Monday Morning Commute: Choke on the Pulp. Die with a Smile.

It’s been a week since I reappeared on the deck of the ship, smiling through the sludge I’d been wading in for far too long.

I was worried about the transition. Captain Pow had every right to be salty, seeing as I’d disappeared without any warning.  Piloting this old war-bird with even the most seasoned of navigators can be a goddamn nightmare, so my absence certainly didn’t help.Whereas I’d anticipated being on the receiving end of a Big-Brother Bitch-Slap, he greeted me with open arms.

The stalwart captain welcoming his prodigal brother.

Since then, the pop-culture seas have been kind to me, revitalizing me after an extended absence. My sealegs are strong, helping me regain my strength through the wonder of muscle memory. And still, I’ve yet to completely return to form. I’m still suffering the residual effects of being lost in that Modern-Life Maelstrom.

Every other nite, my crewmates find me sleep-screaming about memos to read and projects to complete and bills to pay and other such nonsense that crushes spirits.

So how’m I going to overcome my infected blood? How do I enjoy the ride when I know the high Highs are always curbed by low Lows? Well, I’m goin’ to keep readin’ the maps and chartin’ the stars. I’m going to breathe deep the life-giving air found these glorious, treacherous, horrifyingly wondrous astral-seas. I’m goin’ to suck the pulp until its dried and withered and I choke to death on the juice, clutching my throat and smiling all the way.

And to do this, I’ll stay aboard Spaceship OL, doing everything I can to be the best goddamn navigator possible.

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This is the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE! First, I sling thinly-veiled metaphors about existentialism at you. Then, I give you the run-down on the pop-culture detritus I’ll be gnashing my teeth on in upcoming days. Finally, you hit up the comments section and tell us how you’ll keep yourself entertained.

It’s digital show-and-tell for the maladjusted.

Let’s do this!

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Dancin’ and considering that DAYS ARE GONE with HAIM.

The other night I was clickin’ through the Unilateral Televisional Machine when I stumbled across some live concert footage. The band playing seemed to be fronted by three sisters, all of whom were wearing their hearts on their sleeves and giving the performance everything they had. More importantly, the music they created sounded poppy and danceable and groovy and soulful.

The band is HAIM. Their debut album is DAYS ARE GONE. And I’m sold.

(Highlight track: Forever. Goddamn if that ain’t a slick bass tone.)

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Cheerin’ for the fat bastard as SANTA CLAUS CONQUERS THE MARTIANS!

Killer robots. Tickle-rays. Child abduction. Chocem the wise. The month of Septober. Santa Claus. Martians. Interplanetary struggle.

Santa Claus Conquers the Martian is sci-fi holiday camp at its best.

For a detailed analysis, check out THIS installment of The Televised Days of Christmas I did two years ago.

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Drinkin’ PEPSI MAX until I get UNCLE DREW powers (or die of a heart attack!)

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Wondering if my recent mantra points to inspiration or psychosis.

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So that’s my week — poundin’ caffeinated beverages while dancing to pop power-trios and watching science fiction and quoting Fight Club.

What’s your week lookin’ like?