Now begins the dark age, when the football fiasco pop-culture zeitgeist begins to slumber until September. Without any weekly caloric-crushing, fantasy football fist-pumping, the average male wanders around lost. Not me. No way. Thanks to the courtesies extended by the various arts that I indulge in on a weekly basis. This is Monday Morning Commute, the column where we gather to discuss these interests. Look at that fucking segue, and fondle me. As you do so, I’ll pat you gently and caress your soft face. We are in this together.

Read the rest of this entry »