Monday Morning Commute: I Go To War For Tattooed Chicks

Hello, sinners. How are you? Did you repent over the weekend? And if so, how far have you strayed from the make believe wishes of your one true savior, Lord Santa Capitalism? I’m just wondering. I sin, yo. I sin hard. I sin with my hand and with my heart and with my dreams. I sin and I smile as I sin and I write it off to being human while secretly despising myself and all of us barred up in flash-casks. I don’t lament too much though.

For we are but a magical lot, capable of some truly wondrous shit if we set our minds to it.

Like, for example: The KFC Double Down.

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 what you’re diggin’ on to get through the drudgery.


Watching / The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo
Every person who hasn’t read a recreational book since The Da Vinci code is currently strutting about with The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo pinched under their meat-hooks. Taking it to the beach. Taking it on the subway. Taking it to the gym, reading it while burning off last night’s cookie and cheese orgy.

Well, I ain’t readin’ that fuckin’ shit. But I did go out of my way to catch the Swedish adaptation of the book. I was curious, yo! I was intrigued. And while I have a plateful of books that I need to wade through before I can approach this novel, I could spare two-plus hours on a moving pictures show.

Verdict? Eh!
Verdict? I want to read the book, now.
Verdict? It was like The Da Vinci Code with rape.

The movie itself was decent enough. The pacing can kindly be called “quick” and cruelly called “brutal in a way that destroys any sort of character development.” I didn’t hate the flick, but I found it almost impossible to care about any of the characters. They’re all given so little time to development, that without having any idea who they are via the novel, I sat there thinking something like “Oh. Cool. Oh. Gross. Oh. Nice. Oh. Hmm. Oh. Cool. Oh. Rape. Oh. Murder. Oh. Credits?”

That’s about it.

I may have succeeded in getting me to read the book, though. The movie itself seemed more like an homage to the novel, setting selected scenes to film. So, it wasn’t like it was a dog-shit smeared crab cake or anything. It got me intrigued.

It also has me wondering how Fincher et company are going to be able to adapt this son of a bitch for the American peoples. Not only am I wondering how he’s going to get around rape scenes, but also how he’s going to handle the pacing. The Girl… wasn’t a great enough movie prior to being remade that I’m apprehensive about seeing the U.S version. Instead, I think I’m borderline heretical in my hoping that Fincher can actually craft something better.


For we are but a magical lot, capable of some truly wondrous shit if we set our minds to it.

Like, for example: The ShamWow.


Listening / Mass Effect Original Soundtrack, by Jack Wall and Sam Hulick
I’ve gotten to the height of Space-Fucking Nerd-Whoredom. I am currently spending my days reading the Takeshi Kovacs trilogy over and over again, while writing love letters to William Adama, and listening to the original Mass Effect soundtrack. In the miniscule moments between perpetual day dream, I feel a great disdain for myself and the rest of my leadfoot tribe. We stare at the stars, but we only aspire to be one. We feel Earth’s gravity, but not many of us have any desire to escape it.

I’m obsessed with outer-space. It isn’t healthy. When I look my girlfriend in her eyes and tell her that one of my great regrets is that I’ll never be part of a space-faring civilization, we both know behind the insanity is clear, undiluted sadness.

I know that if I lived on a distant globe, within a civilization that had conquered the cosmos, it would all be so passe to me. I know that I wouldn’t appreciate it, just like I don’t appreciate the wonders we actually do manifest in our present day. But I don’t fear ever having to face the conclusion, for we are a species too busy fighting over mosques and churches dedicated to Non-Existent Or Utterly Apathetic Beings to actually come together and try to scramble off this big beautiful blue rock.

Ain’t worried.


For we are but a magical lot, capable of some truly wondrous shit if we set our minds to it.

Like, for example: The Ez Cracker.


Playing / Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2
I know I’m totally late to the bandwagon, maybe that shit isn’t even running anymore. You know, the band’s wagon. But I started playing MW2 again lately, and I’m having a blasty-blast. I’ve accepted at some cellular level that I’m never going to be anything even approaching mediocre at the game. Made my peace with it. Well, until I go on a 0-12 streak and then the profanities are digging my path to hell.

But I dig on it. It’s fast-paced, and more importantly, consumable in small portions. Hop on for five or six games, ultimately feel my attention steered elsewhere, and I hop off. It caters towards those of Ian-sized attention spans.

(Non existent.)

What are you fucks up to this week? Holla back, youngin’.