#December2016
Weekend Open Bar: Welcome Fellow Travellers!
Welcome, fellow travellers! Welcome here to the Open Bar, upon the Space-Ship Omega! I #cantstop and I #wontstop the cheesy, but ultimately enjoyable (for me) conceit! You know, the one about this website being a Space-Ship. You know, the one about us being denizens of a shuddering, weathered, but comforting hunk of self-propelling space-junk amid the abyss of the internet cosmos.
As I said, it’s comforting.
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Monday Morning Commute: We are all Placeholders
in space | inkaxis
We are all placeholders, man. Temporary installments in a Temporary Universe. Brief iterations, brief organizations of atoms-molecules-matter, and we will all be gone before we know it. That’s fine, that’s cool, that’s whatever. It’s gotta be because it is. No complaints here.
While we’re here, while the Aflame Blue Globe is here, while the Universe is still hurtling towards Heat Death, why don’t we hang out, folks?
Hang out, here, in Monday Morning Commute. The weekly column where all of us Placeholders get together and share what we’re excited for during a given week.
What comic book is coming out that you’re sweating? What movie is dropping that you’re anticipating? What fetish website is getting your hard earned bucks and/or meagerly administered strokes? Sharing is caring, so show that you shant neglect me in the comments section.
Report: ‘Final Fantasy XV’ getting Six DLC Packs. At the least.
FFXV’s Season Pass is going to run $25. However, if the game and its DLC is worth a damn, this will end up being a good deal, given that it pays for six DLC packs. That said, I’ve never had a goddamn Season Pass work out for me. Actually, Borderlands 2. And Fallout 4. Okay so a couple, fuck you.
Weekend Open Bar: Kids On Bikes / Stars In Space
降雨kōu-sjø-1990
Finally, the Bar is back! Finally, the Bar is Open! Where have I been? Where have you been? A blinking cursor staring at an unclicking keyboard, attempting to nudge an illusory mousepad. Right? Right! Right? Right! I think, if the synapses are firing correctly, and oh god are they never firing correctly anymore, that this is my second week off from the (welcomed) grind of summer teaching. I’ve been filling my (non)free hours with posting dumb memes on OL’s Facebook page, tutoring students on campus, eating too little, conversely at times eating far too much, and occasionally playing Rise of the Tomb Raider and Borderlands 2.
Oh. And oh! Oh. And oh!! Oh. And oh!!! I’ve also been obsessing over Stranger Things which really should be called Boner Things or perhaps more accurately An Array of Things In The Guise of a Television Show That Give Me A Boner. Not sure why they didn’t go with that title, but I suppose one’s flaws serve only to point out their perfections. Or, in my case, to keep me from getting laid the first twenty-five years of my life and suffer through wearing an uncomfortable though familiar shawl of self-doubt and insecurities. But we can talk about that more! Later! Oh, where, when, later?
How about here, in the comments section, of Weekend Open Bar!
The weekly column where I encourage those of you kind enough, brave enough, pitying enough, lonely enough, horny enough, strong enough, gassy enough, brash enough to share what you’re up to during a given weekend.
Share what you’re eating. Share what you’re watching. Share what you’re playing. Fuck it, tell me what’s giving you a boner. I don’t care! We’re all friends! We’re all family! You’re all getting a toenail and a used pair of underwear of mine when I die, so fuck, you know you’re close to me.
Monday Morning Commute: The sky above the port was the color of television
Monday Morning Commute! On a Monday Evening! Truthfully, this tardiness is, relativistically speaking, pretty good compared to my usual antics. In fact, this column would have slithered out of my mind-hole earlier had the words come to me. Sometimes the Muses toss lightning bolts up your ass, and you feel Empowered. Emboldened. Surfing The Edge. Sometimes the Muses retreat to a 7-Eleven bathroom to trib with faeries and knaves and satyrs. Coating themselves in the slickening sugary confections we pass off as food, writhing in wrappers and detritus, orgasming in supplication to the Eternal Engine which neither Cares nor Notices us.
Today? For me? The Muses are fucking around with the fucking faeries in the fucking bathroom. But still, I persist. But still, I exist. Put that on a Hallmark card and staple it onto my forehead, I know it’s fucking lame.
Today? For me? I’m going to write this column anyways. Even though the Muses ain’t here. I’m going to tell you everything I’m excited about this week. Even though the Muses ain’t here. I’m going to ask you to join me, vapid, broken, banal me, in the comments section, letting me know what you are excited for this week. Even though the Muses ain’t here.
Well? Shall we?
Weekend Open Bar: To Cyber-Space for the Meat-Case
I say goddamn!, I’m glad it’s the weekend!
For numerous reasons. Oh, today marks the first day out of the past eight where I’m not dealing directly with my grandmother’s day. I say goddamn!, I’m glad it’s the weekend!
Oh, it marks the beginning of my glorious Cheat Days, where I can stuff my face with catastrophic amounts of calories with no guilt. I say goddamn!, I’m glad it’s the weekend.
Oh, it marks the beginning of a laundry list of Dope Shit I’m planning on watching, reading, playing.
I say goddamn!, I’m glad it’s the weekend!
So why don’t you join me here, at Weekend Open Bar. The column where I implore all of you denizens of the Space-Ship Omega to gather, to hang out. To share the various things that are causing you to “I say goddamn!, I’m glad it’s the weekend”, with me, comrades.
Monday Morning Commute: We’re all riding shotgun with Entropy
We’re all riding shotgun with Entropy.
That’s the long of it, the short of it. Celebrated the Fourth of July twice this weekend. Once at a friend’s apartment, who I consider to be family. Once at my family’s house, who I consider to be friends.
Me, my friends, my family?
We’re all riding shotgun with entropy.
The Universe wasn’t paying much attention to our celebrations. Too busy housing Everything. Too busy searching for that sweet, sugary Heat Death at the end of it all. Expanding endlessly until it won’t.
Me, my friends, my family, the Universe?
We’re all riding shotgun with entropy.
The wife I married, the dog I love, the friends I cherish, the family I belong to, the Universe that carries me.
We’re all here until we’re not.
We’re all riding shotgun with entropy.
I don’t know what to make of this, other than to appreciate my wife, walk my dog, hang out with my friends, and stare lovingly at the stars when the nights permit. This isn’t profundity and it isn’t resignation.
It’s a shrug and a smile in the face of the Absurd. What else can I do?
We’re all riding shotgun with entropy.
This is Monday Morning Commute. The column where I slather onto this particular digi–space all the items, all the miscellany, all the bullshit that I’m interfacing with on a given week. You know, when I’m not staring into the raging chasm of Void and Stars, condemning the tragic mistake that is self-awareness, while simultaneously praising the Cosmic Joke for stumbling into giving us clowns self-awareness.
It is my optimistic encouragement that you’ll share what you’re up to this week in the comments section.
