How is this for a fucking power polypod? Lin-Manuel Miranda, Disney, and the director of Zootopia all under the roof of one movie.

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We’re all riding shotgun with Entropy.

That’s the long of it, the short of it. Celebrated the Fourth of July twice this weekend. Once at a friend’s apartment, who I consider to be family. Once at my family’s house, who I consider to be friends.

Me, my friends, my family?

We’re all riding shotgun with entropy.

The Universe wasn’t paying much attention to our celebrations. Too busy housing Everything. Too busy searching for that sweet, sugary Heat Death at the end of it all. Expanding endlessly until it won’t.

Me, my friends, my family, the Universe?

We’re all riding shotgun with entropy.

The wife I married, the dog I love, the friends I cherish, the family I belong to, the Universe that carries me.

We’re all here until we’re not.

We’re all riding shotgun with entropy.

I don’t know what to make of this, other than to appreciate my wife, walk my dog, hang out with my friends, and stare lovingly at the stars when the nights permit. This isn’t profundity and it isn’t resignation.

It’s a shrug and a smile in the face of the Absurd. What else can I do?

We’re all riding shotgun with entropy.

This is Monday Morning Commute. The column where I slather onto this particular digi–space all the items, all the miscellany, all the bullshit that I’m interfacing with on a given week. You know, when I’m not staring into the raging chasm of Void and Stars, condemning the tragic mistake that is self-awareness, while simultaneously praising the Cosmic Joke for stumbling into giving us clowns self-awareness.

It is my optimistic encouragement that you’ll share what you’re up to this week in the comments section.

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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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