Netflix dropped its first trailer for GLOW, a series centered around a women-only wrestling league formed in the 1980s. Me? I’m in. It’s got Brie, wrestling, humor, and it’s set in the 1980s.
Get it? WTF? Marc Maron? Eh, whatever. So! A weekly Marc Maron comic. Somewhere, under the cloak of work clothes, Rendar Frankenstein is poppin’ an appreciable erection at this news. As Resident Marcaholic, I imagine he will be happy to get his fix of the comedian in all sorts of different mediums. Or maybe I’m fucking wrong.
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!
Boston Comic Con 2013 turned out to be a couple of wonderful, wild, days. In the course of slingin’ t-shirts, debatin’ the message of said shirts, and snappin’ photos with cosplayers, the crew of Spaceship OL had an absolute blast. We got to meet up with some of the ever-faithful OL readers, we met Rich from Toucher and Rich, and at one point our very own Riff Simian started playin’ a goddamn guitar at the booth. Yowza!
I’m sure that in the days to come we’ll have some sort of BCC`13 recap that highlights some of the insanity that we just survived. It’d be lame of us not to give you such an insight. But right now, we have to get through the Monday Morning Commute!
That’s right, the weekend’s officially over and now it’s back to the tasks that put paper in our pockets. But as always, we have the MMC – the spot specifically set aside for sharin’ the strategies that’ll get us into the next weekend! Are you going to watch all of the Friday the 13th movies this week? Or is this finally the moment that you record your acoustic concept album about time-traveling so that you can save a young Michael Jackson from insanity? Oh, I know! Are you going to homebrew some beer and then drink it too early and then swear at the cat?!
How’re you planning to murder ennui?
I’ll get us started, but then hit up the comments section!
I can’t really enjoy any pre-Nolan Batman flick outside of the original Keaton ditty. Not anymore. Alas. Here is a bit of trivia though, since trivia is fun. Knowing it makes you feel big and strong. And virile. Or fertile. Yeah. Yeah! So here we go. Micheal Keaton wanted his third Bat-Movie to be an origin story.
Hello there, fellow worker bees! Are you already sick of the workweek? Don’t worry, you’re not alone! The way the Man has it set up, we’re all supposed to hate our Monday through Friday responsibilities, those tasks that we must complete so that we can earn currency to exchange for the electricity and beer and buffalo wings that we enjoy on the weekends.
It’s hardly an ideal system.
But fear not, for this right here is the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE! I’m going to show you the various ways I’ll be thwarting the advances of that spirit-crushing behemoth commonly referred to as Workweek Ennui! After you check out my snake-oils, hit up the comments section and display your own wares.
Grab a Diet Fanta and jump on in!
Marc Maron’s sitcom about his life has gotten picked up by IFC, and has sent me into a masturbatory meta hole. A sitcom about a guy who does a podcast…starring the guy whose its based on…who does a podcast…what if there’s a podcast about the sitcom about the podcast…
A couple of weeks ago, Rendar and I saw Marc Maron do a live recording of his podcast. As those who worship the crabby but hilarious son of a bitch know, his fans often bring him baked goods. At the show we attended he was given the “turducken of baked goods”, a concoction that shook Olympus itself. What the fuck was it? It was none other than oreos, wrapped in cookie dough batter, baked in brownie mix. At that moment, the Fat Kid in me knew I had to have it. For weeks at the Omega Dinner Table, Rendar and I would mention what a glory it would be to consume such a genuine piece of Fat Ass America. This week though, our own Momma Omega laid it down. She was going to create this Slight on God.
It was wonderful. Upon biting in I proclaimed, “I feel like a piece of shit!” It didn’t stop me though. It was truth made carbohydrate.
Rodrigo’s eyes went skyward, following the rocket as it pushed against unseen forces. Gravity. Defeatism. Self-appointed moral barometers. The seven-year-old was watching magic incarnate, and although he knew this to be the case, he couldn’t find the words to express it.
“It’s…it’s…it’s…” was all that Rodrigo exhaled when his opinion was polled.
Once the rocket had disappeared, Reggie tried to pull his kid brother towards the car. Unsuccessfully, of course. Rodrigo kept his neck craned, concentrating on the fading wisps of purple exhaust. Imagining the strange world the crew was going to explore. Contemplating how wonderful it’d be if the planet’s inhabitants actually accepted the offer.
From what the scientists said, they could be quite stubborn.
“D’ya think the aliens are going to come back with `em?” Rodrigo inquired through a gap-toothed grin.
“Well,” Reggie began, pausing to take his brother’s hand while crossing the street, “for their sake, I certainly hope so.”
“`Cause they’ll never get here on their own. And they’re hurtin’ for certain – more people than resources, more hatred than love. Sometimes even the brightest of rainbows can’t shine through the storm clouds. Doesn’t mean the rainbow ain’t there, jus’ needs a sweet breeze to clear out the air. Get what I’m sayin’?”
“Uh-huh,” Rodrigo mused, idly scratching his scalp. “The rocket-men are gonna go help the aliens `cause the aliens are in big-time trouble.”
“You got it, buddy.”
The seven-year-old pushed his legs into double-time to keep pace with his older brother. Other days, he’d dawdle behind. But at this moment, there was an electricity in the air and Rodrigo’s inquisitive mind was surging. So many details to consider and questions to answer.
“Hey Reggie, how long’ll it take the rocket-men to get to Earth?”
Welcome to MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE! This is the spot where I rummage through the entertainment-debris that’ll be occupying my mind during the workweek. Your task is to hit up the comments section and share what you’ll be doing to survive the 9-5 life. It’s like a show-and-tell cocktail with a nerdcore garnish.
C’mon, let’s give each other some bad ideas.
Welcome to the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE! This is the feature I use as an excuse to showcase the various debris that’ll be keeping my brain-bone lubricated so as to avoid jamming up at the hands of the workweek. Some Mondays, I write a little story beforehand as a creative writing exercise and preface the post with it. On other Mondays, I start the post by jotting down an amusing anecdote
And then there’re those Mondays when I’m so tired that my eyes are burning and I don’t have any goddamn coffee filters so kickstarting my creativity with a caffeine-defibrillator isn’t an option and all I want to do is pass out and wake up in 2013 so that I can laugh at all those fucking doomsayers and tell them that their apocalypse wasn’t even worth being awake for.
Guess what kind of Monday today is.
Quit’yer dinkin’ around, let’s do this.