The wonderful thing about being bipolar is that I can take on seemingly different stances, mere days apart! A hop and skip after bemoaning Abrams’ tendency for being self-satisfied in relation to the plot for Star Trek Down The Mountain, I can now tell you that I’m pretty bummed that Abrams’ turned down the chance to direct Episode VII. Why, you ask? ‘Cause I do love the dude’s visual splendor, and I have a sneaking suspicion that whoever is foisted upon the director’s throne won’t match Abrams’ ability. Despite, you know, his proclivity for lens flares, back patting, and time travel.

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And here I thought that Disney’s dopest cultural contribution was giving birth to a hockey team named after one of the greatest movies of all time. Nope. Nope! Now they’re totally influencing (obviously) the design of NASA’s newest spacesuit prototype. Wee!

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More Star Trek Into Darkness images than you could fit in Santa’s sleigh. Also, it’s got a teeny plot description and Oh My Goodness it is generic action movie flair.

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Johnny Hickman’s run on Fantastic Four is one of my favorite collections of consecutive creator awesomeness ever. So when I stumbled across a quote where he is explaining his aims for the title, I figured I’d save it for posterity. It perfectly captures what I love about the entire run. Oh and yeah, if you have any idea what it is from, let me know.

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How many awful Christmas/holiday puns can I fit into my posts today? Infinity! Infinity plus one! Whatever. Just look at the cosplay. Is good.

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Ho-ho-ho! Jesus Christ why did I type that. Moving along. Here are some new screens of Grand Theft Auto V, reminding you what gaming glory awaits us now that Mayan Apocalypse has passed.

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It’s Christmas Eve, and you’d damn well better hope that you’ve been good this year.

Why is that? Well, I just got off the phone with Santa Claus. He’s doing well. He’s busy, of course, but things are goin’ his way. His stocks’re on the rise. He left that frumpy wife of his and snagged a lover more to his liking. And he’s decided to finally stop being so damn soft on those perennial  residents of the Naughty List. Given what St. Nick has in store for this year’s crop of bad boys and girls, coal in the stocking is going to look like a walk in the park.

If you haven’t been good for goodness’ sake, Santa Claus is going to rock you with an atomic leg-drop.

There’s no way to know  ahead of time whether you’ll be gettin’ a Furby or a beatdown from Santa. You’ll just have to wait until tomorrow morning — either you’ll wake up to open presents in your pajamas, or you’ll wake up with missing teeth and cracked ribs. But why don’t we share some ways to pass the time until then? Hell, this is the Monday Morning Commute, the very spot where we meet to discuss the various ways we’ll be entertaining ourselves.

After all, it’s easy to get bested by the ennui-daemons and work-overlords. If we don’t take the time to enjoy ourselves, we’ll die as nothing more than the miserable, boring wretches that the Man wants us to be. So let’s rebel! Our bosses don’t own our souls, and Santa may break our backs, but he can’t break our spirits!

C’mon, let’s do this!

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As the year draws to an end, we all get to reminisce about the gaming highs and lows throughout. Everybody is doing it: no-one escapes the end-of-year lists. They may have different names and irregular structures, but no-one is truly above this ceaseless list-making. Why do I care? Maybe it’s because all the real writers are so busy making their lists that they’ve forgotten to give me any news to regurgitate.

I’m delving deep and brushing off the gaming news artefacts. Then I’m gonna spruce them up for you: just like I was Dr. Alan Grant.

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I don’t really know Guardians of the Galaxy, so I’m going to outsource my opinion to you folks more familiar. Who of these two finalists would you most like to see as the lead in the upcoming movie adaptation?

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[WEEKEND OPEN BAR: The one-stop ramble-about-anything weekend post at OL. Comment on the topic at hand. Tell us how drunk you are. Describe a comic you bought. This is your chance to bring the party.]

We are post-apocalyptic.

The Mayan Doomsday has come and gone, and we’re all still here. Don’t give me any guff about the prophecy actually being a misunderstanding of white colonials or a co-opting at the hands of New Age dolts or the exploitation of profiteers. Last night was the end of the world and we did our best to survive.

My woman and I braced for the end by eating sushi, drinking, and watching movies.

And it would’ve been a find end. But here I am, still breathin’ and shit-talkin’ on the afternoon after the Last Night on Earth. Looking out the bay window of my third floor apartment, there’re no zombies to stave off, asteroid fragments to avoid, or swirling plague winds to justify wearing my hazmat suit. The robots haven’t raped our dogs and the aliens’re finding a better species to share omnidimensional enlightenment with. The bogeymen that knocked on our doors last night have already hopped back on the bus to return to Doomsville.

The Mayan idiot-scholars were wrong. Roland Emmerich was wrong. Hell, even the X-Files was wrong.

We’ve all survived an apocalypse. Not the first, and certainly not the last. And it feels great! But it’d be a goddamn shame to let this conflagration of hope dwindle down to the last embers. Let’s make the most of it, let’s take this sense of opportunity – even if we don’t really deserve it – and do something with it.

What’re you going to do now that you’ve survived the apocalypse?