Monday is over for me, motherfuckers! The ring light has been stuffed under my computer desk. The laptop that I use to do remote work has been shuddered. Most importantly, a glorious Mountain Dew Zero Sugar Major Melon has been cracked open. Monday is over for me, indeed! I mean, I’ve drank about seven of them today, but caffeine has a more congratulatory pop when it’s ingested during the off-hours.

But, this Monday being over is more glorious than any run of the mill Monday. You see, Spring Break is next week! Which means I’m one step closer to shutting down the ring light for like seven fucking days, playing a shit ton of video games, and generally relaxing. Four fucking days to go!

Mamma mia, I simply cannot fucking wait for this upcoming Siesta.

But, being a lazy piece of shit ain’t that only thing I’m sweating this week. Nope! Folks, I got all sorts of shit on my pop cultural plate this week!  Delicious morsels of cultural caloric bliss that I’m more than eager to stuff into my brain-mouth! While mixing metaphors, analogies, and all of that other shit!

In fact, guess what? I’m going to fucking tell you what I’m gorging on this week. In fact, guess what? You’re going to join me in the comments after I’m done.

After all, that’s the entire goddam function of this column! This MMC. This Monday Morning Commute!

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March 5. It’s officially been one year. One year since I went to my last movie, one year since I went to a fitness class, more than one year since I’ve seen a cadre of my friends. I’m trying not to hyper-fixate on all I’ve lost in these Fallen Times, especially since I’ve gotten off relatively light. You know? Like, on one hand, it’s only a year of my life. But on the other hand, it’s an entire year of parties, trips to the movies, and watching sports with friends. Considering that nothing’s promised in life, particularly your persistent existence, it’s a bit of a heavy bummer.

Blessedly, the vaccine gets closer and closer to my arm, even as my anxiety has me spiraling further and further from a comfortable existence. The dichotomy between the intellectual realization that the End of coming, and really the fractures in my battered psyche deepening is really a case study waiting to happen. S

That said, what can you do, you know? Just persist. Find joy in the small things. Eat pizza, watch horror movies, look forward to the seemingly-receding but literally-approaching day when I’ll be vaccinated and sitting in a restaurant with sSam. Or in Rendar’s backyard for a BBQ with shared comrades. It’s the only choice, and when you evaluate it, it seems a solid one.

Anyways, so that’s where I’m at emotionally. Why not keep your maudlin Captain company this weekend? Here, at the Open Bar! Physically distant, but emotionally resonant hanging!

What are you up to this weekend, friends? Let’s spend some ttime.

Motherfuckers it’s the weekend, and that can only mean one thing. Fucking time to pop off our pants, turn off our motherfucking Ring Lights (if you’re a remote teacher like me), and get high as hell! You know, relax! Put on a good horror flick, stretch your gullet beyond reasonable measurement, and fucking gorge!

Pizza! Martial arts flicks! Dead Cells! Diarrhea!

Seriously though, you sublime bitches. Let’s gather! It’s time, my fellow Degenerates of the Round Table! The Bar is Open, my mood is good thanks to sunshine and a 48-siesta, and my heart throbs for you! Yes, for you!

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What the fuck is up, members of the Space-Ship Omega? How are you doing? I’m currently typing this bitch while actual rays of sun blast through my window. And while they aren’t supercharging my glands, my glutes, and my muscles ala Superman, these rays do feel good. So I’m hitting this son of a bitch with a bit more ebullience than I would have, had I actually written this yesterday.

Which I intended to, honest! But then the day got in the way, and blah, blah. None the less, let’s embrace the Here and the Now together.

What are you radical fucking pseudo-primates up to this week? What are you enjoying? Sweating the next WandaVision? Gleefully watching the snow melt? I don’t know, enjoying baseball’s Spring Training or some other odd shit?

I want to know! I want to show! I’ll go! First!

This is Monday Morning Commute.

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Oh lord, friends! It is the mother-fuck-ing weekend, and not a moment too soon! A stressful week has given way to a temporary haven. Some 48-hours or so where I can shut down my brain, open up my gullet, and eat junk food and watch slop. How the hell are you folks doing? It’s a goddamn mess across the map, with most of the Empire getting ass-blasted by cold weather and snow.

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Father forgive me, because I do know what I do! Mainly, I fling profanities and fluids with a carelessness that must be condemned and appreciated. You know? Oh, you fucking know! Seriously though, I had to riff one last time on 30 Coins before its season finale this week. Mamma mia, what a really, really, really fun fucking show. Sad to see it go, glad to have experienced it, quietly wondering if we are going to get a second season.

But that wild, wonderful show about secret sects, spider babies, forbidden gospels, and hot, hot people ain’t the only thing I’m enjoying this week. In fact, I got a whole fucking list of shit I’m digging this week! Double in fact, I’m about to reveal that list to you! Open your eyes! Open your mind! Open your ass! Bask in the infinity of my hobbies and interests! Scream, as said list shears mind from common sense. Scream, as said list condemns you to an oblivion only previously thought theoretical.

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Is it Spring yet? ‘Cause I have visions of it, my dudes. My mind wanders as I drive down the roads, the frozen-ass tundra greeting me. Is this truly the same planet that I mountain biked on, like four months ago? It is, but my does it boggle my rotted-ass synapses. What an odd world, what an odd life, what an odd time. Yet, with each passing day, those motherfucking trails get closer. Day by day, minute by minute, the glorious summer dusk bike rides are closer to their return.

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As our own Neo said to me today, lately my ass definitely sounds “kinda burned for this early in the semester” and he ain’t wrong. I don’t know, man! Fucking snow! Fucking gray skies! Fucking remote teaching! It’s all just a lot, and every day survived feels like a small victory. There’s sludge in the brain! Mud in the blood! My synaptic cycling is definitely more slowed than preferred.

Eh! Fuck it, right? I mean, I don’t know what to do.

Keep moving! Keep going! Push forward.

I’m just grousing, but I’m here! Which has to count for something, right? Please tell me yes. Just lie, if need be. I need it.

Meanwhile, despite my gloom, I’m enjoying my fair share of commodities and consumerist models. So I’m gonna share these oddities, commodities, and various arts & farts with ya’ll. Then, I hope you’ll decide to join me in the comments section.

Let’s fucking go!

This is Monday Morning Commute.

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The Saints can’t save you, motherfuckers! Nor can the Trees, or the Ones Who Walk Behind The Shadows. However, you can absolutely save your fucking self. It’s within you, it’s within your guts, it’s within your marrow. Is it easy? Nah! Is it guaranteed? Nah! But, it’s a promise at the end of a dank tunnel. What does salvation look like, for me? Acknowledging that I have control over my circumstances. Self-care. And! Hanging out with you fuckers! Hey, look at that. A poorly-stuck segue into this here fucking column! However, I ain’t completely full of shit.

Salvation comes in the form of community, the creation of bonds, the spending of our entropic-distillation together. Shiny baubles and distractions are fantastic, but just fucking broing out with you legion of degenerates is more enjoyable than anything else.

So come hither, you fellow slime. Let’s spend the weekend together at the Open Bar!

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It’s true! My skeleton is my oldest house. Within its walls, do I ever haunt. The burbling, bubbling of a mad brain. The frenzied, arrhythmic horrors of an over-caffeinated heart.  The creaky, laborious groans of a skeleton subjected to gravity, entropy, and exertion. Oh, does my soul walk these halls. Oh, do I ever haunt. This house, the oldest house, it treats me well.

The oldest house keeps my meat-processor protected from the elements, until it doesn’t.

The oldest house keeps my circuitry protected from the elements, until it doesn’t.

I don’t fault the oldest house for its failing, for when it fails to protect me. Or, when the piping gets clogged. Or, when the meat-processor over-heats, or short-circuits. After all, what house is infallible? Show me the lark selling that shanty, and I’ll show you a liar.

My house, the oldest house, isn’t perfect.

But it’s the house I’ve got, and it’s the house I’ll have, until I have no house no more.

I take reasonable care of it, and it takes reasonable care of me.

On certain days, we’d probably ask more out of one another, but for the most part we’re pretty happy. Which is good.

‘Cause it’s the house I’ve got, and it’s the house I’ll have, until I have no house no more.

This is Monday Morning Commute.

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