What’s up, travelers aboard the Space-Ship OMEGA? It’s finally, finally the Weekend Open Bar.

Boy. Weird week, no? COVID-19 has finally struck America’s consciousness, and such a strike has felled any sort of normalcy. Ain’t no sports! Ain’t no toilet paper! Movie premieres being delayed. Schools being closed. What the fuck! What the fuck does this all mean?

Honestly, I don’t know!

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Hey, fellow crew mates of the Space-Ship Omega! How the fuck are you? I know it’s been a minute since I punched out a Monday Morning Commute, but what do you want? I’ve been busy! I got mental health issues! It’s cold, and snowy, and miserable, and I just want to lay under my anxiety blanket until the worm turns on this shit-ass season.

But, this week I’ve pushed through!

Ripping opening the door to the Space-Ship’s common room and hollerin’ for ya’ll to join me in it! Come hang out, and let me know what you’re looking forward to this week! As well, inform me of the various tunes, toons, tits, and other sundries you’re currently enjoying!

Not sure how this works? Eh, I don’t believe you! However, like any good spinner of pedagogy, I’ll model the exercise first! Then, you join me in the comments.

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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!

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Hello, friends. Hello, comrades. Passersby, lurkers, regulars. Hello, hello, hello. We are on Day Three of my Spring Break, which is also Day Three of my wife being away on a vacation in Belize.

Don’t fret! I’ve washed my ass. Don’t fret! My animals are alive. Don’t fret! I’m eating. Don’t fret, don’t fret, don’t fret. Oh sure, it’s a half-hearted scrub. Oh sure, they’re bored of me and I’m bored of them. Oh sure, no vegetables have been spotted near my throat-chasm since last week.

Am I losing my mind? Always.

Am I feeling Cabin Fever? I hope not, because there’s a blizzard coming tomorrow that’s going to pin me right in this house.

Am I hoping you’ll come hang out in Monday Morning Commute? Share what you’re enjoying-looking-forward-to-thinking-about-consuming this week?

Absolutely.

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There can be something exhilarating and freeing about a condemned, Post-Hope existence.

Sure. I utter this from a plateau. From a monument of privilege.

My wife makes good money, I got a dick, can pass for straight, and sport a blanche complexion.

With those caveats in tow, I mean, this rotting obelisk doesn’t seem so intimidating. It may be a survival technique, these gallantly leapt hoops I am gallantly leaping through. But what else would you ask of me?

The seas rise, the Earth heats, the resources dwindle, the population increases. Those in charge predicate power and greed over empathy and charity.

It’s done. It. Capital “I”, if you will. Shot through the heart. To carry on itself seems a tip of the cap to existential absurdism.

What else to do, what else would you have me do? A little mild resistance during the day. But the heart weakens, the mind fatigues, respite is earned and welcome.

So I fuck, and I smoke a little weed. I laugh with friends, go out to dinner with my wife. Enjoy movies, condemn liberal sophistic think pieces and conservative hate screeds alike. Play some video games, walk my dog. Marvel at the night sky and feel peace in the recognition that We Don’t Matter, We Never Mattered, And It will be fine when we’re gone. It. Capital “I”, if you will.

Every once in a while, I contemplate carrying on my lineage, am reminded that if anyone is getting off this melting marble it certainly won’t be an ancestor of my class and caste. I pass off that condemnation for another week, month, year, maybe forever. Can you imagine that? Willfully procreating at the end of civilization? Sometimes I can. Sometimes I can’t.

I have no words of encouragement other than we’re all down in the bottom decks of this wonderful, wicked, pointless sinking ship together. So fuck it, and fuck it together.

Let’s spend some time chatting. There’s nothing really else to do.

[This is Monday Morning Commute]

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This is Monday Morning Commute. During Sprang Break! Spring Break! Sprang Spring Break Break! What’s up, meat-bags. How are the Feeds treating you? Do you feel well? Has your primal reptile-brain-piece been sated by the constant deluge of gifs, memes, lists, inconsequential SportNews, and other miscellany? Of course not. Of course not. We cannot ever get enough, for the Physical can never be Sated. Such is life. Such is life.

Upload your mind to a computer and face the horror that you cannot slough off Primordial Want simply when you slough off your mortal coil. Genetics transcend the Physical. They’re hard-coded into our circuits, no matter whether those circuits eat up meat-space or cyber-space.

But hey, that’s fucking okay. We’re in this together. Whether we’re nano-clouds in the NanoCloud, or whether we’re meat-monkeys in the HardSpace.

While we’re here, Here, or here, let’s share what we’re looking forward to this week. Let us share the various distractions that we hope will (and secretly know will not) fill the gaping maw in our Existential Guts.

I’ll go first. I hope you join me in the comments.

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It’s Monday. My wife is away. I’m covered in calzone grease, and snot from the jalapenos in said calzone that have my nose running. I’m tired. The dog won’t stop barking. I’m tired. But Spring Break is soon! My wife will be home eventually. This too will pass. This life too will pass. This universe too will pass. What can you do? Eh. And I mean. Plus! plus, I got these various things that I’m enjoying/looking forward to/thinking about/et cetera.

This is Monday Morning Commute.

What are you up to this week?

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I have to admit that I’m maybe enjoying the legal jockeying between Geohot and Sony more than I expected. Yesterday, after Sony announced that Hacker Eminem had fled the country and not handed over requested hardware, Geohot’s lawyer and he himself responded.

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