Monday Morning Commute: Hello, Dexter Morgan
What the fuck is up, fools. How is life? It’s an ashen paradise over here in the suburbs of Massachusetts. The sky is alternating between a teasing blue and a gray pall that reminds me that it’ll be a long, long time before I’m able to piss outside in the middle of the night without it steaming up and hitting my feel. Good god damn! Fuck that noise! Et cetera. I ain’t started my Christmas shopping, but I’m not worried. You’re all getting pictures of my genitalia and ginger snaps. I want you to barf onto the pictures. You’re welcome.
Monday Morning Commute. Every Monday I’m going to detail the various things I’m either currently or will be watching, reading, playing, and listening to in the next seven days. It’s Monday. You’ve got a long week of school, work, or compulsive masturbation to get through. Tell me the arts that you’re indulging in, to stave off suicide.
Watching / Up In The Air
Blonde Thunder and I went into Boston this week to catch a showing of Up In The Air. I’ve been wanting to see it since I checked out the trailer for it roughly seven-thousand times prior to it coming out. And I’m pretty happy to say that I wasn’t let down. The acting in it is solid; George Clooney is both beautiful and captivating. The directing is great, and Reitman has a way of making that young, indie movie look fresh and sharp.
It’s at once both predictable and heart-warming. Your ideas of how the movie will end are probably accurate. It’s a modern zeitgeist asking the question I always waste time asking, “What is this all for?” and the movie answers: Hang out with your friends and find comfort in the quiet passage of time with your loved ones. Which is cool, because my favorite memories come with my gang of friends I’ve known for almost twenty years, and my Blondie McGorgeous.
It’s a sexy film, the angles and cuts and cinematography are great. And if you’re an indie douchebag, you’ll simply flip for the soundtrack.
Listening / Savatage, Dead Winter Dead
I generally abscond from talking about music here on Omega Level. Why? Because everyone’s a fucking music snob. It’s like some unwritten rule that music is some epic battlegrounds over floaty, non-existent truisms. I put shit on in iTunes, and it sounds good, I listen to it. Sounds good to me. I don’t try to over-intellectualize. Put on shit and be merry.
That said, my brother calls Savtage cockrock, and I’m inclined to agree. However, Dead Winter Dead has the tune that spawned Trans-Siberian Orchestra and a thousand Youtube videos of douchebags with blinking Christmas lights. So every year around this time I slap it on and be taken back to the good ole holidays and high school. When I realized I had been spinning this record for ten years, I almost puked up all over myself. I have no idea where the time has gone, but I’m having a good fucking time.
Reading / Fraction, Larocca and D’Armata’s current run on Invincible Iron Man
I’ve been riding the jock of Fraction’s run on Invincible Iron Man for a while now. I think I mention it every time a new issue drops over in Variant Covers. Why? It’s just fucking good. Plain and simple. Fraction’s taken a character I really didn’t give two tugs of a rotten cock about prior to his effort and made him interesting. He’s broken Tony Stark. Literally, and emotionally. The dude is a cripple who is on life support. But more so than that, he’s a hefty egotist who has suffered the ramifications of his idealism collapsing under its own weight.
Dude thought he was doing the right thing, now his country is in shambles, Steve Rogers is dead, and the Green Goblin is running the government’s defense grid. My favorite issue of Invincible is still #7, where Spider-Man and Iron Man survey the carnage of a Stark Industries plant after some terrorist left it smoldering. The issue captured the weight of a man in charge of the world, trying to operate underneath the cloak of being indirectly responsible for his own friend’s death.
It’s pretty stand-alone, and if you like reading cool things of any nature, check it out.
—
What are you fucks up to?