Interesting. Stephen Colbert will be replacing David Letterman next year as host of Late Show. First blush: nice. Second blush: how effective is Colbert when he is…himself? And not that caricature he effectively wields on The Colbert Report? This is not a rhetorical question, I’m genuinely wondering.
The Ultimate Warrior has passed away, at the age of 54. I say a good god damn – a lynchpin of eternal school yard debates from my childhood has departed for the shimmering bare turnbuckle’d ring in the sky.
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.
One of the largest Magic: The Gathering tournaments was held this weekend in good old Richmond, Virginia. One intrepid attendee had a mission outside of just rocking some ill card game-matches (can you tell I don’t play?). It was to chronicle the plethora of buttcracks hangin’ out proud. In the wind. Hit the jump to join him on his mission.
Game of Thrones is getting a rap album. Like, an official rap album. With tracks by talent you’ve come to know. Fucking Big Boi, Wale and shit. The world is odd.
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.