What’s up, friends. It is Powered by Caffeine here. Rendar can’t come tonight. He’s in the woods with a couple of other friends, howling six-word odes dedicated to Hemingway. Prior to uttering these supplications to Lieutenant Shotgun Suicide, they strip down to their underwear and chest-chop each other while telling one another how fucking masculine it is to take five fingers off the sternum. It is not until their pectoral muscles are bright red and they’re wheezing that they bark at the moon. It is an annual late summer festival, and I dare not come between him and such a spectacle. So here I sit, grinding away on the Mothership per usual. This here is Monday Morning Commute, the column where we give the rundown on the various arts and crafts we’re enjoying on a given week.

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