Monday Morning Commute: King in the Rot
Absalom Fabliaux had drained fifteen Pepsi-Colas and he felt like a goddamn king.
Sitting in the bar for the better part of four hours, Absalom whittled away at a couple of chapters, clickety-clackin’ at his keyboard with little regard for his surroundings. Smarmy suits and slicked-back trustfunds poured shots into the fertile secretaries that’d someday be their suburban broodmares. Y’know, after accounts were conquered and four-oh-one-kays secured and dividends divided. The digital music lasered its way into their brains, encouraging the Vanilla Paste People to strut their stuff.
And still, Absalom forged ahead, undeterred.
His writer-comrades didn’t understand why he’d write in the midst of such chaos. Unlike him, they flocked to their studies and libraries and offices and espresso bars. But Absalom Fabliaux never found himself more distracted than when he tried to work in such venues. To him, these places were the domiciles of good — silence and thought and books, which contain no little amount of that stuff called the Incredible. And, of course, coffee.
Absalom Fabliaux could never count on making a deadline if he set up shop in a Den of Wonder.
His office? An upscale bar in the financial district. His workday? Happy hour until close. In the eye of the storm, Absalom Fabliaux knew he’d get work done. Zero temptation to talk to anyone. A consistent environment, day-in and day-out. With the rot in his periphery, he had just enough white noise to fuel his words. And to top it all off, the place served glass-bottle Pepsis.
As he requested another, Absalom chuckled to himself. “I’ll be goddamned if I’m not the only bastard who should’ve been cut off but ain’t.”
Absalom Fabliaux had drained sixteen Pepsi-Colas and he knew himself to be a goddamn king.
This is the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE! First, I spew words at you in the form of a short story or vomit-essay. Then, I show you the entertainment-debris I’ll be rummaging through in the next days. Lastly, you hit up the comments section and tell everyone what you’ll be doin’ to get through the week.
Rock and roll, baby!
Rockin’ out to the Christmas Wonder that is DEAD WINTER DEAD!
Sure, everyone and their Grandmama rocks out to TSO. And that shit is righteous, no doubt. But there’s no shortage of folks who don’t know about the Wedding Bed in which this Holiday Juggernaut was conceived. But if you’re the sort of person who raises the fist of the metal child, then one Christmas album has to stand above the rest.
It’s still technically fall, but we all feel a bit Dead Winter Dead.
AMERICAN HUSTLE looks as good as Christian Bale looks terrible in the trailer.
I’m officially willing to count myself the fandom hoi polloi: I’M IN LOVE WITH CUMBERBATCH. Does this mean I have to get a Tumblr?
So I saw HOBBIT-Man 2: The Dragon Strikes Back this weekend, and it was pretty good. Not amazing, but I didn’t feel like I wanted my money back. Anyways, one of the definitely-awesome-no-doubts-about-it parts of the movie was Benedict Cumberbatch’s Smaug-voice. Sultry and silky and dark and horrifying.
Swoon.
Anyways, after rewatching Star Trek Redo-2: Khan Lives! and finally watching SHERLOCK, I’m just going to admit it: I love Benedict Cumberbatch.
And y’know what? I’m okay with that.
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So that’s my week – listening to metal and goin’ to the movies and writing letters to Benedict Cumberbatch in Crayola and blood.
What’re you doin this week?