Yesterday, I finished the last day of the summer class that I teach at UMass Boston. I am celebrating as only I, CaffDouche, can. Which is to say I’m currently eating Chez-Its, sipping directly from a 2 Liter of Pepsi Max, and playing Rise of the Tomb Raider after a long, under-caffeinated day. It’s a gratifying sensation to know that I’m done lesson planning (but not done working, this prole sallies forth like most others) for the summer. Six-weeks of being able to just beat that meat and game that game and read that comic without having to withdraw into pedagogical tomfoolery. But it’s also a bit melancholic, as six-weeks starts off sounding wonderful and slowly metamorphosizes into feeling interminable. These days, it feels culturally anathema to say you like your job. I do, though. Guilty. It’s rewarding, challenging, stimulating, and as dynamic as it gets.

I must not cop to that, though.

I’ll be ousted.

From my Millennial Generation, where self-loathing memes, anxiety, and a general pall seem to engulf the various news-feeds anyone internet-addicted and my age frequent.

Certainly, I understand the occasional bout of despair. The Earth is melting, when it’s not busy devolving into a rotting garbage heap. The United States’ election is being decided between a Crook and a Despot. We’re still not on Mars, we’re still fighting over oil and Sky People. So. Yeah. Certainly, I understand the occasional bout of despair.

But it’s exhausting man! And I won’t stand for it. Not today! Today, being the first day of my six-week break from wearing pants (I’ll be wearing shorts, but fuck pants until September 6). Not today! Being Saturday, the first day of my glorious weekend. Not today! Why, instead of leaning into the perpetual pall of misery and malaise, we could all embrace the glory of Weekend Open Bar!

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Roberta knew falling in love with Clauius, the thick-poled Cyborg was a mistake. He could see Infinity, perceive The All. His pistons would (practically) never age. His psyche could only expand. But still. Those eyes. That class. And don’t get me wrong. Clauius knew that falling in love with Roberta was a gamble only a foolish Flesh-Sack would make. She would age. Certainly, he was not immune to Entropy. But by the Circuitry Above, he could practically watch her decay happen in real-time. And when he sped up his relativistic perceptions, he did. But those eyes. And that brain. And so fell they love. Her programming and his programming (programmed by her programming) too much to overcome. For a moment, they will Find a Way. And for a moment we all Find a Way. There be romance, and mundanity, and hurt, and humping, and a cadre of other experiences. Most of them banal, some of them transcendent.

This is Monday Morning Commute | The arts, farts, blips, and blops that I look forward to during a given week. Share what you’re looking toward to. Join the community. Share your highlights, your misery.

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