Hello friends! This is Monday Morning Commute, the column where we share what we’re digging on in a given week. I will be honest – I’m currently treating this like a lightning round edition. The real shit is going to have to take place in the comments section. I’m trying to follow all of E3, while attempting to take a shower, jack one out, and plan a class for next week.
The Multiverse is tired, man. It’s been kicking it around for like, billions or something. Billions of years. Across an infinite amount of realities. During that duration, it has seen some shit. Some yokel Farm Boy wielding Voodoo Mind Powers blowing up a giant mechanical star. A creepy Wizard hanging out with a bunch of little midgets who hug each other a lot while fingering this really creepy vaginal symbol. Dinosaurs. Computer-generated realities that serve as prisons for Meat Sacs while they power Robotic Boners. All of them have come to pass.
Here in our little morsel of the Multiverse, the lot of us lead banal but enjoyable lives. Hugging friends, drinking oak sodas, arguing about meaningless things. We feign importance because in reality we’re monkeys covered in our own seminal fluid and killing one another over Space Gods and illusory physical boundaries. Eh, what can you do. Here on Monday Morning Commute, us Monkey Monsters of the Multiverse share the various things that are getting us through yet another infinitesimal moment in the Infinite.
It’s a little batch of nothing, but Christ if it ain’t all we got.
When people think of Boston’s beer, they probably think of Sam Adams. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, considering that the Boston Beer Company not only helped usher in the wonderful epoch of craft brewing in which now find ourselves but also continue to produce quality products. What would be a shame is if one were to think that Sam Adams is the only worthwhile suds-soda brewed in Greater Boston.
`Cause the fact of the matter – it ain’t.
Sure, if you’ve ever visited Lord Bergeron‘s domicile, you’ve probably stumbled across Boston Beer Works or Harpoon. While these brewers are good folk, and deserving of your palate’s attention, they’re essentially part of the same crew that John Adams’ cousin rolls with. But if you’re willing to look beyond even these supporting players, you might just find another star-to-be in the cast of Boston’s Brewahs!
And that’s exactly what I’ve done.
Tonight, I’m sipping on Porter Square Porter from the up-and-coming Slumbrew.
Spark a cigarette and pour a drink – you’ve made it home after the first day of the workweek! Congratulations! You’ve only got to get through that 9-5 shitstorm four more times until the weekend! And from there it’s only a few more decades before you either retire into poverty or die! Ta-dah!
Fugg that, son. Life’s a glorious experiment, so let’s dance in the laboratory and smash some beakers! This here’s the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE, a weekly post dedicated to combating ennui. If you fear that you’re becoming one of the flesh-and-blood automatons that chokes Wonder to death, hop into this refugee-camp. I’m going to show you what I’m doing to destroy apathy.
If you’re daring, you’ll hit up the comments section and do the same.
Brought together by blood and kept together by our kindred spirits, Caffeine Powered and I have quite a bit in common. Hell, I can’t even begin to fathom how many hours we’ve spent on debating comics, movies, video games, and music. With that being said, we also have plenty of our interests, which we then try to get the other into.
Over the weekend I (finally) started reading Richard K. Morgan’s Altered Carbon. I’m just over fifty pages in and I can already see why Big Bro has been crushing on it for years. Having spent some of my most formative years poring over Frank Miller’s Sin City, I have a soft spot for hardboiled detective stories that this book is busting right into. Moreover, Morgan also knows how to flick the sci-fi clit, presenting a future in which consciousness has been digitized, Earth has colonies light years away, and minds are regularly downloaded into new bodies (“sleeves”).
I’m so fuggin’ sold on this book it hurts.