Sup fuckers. Don your war crest. Paint your face with the blood of those who have fallen before you staves, swords, axes. This is getting real. The following week is filled with enough revelry to burst my little heart. Were I a coward. But I am not such thing. My arteries are thickened from excessive, caffeine-fueled pumping. The next seven days are a gauntlet of awesome that justify this meager little column. Nay, these seven days justify my generally effusive demeanor. This is MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE, the column where we pontificate on the various little objects filling our hurt-holes. The arts, farts, funny books, and video games we are using as a salve to soothe the general burn of existence.
Back in 1953, they clearly didn’t know what we do now about abestos. And I’m glad that’s so. Sure, it is all poisonous and everything. Sure, sure. However, it also can do cool things, like prevent copies of Fahrenheit 451 from burning. That’s some high concept shit! Let me get a copy. I’ll huff it. Gain Bradbury powers. Or cancer. Probably cancer.
Hello friends. Welcome to the jamboree. Lately the status quo on Spaceship Omega has been a blinking red sign that reads “busy, busy, busy, busy, busy.” Rendar has gotten himself embroiled in a class-action lawsuit against McDonald’s. Something about dipping his testicles in hot coffee that wasn’t hot enough, didn’t leave scars large enough, I’m not sure. He pulled down his pants and I turned away when I began to see the boils and then I started screaming.
I’ve been chugging along, writing my thesis for my Master’s Program. All along the oblivion known as the “Real World” has been staring me in the eyes, rubbing its belly and chuckling manically. We are going to have to tussle very, very soon. Throw thirty+ hours of tutoring on top of that, and whelp…let’s just say the Spaceship has been on auto-pilot. None the less! With all this busyness, we could all use some escape.
This is Monday Morning Commute, the column where we spout off the various arts and crafts keeping us from stabbing ourselves during the grind of the 9-5. The following are my jams.
[Ray Bradbury died today]
I was filching my seventh cup of caffeinated splendor from the coffee machine when a coworker came rushing towards me. He had mustard on his shirt and concern in his eyes. “Hey man, how’re you holding up? You all right?”
After taking a rip of coffee, I proceeded. “Rodrigo, what the hell’re you talkin’ about? Why wouldn’t I be all right?”
“Oh shit, I thought you heard…Dude, Ray Bradbury died.”
“Bwahahaha,” I sprayed coffee all over my dress-pants. “That’s hilarious!
Rodrigo was befuddled. “Hilarious? I thought you’d be upset. Isn’t Bradbury your favorite author?”
“Of course he is! Bradbury straddles the lines between science fiction and fantasy and parable like no other! He’s an avuncular horror-master, a winsome conveyor of the fantastic! Fahrenheit 451! The Illustrated Man! The Martian Chronicles! How could Bradbury not be my favorite?”
“So,” Rodrigo ventured forth cautiously, “you love Ray Bradbury but don’t care that he’s dead?”
I once again found myself struggling to spill the coffee past the bulwark of laughter and into my gullet. Finally successful, I wiped an errant tear streaming down my cheek and broke into a smile. I’d help my coworker understand.
“Ray Bradbury can’t die. When he was twelve years old, Mr. Electrico imbued him with the power to live forever! And now, regardless of what’s happened to his corporeal form, Ray’s going to be with us forever.”
[Ray Bradbury is going to live forever]
Hey there, welcome to Monday – the worst fucking day of the workweek! Tuesdays see the release of CDs and DVDs. Wednesdays are sacred, as comic books are released. Thursday is the last real workday, the final chance for bosses to make requests without being scoffed at. And Friday is a goddamn party – beers are drank and the ghettoblaster is cranked!
So how do we get through this most abysmal of days, this return to drudgery and serfdom? Well, we rock the Monday Morning Commute! This is the spot where I share what I’ll be doing in the upcoming days.
After you see which bits of entertainment form my anti-stress forcefield, it’s your duty to hit up the comments and tell me about your forcefield.
Let’s do this!
Ray Bradbury, one of my personal heroes. If you believe in the power of fiction, watch the video below. He speaks on the art of writing as well as the necessity of appreciating the reality we perceive. It’s awesome.
And if you don’t believe in the power of fiction, I can’t guarantee your safety. At least not at OL.