#January2017
Weekend Open Bar: The Last Weekend In America
Last Friday evening my family and I gathered for a bit of delicious ass (and if you’re confused, ass is delicious) Mexican food to celebrate my birthday. As my brother left, he told us all to “enjoy the last two weekends in America” — a resonant, if not hyperbolic statement. That leaves us, friends, on the precipice of the Last Weekend In America — a resonant, if not hyperbolic statement.
In a country that seems to be unspooling (on both sides of the political spectrum, mind you, I choose no side in this fusillade of suck), what is there to do?
Why, spend some time with you folks at the Weekend Open Bar.
Gather round, folks. The Vampires at the Throat at here, have been here. But as they drink from us, let us drink together. There is Nowhere to go, so let’s go to Nowhere together.
Weekend Open Bar: Rocket Fuel & Rockin’ Fools
It’s the Weekend! Open Bar! Fuck, I know I’m late. Last night was a birthday dinner with family, rolled immediately into five hours of wrestling with Bateman. Oh! Lucha Underground. Oh! Wrestle Kingdom 11. Truthfully? I squeezed in a couple hours of Final Fantasy XV between the former ending and the latter beginning. Oh! No matter, no matter.
Monday Morning Commute: the guy in the moderately tall skyscraper
Oh what a day, what a lovely day. The terrifying, inevitable transition from cultural entropy into the feigned doubling-down of effort and self-disciplined. Yes, yes, friends. Comrades. Frequenters of Space-Ship Omega. It’s the beginning of a new year, the cessation of the end-of-year celebrations. Darkness looms. Deadlines loom.
Hark, hark, may the Ennui strike you more as a honeyed blanket of anaesthetization. And not, oh dear god, and not as the sort of bowels-liquefying anxiety that plunges you through your corpus, through your bed, through your plane of existence and onto the bottom of the bottomless chasm of existential dread.
Oh, you need a lifeline? Oh, you need something to help with this transition back into the wild world of labor extraction? Well, buddy. Well, pal. Well, comrade. I got you. I got you.
See, this here jam is the Monday Morning Commute jam. And here at this here jam I list the various things I’m using to get myself through a work week. The TV I’m watching to close my third-eye, the music I’m using to block out the droning clarion call of Listlessness. The video games I’m employ for the total deinvigorating oculuar-auditory shutdown I just may need.
That uh, pal, that uh. Got a bit dark. But fuck it, fuck it with gumption and assertiveness.
We get can make it through this reentry together.