#August2017

Weekend Open Bar: Electric Paradise

weekend open bar electric paradise

Clap your hands, say Weekend Open Bar!

Clap with me, rhythmically at first! Ignore, ignore your eyes rolling into the back of your head!

Clap your hands, say Weekend Open Bar!

Clap with me, now with a bit of horror, a pinch of fear! Ignore, ignore your mind being severed from your body!

For! My friends! To the Omniverse!

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Weekend Open Bar: Future Club

weekend open bar future club

Man, it’s been a hot minute since I opened up the Bar, huh? Whelp, ain’t got no excuse outside of the usual ones. Lethargy, malaise, a preference for staring at butts and memes over creating. You know, the usual shit. But! Fuck! I’m here. But! Fuck! I’m excited to spend the Weekend (Open Bar) with you folks.

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Weekend Open Bar: The Jingoism Jingle Jangle!

the jingoism jingle jangle

I’m a sucker for the Fourth of July. Or at the very least, the notion of it. As someone who is both a recluse *and* has to fucking work on the 3rd and the 5th, I imagine I won’t be doing much literal celebrating. But, the holiday gets to me.

Maybe it’s the programming from growing up a KidBot during the end of the Cold War and into the Myth of a New Golden age, but I have to admit — there’s a twinge of excitement at the idea of Seared Flesh and American Flags.

It’s the sort of deep-seated, inextricable programming that pops up from time to time, attempt to defy it as I may. The same programming that has me unconsciously doing the Sign of the Cross during a Catholic wedding or some shit. Which, has happened, and as it happened I looked appalled at my own gestures like I had a fucking Ghost Hand.

So here I sit, melancholic for the old days when I Believe In Things, and Celebrated Stuff. So here I sit, melancholic for the days when folks used to come around these parts, and spend the Weekend Open Bar with me.

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Weekend Open Bar: Passionfruit

weekend open bar passionfruit

Oh, fuck! It’s the Weekend. Oh, fuck! It’s the Weekend Open Bar! Oh, fuck! My wife told me I only have ten minutes to Open the Bar. And, and, and, you know. Between fiddling with the volume control on my speakers, messaging a couple of friends, and, you know. Do you know? ‘Cause I don’t. Where the fuck is the time going? Oh, fuck! Time, it bleeds, life it bleeds, the universe it slowly, slowly bleeds out. Us, it, none of us truly conscious of it! Stay focused though, man! There ain’t time for your usual existential blatherings.

This is Weekend Open Bar!

The cure-all, catch-all weekly column at the end of the work week! Where I, your Captain and Local Garbage Lord, implore you to come and hang out! Share what you’re eating, watching, watching while eating, playing, et cetera. So on. So forth.

Get high, get drunk, get hard, get soft, whatever, whatever, whatever! It’s all good here.  So long as you don your most welcoming and affable of affectations and share what you’re up to this weekend. Shoot the shit, if you will.

This is Weekend Open Bar!

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Weekend Open Bar: The Fetish is the Fashion is the Fetish

the fetish is the fashion

Yesterday, I finished the last day of the summer class that I teach at UMass Boston. I am celebrating as only I, CaffDouche, can. Which is to say I’m currently eating Chez-Its, sipping directly from a 2 Liter of Pepsi Max, and playing Rise of the Tomb Raider after a long, under-caffeinated day. It’s a gratifying sensation to know that I’m done lesson planning (but not done working, this prole sallies forth like most others) for the summer. Six-weeks of being able to just beat that meat and game that game and read that comic without having to withdraw into pedagogical tomfoolery. But it’s also a bit melancholic, as six-weeks starts off sounding wonderful and slowly metamorphosizes into feeling interminable. These days, it feels culturally anathema to say you like your job. I do, though. Guilty. It’s rewarding, challenging, stimulating, and as dynamic as it gets.

I must not cop to that, though.

I’ll be ousted.

From my Millennial Generation, where self-loathing memes, anxiety, and a general pall seem to engulf the various news-feeds anyone internet-addicted and my age frequent.

Certainly, I understand the occasional bout of despair. The Earth is melting, when it’s not busy devolving into a rotting garbage heap. The United States’ election is being decided between a Crook and a Despot. We’re still not on Mars, we’re still fighting over oil and Sky People. So. Yeah. Certainly, I understand the occasional bout of despair.

But it’s exhausting man! And I won’t stand for it. Not today! Today, being the first day of my six-week break from wearing pants (I’ll be wearing shorts, but fuck pants until September 6). Not today! Being Saturday, the first day of my glorious weekend. Not today! Why, instead of leaning into the perpetual pall of misery and malaise, we could all embrace the glory of Weekend Open Bar!

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Weekend Open Bar: To Cyber-Space for the Meat-Case

weekend open bar - to cyberspace for the meat-case

I say goddamn!, I’m glad it’s the weekend!

For numerous reasons. Oh, today marks the first day out of the past eight where I’m not dealing directly with my grandmother’s day. I say goddamn!, I’m glad it’s the weekend!

Oh, it marks the beginning of my glorious Cheat Days, where I can stuff my face with catastrophic amounts of calories with no guilt.  I say goddamn!, I’m glad it’s the weekend.

Oh, it marks the beginning of a laundry list of Dope Shit I’m planning on watching, reading, playing.

I say goddamn!, I’m glad it’s the weekend!

So why don’t you join me here, at Weekend Open Bar. The column where I implore all of you denizens of the Space-Ship Omega to gather, to hang out. To share the various things that are causing you to “I say goddamn!, I’m glad it’s the weekend”, with me, comrades.

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Weekend Open Bar: Awash In The Digital Sea

mesmerizing

Welcome one, welcome all to Weekend Open Bar. The weekly weekend column where those of us lucky enough to have the next couple of days off (and those unlucky enough to not have them off, too) gather around the Digital Hearth. We share stories of what we’re going to be doing to enjoy our weekend. We share stories of the games we’re going to play, the movies we’re going to watch. We share stories of the meals we’re going to eat, the mistakes we’re going to make.

And go ahead! Make mistakes! Kiss that guy you can’t see yourself with long-term. Eat that twelfth slice of pizza. Play Overwatch until 6:30 am, bleary-eyed and too caffeinated to sleep well. Too hungover to yield a non-spinning room. And go ahead! Make mistakes!

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Weekend Open Bar: Elsewhere & Otherwise

elsewhere & otherwise

It is a melancholic Weekend Open Bar, friends. For while I open the doors to the Tavern with arms-spread welcomingly, the very cracking of the doorframe signals doom. Or namely, it signals the dusk of my Spring Break. A sad time. A bad time. Every moment a march towards the return to hour-and-a-half commute and pants. And pants! Oh, I haven’t worn a pair of real pants since last Saturday. My ever burgeoning waistline not tortured by restriction, nay, but instead comforted by the glory of an elastic waist.

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Weekend Open Bar: King For A Day, God For A Lifetime

weekend open bar [weekend open bar] weekend open bar [weekend open bar]

Oh come all ye degenerates, the Bar is Open. It’s the Weekend. Let us gather around the slime-soaked tavern fire, spitting whimsy and regret. Spitting about what we’re doing this weekend. Be it a movie we’re going to see, a meal we’re going to eat, a transdimensional omnisexual Manta-Beast we’re going to bang.

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Weekend Open Bar: Hank (David Thoreau) Is Right

hd2

I bag on Rendar and Eddie on the regular for being wanky transcendentalists. But the truth of the whole fiasco is that the only reason I became friends with Pluto in the first place is because we were both fans of Walden (okay, and a litany of other nerdier things) in a college class. And so while I think it’s a privileged idea — let’s go and hang out in the woods – Thoreau’s denunciation of the pursuit of materiality is something that’s stuck with me.

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