OL turns 13 today, my friends. By the Lords of Kobol, the Elder Ones beyond Comprehension, and Jesus titty-fucking Christ himself, I can’t believe it. Thirteen fucking years in this madhouse. It has been, as the title suggests, a constant companion of mine at this point. It’s born friendships, feuds, interviews, Twitch streams, and various off-shoots communities such as our Instagram, Facebook, and Discord.

More than anything, it’s given myself and others a little Oasis in the middle of the maelstrom that is The Online World these days. A bastion of banality and congeniality, if you will. As I usually do when we hit some benchmark, I want to shout out everyone who has ever written for OL, hung out on OL, promoted OL, or even slandered us in the dark, hate-slickened halls of their own impropriety.

Where we at existentially at the moment? Well, the summer is drawing down, the school year is looming (why the fuck did I say I’d teach five classes?), and the Most Righteous Time of the Year is almost here. Football! Halloween! Apple cider donuts! The rejoicing upon the Eternal Finality of the Year and the Spirits it unleashes!

But I still got three-weeks or so to revel in my own crumb-covered lethargy as a full-time maniac and a part-time house husband! Here’s what’s capturing my attention this week.

This is Monday Morning Commute, baby!

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At this point (Ian write the fucking column!), it’s old news that Desus & Mero have broken-up. Sundered not just their business ventures, but also their friendship. Both said sunderings caught people by surprise, but I think it’s the latter that struck us in the asshole with the jagged-edges of a bolt from Mount Olympus. I think the announcement shocked us most not because D&M’s creative endeavors were done, but rather what their parting writ large on all our naïve foreheads. Permanent marker. Poorly scrawled.

Things get tricky when involving bros and brands.

Somewhat apropos, the news dropped the same week as Jordan Peele’s new (dope) horror movie, Nope. Peele was a member of another verdant comedy two-piece, that of Key & Peele. But while Desus & Mero’s falling out involved shitty subtweets, rumors, beefs, All-Caps Fuckdowns (that’s when you fucking smack someone down, it’s a corny word I just made up, but I’m a corny white dude), and general messiness, the splitting up of Key and Peele felt more like a conscious uncoupling.

Still.

Things get tricky when involving bros and brands.

I found it hard not to think about these two famous pairs going their own ways and not reflect upon my own bullshit here on the Space-Ship Omega. All the friends I’ve worked with, and subsequently watched drift away, find their own pursuits, and empty out their compartments aboard OL. I mean, that’s what we all do, right? Suffer from Main Character Syndrome these days. Some Main Characters are intelligent, some are quirky. This Main Character plays thousands of hours of Dead Cells, consumes enough caffeine to kill a Goliath, and eats shit on the regular mountain biking.

OL has gone from the Brothers Omega, to the Gathering of the Juggalos-levels of madness, to me sitting upon upon the MindPerch controlling the Destinatron of the Space-Ship. But that’s life.

You know?

Things get tricky when involving bros and brands.

But I think it’s only problematic when the growth ain’t embraced. It’s one thing to evolve and grow apart. In a lot of ways, duos, gangs, and gaggles of fuckfaces should encourage one another to grow. Most of the time that’s healthy as fuck, even if it means splitting up the Gang.

(Except in the case of RATM devolving into Audioslave, that shit is both gross and unacceptable.)

For one’s self to not grow is worse. To not encourage those you care about to develop because you’re satisfied with who they are now is selfish. To cling to a status quo or an ossified endeavor (how many seasons of Key & Peele did we really need?) instead of chasing that next piece of your development ain’t the right move.

The emotional catastrophe strikes when these changes breed resentment. We ain’t crying cause Key & Peele broke up, though we may be sad that the show ended. We ain’t crying because Desus and Mero are no longer are sitting across from one another. We’re crying because we bought into their friendship and we have seen that torn apart. It ain’t their show ending that’s a bummer, it’s what it represents.

A relationship caved in under the pressure of success, a lack of respect for one another’s evolution, and the sundry things that emerge when friendships meet bottom lines. When friendships meet workloads. When friendships meet deadlines. And (I’ve never had this problem) when friendships meet profit margins, contract talks, and cold hard cash.

Things get tricky when involving bros and brands.

That said, at the end of the day I’d rather be the lone steward here of the Space-Ship than have those I care about unwillingly chained to the uranium-pits in the reactor room feeding the Engine, because that was the way things where when we were thriving. In my personal life, I want to see my friends evolve, grow, and find peace. However, it is a lot easier to wish for that when it doesn’t materially impact a shared creation.

Such a realization is born out of my own growth, though. An acknowledgement that despite being the Main Character in the Hellscape that is modernity, I’m actually not the Main Character. I’m just another actor in the throat of a large actor-network and to encourage is to promote, and to cling is to cleave.

I genuinely don’t know what the fuck I’m going on about. Friendships, failed relationships, and the Space-Ship Omega.

This is Monday Morning Commute.

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If John Carpenter ain’t the coolest motherfucker alive, I don’t know who happens to be. Look at that Force of Nature, absolutely cutting a fucking rug. Absolute stable of insane movies directed? Yup. Absolute stable of insane soundtracks and albums recorded? Yup! Dude’s just dominating on all fronts, and all he seems to have to do in his old age is play music with his family and rock video games.

Been listening to his latest album lately, and today’s column title is a reference to its titular track: Alive After Death. Shit dudes, it’s even got a fucking rad music video.

Anyways, the phrase “Alive After Death” resonates with my ass lately. Maybe it resonates as a reference to emerging from a post-pandemic world. Maybe it resonates with my idea that the ideal life is a recursive one, where if we aren’t continuously dying and emerging changed after learning from our mistakes, we’re doing it wrong. Maybe it resonates with the feeling that comes at the end of every semester, born anew after the cataclysm of another school year in the books.

Whatever the case, the phrase is snared in my synapses, and I figured I’d share it with you. Not just the song, but the thoughts behind its resonance, and a little bit of the ole opening up of the soul.

This is Monday Morning Commute. You already know the fucking drill.

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Guilty of nostalgia, motherfuckers! Of the honeying of childhood, the discarding of its various horrors, and the embracing of its warm glow. Listen, if you watch the stream you know that my childhood was wonderfully replete with woes. At the same time, it was also a time of magic. Nothing quite rocks one’s ass like a childhood discovery. Be it a horror film that sculpted your brain, a video game that changed your life, or a metal album that had you throwing up the metal horns. Fucking A, bro! Sure, you grow, and continue to find things you love. Hopefully! Hopefully.

I suppose I should acknowledge that many people find themselves despondent in their aging corpus, and retreat into the bosom of nostalgia. They suckle upon the curdling milk of Mother Wayback’s teats. That ain’t healthy, and I do pride myself on continuing to find joy and wonder in new experiences, even as I approach Middle Age. That said, there’s a joy to rekindling old memories with friends, such as you fucks, here at the Weekend Open Bar and on the streams.

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