In between playing Dark Souls 3 and waiting for Overwatch, Doom came up on steam. I hadn’t paid much attention because a) what 30 year old gamer doesn’t have a giant back log already and b) the last time I played Doom it was a slow wannabe survival horror game where using the flashlight made me want to uninstall the game.

The game comes with the tag “push forward combat” that caught my interest. After reading a bit more I bought it on a whim. After all, Bethesda already owns half my hard drive.

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Monday Morning Commute! On a Monday Evening! Better than a Tuesday Afternoon, not as good as a legitimate Monday Morning! Feelin’ pretty good, man. Classes are finally over, man. Doing a bit of tutoring, but hey. Can’t complain about that. Making money. Still having to drive into Boston during quasi-rush hour, but hey. Can’t complain about that. I’m getting to sleep until 9:00, which is a fucking blessing from the Elder Ones.

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I’m so bad about actually posting original content these days. Staggering even my MMCs and my Weekend Open Bars. Mea culpa, mea lazy, mea mea, something something! But I’m opening the bar! Goddamn Saturday night! But I’m opening the bar! Goddamn last, ain’t no one gonna come! You reap what you sow! Which is why I have terrible gas, a shitty beard, and low audience participation!

I hope you’ll saddle up to the bar! Though it be late, opened. I hope you’re share what you’re up to across the rest of the weekend! Though it be late, my inquiry.

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Tuesday Afternoon Commute! I’m a day late. I’ve spent the last few days in a Theraflu haze. Thanks to my wife for bringing a death-flu back from the last conference she worked. Thanks to my wife for giving me the house I live in though, I suppose, I admit, begrudgingly, with her wonderful private sector job. A give and take, in life. A give and take, in existence.

What can you do? What can you do? What can you do? A little, or a lot. A lot, or a little. It all depends, it all depends.

What can I do? Well, I’m going to list the shit that I’m up to this week, that’s capturing my attention this week, that I’m sweating this week. Then I hope you do in the same in the comments section.

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Weekend Open Bar! Come one, come all! Step right up into the saloon. Hang your jacket up by the fire, ignoring the blood trails. Step right up to the bar. Order your favorite drink, ignoring the bartender’s third eye. Step right up to the gathering in the corner. Tell me what you’re up to this weekend, ignoring my phlegmy laugh, and the circles under my eyes.

This is the weekly weekend column where we weakly, meekly, or enthusiastically (accounting for everything in-between) hang out. Sharing what we’re looking forward to this weekend. Be our foods, our games, our comics, our books, whatever the case! This is the place. Whatever the case!

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This is the Future. I’m talking to you, whomever you are, through a screen. This is the Future. I’m watching Wrestling on my 55-inch TV, and Basketball on my 17 -inch computer screen. At the same time. This is the Future. I’m doing all of this while my wife browses the Universe on an implement (under the antiquated titled of a “phone”) that can fit in her hand. If Gibson is right, and the Future is Here, but not Evenly Distributed, it’s certainly Arrived At My House.

This is the Future, and I want to spend it on the Space-Ship Omega. Here. In Monday Morning Commute. Telling you what I’m looking forward to this week.

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It’s the Weekend Open Bar! Brought to you on Saturday! Sponsored by extra caloric consumption, really nice weather here on the Northeastern arm of the Empire, and sleeping today until 11:30! How are you doing? Let’s be brief. This is the Weekly Column where we all spend the next couple of Free Days (theoretically you’re free, but realistically you may be like one of many people working) hanging out. Sharing what we’re up to.

Sharing!

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Feel like every time I pen one of these, my wife is out on business. But that’s what you got to do, when you make the big bucks in the family. Feel like every time I pen one of these, and my wife is out on business, I’m about to order pizza. But that’s what you got to do, when you’re a fat kid masquerading in a chubby kid’s body, and you refuse to cook for yourself. Feel like every time I pen one of these, I’m just winging it. But that’s what you go to do, when you’re exhausted from teaching and then tutoring for six hours straight, and you ain’t ate until eight or maybe even late(r).

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(Note: I started writing this Friday. It is now Saturday. I apologize. Life, man.)

I’m very excited for this weekend. It’s totally not because I popped a Sudafed for my allergies and it has slicked the synapses of reality, allowing me to glide across Existence with nary a care! I mean, how can you not be excited when it’s the weekend! And the stimulants in your blood tell you Everything Is Okay and Things Will Be Fun This Weekend!? Fuck, Sudafed! Mi amor! Mi amor!

This is Weekend Open Bar! Pop whatever sort of chemical into your bloodstream you want, and come hang out! Pop whatever sort of food into your stomach you want, and come hang out! Pop pop pop! Whatever you want! Everything is allowed, save for snark and bite. We keep it positive here, folks.

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It’s Tuesday Afternoon Commute! I’m lazy. Yesterday it was a holiday here in the Boston-based Existence. Patriots’ Day. This meant a long weekend for the wife and me, which meant I was too busy sitting on my ass with her to write up a dollop of inciting (to post, not to engulf the world in fanboy-fueled fury) prose for you all. So here I am!

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