I am fascinated by graffiti tagger lifestyle. As a tagger, you must work quickly and in secret to apply compelling and often stunning art to the public visual domain after which you have no controlling power or interest in its ultimate fate. You are an elusive phantom whose greatest success is reaching as many eyes as possible without anyone ever seeing you, and with no hope of personal profit or acclaim. Your work is but the fleeting physical manifestation of your intrinsically intangible shadow life, like the unfollowable footprints of your cultivated mystique. Your alias signature gives form to this legendary character you have unleashed into the world. You adorn your dark otherworldly creations with dark otherworldly names, "Gohst", "Fixt", "Swayn", "$tar", "Zombee", glimpses and hints of haunting depths below the surface of the world of light.
Or you could be Forklift Tony.
Forklift Tony doesn't care about mystique, or crafting a cloak of anonymity, or misspelling stuff. Forklift Tony is not an urban ghost. Forklift Tony is just a guy who likes forklifts with big engines and spotlights (for high-speed night forklifting). That's enough for Forklift Tony.
Okay, everyone keeps sending this link to me, so I guess I will put it here on my blog where it will stare back at all who sent it as if they were looking in a weird link mirror: The Bacon Explosion:
Here's what the Skulls & Bacon blog had to say about it in a post entitled "The Goddamn Bacon Explosion":
Ok people, I am putting up a link to the BBQ Bacon Explosion because every one and their mothers have been sending me the link, posting it on Facebook and Reddit, it's EVERYWHERE. I guess that's what happens when the esteemed New York Times decides to dip a toe into Bacon Territory.
I totally second the underlying sentiment of mingled appreciation and exasperation. I can only speak for myself here, but even merely half-assing a loosely bacon-themed blog is sometimes a blessing AND a curse (disclaimer: no). But there is also another force at work here. There are always mixed feelings when your favorite indie band, of which you've seen every show and purchased every home-printed CD and whose stickers you would have plastered over all your stuff if only you had better stuff and your love of the band is 4EVR, goes mainstream. On one hand, you're happy that your musical taste has been validated, and that your favorite band can now finally sleep on new mattresses stuffed with shredded $100 bills every night and can gold-plate every surface of the drummer's dad's van and drink their pre-show PBR out of ruby-studded chalices carved out of woolly mammoth tusks and print their tour posters on saffron paper and replace the guitarist's old JCM-900 amp with a new JCM-900 amp made out of caviar. But on the other hand, your #1 Fan status is now openly questioned by a bunch of annoying teenagers who only like the later stuff anyway even though the earlier stuff had a more genuine raw feel and these stupid kids can't possibly love them like you love them because you had to be there from the beginning. Also, their concerts are now $200 for upper-deck seating at Wal*mart Rock Arena.
I just realized that bacon is not anything like this metaphor, except that I have the same unjustified curmudgeonly attitude about the overwhelming mainstream coverage of stuff made out of bacon. [important note: I just spelled "curmudgeonly" right on the first try! Who is the best? THIS GUY! (Pretend you are looking at me and I am pointing at myself)].
But anyway, if I was actually a serious bacon blogger, like ol' S&B or ol' BT or ol' TOB, I might find my considerable bacon-blogging livelihood threatened by these giant media titans. If you try really hard to pretend my bacon-as-indie-band metaphor sort of works for a second, now that Bacon the Band is mainstream they play at New York Times Rock Area instead of the mom-and-pop rock arenas of their past. I guess I'm trying to say that the New York Times Rock Arena is like Wal*mart which is like the New York Times covering bacon, and mom-and-pop rock arenas are like mom-and-pop general stores which are like bacon blogs. Somehow. (I hope someone brought a map this time.)
FACT: Two bad metaphors don't make a good metaphor. Or even a bad metaphor. Two bad metaphors only make nonsense and tears.
FACT: I am the best at metaphors. If metaphors were a game, and we were all players, and something something, I am the best at metaphors.
ANYWAY, there is a lesson here about diversification. If I was a bacon blogger who put all of his eggs in a bacon basket (IDEA ALERT: egg-filled bacon basket coming soon), I would be screwed if all of my bacon-blogging money channels suddenly dried up (in a non-crispy-and-delicious way). Which is why I offer a very special Bac-log Brand Hat Tip™ to the Skulls and Bacon blog for recognizing that diversification is important. Once bacon-blogging completely jumps the shark and becomes awkwardly passe, metalchick666 has skulls to fall back on without going through all of the SUPER HARD work of making a new blog. Also, another hat tip for recognizing two of the three most permanent and stable things in the history of time and the universe; people will always find bacon delicious, and people will always think that skulls are awesome. (The third is the universal appeal of baby animals who think they're people).
Also, hat tip to Bacon Today for posting the Baco. I think everyone should go click on the article so that it makes the "most popular" list. Every time you don't click on the link an angel kitten who has the cure for cancer loses its wings and plummets into a lake of lava and angel-eating termites.
So anyway, I got bored of making bacon links a while back and started thinking about what other important things to blog about to make my blogging millions. What is the next bacon? (If anyone has an idea, please let me know. I will split the profits of my "___ is the new bacon" t-shirts with you.) My friends and I discussed this very issue many moons ago, and Admiral Heenkypants actually had a pretty good idea: Pancakes. Everyone likes pancakes, right? Pancakes. Awesome. PLUS, unlike the singularity of bacon, pancakes have a built-in diversification. You can make hilarious stuff out of pancakes AND hilariously make stuff in to pancakes. The obvious first thing to make into pancakes is meat, but I guess the ancient hamburger architects just barely beat me to it. In protest, I am now only referring to hamburgers as "meat pancake sandwiches", and encourage all 4 of my stunningly attractive and brilliant readers to do the same, as an early birthday present. Thanks!
Also, what do you think of this idea for a new loosely pancake-themed blog: Pan-log! The New Most Important Blog In The History Of Time Not Including Those Times As Previously Covered By Bac-Log. Or maybe I should call it Pan-dora's Box, and there can be a picture of a pancake dude peeking out of a box?
Check out what Admiral Heenkypants and I found while we were treasure hunting the other day:
IT IS A SWEEPY WITTLE BUMBLEBEE! Awww! It kept trying to fly off but it was so sleepy that it would only make it about 6 inches or so at a time. Then it would just kind of hang out for a few minutes as if to say, "I totally meant to fly into the ground, guys." It was the best! In fact, I think that we can all agree that sleepy bumblebees would be nature's gold if actual gold wasn't already nature's gold.
Speaking of gold, check out this treasure we buried several years ago totally discovered with our amazing treasure huntin' skillz:
I think the best part of treasure hunting for the endless riches and glory that is the box of shiny and/or expendable stuff that we buried for some reason in college is rediscovering all of the stuff we forgot about, like a bottle cap good for a free 20oz Coke, and a mysterious black button, and a weird broken butterfly thing, and about $2.00 in pennies. And then we completed the sacred treasure cycle by burying some Victory Thai Food treasure in our tummies.
There are some more pictures of our surprising success here.
Speaking of being filled with song, if any of you have wondered what my wedding will be like:
V
PLEASE DON'T BE KIDDING, VIK! I will practice the dance moves every day just in case you are serious, even the weird headbanging one that just gave me a headache. No pain no gain.
A mystery is afoot! Time to open your detective closets and dust off your detective magnifying glasses and your detective tobacco pipes and your skeptical portly detective sidekicks and your detective brandy and your detective hats, for your refined skills and keen, penetrating intellect are desperately needed in Harwich, Massachusetts:
The real mystery, of course, is how a 12 year old reporter accidentally dropped his homework into the CNN tubes. JUST KIDDING JOSH LEVS! It is a very well written article with no spelling mistakes. A+. In fact, if you were to ask what my favorite part of the article is, I would have to say THE WHOLE THING.
Here is a good representative excerpt:
Sgt. Adam Hutton of the Harwich Police Department said information has been broadcast to all the other police departments in the Cape Cod area in hopes of drumming up a clue, however minor it may be.
But so far, the investigation is flat.
BA-DUM-CHING! Bam! You can tell that Josh Levs was in the zone with this article (I bet his friends call it "totally Levs-itating").
Does anyone remember when Norm MacDonald used to do the Weekend Update on Saturday Night Live? There was this one news clip about some sort of small-town parade overlaid with the commentary, "at 2:30 the parade will include a drill performance featuring the entire Middleton police squad." After the clip, MacDonald just stared at the camera for a beat before turning 90 degrees in his chair and reporting into a fake tape recorder, "Note to self: Go on a crime spree in Middleton at 2:30". I'm pretty sure that bit was the peak of Norm MacDonald's Weekend Update career. Hilarious.
I bring this up because I totally peaked at Scrabble a couple of days ago. The intensity of my Scrabble hatred is equaled only by the intensity of my Scrabble incompetence. Here is a conversation that happens EVERY SCRABBLE GAME:
OPPONENT: My word is "ZAS" over a triple letter score and a quadruple word score and the instant win square for 6000000 points. GRANT: What? "ZAS" is not a word. OPPONENT: Yes it is. GRANT: No way, what does it mean? OPPONENT: It is the plural form of "ZA". GRANT: What? "ZA" is not a word. OPPONENT: Yes it is. It is in the magical Scrabble Dictionary. GRANT: What? I'm going to look it up in my normal dictionary. OPPONENT: It won't be in the normal dictionary. You have to look it up in the magical Scrabble Dictionary. GRANT: Well then I am going to spell "KQIIIZAS" with my turn. It is the plural form of "KQIIIZA". It is in the authoritative I Cheat At Scrabble Dictionary that I just wrote. OPPONENT: You are just sad because you suck at Scrabble. It's your turn for real. ... [10 minutes later] ... GRANT: So is KQIIIZAS a word? ... [10 minutes later] ... GRANT: I am going to add an "S" to "CAT" to spell "CATS". 6 points.
Those few who were awake at noon or so this last Saturday probably felt the earth twist and grind for several tense moments, and perhaps felt a charged tingle in the air, and perhaps witnessed televisions suddenly going to static and toilet water flushing the opposite direction and clouds of locusts bursting into flames of blood. The cycle of every celestial orbit synced for a brief universal moment, sending a concentrated beam of transcendental energy directly into my mouth (which was in the process of accepting enchilada) as I was pondering my next groundbreaking Scrabble move. My eyes went completely white and rolled back in my head and strings of lightning shot out of my fingers and my body started convulsing and I chewed my enchilada twice as fast as a normal person could. The sun flickered and dimmed, and all of the napkins on the adjacent restaurant tables blew away, and I was wrapped in a little travel-size personal tornado of sparks and fire and lightning and glitter and leaves and little miniature barns and cows and stuff.
Much like a mother will suddenly find herself with the strength to lift a vehicle off of a pinned child, I was suddenly filled with superhuman Scrabble strength. When I came out of my hurricane power trance, I was stunned to find that my turn was over! I had used every letter in my tray (which is a Scrabble move called a "bingo", which is odd because usually Scrabble players are really good at making up new words). It was easy to find my letters because they were still smoking from the intense Scrabble fury I had unleashed upon the landscape of the game board. I had spelled "RIGHTEOUS" intersecting two existing words and crossing two triple word scores. Game, set, match. Victory. Checkmate. XOOJOQW (I bet that means "checkmate" in the magical Scrabble Dictionary).
My next turn I added a "Y" to "WIND" to spell "WINDY".
Anyway, I bet that's the kind of zone Josh Levs was in when he wrote about the mystery piano. How else could you explain this:
Asked whether Harwich police will be holding a holiday party in the storage bay -- tickling the ivories, pouring eggnog -- while they await word of the piano's origin and fate, Hutton laughed. No such plans.
That is totally the Scrabble Hurricane Power Trance applied to journalism.
The End.
IMPORTANT UNRELATED UPDATE:
Okay, my friend Heidi just shared this and I am actually still crying from laughing so hard:
Okay, so I'm back from Peru. I am excited to regale everyone with harrowing tales of wonderment and intrigue, and will probably be whipping up a fancy new blog to document the adventures in the next couple of days. In the meantime, check out this dramatic suckling llama picture:
I feel that dramatic suckling llama is a good opportunity to use this hilarious and awesome Obamicon tool:
I bet the future is awesome. (By future, I mean the present, when this ghost post is published). Are there flying cars yet?
In theory, I am going to be coming home from Peru tomorrow. But maybe, in the future, which is now the present, things have changed. Perhaps I have already been deported back to the states to await trial. Either way, HEY LAURA, DID YOU WATER MY PLANTS?
Actually, I just realized that maybe Laura doesn't even read this blog. Can someone ask Laura if she watered my plants? If not, she owes me 30 beers for every plant she didn't water (180 total beers).
The first person to ask Laura if she watered my plants and reports back wins not having to sit around and act interested while I flip through the 1000 pictures I took on my trip.
Hey gang! This is Grant from the past trying to communicate through the amazing power of Ghost Posting technology. Grant from the present is probably sand-boarding, surfing, or hiking through the rainforest. Grant from the future is ruling you all with an iron fist. Especially you, Laura. Water my plants.
I think everyone should make up an awesome New Year's Resolution and post it in the comments.
I just got back from the Amazon jungle, where I swam in the river with dolphins, caught and ate piranha with some chicken on a stick, camped in the jungle, caught and held an adorable little sloth (as the name suggests, they are very easy to catch once you get them out of the tree), saw some tarantulas, ate some weird caterpillars and termites, and swam across a piranha infested river. It was the best! Now we are trying to figure out how to get to Mancora or Ica without staying in Lima again.
Also, Iquitos (the town we flew into to get to the jungle) is hilariously awesome. I can`t wait to upload some pictures! The town is totally infested with these vehicles called moto-taxis, which are like carts attached to motorcycles, and driven by maniacs. So awesome.
I think one day I am going to start a blog called ghostlog.blogspot.com (um, I did not actually verify if that is available or not. DON'T SUE ME, GHOSTLOG.BLOGSPOT.COM!) where the entire blog is written ahead of time with posts scheduled at regular intervals so that it appears to be actively maintained. Free from the heavy burden of active blogging, I will finally be able to just lie on a beach all day playing cribbage or scrabble with my friend Sara, which is what I am probably doing right now in Peru. Also, I need someone to figure out how to get "ghost paid" from "ghost work".
ALSO: Hey Laura, did you water my plants again? They like it if you put a squirt of the plant food in the can before adding the water.
