#November2018
Monday Morning Commute: I am a medium person!
Man, there ain’t no fucking sun in the sky lately. And man, there ain’t no fucking warmth in the air. But, there sure are a lot of fucking papers to grade, a lot of classes to teach, and a lot of obligations to meet. Ah, ah yes. Why, it must be that time of the year. What time, you ask? Why, the time of the year where I feel ground down into a chunky paste, and slathered across the corporeal plane. However, I do not have the time to cease! Cause there’s so much goddamn wood to chop before I sleep for the semester.
How am I going to make it?
Why, by leaning on the various frivolities that bring me happiness. And, I’m wanting to tell you of the specific frivolities I’m enjoying this week! Do you want to hear, fair members of the Space-Ship Omega? I certainly fucking hope so!
But wait!
How am I going to make it, also?
Why, by listening to the various frivolities you are enjoying this week! Please, I implore you. Meet me in the comments section, and let’s spend time time!
This is Monday Morning Commute.
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Monday Morning Commute: It Never Answers Back
How are you folks doing? I know it’s been quiet around here. Sure, there’s the occasional pop-culture kernel that I’m interested in enough to share. As well, there’s the Facebook page, which seems to have struck ground as an enjoyable repository for said kernels and infinite memes. And finally, yeah, we do stream every weekend on Twitch. But around here, man. The hub. It’s been quiet. At first, I wasn’t sure why it was so hard to maintain the grease on the perpetual-engine at the center of the Space-Ship Omega, but then I remembered.
We’re all just sort of busy.
Rendar’s got two jobs. Bateman’s got, I’m not really sure how many jobs. I oscillate between teaching four classes and one class depending on the semester, and I’m always tutoring 30+ students a week. Compliment that with a commute which is generally one-and-a-half-hours each way every day, and well. I’m fucking tired, man.
All of this is a meandering preamble to serve as both an acknowledgement that it’s quiet around here, an apology for said quiet, a paean for the older days, a notice that I miss you folks, and a reasoning for why things can get so quiet.
I hope you’re well. I hope you’re still here, even if you’re lurking. And if you’re not, eh, I can’t blame you. Entropy claims everything.
But, I’m here now, dudes! I’m here now, with yet another tardy Monday Morning Commute. It’s the gabfest where I share what I’m looking forward to in a given week! So, without further ado, here’s what I’m sweating!
I hope you’ll join me in the comments section!
Weekend Open Bar: You Will Be Happy
It’s been a moment since I crept out from under the shadows and issued forth a Weekend Open Bar, huh? For that, I apologize. How the fuck are you doing, friends? Apologies for the tardiness, and all that happy horse shit. You know how it goes, or maybe you don’t know how it goes.
But, when the MalaiseVapors got your synapses in their claws, it’s hard to fight back.
But, I’m here now. The MalaiseVapors beat back, another row in the books. They’re gone, but not forgotten. They’re gone, but they’ll return. They always return, to dance the Dance Macabre.
Weekend Open Bar: Some of that old school buddy cop action, dude
What’s up, fellow denizens of the Space-Ship Omega? How are you doing? I’m aiight, kicking it. I’m aiight, sluggishly tumbling headfirst into the final weekend of the semester. Tumbling, tumbling, tumbling. Skull-meat’s synapses barely firing, as my thickened blood fails to pump all that well.
But, I’m blessed enough to have the weekend off.
Weekend Open Bar: I Eat Stickers All The Time, Dude!
Friends! Friends. I’m at a level of fatigue that I do not usually reach. Oh, the ethers from beyond beckon me towards slumber. Like not eternal slumber, don’t get me wrong. More like, oh, I don’t know. Eating six Pop Tarts, drowning my esophagus in ice cream, and drifting off. Drifting off where? Ideally to the Astral Plane for a good twelve or so hours. Just ripping ass, snoring, and healing my weakened mind-shafts.
The good news?
The good news is that I am of that privileged sort that has the weekends off.
Weekend Open Bar: Ba De Ya – Dancing In September
Oh, Oh, Oh! Dancing in September! Welcome to Weekend Open Bar! And it’s a uniquely special one, at least on the annual tip. It’s the first Weekend Open Bar of my favorite time of year. Mother. Fucking. Fall. Though not officially penetrating the calendar until later this month, this weekend begins a maelstrom of miscellany during the upcoming week which officially signals it for yours truly. So I’m lighting the autumn candles, slipping into a hoodie, and wanking it to rotting leaves, spectral forms populating our general psyche, gridiron collisions, and blockbuster games dropping.
Weekend Open Bar: Ain’t no party like an anxiety attack, ’cause an anxiety attack don’t stop
I ain’t having an anxiety attack, though! Don’t let the headline fool you. Just popped into my head today, when I was brainstorming headlines. A headline for what? Why, the one, the only, the perpetually poorly written and only intermittently published: Weekend Open Bar!
That’s right! Come one, come all and grab a seat here. Here! In the rotgut, mind-melting tavern aboard the Space-Ship Omega.
Once seated, then what? Glad you (didn’t) ask! Share what you’re up to over the next couple of days. Don’t matter if you’re fortunate enough to have them off, or unfortunate enough to have to continue your grind.
All are welcome! Share, share what you’re playing! Share, what what you’re reading! Share what you’re watching, eating, contemplating. Anything and everything goes here, so long as you keep it very tight butthole (the existential state, regarding your own butthole, go fucking wild, I encourage it).
Monday Morning Commute: Doldrums City
Welcome to Doldrums City, comrades. Population: Me (at the very least). I’m sick. I’m tired. The Earth is melting, our government is run by lily livered cretins and monsters. Football is over. The sky is ash. I’m stick. I’m tired. All I want to do is sleep, masturbate wildly while screaming at the ceiling fan, and eat. Eat, and eat, and eat, and eat. Rinse. Repeat.
The columns must flow, though. The Commute must be Monday Morning’d. So here we are. So here we are.
This is MondayMorningCommute by way of TuesdayAfternoon.
Being MMC BYO TA, the task at hand is simple. I share what I’m looking forward to this week. What I’m hoping will rocket me out of Doldrums City, comrades. Then you share your own anticipatory happenings in the comments section.
Weekend Open Bar: It Was An Illusion. Even A Pleasant One For Some
The bar is open early, friends. It’s Thanksgiving Eve here on the eastern arm of the Empire. I’m blessed enough to have the rest of the week off. So why not let the Asgardian ale flow already? So why not let the Martian space spice be smoked already? I have no good reasons for why not to, I have no good explanations. All I know is that life is too short, too vicious for even the most blessed, to not seize upon moments of revelry with you and yours.
Weekend Open Bar on a Wednesday evening.
Monday Morning Commute: As Cold As You Let It Be
Sweatpants, Diet Dew, a fire, a furry dog at my feet. Life ain’t bad, life ain’t bad generally. Going to keep this simple, on this simple evening. This is Monday Morning Commute, the column where we share what we’re up to during a particular week. The new movie we want to see. A comic book dropping on Wednesday we can’t wait to read. Et cetera et cetera et cetera. Going to keep this simple, on this simple evening.
I’ll go first, you’ll follow in the comments section. Fair? Fair. Fair!
