoke Monster, Monster of Smoke.
  5. Some people got off the island and now have to get back on the island because they miss the good times.
  6. Part of what makes the island time travel is a wheel called Donkey Wheel, Wheel of Donkeys.
  7. Donkey Wheel, Wheel of Donkeys has also been, at various other parts of the Lost timeline, Polar Bear Wheel, Wheel of Polar Bears, and Jim Wheel, Wheel of Jim.

    Heenkypants: They use polar bears because it's so cold.
    Grant: Why is it so cold?
    Heenkypants: We don't know yet.
    Grant: Where do they get the polar bears?
    Heenkypants: We don't know yet.
    Grant: Where do they get the donkeys?
    Heenkypants: We don't know yet.
    Grant: Why are there no donkeys there now?
    Heenkypants: We don't know yet.

  8. If the donkeys are broken or not there, apparently people get bloody noses because of ELECTROMAGNETIC FIELDS.
  9. This one dude, who I think is named Jim, falls in a well which closes and finds the ghost of the father of some other dude, who I think is named Jack, who tells him to spin Donkey Wheel, Wheel of Donkeys, even though he just fell down a well and has a broken leg AND it's really cold AND nobody knows that time it is.
  10. Heenkypants, Patron Saint, Taco and I got into a really great heated argument about the paradoxes of time travel as they relate to this one chick who tells this one dude that he told her in the past that she will die in the future but this dude doesn't remember because he will do this in his future which is also her past even though they are both in the present sort of too. The argument was resolved when we discovered we were all saying the same thing, just loud.
  11. There is this rich dude, let's call him Colonel Fancypants, who sends a ship to destroy the island because he was there in the past and something blows up, I think, and there is a helicopter and some French people.
  12. Smoke Monster, Monster of Smoke, really lives up to his name.
  13. ALL six people who left the island MUST get back the island to make some crazy scheme work, but, oh, you only got 4 of them to agree? That's pretty good I guess.
  14. Everyone's name starts with a 'J', except for Kate, who Heenkypants wishes was back on the island so she could wear dirty tank tops again.
  15. There is an important lesson about when life starts in an unborn child, as it pertains to the 6 people who left the island who now have to get back to the island, because one of them is pregnant and/or already had a child! Does the fetus have to go back too?

Um, there is probably other stuff that I learned too, but it may require pop-up bubble refreshment before it really sinks in.

I am now totally hooked on this show!