And a sexy good evening to you all. It’s a perfect, perfect August evening here in the East Coast of the Empire. Crickets chirping, baseball dully playing in the background. A dew-dropped cold Dew in my hands. I can’t complain, I can’t complain. Now what am I doing here? I don’t want you to think that this column is the Omega Brothers’ slam pig, getting passed around. No sir.
You see the Rendar moved out yesterday, and he’s sans internet and with a lot to do. So I’m tagging in. A guest appearance.
This is MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE, the column where you and me give a run down of the arts, sights, and enjoyments that are keeping us loving the universe. Or at least surviving our status as glorious cogs.
I’ve been playing Borderlands for a couple of weeks. And yet I’ve made no progress. Why? I’ll tell you a tale of woe. A week from last Saturday someone hacked my Xbox Live account. They bought $70 worth of points, transferred it over to their account, then deleted everything on my account. My friends list. My avatar. My achievement points. So I had it reported, and consequently have my account locked. My Borderlands save? Affixed to my fucking 360 profile. I’ve had to start over.
I’m still enjoying it. Love this game. Super-grindy loot fest.
Listening: ‘Are You Gonna Eat That?”, Hail Mary Mallon.
Aesop Rock is one of my favorite rappers. In fact, a lot of the nonsense mush-mouth syntax destruction that I perform can be credited to how he raps on his albums. The dude hasn’t put out an album since 2007, but earlier this year he put out this collaboration with Rob Sonic and DJ Big Wiz. I downloaded it. Gave it one spin. It gathered dust. I actually gave it a chance two weeks ago, and it’s been in heavy rotation since then. It’s no Ace Rock solo album, but that’s in the works.
Also digging: singles from the new Mastodon album, Animals as Leaders.
Reading: “The Hunger Games”, Suzanne Collins.
I am a moth to hype. Whenever there is some shift in the cultural zeitgeist, I have to go see what the hubub is about. I chase down the ambulances. I peer into the wrecks. So after all the buzz about this book, and its forthcoming adaptation, I needed to read it.
It’s neither original nor particularly well written. It’s Lord of the Battle Royale V for Vendetta Flies. Collins uses cheap emotional hooks to draw the reader in, and telegraphs cataclysms from miles away. Yet for some reason, it’s entertaining. I finished this book (Book One) tonight, and it ends on a cliff-hanger. I had been reading it exclusively at the gym (saving home reading for Game of Thrones) and now I’m feinging for the next one. Fuck.
Speaking of unoriginal. Suits on USA is Good Will Hunting meets Mad Men meets House. Yet it’s so, so, so fucking delicious to me. Witty banter? Check. Attractive people in attractive clothing? Check. The completed feeling that comes with a case being solved at the end of every episode? Check.
It’s enjoyable fluff, but I won’t apologize for it. I can only handle so many fucking heavy, onerous shows investigating the existential chasms of man and his obsessions. I need to wash down my Breaking Bad, Game of Thrones, Mad Men, Dexter, and on and on and on with something that feels good. Usually that’s Bones, but it’s off-season.
This will do pig. This will do.
What are you guys diggin’ this week? Come at me.