#Monday Morning Commute
Come one, come all!
Step right up to the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE! This is the carny freakshow extraordinaire, spectacular spectacle for all of us disposable zeroes who’ve climbed aboard Spaceship OL. What’re we doin’ here? Well, we’re goin’ to show off the various ways we’ll entertain ourselves throughout the course of the workweek.
`Cause without music and movies and television and comics and action figures and greasy burgers, what’s the goddamn point?
Let’s do this!
So it appears that Rendar didn’t do MMC this week! It’s okay. I love him. Bro-Love. Born out of a mutually shared origin story plucked from the depths of our Dad’s testicles. Grown deep in our Mom’s womb. Fostered by a shared diet of Soda, Video Games, Comic Books, and Rust In Peace listenings. This is a lightning warfare edition of MMC – typed (more) frantically (than usual) in-between duties on campus. ICYDK: This is the column where we share what we’re digging during a given week. Let’s dance.
Welcome to the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE! What do we do here? Well, we discuss the various bites of nonsense we’ll be crammin’ into our skull-holes. Why do we have to do this? Well, if we don’t surround our brain-bones with inspiring, ridiculous, entertaining detritus, then there’s a chance that the bad vibes might get in. And bad vibes are to minds what termites are to wood.
You remember what the termites did to Grampy’s pirate leg, right?
So hop into the frenzy and show off what you’ll be doin’ this week!
Welcome to the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE! In addition to being my feeble attempt to contribute to Spaceship OL, the MMC is the our proverbial water cooler. We gather `round and share the various ways we’ll be enjoyin’ ourselves throughout the week. Yes, it’s like show-and-tell, but for the Future-Net!
What’s that you’ll be eating? Doritos? How festive! And you, Larry with nubby pinky, you say you’re going to send bags of dogshit to your former secretary? Yes, I do think you’ll get restraining ordered! And Tammy, I can’t believe that you found those Peabo Bryson vinyls! Let `em spin, girl!
Let `em spin.
Life is tricky and heroes help out.
There’s no doubt that there’re plenty of problems to be had. Even the strongest amongst us is still, ultimately, an insatiable consciousness traveling in a meek meat-vehicle. While many are bound to experience transcendence at some point, all must deal with turmoil. Hell, dealing with bullshit might be the very yarn woven throughout the entire fabric of the human experience.
“We are all bitched from the start,” Hemingway once wrote.
Luckily, the variety of problems running amok is matched by an equally impressive assortment of heroes. There’re all different sortss, some real and some fictional and others somewhere in between. What do they do? Well, right now they’re at work doin’ medical research and teachin’ guitar and writin’ plays and demonstratin’ the high-jump and makin’ pots of coffee and intermediatin’ conflicts and givin’ earnest advice and huggin’ it out. So if it seems like shit’s gettin’ mad-daunting, keep your eye out for a hero.
In the same letter mentioned above, Hemingway instructed his friend to “Forget your personal tragedy.”
That friend was F. Scott Fitzgerald.
My hero du jour? Michael Keaton. As a self-diagnosed maniac (diagnose yourself otherwise the man with the clipboard will tell you what you are), I need my inspiration to come from superheroes and ghouls and Tarantino characters. So, Keaton’s pretty perfect.
Us maniacs, we need Michael Keaton.
Welcome to the MMC. I’m goin’ to show you some stuff I’ll be doin’ this week. Check it out and then hit up the comments section and describe what you’ll be rockin’ in the upcoming days.
Yeah, you’re lookin’ at the third late MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE in a row. Why’s that, you ask? Well, could be because I’m so goddamn busy. Y’know how it is in this modern condition! Papers to file! Dogs to sic on mailmen! Fistfights to have in grocery store dairy aisles!
Things to do!
But even though I’m chronically tardy, I’m still tryin’ to resist! Tryin’ to brace myself against the crashing waves of responsibility. And that’s why I keep comin’ back to the MMC! I need ideas, folks! Suggestions that’ll keep my head up while I suffer the slings and arrows of the outrageous 9-5 life.
Help me find fun things to do!
I feel like Jared Leto.
And I don’t mean the Jared Leto from last nite’s Academy Awards. No, that one was all about having beautiful long-ass hair. And usin’ his victory speech to pay tribute to his Mahma. And bein’ all dappered out, white tuxedo beamin’ contrasts off his spray-tan.
I don’t feel like that Jared Leto.
And hell, I don’t feel like 30 Seconds to Mars Jared Leto, neither. Y’know that one, right? Yeah, exactly, the Jared Leto that somehow learned to play guitar and be all frontman-like while figuing out how to live his so-called life. What’s that? Yeah, this Jared Leto is also known as Ride a Bicycle in the Middle of Goddamn Street Without a Helmet Jared Leto.
Nope, I ain’t that sort of Jared Leto.
Today, I feel like good `ole fashioned Fight Club Jared Leto. The Jared Leto who, for a moment, is really happy that he’s pretty and blonde and surrounded by some peers. This Jared Leto is all, “Check it, I can fight too, dudes! First rule is — oh wait, can’t say it! Ha! Get it?! Kawaii!” Everything is pretty sweet.
Quite frankly, I’m feeling the grind of the workweek and life responsibilities and my own mortality and the fact that it’s been goddamn months since I’ve sat down with a stack of comic books. Allow me to wax philosophic. Wax misanthropic. Wax bitter tonic.
Wax Jared Leto.
But alas! Right here’s the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE! I’m goin’ to show you some of the buoys I’ll be hopin’ to cling to as I avoid getting washed out into the deepest depths of the Bullshit Sea! Then, you hit up the comments and share your own ideas! Let’s do this!
Whoops! Late on the Monday Morning Commute tip. Didn’t realize it was going to be floating in flux this week. Then it occurred to me that Rendarbones Frankenpepsi is currently en route across the vast distance of the Empire in some sort of silver tube that is intent on dying God’s will. So provided that he doesn’t crash into the side of a Mountain (death is only a transition, he’d be reborn in Earth^42, so don’t cry), he’ll be back next week. However for now you’re dealing with my hurried, blast beat-esque rundown of what I’m enjoying this week. That’s what we do around here. In Monday Morning Commute.
Quick! Look out your window!
See it? It’s floating right there! Yeah, right above the guesthouse your neighbor uses for his weekend binges of cocaine and SNES. No, it ain’t a UFO, at least not of the little-green-men, flying-saucer variety. And yes, it does look a bit like a rocketship made of impounded station wagons and junkyarded computer components.
Because it is.
What’s that? Oh, the lights on the side? You’re goddamn right they’re Christmas lights. What’re they there for? C’mon, they spell something out. Look closer, it’s not hard to see a two-letter combination. Yeah, you’ve got it.
Spaceship OL is touching down in your neighborhood. Why’s that? Well, it’s `cause we’re bringing you the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE. Once you board the vessel, I’ll show you some of the strategies I’ll be using to spend the week celebrating existence. Then, you tell the crew and passengers what you’ll be doing to destroy boredom.
Let’s do this, before that nosy CPA across the street phones the neighborhood watch.
Servin’ a life-sentence on Spaceship Earth is a tedious, painful, agonizing wonder.
Why’s that? For one thing, there’s the fact that everyone you love will die. Your best friend. Your kid sister. Your longtime mistress. Your high school math teacher.
Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead.
Along the way you’re guaranteed to deal with inevitable body-breakdown. Maybe you’ll abuse your body. Maybe somebody else will fuck it up. Even if you think you’re unscathed, the sands of time are wearing away at your flesh-vehicle’s gears. Every single day. Every single moment. Until when, you ask?
Until they’re so smooth that they don’t move shit.
But alas! There’s hope! Even those of us who’re agin’ more like vinegar than wine have a fightin’ chance at experiencin’ glory! Not only are we fortunate enough to have been imbued with consciousnesses, but we get to live in a hyperreal future! Are things royally fucked up? Sure! But we live in times in which anything is possible!
So if you start to feel a chill as an existential shadow lurks over your shoulder, spin around and blast that motherfucker with a science fiction repulsor ray!
Welcome to the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE! I’m goin’ to show off this week’s strategies for keeping me pleased with existence. I suggest you liven up the party by entering the dance circle that is the comments section.