I’ve never been a big fan of Spring. I don’t know why. While everyone is rejoicing at the return of blue skies and fresh air, I’m miserable. I think it has to do with several things. Firstly, the moment life returns to the plains of despair that are New England winters, my sinuses fill with enough muck to cement a wall with. And secondly, I find the air to be harsh at night, and cold in the morning. It’s a cock-tease. It’s like halfway decent out there. At least with the winter, you know what you’re getting: misery.

During the Spring, I don’t know what the fuck to wear, I don’t know what it’s going to be like out. Either I’m freezing, or I’m wearing too much and I’m sweating through my fucking clothing again. Pit stains need to come into fashion, or I’m going to live a very unfashionable life. It doesn’t seem that implausible, I mean, these days assholes are shelling out legitimate amounts of cash for pants that look like a painter fucked his co-worker in the middle of a job, and then got into a knife fight. Maybe some day there will be pseudo-pit stains, already burned into the shirts you buy.

A man can dream.

Monday Morning Commute. Every Monday I’m going to detail the various things I’m either currently or will be watching, reading, playing, and listening to in the next seven days. It’s Monday. You’ve got a long week of school, work, or compulsive masturbation to get through. Tell me the arts that you’re indulging in, to stave off suicide.

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