Monday Morning Commute: Partying With Prostitutes

I absconded to New York this past weekend for the second time in three weeks or so. This is me yawning with a greatness. ‘Twas a good time. My Significant Other and I were fitted into a hotel room suite replete with a kitchen, refridgerator and other fancy stuff. It was fantastic, even if I felt bad at living in such luxury. I’m the guy who feels bad when someone calls him “sir” or carries his bags for him. I want to be like, “Dude, no seriously. I’m a 27 year-old schmuck who lives with his parents and you probably are busting your ass for ungrateful people. Let me carry my own bag.”

As I said though, it was enjoyable. My girlfriend, being infinitely more successful than myself despite being 4.5 years my younger, is a tough one to corral for a day alone. Her schedule is voluminous and her drive remarkable, and I’m just a guy reading books. So being able to get away with her, even to the noise and din of New York City was great.

I tried my best to not hyperventilate over all the school work I wasn’t getting done while I was there. When I closed my eyes I saw syllabuses not being completed. I could hear the crackle of pages not being turned. Grad school. It’s turning out to be a real son of a bitch.

Monday Morning Commute. Every Monday I’m going to detail the various things I’m either currently or will be watching, reading, playing, and listening to in the next seven days. It’s Monday. You’ve got a long week of school, work, or compulsive masturbation to get through. Tell me the arts that you’re indulging in, to stave off suicide.

Watching / Party Down, Season Two

Do you remember when The Office was funny and had a decent Will They/Won’t They love story? Yeah, I’m stretching to remember it as well. Thankfully, Party Down has filled the void in this world where The Office is mediocre at best. I’ve had a butt crush on Party Down since before I even saw it. It was created by my boy Rob Thomas, who created Veronica Mars. It doesn’t hurt that it’s featured Kristen Bell and a bunch of others from good ole Veronny Mars.

But it’s smart, slightly awkward, and funny.

And yes, I’m a huge sucker for the Will They/Won’t They bullshit. I’m a weepy jerk, okay? So remember that the next time you accuse me of not enjoying love stories ala LOST’s current bullshit. It’s true that such a storyline cannot be sustained for long, and either it becomes prolonged or you consummate it and lose the appeal. And so Party Down will inevitably meet that same fate. Whatever. Stave off those thoughts and enjoy the ride.

I have a few friends who watch it, and I implore you to check it out, if only so it can stay on the air for me. It begins slow, but by the middle of the second season you’ll be tots LOL-ing, okay?

Playing / Super Mario Galaxy 2

Alright, so the truth is that I’m playing like, nothing lately. I haven’t had time. Between trips to NYC, and trips to old-school England via literature, I haven’t been able to rub a gaming pad lovingly between my thumbs in a fortnight or so.   Let’s see what games I haven’t finished yet:

• Assassin’s Creed 2
• Ratchet and Clank: A Crack In Time
• Borderlands
• Final Fantasy XIII
• Splinter Cell: Conviction

And yet, here I am pining for Super Mario Galaxy 2. I can’t help it. Shit’s going to be hot. It’s exactly what I need in my gaming diet. Some fucking gameplay. Granted, a lot of the titles I haven’t finished got some dope-ass gameplay. But I crave some simplicity. Even if it means wagging my wrist like a fucking asshole and shit. I want to be a slave driver and beat my dinosaur in an effort to get some mad hops out of him. Seriously man, Yoshi needs to get an attorney or something. He smiles, but you can see he’s smiling through the pain of being whipped by a fat fucking Italian sitting on his back.

Reading / Daniel Defoe, Moll Flanders

Yo Defoe, if you called Moll Flanders “A slutty chick who bangs her own brother”, I would have been infinitely more interested right from the get-go. Just saying.

I wish I could come into Monday Morning Commute some week with a book recommendation that isn’t fresh off a syllabus. Instead every week I’m resigned to pass along the shit I’m reading for a class of mine. Moll Flanders isn’t a bad book by any means. But fuck, it’s the end of the semester, and I’m tired of reading anything from this time-period. Sorry Britain circa, oh 1600-1900, I’m tired of reading anything from you at this point.

Flanders seems like a legit slutbag floozy. That’s my intellectual take on it. I’m sure the book is a biting analysis of the lot of femininity during this time period. It shows the perils of those left without a source of support in a world where women could not ostensibly support themselves. Without, you know, taking some serious cream pies.

But you know what? I fucking robot dinosaurs fighting Mech-Jesus. I’m sorry. I need something sci-fi, or maybe some grumpy white man literature, ala Hemingway or a little F. Scotty. Get me out of here. Fuck.

I haven’t read a comic book in fucking weeks.