Monday Morning Commute: Neon Light, Black Coffee, & Red Blood
With a fresh Pepsi in hand, Absalom took a deep breath and began his tale.
“We’d been tryin’ to get home for ages, and we were all in rough shape. Beat-up. Hungover. Outta gas. And hungry, to boot! There wasn’t no way we’d be able to travel through the night. So I had to call in a favor to woman I’d’ve rather not ever seen again.”
“Waitta second,” interjected the Pie-Eyed intern, sole audience member of this performance, “whereyou says you comed from? Why’s you away inna furs-place?”
“Ah, yes. It’s a long story. But in short, this guy I knew – friend-of-a-friend sort of thing – was all sorts of salty `bout his ex-girlfriend bein’ with another man. So, he assembled a crew to travel `cross a bunch of states and win her back. With nothin’ to do but sit around drinkin’ beers and readin’ science fiction, I volunteered for what I’d assumed would be a grand adventure.”
“Wuzzit?”
“You’re goddamned right it was! I don’t think I’ll ever see nothin’ more glorious than a midnight fist-fight in a donut shop – everything blurrin’ together in a wash of neon light and black coffee and red blood!”
Absalom seized a moment to swish cola across his gums and crack his knuckles, like hitting the reset button on a broken-bodied Storyteller Machine. He flagged down the bartender and re-upped Pie-Eyed’s drink.
“Phanks man, but I dunno if I needa ‘nother.”
“Kid, it ain’t `bout need! Hell, ain’t no needs bein’ met in this entire bar! This place is `bout the Tapioca Populace foolin’ themselves into believin’ that they can even conjure up the notion of danger or excitement or novelty! So drink your drink!”
Pie-Eyed obeyed and Absalom continued.
“So anyways, after spillin’ teeth in the donut shop we attracted some attention, so we had to scram. Hightailin’ it out, we got ourselves into all sorts of trouble. Drinkin’ and fornicatin’ and fightin’. Glorious! But before y’knew it, a three-day drive had mutated into two weeks. Two goddamn weeks.”
“Thazz,” Pie-Eyed slurred and sipped and slurred, “thazz crazy. Whattya do?”
“Well, with the gas-gauge on E, the backseat-keg on its last pint, and the paper absent from our wallets, I decided to rely on the generosity of Susy.”
“Who’s Susy?”
“Susy,” Absalom paused to take a rip of Pepsi and stare into the middle distance, “Susy’s a goddamn witch.”
—-
Come one, come all! This here’s the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE! What’s that, you ask? Well, once a week Spaceship OL has to touch down on a nearby moon or satellite-weigh station for refueling purposes. During this time, I share the upcoming itinerary with the crew, detailing the means by which I’ll be navigating our rusty pop-culture mind-vessel through the Omniverse. After sharing my plans, the floor is opened up and everyone is encouraged to share their prospective space-maps.
In other words, we nerd out about the various ways we’ll be entertaining ourselves.
Let’s do the damn thing!
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It doesn’t take expert deduction to see that I’m flippin’ amped for the third series of SHERLOCK!
After plowing through the first two series in marathon fashion, I am completely enamored of SHERLOCK! I know, I know, I’m about three years late to this party — but I’m here now! I love everything about this show, and it hits me on every goddamn level. Tremendous writing. Superb performances. An unreal tonal balance, with mystery and humor and suspense and levity and the macabre all given equal opportunity.
From what I’ve gathered, the first new episode premieres in the UK this week, with American television viewers being asked to wait a couple of weeks. Hrm. Perhaps I’ll investigate digital means of procuring this episode.
It’ll be elementary.
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Sippin’ on some fine-ass WHISKEY made by the fine folks at DAMNATION ALLEY DISTILLERY.
In an apparent attempt to redeem his blackened soul, fellow Spaceship OL crewmate Patrick Bateman gifted me a bottle of whiskey.
While this act would be charitable in and of itself, Bateman went a bit above and beyond. Which, anecdotally, suggests that Bateman’s finally worried about the fact that the left side of his chest-gut is filled with a smouldering ash heap. Nevertheless, the whiskey I was presented comes from the Damnation Alley Distillery, a Massachusetts-based operation dedicated to the notion of created small batches of liquor created entirely from materials made in the commonwealth.
In their words:
When we say small, we mean SMALL small. So small that we don’t think there’s an adjective to describe us – Micro-distillery? Nano-distillery? Pico-Distillery? Think smaller.
Our small size means we don’t have to make huge batches of everything we try. We can experiment and have fun distilling special orders.
We can work with different grains, produce, fruits, and herbs from farms solely in Massachusetts.
I’ve been sluprin’ micro-brews for years…so now, micro-liquors?
Sold.
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Rantin’ about FLOW MY TEARS, THE POLICEMAN SAID to anyone who’ll listen!
I’m not a religious man, but I believe in the work of Philip K. Dick.
Generally speaking, my finishing of a PKD novel is followed by intense bouts of contemplation. With an uncanny ability to make readers empathize with characters who’re no longer sure of their reality, PKD absolutely crushes paradigms. Shift! Shift! Shift! What if, just what if you realize that everything you take as a given we’re slid in a way, maybe even a minute way, so that your life is not what it was? What if it never was?
Flow My Tears, The Policeman Said is no exception. Set in a police-state dystopia that discourages intellectualism and supports a mad media influence (if you’ve never seen this just rub the sand out of your eyes and look around), the story follows Jason Taverner. One moment he’s a beloved multimillionaire celebrity, and the next moment nobody knows him. Of course, there’s action and sex and drugs and all sorts of crazy-ass mindbending.
Read this book.
And take a heavy dose of KR-3.
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Finally watchin’ the Red Wings and the Maple Leafs duke it out WINTER CLASSIC style!
Ain’t no New Year’s Day tradition like watchin’ the Winter Classic. After last year’s NHL lockout forced a cancellation of the outdoor game, it’s goin’ to be a beautiful thing to see again. And with Detroit and Toronto goin’ head-to-head, this is bound to be a game worth seein’!
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British detective stuff, whiskey, reality-bendin’, and hockey — what a week it’s goin’ to be!
What’s your week lookin’ like?