#July2016
Monday Morning Commute: week after week after week after week
Sorry for radio silence over the weekend, comrades. Had a bit of a weekend, comrades. Early Friday morning, my Nana sloughed off the mortal coil, and transcended meat-space. At the same time, I was stricken with the most staggering stomach flu I’ve ever had. Violence, friends. Violence erupting out of both ends, friends. By the time early Saturday morning rolled around, I was down a final grandparent and a literal seven pounds of fluids.
As I told you last week, comrades. We’re all riding shotgun with Entropy. Such it is for all of us, and neither my Nana nor my quivering flesh-bag could escape it. Can escape it. But she had a good run, 95 years-old. And I merely had the runs, 24 hours-long.
No matter. No worry. All flesh decays.
The column wherein I enumerate the especially enlisted distractions designed to glaze the gears of the existential engine during a given week.
Join me in the comments, comrades. Partake in this parade of particularities with your own choice cuts.
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Monday Morning Commute: All Is Going According To (Someone Else’s) Plan
I’m just tired today, man. I don’t know what is is, perhaps just a case of the Mondays? Or maybe I’m just feeling a bit of the ennui because there’s nothing I’m really looking forward to this week? Usually I have something to hang my hat on – a new episode of a fave show, a new comic book dropping, or at the very least, a movie to entertain my brain-box. This week, though? Nothing, man. Nothing new at least. Just the usual week. Sam’s going away Saturday for business, I’m still overeating, America’s Favorite Fascist keeps running primaries. It’s pretty much stasis for this guy.
But uh, I suppose I am digging some stuff? Maybe?
I’ll share my sweatings for the seven days coming. Then hopefully you inspire me.
This is Monday Morning Commute.
Tuesday Afternoon Commute: Status Check from Space-Ship Omega
Oh shit! I’ve been gone for a minute. Went deep, deep into a Star Wars-induced blackout last week. Then every time I began to peak my head out, someone wanted to know: what did I think, how did I feel, was it as good as the originals? (c’mon now!), how many times have you seen it? (three!), how many times do you want to see it? (seven, at least), when are you seeing it again? (tonight, by myself!) did it meet your expectations (my logical ones, not my emotional ones), on and on. And I realized, in that moment, that I really just wanted to digest the entire thing by myself. Or rather, not on the internet. Writ large.
But I’m back! This is Tuesday Afternoon Commute! Semester break finally begins for me, today. And it’s mere days until Christmas. So let’s hang out. What’s on your mind, what’s on your plate this week?
Monday Morning Commute: So sing, and rejoice, sing, and rejoice
Welcome, friends. To Monday Morning Commute. The weekly outpost at the Edge of Good Taste where those of us aboard the Space-Ship share what we’re up to during the next five days or so.
You know.
Weekend Open Bar: nachos.
Welcome, friends! To the pub at the end of the Internet’s Leaking Maw. The most Open of Bars where we come together every weekend. To mourn those who didn’t make it through the Existential Thresher. To cry on the shoulder of those who did, about, well…anything, really.
Monday Morning Commute: Deploy The Advil!
Oh Lords of Advil, don’t fail me now. It’s Monday — folks. That sucks. It’s also Caff-Pow here — folks. Doubly sucks. Tagging in for Rendar this week. Stow your tears, he’ll be back next week. So for now, I’m going to drop on you the various things I’m indulging on during this week. ‘Cause, you know, that’s the premise of this column. Monday Morning Commute.
Monday Morning Commute: The loneliness of the long distance space-ship pilot.
Hey friends. Straight-up static here on Space-Ship Omega. My life has been crazy lately. Frenzy. Frenzied! Busy. And all this madness taken me away from the controls. What about the rest of the crew? Great question. I’m not supposed to tell you this, but Rendar Frankenstein has left the ship. Yup. Quietly departed during a movie night. Whilst you were all entertained by the Team Omega’s sweded version of They Live, Frankenstein grabbed a null-grav suit and fluttered away to a local exoplanet. Pluto? Staring in the mirror puffing his bubble pipe while blathering about the impermanence of pop culture references and stroking his non-existent beard. The Dude? Johnny Hotsauce? An arm wrestling match that’s been going on for nineteen days. Bateman? Triple bypass.
Just me. And you. Aboard the Space-Boat. Here is what I’m using to kill my loneliness.
