While posting that LittleBigPlanet footage from yesterday, I stumbled across the video posted above. I shot that on the dusk-lit streets of Seattle during PAX 2009 — and I nearly posted it on Joystiq, as part of our “Seen@PAX” feature series. I decided against it, however, when I thought about how I would feel if someone posted a video of me breakdancing to chiptunes music, and exposing an upsetting amount of my butt-cleft in the process. I don’t think I’d have a problem if they put it on their personal blog, though, so — whoomp, there it is.

I’m not making fun of the guy. He’s got more chutzpah than I ever will — and, sadly, much better moves.

Fact: LittleBigPlanet is one of my favorite games of all time. I still occasionally turn it on and attempt to carve an exemplary level out of the tools Media Molecule provided. Most of the time, I give up half-way. Sadly, that wasn’t the case for “The Extreme Sisyphus Challenge,” which I posted a brief runthrough of above.

It’s pretty unpolished — though, it doesn’t help that it was filmed using my shitty, non-HD Flip Video (yes, I still don’t have any professional video capturing equipment). As you might imagine, it was a bear to test out. Even now, I can only “beat” it one or two times before parts of my brain start to shut down. If anyone can top the current high score, they’re a hero. And possibly a vegetable.

Also, do you dig that quazi-subliminal branding at the end? I know you do.

There’s a surprising large number of things in my life which I do because I’m afraid of what I’ll miss if I don’t. I used to look on this behavior as tawdry, largely because my parents would colloquially refer to people like that as being “afraid that someone will fart and they’ll miss it.”

I don’t see it as being an unhealthy tendency anymore. In fact, I think it’s probably why I decided to jump off the good ship Theater Major and board the U.S.S. Journalism. I like being there first-hand to experience events, so that I can relay them to friends and passersby.

Also, if it weren’t for that fear, I legitimately would have missed out on a lot of awesome things. Thanks to that fear, I annually weather the unbearable environmental and hygienic conditions of Bonnaroo. It’s more than mildly uncomfortable, but the stories make it worthwhile. This year’s lineup will be announced in mere hours — here’s hoping I see plenty of potential for missed opportunities within that manifest.

Whatever happened to the extremely unforgiving, trial-and-error platformer, by the way? I miss games like Out of This World and Heart of Darkness — the kinds of games that took you 20 hours to beat your first time through, and 30 minutes the next.

Neat little accidental art in my apartment’s parking lot. I snapped it seconds before my big, dumb brother ruined it with his big, dumb Hyundai Elantra.

I live in fear of working on this blog; mostly because of the time it takes to transcribe my elementary school writing. My hands instinctively correct the little mistakes which are included in the original text (the first two-thirds of which can be found here and here), but I find their preservation important. My poor spelling and grammar was as much a part of my life as was my proclivity for … well, skateboarding? Apparently? More on that later. For now:

Chapter Three: Confrontation

A steaming, hot, blue flame sputtered out from the back. Then, he was off.The chase was on. Since the roof was an inclined plane, it made a good ramp. He blasted up it at full speed, bracing himself for the impact of the ground. But it never came. It took Grant a minute to realize he was flying!

Grant yelled “How do you fly this thing?” questioning the female voice he had heard before.

“Do you know how to ride a bike?” she asked.

“Of course I do!”

“I ride the same, just without pedals.” she said.

Ed. Note: Except you’re flying and sentient, you condescending bitch.

After about five minutes, he got the hang of it. He flew low to the ground, catching up to Eddie’s car. “Ed!” Grant yelled.

Ed didn’t hear him. Now they were riding side by side. Grant knocked on his window and moved his hand in a circle (the roll down your window sign).

When the window was down, Grant said “Pardon me, do you have any gray poupon?”

“Very funny Grant.” Eddie replied.

Ed. Note: Nope. No. Hold on. We’re going to stop things for a second here. I’m not upset at young Griffin for attempting to make a funny by making what was, at the time, a very topical reference. Good literature is full of references — I was merely trying to make it acceptable to allude to a popular commercial. That’s uncharted territory, folks.

Ed. Note cot’d: No, what upsets me is Eddie’s reaction to this child of ten, who has appeared next to his speeding automobile on a flying, sentient she-bike. Is this not your first time at the rodeo, Eddie? You see kids on flying bikes with some amount of regularity? Fuck you, pal.

“Where are we going?” Grant asked.

“To warehouse 21.”

“Don’t you think they might have the place covered with security guards?”

“Definite…”

Before he could even finish his word, a wing blazed past them. There were security guards in the sky with more wing devices, and guards on the ground with odd looking cars.

“Let’s split up,” Grant suggested.

Grant pulled up with tremendous force to the sky. Five robo-guards (Ed. Note: Yes.) were on his tail. Through the clouds he saw warehouse 21. Grant did a U-turn making one guard think another guard was Grant. The two guards rammed into each other, blowing up both robo-guards.

“Two down, three to go.” he murmured. Suddenly he remembered the long-range stun gun. He turned back, fired at one guard, freezing it, and the other two crashed into it. They all blew up, creating a massive explosion, rocketing Grant forward through the glass window of warehouse 21.

“What is this?” Grant woke up. It was Jake Smith’s voice. The old chief faked his death. He had a gun at Grant’s head. Jake’s voice was petrifying. Grant must have fallen unconscious.

“So who all is in this thing?” Grant asked him.

“Oh, let’s see if you know anyone here.”

Andrew (Ed. Note: At this point, no character named ‘Andrew’ has been introduced. Just a fun fact for those of use keeping score at home.) pulled a light switch, revealing to Grant exactly who he thought he’d see. He saw Mrs. Kruptik, Jarod Saget, and the person was with him when Grant first met him, plus about seven security guards, and…Grant’s dad, Tim Andrews.

“No!” Grant shouted. “Why dad? Why? I trusted you! You shot me down just like you did Mom. She loved you! Why did you stop loving us? Why?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about kid,” he replied.

Grant’s face turned red. He was mad now. He heard a scream.

“Jessica!” He had forgotten about her.

With an effort, Grant controlled his temper.

“I’ll tell you what. Get out of here now. Turn yourselves in. Give me Jessica and you won’t get hurt too badly.”

“Sorry, but your offer is unacceptable. Get him!” Jake yelled.

Grant jumped up grabbing a cable ganging from the ceiling. He managed to shoot the two guards with his stun gun from that angle.

When the other guards and Mrs. Kruptik saw this, they ran for the door. Grant matched up the sight on his gun and shot Jarod’s assistant. He stood still for about a minute, before falling down. Soon he realized what happened and he, with the two guards Grant shot before, ran away. Grant looked through the window to see Eddie with the police force putting handcuffs on all seven guards, Mrs. Kruptik, and Jarod’s assistant.

“You can’t win.” said Grant.

“Watch us,” answered his Dad.

With that he pointed his gun at where Jessica was, and fired. Except she wasn’t there. She was under him tying his shoe laces together. And when he chased after her, he fell over into a pile of manure. (Ed. Note: Jesus, no.)

Jake, Jarod, Jessica and Grant were still in the room. It was a show down. Grant and Jessica vs. Jake and Jarod. Grant made the first move. He took a dive for the light switch, turning the lights off. Jake dived at Grant pinning him to the ground. Jarod grabbed Jessica behind the arms.

“Help!” they screamed, simultaneously. Suddenly, a piece of roof fell and the JetMoto fell from it.

“I got it,” she said.

Then she drove into Jarod, throwing him into a police car. Grant pointed his stun gun at Andrew, but it flew out of his hand. Andrew had shot it out of his hand.

“Jessica! Get out of here!”

Jessica was out in the blink of an eye.

“It seems I have the advantage.” Jake gloated.

“Not really.” Grant replied

“How do you see that?”

“Look.”

Jake turned around, to see Eddie’s fist slamming into his face. He was thrown in jail with the others.

“I’ll get you!” he said.

“Sure you will,” Grant remarked sarcastically.”

“Grant!”

It was Grant’s mom. He thought he was in trouble. But his mom ran over and hugged and kissed him, saying “I missed you.” “Are you okay?”

After the hugging and kissing were over Jessica asked “Now what?”

Grant shugged his shoulders and jumped onto the JetMoto. He started it up, and with Eddie and Jessica on the back of it, he drove into the sunset.

The End

Hey, are you okay? There are pieces of your face missing. You might want to check your lap, or the area around your seat, because there’s a very real possibility that that shit got blown off by all the action.

I’d be lying if I said that parts of that didn’t make me cringe to commit to virtual paper. Then again, the internet is a swirling maelstrom of bad writing that reading something like this isn’t outside the norm. I assure you, were you reading the book — which, by the way, is hard-backed, with a construction paper lining that remains crisp to this day, some 12 years since its production — you would find it doubly entertaining. Or, if you’re especially empathetic, humiliating.

Speaking of which, I’ve made promises to people that I’d post the About the Author section. Let me preface this by saying that no elementary schooler has ever, ever had anything interesting to say about themselves, ever. That’s just an immutable rule. You don’t start being interesting until high school, or maybe middle school, if you’re having a particularly traumatic childhood.

So, what follows is probably some stuff my parents thought summed me up, or hoped summed me up, because it paints me out to be some sort of immaculately-conceived wunderkind. I need to point out, however, that while most of this information is true, I have yet to stand on a skateboard for longer than six seconds without somehow finding a way to step on it incorrectly, sending the vehicle flipping upwards, towards my teeth.

About the Author and Illustrator…

Griffin McElroy is a boy who has a lot of talents. He is an amazing actor. He’s been in shows like “The Music Man,” “Hello Dolly,” “Charlotte’s Web,” “Showcase 95,” and “The Sound of Music.” He is now in showcase ’98.

Griffin is a superb skater, and he loves to listen to music. His favorite band is Ben Folds Five. Griffin enjoys writing. When he grows up, he wishes to be an actor.

Aww shit, you guys thought it would never come. That’s just how I operate, though. I don’t just lower your expectations — I eradicate them, so when I come through, you’re more than just surprised, you’re changed. I’m like your drunk, deadbeat dad who disappeared for seven years, and then oh who’s that in the back row of your piano recital? Boom.

Make sure you don’t miss the exciting first installment. You’ve really gotta follow the story sequentially, or else your just gonna get all confuzzled. Grant Andrews is a lot like Lost, if Lost were written by an impossibly stupid fourth grader.

Chapter Two: Enlistment

He figured he would run away to his girlfriend, Jessica Roden’s, storm cellar. That gave him a few advantages. First, If it rained he would not get wet. And second, no one would find him.

Ed. Note: Unless they needed a shovel or something, dumbshit.

Meanwhile, at the police station, Eddie and the Chief of the station were talking.

“You know the kid who disarmed the bomb?” said the chief.

“I’ve known Grant since he was born.”

“Get him. He could help us solve the case.”

The coffee in Eddie’s mouth shot out faster than a bullet train. “He’s only ten years old!”

Grant did run away and it was Christmas weekend which gave another advantage to Grant. He usually would be home playing “Crash Bandicoot” on his Playstation. (Ed. note: Topical!) But instead he was watching “My Girl” with Jessica. (Ed. Note: Women! Am I right, fellas?) It was safe for him to come out because her parents were gone on a business trip and her baby sitter didn’t know he was living in the storm cellar.

The doorbell rang. Jessica opened the door to reveal Eddie.

“Hey Ed! How did you find me?” Grant asked.

“Glad to see you too.” Eddie replied.

“Why are you here?”

“I…um…..wanted…to…err..”. Eddie paused then answered, “I wanted to ask you to be a cop!”

Jessica and Grant almost fainted. Then Grant asked, “Why do you want me to be a cop?”

“Chief says you diffused a bomb. He wants you Grant.”

“Who died and made chief boss?”

Eddie answered that the old chief, Jake Smith did. Well he started to call his parents, then he had second thoughts.

He answered Eddie in a happy hi-pitched voice, “Of course I will!”

A few days later, Grant and Eddie were finishing up their shift. “What kinda mission are we on, Ed?” Grant piped up on the long ride to the station.

“Chief says it’s a bomb crisis.” Eddie said in the most gloomy voice Grant had ever heard him use. They drove by the nasty side of town. Grant heard Eddie mutter something that sounded like “memories.” He ignored it. But right after the silence that came next, Grant heard something. He heard…it…

Ed. Note: Sorry to interrupt the dramatic tension, but I’m going to need you to go back and re-read that last paragraph. Come on, you know you’ve gotten reminiscent and just muttered the word “memories.” We all do it, from time to time.

The scream! It came from the old beaten up Riter mansion. It sounded like Jessica, his girlfriend, but he blocked that idea out fast from his head. He said “Eddie…”

Before he could finish his sentence, Eddie said “I’m on it.”

They jumped from the car, running like they were in a bad Shaft movie. By the time they busted the door down, another scream came. This time it was muffled at the end.

“Let’s turn back” Grant suggested. Eddie didn’t answer.

When they reached the top of the stairs, they saw two punks holding a girl at gunpoint.

“JESSICA!” Grant screamed.

Eddie stopped him from trying to throw the punks off of the five flights of stairs.

“Hi Eddie! Remember me?” one of the crooks questioned him.

As he pulled off his mask, Grant could see he was a blond-haired man. His eyes were a deep blue. He looked very strong and was not thin.

“Jarod, why are you doing this?” Eddie chimed in.

“It’s very clever!” said the man. “You know this little girl’s dad, your boss, the police chief, inherited a hundred million dollars from his father? Well I want it Ed. I want it bad! That’s why I kidnapped his daughter! He gives me the 100 million. He gets his daughter!”

Ed. Note: The perfect crime!

“You won’t get away! I just signaled the entire station!”

The two hoodlums jumped through a hole in the room, with Jessica screaming behind them.

“Who was that?” asked Grant.

“He’s my brother, Jarod Saget.” Eddie answered.

Ed. Note: I swear to God, I didn’t add that last name in for comedic effect. My childhood was so saturated with reruns of America’s Funniest Home Videos and Full House that “Saget” was one of the six surnames I was capable of storing in my brain.

Grant panicked. He could run down the stairs to get to the car like Eddie was doing or he could chase the punks through the hole in the roof.

He decided on the hole. He pulled himself through it and ran as fast as he could after them. When they reached the end of the room, the crooks took off their jackets. On their backs they wore devices that looked like something Grant had seen on “The Rocketeer.” Suddenly the two men jumped off the room, with Jessica clinging onto them for dear life.

“NOOOOOO!” Grant blasted from his vocal chords. Then something strange happened. The devices on the men’s backs sprouted wings.

“Oh, my…..” Grant muttered to himself. But before he could say another word, the men sped at him. Grant jumped out of the way and succeeded in kicking one of them, forcing one of the bad guys to drop his long range stun gun.

Ed. Note: This is where this thing goes off the rails into the batshit quarter of crazytown. It’s also extraordinarily geeky and embarrassing, and helps explain why I didn’t have any friends until high school, when I learned to keep this part of my life hidden beneath a bushel.

“Cool!” Grant said before he saw the tiles were slipping out from under him. He fell backwards and hit his head on something hard. He looked back to find a motorcycle looking machine. From his point of view he saw a sticker that said this:

Jetmoto

Recent talon science development

Subject X2R59H1

Grant figured he would sit on it and see how it worked. As soon as he hit the cushion, a female voice said:

“Fasten your seatbelt.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Man, fasten your seatbelt, indeed. The penultimate chapter in the Grant Andrews saga is dripping with action, excitement and run-on sentences. Also, it vaguely resembles JetMoto fan fiction. It might just be the only JetMoto fan fiction on the internet, which is braggable.

Oh, and I think I’ll finish this trip down memory lane with the About the Author section, which is funnier than the rest of the book combined. BRACE YOUR ASS.

My recent days have been spent excavating the ancestral home as I prepare to shuffle off to Cincinnati (next Saturday, which is soon). This is of little to no relevance to you, I’m sure, except for this one small treasure I dug up whilst pilfering the ancestral computer desk.

It’s a piece of literature I crafted in third or fourth grade. Hardback, of course — this is a classy piece of literature, and it’s meant for classy people. On the cover, a crudely drawn picture of a police badge — Atlanta Georgia Police Department, to be precise. Tucked behind the badge is a gun, I think. It’s the worst drawn gun in the history of gun photos, hence my confusion. Written above this illustration, in large, colorful block lettering:

GRANT ANDREWS – KID COP.

Inside the jacket — yes, a jacket (classy!) — is a brief synopsis. If I may:

“Grant Andrews is a ten-year-old boy who has a bad attitude and a REAL short temper. He has a twenty-one year old friend who works for the police. His girlfriend, Jessica Roddins, is the police chief’s daughter. Grant’s mom and dad are divorced and live far away from each other. His teacher, Mrs. Krupti, is extremely mean.”

Ed. Note: Have you ever read such a thorough character synopsis? No, no sir. I did not think so. Continuing on:

“Grant Andrews – Kid Cop is the story of a boy who one day becomes a hero because he diffuses a bomb. The police force even hire him to be a cop. But to do so he must overcome many obstacles, including his worst fear. If you’re a person who likes wild gun fights, high speed chases, and a little bit of drama, this book is for you.”

Ed. Note: Holy shit, you guys. If you’re not pumped to the extreme yet, you should probably go see a doctor, because you’re dead.

I think I have to post this entire thing online, in case some sort of flood, fire or termite infestation destroys the brittle parchment it’s been scrawled upon. Not all at once, mind you. I’ll break this thing down into a serialized adventure. I invite everyone to come on this journey with me. You’ll learn a bit about why I had no “friends” until I reached my senior year of high school. You’ll learn a bit about the trials and tribulations facing our nation’s pre-teen police officers. Most importantly, I think you’ll learn a little something about yourself.

Here she is, grammatical errors, typos and all.

Chapter One: Origins

Ed. Note: There are no actual chapter names in the document. I’m retrofitting the document with chapter names as I see fit to add to the enjoyment of the work, and to bolster the aforementioned suspense.

“Yes it’s 7:58 on Wednesday, October 15. It’s a beautiful day here in sunny Atlanta, Georgia. This is Darrel Spinner your fav…”

Grant Andrews slammed the snooze bar and then sat up in his bed. “7:58!!” he shouted as he looked out the window just in time to see the bus zoom by. He knew if he didn’t get to his fifth grad classroom soon he’d get detention. He jumped into torn denim jeans a shirt he had worn yesterday. He raced outside with his windbreaker half-on. His friend Eddie was just about to pull out when Grant stopped him.

“Hey Ed, could you give me a ride to school?”

“Man! It’s 8:10!” Eddie was 21 and had a New York accent.

“Come on Ed.”

“Okay. Jump in.”

By the time Eddie dropped him off at school, it was 8:20. When he got to his fifth grade room, he tried to slide quietly into his seat. But Mrs. Kruptik caught him and gave him detention.

“Next time you’ll get a week of it!”

“Yes Mrs. Crudtick!” Grant muttered. (Ed. Note: Do you see what I did there? I hope you saw.)

“Why you little!” Mrs. Kruptik angrily answered.

“Tell the Mr. I feel sorry for him!”

“That’s it! You’re suspended!”

When his mom, Abigail Andrews, showed up, she was very upset. The ride home seemed like hours.

“Mom,” Grant asked “Why did you divorce Dad?”

“Because he wasn’t right for me and he wasn’t responsible.”

Ed. Note: I want everyone to appreciate what a jarring transition the book makes at this point. The page ends with those two lines of dialogue — the ONLY two lines of dialogue in that conversation, apparently. That seems like a conversation that two people build up to for a while. The mother dances around the explanations she’ll feed to her too-young spawn, ultimately deciding in the least damaging answer. The son questions the mother’s genuineness, and questions his own role in the divorce. Not in my book, sir! This is an open, honest — and apparently short-winded family.

When he got home, he went up to his room and switched on the TV. He turned to the news and saw this…an Atlanta bank was robbed by three goons with bombs. One climbed up to disable the alarm but instead he triggered it.

“Lets get out of here!” the speakers picked up. They were out in two seconds flat.

Grant felt like a bike ride. (Ed. Note: Of course he did.) So he shot past the streets on his 16 speed bike. “1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th…” Grant counted. Finally he got through Jackson’s Forest to a hill about 30 feet above Piedmont Park. The sky was a purple red. The trees were more green than ever. It was a beautiful sight. He felt like a break so he went to bank to use the restroom.

Five minutes later the cops arrived. One was dusting for finger-prints when he noticed something falling from a green plant. It looked like a handle for a motorcycle with a digital screen on it. It was a timer. The screen said 6:25 and was going down. At the exact moment Grant walked out of the bathroom door someone screamed “a bomb!”

Grant panicked. He recalled watching COPS on TV when they difused a bomb But he was no cop. He grabbed the bomb from the officer’s hand (Ed. Note: WHAT THE HELL, KID!) and tried to diffuse it. There were too many wires.

He biked down to the hill with 1:00 remaining and threw the bomb in the park’s lake. Unfortunately, it landed on the playground near the lake. Grant was never a great runner but he ran as fast as he could anyway. When he got to the bomb, the digital screen said 0:05. As he was throwing the bomb, he saw it — the label.

BOOM!!! The bomb exploded just as it hit the water. The label on the bomb said in small blurry letters “talon inc.”

“Talon inc.?” Grant said, almost as if he were questioning himself. “That’s where Dad and Mrs. Kruptik work part-time!” Grant cried the whole way home. He told his mom the whole story.

“Son,” she said “I wish you would just sometimes keep your imagination under control.”

Grant burst in screaming that it wasn’t his imagination and that she should watch the news. He’d be on it. (Ed. Note: Getting arrested for stealing a live bomb from a police officer, I should hope.)

Grant went up to his room and punched his bean-bag chair, nearly popping it. His smooth, tan skin changed to cherry red. He decided to run away for a while until his mom appreciated him more. He made himself some food and left a note. It said,

“Dear Mom,

I’ve run away. If you want to see me again, you will need to do a couple of things:

1. Appreciate me more

2. Put trust in me nd believe me

and last but not least,

3. Get back together with dad

But for now, goodbye.”

TO BE CONTINUED

I should take this time to note that the particulars of Mr. Andrews’ story don’t reflect the particulars of my youth in the least. My parents weren’t divorced. They appreciated me too much, I believe. I was well behaved in all my classes, and owned no windbreakers. Most importantly, I am now, and always have been an excellent runner, which directly contradicts one of the passages presented earlier.

Until next time!

I don’t understand how people play video games all day recreationally. I do not understand it. I’m not knocking these people, nor am I knocking video games — don’t be ridiculous — but after a while, it all just becomes work.

Upon the completion of our latest speed run for The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time, my fellow Hyrule enthusiast Clint Wilson and I breathed a long, drawn out sigh of relief, then made for the door as if the gaming room had started to fill with poisonous gas. There once was a time I could sit with a controller in my hand all day long, never noticing how the hours would slip out of my life, or how those hours would be exchanged in a surprisingly direct manner to experience points for an EverQuest character.

Now, I feel like gaming, like all good things, must be taken in moderation to be enjoyable. Even when that game is Ocarina of Time, which I have beaten so many times, I could play through it with my eyes closed. I don’t even need the system, or the controller in my hands. I could close my eyes, and recreate the entire production.

Navi. 40 Rupees. Sword. Shield. Ginger Bastard. Deku Tree. Zelda. Saria. Shield. Darunia. Dodongo. Spin Attack. Silver Scale. Jabu-Jabu. Farore. Din. Time. Hookshot. Forest. Fire. Water. Well. Shadow. Spirit. Spirit. Ganon.

We beat our previous time of 7:20. Rather, we pulvarized it, ending up with just over 6:50, largely thanks to our removal Epona from the equation. Shit, that might be some insider baseball — the horse. We said, no horses, no thanks. We travel by foot, the way our ancestors did. We elect to hoof it — or rather, to not, depending on your definition of the idiom. The acquisition of horses in Ocarina takes longer than it would in the real world, I imagine. It makes sense to leave the quadrapeds behind to shave precious minutes off our play time. Hylians run fast enough as is.

When driving between Cincinnati, OH and Huntington, WV, it’s ill-advised to travel exclusively on US-52. On the flat, glossy surface of an iPhone, it looks like a straight enough shot — experienced travelers know that it’s actually a coiling, twisting nether of asphalt and white paint which frequently oscillates through temporal folds in our dimension.

The clock embedded in my Toyota Matrix says the trip only took three hours and fifteen minutes. The full-white beard I grew during my transit begs to differ.