[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.

[guest post] OUTDONEREDER

Ladies and Gentlemen (but mostly ladies), be herein entreated to the long-anticipated followup guest post by Ian F. King, who makes the rest of my blog look like crap (THANKS FOR NOTHING, DUDE*).

*actually, thanks for letting me crash with you in New York so often.

UPDATE: Ian: "you can discuss in an intro how much I badgered you into running my post!"

also:

Ian: "I want to collect all the glory that awaits me"

also:

Ian: "why are you stalling?"

also:

Ian: "I want glory"

also:

Ian: "No one reads the internet on the weekend!"


Not too long after my recent entreaty to the Bac-Log faithful to join me in reliving one of the innumerable highlights in its rich and storied history, the letters began to trickle in, and then that trickle grew into a light pour, which has in the last half of a fortnight threatened to turn into a slightly heavier pour. These letters all say the exact same thing:

"Good Sir," they begin, "I hesitate to bring pause to the various important comings and goings of your busy days, but in my enrapt engagement with your recent guest post on what is indubitably the most important blog in the history of time, I couldn't help but be persnickety enough to notice one incredibly minor and completely irrelevant discrepancy between your recounting of the 20th century, and what certain highly questionable scholars might call 'the truth.' To wit, the ill-conceived butter substitute known as margarine was first brought to the general public quite some time before the 1940's, and not afterwards as you suggested. Please forgive my impulsive decision to encroach upon you with this concern, but I believed it to be something that needed to be brought to your attention. Yours sincerely, So & So."

It continued like this until my whimsical yet dutiful carrier pigeon Nugget spoke up one morning as he was making his delivery rounds. "Surely you must settle this matter once and for all, lest my letter satchel continue to overflow," he reasoned. Nugget was toeing the line of insubordination, but he did have a valid point, though I didn't hear him complaining about all the seeds he was collecting from me in fees - so much so that I decided it would be easier to simply leave a small dish of his fees suspended from a low branch on the oak tree outside my window, in a container shaped like a small house, as I knew that was his favorite shape.

"If you would only enlighten the people, they will greatly appreciate it," Nugget said, flapping his way off my windowsill, and it is in the hopes of forging an understanding in your minds that I will now make an admission I have heretofore been loathe to make: margarine was indeed available in the 1940's, and long before, but I have in the past refused to acknowledge its existence, as I will continue to do so, until Saint Peter drags me to my watery grave in the sky.

What I'm writing here is of course no revelation, as anyone with more than a fourth grade education is well aware that in 1869, Emperor Louis Napoleon III of France offered a prize to anyone who could make a satisfactory substitute for butter, suitable for use by the armed forces and lower classes. French chemist Hippolyte Mège-Mouriés invented a substance he called oleomargarine, and, as they say, the rest is terrible, terrible history. What monsieur Mege-Mouries didn't know was that his "prize" would be a permanent shackling in the foulest dungeon available in Paris at the time, where he spent the remainder of his days with his head clamped in an iron mask, having ample time to think about the abomination he had so wittingly wrought on the world.

How it came to pass that margarine has since stood the test of time and advances of civilization is quite beyond comprehension, and I've tried to give it no thought, as has Bac-Log's benevolent founder, Mr. Grant V. Laine. Indeed, the guiding force behind margarine stands diametrically opposed to one of the very principles that we formed this blog on, as certainly no foodstuff that was brought forth at the behest of a leader whose very name is synonymous with the inferiority complex is fit to take space on the refrigerator shelves of true and valorous men.

I beseech you, why would one slather their morning toast in an oil-based substitute for insecurity? Would you fill your delicious Sunday pie with apples that clearly lacked an inner strength and confidence? Would you cram your holiday turkey so full of cowardly stuffing that by the time you were able to coax it out of the oven it would be far too dry to savor? As one of the original battle-cries from the very mission statement that Bac-Log was founded on states: "Spread not the unnamable and insecure butter substitute on your daily bread, but the bold and brazen brazenberry jam. If brazenberry jam is not available, use boysenberry."

Though the much sought-after brazenberry went extinct in the late 50's, along with the equally delicious belching-fish, every other word on that original Bac-Log charter is as relevant today as it was when it was drafted on a series of now-historical napkins in the backroom of an alehouse in Hoboken that both Grant and I lived above, in an old tenement apartment that we would re-christen that very next morning as Bac-Log Gustatory and Ingestatory Documentation Partners LLC, turning a fine and upstanding young gentlemen bachelor's residence into an even finer and even more upstanding blogeteria.

Doing one better than even that other most glorious and empowering of documents, the Magna Carta Liberatum, in a single spirited sitting the two of us drew up our own call to arms, a series of laws to love and rules to live by, principles that would guide us all through the moral, philosophical, and actual wildernesses of the modern world. The Mangia Charta Degustatum, as it was later dubbed by the leading culinary scholars of the late 1970's, now rests behind inches of weather-proof glass, in one of the most prominent storage rooms in the vast Smithsonian institute.

Fueled by our own reciprocal largesse of inspiration, and bowl after bowl of peanuts that were as salty as Lot's wife, we compiled a list of commandments that numbered into the dozens. After reluctantly striking through all of the newly-minted lines that were highly amusing descriptions of the innkeeper's buxom daughter, we were left with nothing less than the eight principles that have seen me through my darkest hours and proudest moments, and, much more importantly, have helped to make Grant V. Laine the statuesque demi-god of the blogosphere that he is.

For those who have yet to lay their virgin eyes upon the glorious sunburst of knowledge that is the Mangia Charta, which is located on the "About Us" page (link here), I'll now reprint that entire document here from memory, as it is as fresh in my mind today as it was that wondrous night:

The Fifteenth of August, in the Annum Nineteen Hundred and Forty Three, Brings About To The Attention Of The General Public Of These United States This Order of Business Of The Utmost Importance: A new blog (tentative title: "Captain Eats-A-Bunch's Plenty O' Thoughts")

STATEMENT OF INTENT:

In Our Wholly Justified and Unquestionable Wisdom, We Hereby Declare That,

1. To eat is human, to devour is divine,

2. To improve the condition of any single object, wrap in a layer of bacon,

3. (note to self: look into a way of possibly combining breakfast and lunch, with an emphasis on egg-based dishes)

4. Red meat is the other white meat,

5. He who forgets the past is doomed to relive it, so make sure to write down even the stuff you ate that you didn't like to eat,

6. Spread not the unnamable and insecure butter substitute on your daily bread, but the bold and brazen brazenberry jam. If brazenberry jam is not available, use boysenberry.

7. Of all the world's vegetables, nothing beats a ripe and firm tomato, one as plump and comely as Bess, the innkeeper's daughter,

8. (TK)

Witnesseth On This Glorious Day, Signed,

Grant V. Laine

His Humble Assistant

This is Bac-Log

People:

Instead of typing the 1007 words it would take to describe how pleased and grateful I am for all of the precious dollops of Guest Blogginess that Bac-Log poured carefully into the 'tubes over this last week, I took a picture (worth 1000 words) and added 7 more words out of pocket to cover the balance:


Guest Bloggers, you are Glory. You are Bac-Log.

Also, I think Guest Blogging will become a semi-regular feature, so do not let those harrowing tales of mystery and suspense and unexpected romance die trapped within you! Set them free to roam in the wide fields of Bac-Log.

Thank you, and good morning.

[ed note: Wait, good morning does not really work as a sign-off, does it?]

Thank you, and good fake-evening.

[guest post] Solo Midori

This is a guest post by Vikram, the continuously interim patron saint of Bac-Log! My supercomputers at work are still busy churning out the exact total, but my guess is that Vik tries to get me to go to Midori 17 or 18 times per week. And I totally would, if I didn't have to take a long lunch, drive across town, and pay to park, all for the $7 spicy chicken lunch special, supreme awesomeness aside.

So most of our (Seattle-based) friends have no doubt heard the Kyles, Grant, and I talk about going to Midori Teriyaki for lunch many times. I would say that Heenkypants and I probably go there 1-2 times a week, Steuck and Grant meeting up with us when they can. It's always nice to get away from work for a little bit, and the teriyaki is really really good. So last Friday I found myself on the sharp end of an especially brutal day (week, actually) at the Hutch and needed Midori. Seriously, I NEEDED it. I tried to rally the troops, but unfortunately everyone else was in similarly precarious situations. I don't know what came over me, but I did it. Solo Midori was had. As I dug in, something was immediately a little off. Can of Coke? Check. Extra glass of water? Check. Extra teriyaki sauce? Check. Sriracha? Check. Everything seemed to be in order. I put it out of my mind and plowed through. And it was good. Not as good as normal, though. The weird thing was that I couldn't quite put my finger on what was off. It should have been another stellar lunch at Midori. But it wasn't. I chalked it up to my stressful week at work and trekked back to the Hutch. But halfway there, my stomach staged a mini-revolt. I toughed it out, but by the time I got back to my desk the revolt had made it's way up to my chest. It felt like there were a bunch of tiny little men trying to stab their way out of my chest. Not good times. BAD TIMES. My co-worker Becky (you might remember her from some of her awesome posts on the There Will Be Bacon blog as the Beckster) immediately started checking for signs that I was having a heart attack. Unfortunately, she got some of the symptoms wrong and started freaking out because she thought I was having a heart attack. I had to practically tackle her to keep her from running out into the hall and grabbing a portable defibrillator (a machine that she didn't know how to use). On my way home, I pondered the events of the day. Why had Midori betrayed me so? As I was cursing the gods (Poseidon knows what he did), it finally dawned on me. Midori hadn't betrayed me. I had betrayed it! And my friends. And this was Midori's way of letting me know what I had done. It was as if Midori was the physical manifestation of our love and mutual admiration for each other, and when I went there alone I was eating myself. Or something like that. In any event, I learned a valuable lesson about myself and the world in general. I will never take my friends for granted again. I will leave you with the words of some of our generation's greatest wordsmiths:

Don't you forget about me
I'll be alone, dancing you know it baby
Going to take you apart
I'll put us back together at heart, baby

Don't You Forget About Me
Don't Don't Don't Don't
Don't You Forget About Me

[guest post] Kevin Bacon finally answers my prayers

This is a guest post from Kevin Bacon of abstinence-only sweatpants fame and also movie star fame! Kevin Bacon is probably pretty busy, so it is not surprising that it took so long for my prayers to get answered, and why I'm not too upset that Kevin Bacon forgot the unicorn pony part of my prayer. Also I started a new poll on the sidebar relating to "punctuationtarded" vs my suggestion of "punc'tiontarded". Doesn't punc'tiontarded just have better rhythm? (NOT TO SWAY YOU IN YOUR VOTE OR ANYTHING!!)

to: grant laine
from: molly@kevinbacon.email
subject: Baclog: your content prayers are answered

Per Ian's suggestion, I am sending you this link for the baclog:

http://www.photobasement.com/the-hottest-knitted-cheeseburger-dress-you-will-see-today/

Sadly for you, though. I won't be bothering to guest-blog it, as I am ripping off to Maine today (What I Ate: Lobster pancakes with lobster syrup, Lobster salad with lobster-blueberry vinagrette, Boiled lobster with lobster mashed potatoes) and can't be arsed.

Unless you just want to post this e-mail verbatim. Which would be totally PoMo of you.

*molly

-----

to: grant laine
from: molly@kevinbacon.email
subject: RE: Baclog: your content prayers are answered

Ugh. When you do, can you change the period after "though" to a comma? I'm punctuationtarded today.

-----

to: molly@kevinbacon.email
from: grant laine
subject: RE: Baclog: your content prayers are answered

You do understand that this is also going in the post, right?

-----

to: grant laine
from: molly@kevinbacon.email
subject: RE: Baclog: your content prayers are answered

Yeah. I'm over it.

[guest post] Man-aphors

This is a guest post by Jason, whose exciting adventures you can follow by reading his blog! Jason and I recently achieved revenge on McClellan Butte, which was an insanely hard hike to choose as our first hiking expedition of the year.

Dear Grant's Diary:

A big part of being a man now (which I am, and you should know this if you studied my chronicles like I "axed" you to) is being willing to explore new interests and hobbies, even if your stupid friends make fun of them and make you want to punch them all the time, especially Kyle. You never know what you might learn from these hobbies and interests!

For example, I was recently riveted and engaged by an exciting match of my favorite elitist sport, English Premier League Football. After the exciting bout of elegance, skill, and grace the likes of which are rarely found in mainstream American sports, I further enriched my appreciation of the match by watching the post game interviews and commentary! Being a man now means that I thirst for a deeper understanding and appreciation of things, even things I just watched.

During the interview with the coach who unfortunately failed to lead his team to victory but still managed to be refined and classy, I was treated to a spectacular metaphor! Wow! I expected to experience thoughtful commentary regarding the strategies and inner workings of that day's delightful sporting, but this intellectual discourse was an exciting bonus! The metaphor for the loser team was that victory was like a blanket, and that the blanket wasn't quite big enough to cover your feet, and so that if you were cold or something you might have to curl up, and somehow this had to do with the football match and the losing.

Being a man now means I have more important things to think about than remembering the exact metaphor, okay.

I was excited to apply this new type of metaphorical thinking to my life! Later that day I invited my homies over to enjoy some intellectual discourse and fancy microbrew beer. I tried to explain my eye-opening experience with the metaphor about the victory blanket, but they did not seem to grasp why I was so interested in this and also why I had spent all day watching "soccer". Being a man now is difficult sometimes when you have to deal with non-mans.

Then one of my friends found my caulking gun that I had been using to apply sealant around my bathtub (being a man now means I am occasionally involved in home-maintenance). He said, "hey guys, look! I am squeezing Jason's caulk.....ing gun!" Then another of my homies said, "hey, quit hogging Jason's caulk.....ing gun!" And then, "hey Jason, how do you like it when we hold your caulk.....ing gun?" and then, "not too hard, or white stuff will come out of Jason's caulk.....ing gun!"

Several hours later I tried to explain the victory blanket metaphor again but my friends told me that they were bored with all of my metaphor rambling and went back to playing with my caulking gun.

I think this is a pretty good metaphor of the life of Jason the Man.

This is Jason the Man, signing off.

[guest post] confessions of an omnivore

This is a guest post from Admiral Kyle A. Heenk, who sometimes we call Heenkypants, Special K, or the Flying Dutchman, all of which he really likes and he wishes people would call him those more. He is also the author of the best license plate frame ever, which will be available soon for your purchase. (All proceeds will go directly to purchasing scotch whiskey and pipe tobacco.)

As the title suggests, I've been keeping a secret for a while that I can't keep to myself any longer. I might not have ever shared it with anyone had it not been for this guest blogging opportunity. A food themed blog seems like the best place to air this particular laundry, as it is edible laundry in a way. In the metaphorical way. Not in the edible panties way. Anyway, a little background for those less familiar with my eating habits…

There are few things on this earth that I enjoy more than eating me some pie. Pies of all varieties and qualities, I'm a happy camper. If I had a car, I would have a license plate, and if I had a license plate I would have a license plate frame and if I had a license plate frame it would read: I'D RATHER BE EATING PIE or perhaps instead it would read: MY WORST DAY EATING PIE STILL BEATS MY BEST DAY FISHING.

I am a lover of all kinds of pie: Sweet Potato, Apple, Peach, Lemon Meringue… I could go on and on. There is something about a buttery tender crust wrapped lovingly around a puddle of sweet delicious goop that makes my heart go a-flutter. Or maybe that's the cholesterol? It matters not. For breakfast, there is no better way to kick start a day than heading out the door with nice cup of coffee and a couple slices of Pecan, Pumpkin, or any of the countless other portable pies suitable for eating "pizza style".

Goodness, I'm out of breath. What was my point again? Ah yes, the ugly secret. There is one variety of pie that I can not and will not eat. A pie that seems to have ALL the qualities I love about pie plus it has MEAT. INSIDE. THE PIE. Alas, the result is indeed less than the sum of it's parts, for…

Chicken Pot Pie might be the most disgusting thing I've ever eaten in my life.

I don't even know where to start with this. Sure, meat + pie is a good start. But oh the execution! What is all that liquidy stuff in there that burns my mouth EVERY TIME? What is a PIE doing burning my mouth anyway? Is the crust supposed to be all soggy like that? Why are there so many peas? I like peas, but COME ON. The essence of pie is to be packed to the effing gills with goodness… filled with delicious until it is on the verge of literally bursting. PEAS DO NOT CUT IT. Peas are the Seattle Mariners of food. A shocking number of people claim to enjoy them and spend money on them, but you are shocked to find later that they can't name more than 3 players and one of them wasn't even a player he was the manager like 5 YEARS AGO, another is a player who left the team like 8 YEARS AGO and all you know about him is that you are required to dislike him intensely, and OH MY GOD DID YOU JUST SAY WILLIE BLOOMQUIST IS YOUR FAVORITE PLAYER?! DID YOU NOT NOTICE THAT BESIDES BEING FROM BREMERTON HIS ONLY OTHER QUALITY IS THAT HE IS THE WORST PLAYER IN THE HISTORY OF BASEBALL?

I'm not really sure where I was going with this, but I feel better now. Thanks for reading.

[guest post] book report

This is a guest post by the esteemed Taco Satty! You may remember Satty as the winner of the first submission award of X-TREME HAIKU CHARITY CHALLENGE 2008™! I was going to distribute his prize of ice cream on Sunday, but we got rained out! (I'm sorry, but prize ice cream has to be applied under perfect conditions. It is the Bac-Log way.)

I read Grant's “heart felt” “plea” for “guest bloggers” and I “felt” a “need” to “jump in” and “help out”.

Over the last month and a half an amazing thing has happened. I don't really know why and I don't know how but I've been reading... a lot. In the last month or so I've read three books. That's right. THREE F'ING BOOKS! That is definitely a Satty record. I've never, for no reason at all, just started reading. So, here is a little Book Report for you Bac-Loggers. It's actually three book reports. I hope you all enjoy it.

FIRST BOOK
Tipping Point by Malcolm Gladwell

Thoughts before reading:
I have some time and I have the book. I've heard good things about it. Why not? I'm into thinking about why things become popular and it would be interesting to think more about how trends happen. For example: I remember in like fifth or sixth grade all the younger kids, the third and fourth graders, really got into trolls. Seriously, little troll figures with neon colored hair. It didn't seem to make sense to me then and it still doesn't exactly make sense now. I mean these kids had all sorts of different trolls. Happy trolls, Sad trolls, Goofy trolls, Soccer Trolls, Scientist Trolls. Truth be told, when I am not really part of “The Big Trend” it doesn't bother me. If you're into trolls... that's cool... whatever. Be into trolls. I'm more fascinated by what exactly I'm not getting that the masses seem to be getting. I remember the trolls, then it was pogs, then it was Poke-mon cards. What the heck was going on?

Thoughts after reading:
Really fascinating stuff here. I didn't learn anything about trolls, but at least I can kind of piece it together. Were the right kind of people involved? Was the trend “sticky”? Was it cultivated in the right kind of enviroment? I guess so. The book started talking about the mid-1990's Hush Puppies trend and gradually moved on to bigger issues like teen smoking and the really nasty trend of school shootings. With no real concrete solutions, the book still offered good suggestions and covered an interesting topic. All in all I felt like there was plenty of this book that I could apply to my work life. I could also probably apply these methods to that “Jump to Conclusions” matt I've been trying to make a million dollars off of. We'll see how that goes.

SECOND BOOK
Blink by Malcolm Gladwell

Thoughts before reading:
That other book was good. Some dude in Richland told me that this book was even better. Blink is basicaly about snap decissions and gut reactions. For the past couple of years I've really been trying to trust my feelings and follow my instintcs. Not as a Jedi Mind Trick sort of thing, more as a Can I Become a Professional Sports Gambler? sort of thing.

Thoughts after reading: I suddenly have the urge to play poker. I don't have any desire; however, to lead the police in a high speed chase... err, not that I've ever thought about that before. Two things I learned for the future: When forced to make quick snap decissions, gather as much information as possible and calmly choose the best option. When given a lot time and space to make a choice, go with the “gut reaction”. Examples: If I'm a deli line in Boston, go with the club sandwich seconds before they decide to throw a knife at me. If I'm at the Roxy in Freemont, tell them I'm having the club sandwich before they even hand me a menu. I do like me a club sandwich. This was a good book. Gladwell's next book comes out sometime in October... oh, I'm totally going to read the crap out of that book.

THIRD BOOK
Killing Yourself to Live by Chuck Klosterman

Thoughts before reading: I've heard an interview with the Author... he seems interesting. I like the idea of a “road trip” book and I'd like to hear what he has to say about the sites of famous “rock'n roll” deaths.

Thoughts after reading: It took me two days to read the whole book!! It didn't even have any pictures in it. What a damn good book. I literally LOL'd at several points. Funny story. Funny guy this Chuck Klosterman.

Good Times! Reading is totally FUNdamental!

[guest post] Maple Bacon Cupcakes!

This is a guest post from my friend Laurel! She makes all kinds of awesome stuff, like purses, and tote bags, and a kid, and cupcakes and stuff. Currently Laurel and Dr. Lorneypants are busy getting Penguinbot.com up and running so you will be able to purchase her fantastic wares!

Two worlds collided. And they will never tear us apart.

When I first saw this recipe, I was kind of repulsed. Bacon cupcakes? Ew. But I do love bacon. And I do love cupcakes. And, being half-Canadian, I am required by law to love maple syrup. The more I thought about it, the more it intrigued me. Maybe it would be yummy. If only there were some way to find out if it would actually be delicious.

But wait! I noticed that the recipe only yielded six cupcakes, which is good. If they were disgusting, I wouldn't feel bad about throwing them all out. If they were delicious, I would not gain 300 pounds by eating the entire batch. So I stopped by the grocery store tonight and got some bacon, the only ingredient we were missing.


Me, sampling some bacon cupcake batter on a strip of bacon.


Upon seeing that I didn't vomit all over the place after taking a bite of bacon cupcake batter, Lorne agreed to try it as well.


This is called "baking."


They look good...


Aerial view of unfrosted cupcakes.


I put the frosting on when they were still a bit warm, partly because I made these rather late at night and I was impatient to get them finished so I could...well, so I could take pictures and blog about them. But I also liked the idea of more of a glazey frosting instead of a thick buttercream, so the frosting melted a bit.


Are they breakfast? Are they dessert? I don't know, but I can assure you that they are delicious, whenever you decide to eat them. I wonder what other sort of pig products would be delicious in dessert form. Porkchop pudding? Canadian Bacon lollipops?

Update: sadly, bacon cupcakes were NOT delicious the next morning. The bacon soggified in the cake overnight. It was like someone had stuck salty rubber in the middle of my delicious maple cupcake. If you decide to make the bacon cupcakes, they are best eaten IMMEDIATELY.

[guest post] Outdone!

This is a guest post by the esteemed Ian F. King, who totally manages to out-Bac-Log me! Seriously, how is it that I have never used "clod-hop"? Ian is just better at this game, much like the Emo-CD-naming game. I-Beam, I salute you, then curse your name behind your back.

When word reached me that Grant was in desperate need of guest bloggers in order to insure the successful reaching of his fourth quarter profit estimates, I shared a knowing wink with Nugget, my trusty carrier pigeon and occasional backgammon opponent. "Surely that Mr. Laine will never change," Nugget said as he collected his standard fee of 10 seeds and flapped his way out the window, releasing his bowels on my azaleas below. I sighed heartily, for Grant, and for Nugget. No indeed, surely some things never do change.

Few of you may know this, but back when Grant started this blog in the late 1940's, I began my career working as Grant's assistant, and the world was a much different, and far more trying place back then. Hot pants weren't nearly as hot as they are today, one had to believe that it was butter because there was no alternative, and the perceived sensibility of the stovepipe hat appeared just that much larger in the rearview mirror of history. Oh Mr. Lincoln, what were you drinkin'?

It was in that decade's darkest hour that Grant first found himself in need of a guest blogger to continue posting his dietary habits while he went on what would be the first of several long retreats to the Galapagos islands, in order to commune with the giant sea turtles, one of which he believed at the time to be the reincarnated soul of Johann Georghehner, inventor of the hot dog. While I saw this opportunity as my first chance to really shine in the realm of letters, Grant quickly shot down the idea, attributing his denial of my dreams to lack of fortitude, though I suspected the truth to be that his decision was an admonishment of my questionable level of pulchritude. "Only the finest men alive today are fit to clod-hop the blogosphere in my magnanimous shoes," I remember him yelling at me from the bathroom.

Thus, it fell on my shoulders to lobby for the guest blogging services of the greatest, larger-than-life figures of that era, and I did so dutifully. The catch, of course, was that in order to solicit the services of these robust men, I had to pretend to be one of their kind as well, as no one of their stature would dream of reading a letter from simplefolk. I was crafty in my ways, and ingenious in my approach, and like the crafty and ingenious fox that fools the moronic and gaseous hound, I was able to convince everyone I wrote to send me a list of stuff they ate. They blogged like giants, they blogged like gentlemen, but most of all, they ignorantly accepted forged checks for their work, checks which somehow all managed to clear with the bank, thanks no doubt to the loose accounting practices of a one Mr. Howard Hughes.

Reminiscing about this forgotten moment in interweb history led me to take a stroll down memory lane in the direction of my filing cabinet, where for decades now I have kept copies of all my correspondence through and with Bac-Log. Among the letters I found, there was one that particularly struck a chord of nostalgia that rang like dinner bell throughout my ventricles. While I was unable to photocopy it, lest the too-fragile paper disintegrate upon its exposure to heat and light, I will dictate it here now for your enlightenment, in hopes that it will give you a greater understanding of Bac-Log, and the grandiose man behind it, the same man that Time Magazine called in its 1973 year-in-review issue, "the person who has shared more about the things that he has consumed in his life, through the medium of itemized lists, than any man, woman, or child now living or dead." It goes thusly:


February 12, 1945

Mr. Winston Churchill
10 Downing Street
London, UK

Winnie, my man,

Some conference yesterday, eh? Yalta? More like Yawn-ta! And what was the deal with Frankie's cape-jacket thingy? Perhaps this is some manner of Western hemisphere cloakery that hasn't quite made it into the ration warehouses of my vast and magnificent nation yet. I loved your hat, by the way, very "now." We really should get together like that more often, but next time, how about Cabo?

So while I'm crushing your attention in my cold iron fist, I thought I would humbly ask for a favor. One of my best friends, Grant V. Laine, is in dire need of the services of a guest blogger while he is temporarily away from his most noblest of posts. This would require no more effort of you than to draw up an itemized list of all of the things that you have eaten on any particular recent day, and send that list to the following address (Bac-Log!, Attn: I. King, 88 8th St, Hoboken, NJ) where it will then be transmitted into the homes of millions for their awe and delight. You would be granting an honorable favor to me, and to the world.

Anywho, I gotta run. My wife, she is like the great Siberian bear, and grows more beautiful and ravenous by the moment, so I must now attend to her.

Your Comrade and Pal,
Joseph Stalin

PS – Don't forget to include any desserts!

[guest post] Banned Ikea Commercials

This is a guest post from Courtney! I embedded my favorite of her attached banned IKEA commercials, and left the others as links:

Hey, Me again! I'm bored! Just kidding! I was watching TV and the normal really weird Swedish commercials, so I thought I would do a special bac-log blog on the funny stuff I was watching (kind of like your retroactive stuff I ate segment, but without all the calories). But when I googled Swedish commercials, all I got was banned IKEA commercials, which I found equally amusing. Who knew IKEA was so inappropriate! So, in short, here are some links that you can chose to post or not post.



and:

Banned IKEA Boner Commercial
IKEA Nanny Banned Commercial
Banned Ikea Commercial - Tidy Up

[real post] real post

Okay, so the only reason that I am posting this is that I just thought of how awesome it would be to always preface all future posts with [real post], and then one day have a post that isn't prefaced with [real post] and see if this confuses people (more than normal). I thought of this because I am planning on prefacing the forthcoming Guest Posts with [guest post], hence requiring the [real post] distinction so as to not confuse you all.

Speaking of which, I am pleased to announce that hundreds* of clever and alluring Bac-Log readers have already volunteered to pick up my slack and write some insightful Guest Blog posts. So far I have only actually seen one of these phantom guest nuggets, but I am sure that the rest will eventually show up and paralyze me with their brilliance.

[Tip to guest bloggers: don't think about it too hard. If I actually thought about what I was going to post before I started typing, this blog probably wouldn't even exist.]

Also, I should announce that I will probably begin referring to guest bloggers as "Bac-Jacks". I would explain why I came up with this but I am trying to do my part to conserve cyber-paper. As you know, Bac-Log is all about brevity.

Anyway, let's get some freaking Guest Blogs, people!

*(six)

NEW FEATURE: how about YOU write the freaking blog

Good afternoon:

Here is a graph of Bac-Log posts per month, with August prorated for the full month:

The right side of the graph is completely unacceptable. Please compare to this graph of target posts per month:

This volume increase may seem drastic, but I have determined by using, um, REALLY HARD MATH OKAY, that such aggressive growth is necessary to produce this schedule of projected income:

I think a good rule of thumb for burgeoning financial behemoths such as Bac-Log is to identify and focus on target customers to maximize profits. For example, I plan on generating the aforementioned income by focusing intently on the demographic of people who might have some extra change who are waiting at the stoplight to turn left on NW Dravus St. from 15th Ave NW, and who are easily discomfited by uncomfortable staring and inane babble. (Also I will have a kick-ass cardboard sign that reads "GOOBLES?")

ANYWAY, I guess what I'm trying to say here is that OH MAN AM I WAAAY BEHIND. I have actually been under a great deal of stress lately, both work related and of personal matters, and also I have been fighting a tenacious case of gastroenteritis for a week and a half now (hint: DON'T GET IT, IT SUCKS). This is why I have not been posting a whole lot. And probably why I will not be posting a whole lot in the near future.

I can hear your tears falling like tiny sad little catprints from a tiny sad little kitten that is sadly slouching away, who occasionally pauses and looks back, sadly, before turning and trudging on once more.

But seriously, people. It seems like the last few days have been me just walking down the street, minding my own business, and someone will come strutin' by, snapping their fingers and singing to themselves, and they'll stop me and be like, "Hey Bac-Log, what's shakin' bacon? Why haven't you posted recently", and I'll be like, "I have an infection in my intestines", and they'll be like, "but I'm bored, baby-- you need to give me more of that good stuff", and I'll be like, "but I'm in a great deal of pain", and they'll be like, "you know what's awesome? PIE", and then they will strut off, snapping and singing to themselves, into a psychedelic rainbow fur-lined sunset.

You are all that guy. ESPECIALLY YOU, COURTNEY.

Actually, to be completely honest for a split second, it always warms my heart when people mention that they are starved for the kind of non-FDA-approved brainfood that Bac-Log is always pleased to serve long past its expiration date. I am indeed extremely grateful for all of my loyal readers who enjoy this blog for some reason. So grateful in fact, that I am pleased to offer you all an AMAZING PRIZE!! And that prize is...

[drumroll]

GETTING TO WRITE THE BLOG FOR ME!

Okay, not exactly, but close. For a limited time, I invite EVERYONE WHO CAN READ THIS to participate in the Bac-Log blogging experience as a guest blogger or open-topic creator! For serious, guys! If you would like to have a prestigious Guest Blog post, please send me an email with whatever it is you wish to be read by my clamoring fan base of at least 12 people. If your post requires pictures or formatting, we can discuss how to do this. Also, if you are not really keen on producing an entire post, why not suggest a topic of discussion or an idea for a poll or a link list or something in the comments? If it's awesome, I will implement your idea!

Come on, do it! Help me... help you. (By doing the work for me.)

Thank you, and have a wonderful day.