Monday Morning Commute: I love the kind of woman that can kick my ass!
What the fuck is up, members of the Space-Ship Omega? How are you doing? I’m currently typing this bitch while actual rays of sun blast through my window. And while they aren’t supercharging my glands, my glutes, and my muscles ala Superman, these rays do feel good. So I’m hitting this son of a bitch with a bit more ebullience than I would have, had I actually written this yesterday.
Which I intended to, honest! But then the day got in the way, and blah, blah. None the less, let’s embrace the Here and the Now together.
What are you radical fucking pseudo-primates up to this week? What are you enjoying? Sweating the next WandaVision? Gleefully watching the snow melt? I don’t know, enjoying baseball’s Spring Training or some other odd shit?
I want to know! I want to show! I’ll go! First!
This is Monday Morning Commute.
Man, I’ve been pumping a lot of Intervals lately. Like, a lot. Maybe peppering in some Plini. The two dudes just have absolutely mastered the feel-good prog shred. When I’m listening to Interval’s song Locke & Key and they hit that harmony around 3:30? My tits tighten, the malaise recedes, and in that moment I’m happy. It sounds silly as fuck, but I’m legitimately not kidding. They cheer me up in these days of Deep Funks and Pandemic Palls.
Pour one out for the ending of 30 Coins, my dudes. I know not many of you have taken my pleas seriously and have been watching other bullshit instead. So let me tell you. If the show doesn’t get a second season, I’m sending out the Goon Squad. I hope you’re ready for some chest chops, you errant bitches. Seriously though, it was the perfect mix of schlock, theological ponderings, and hot people. I cannot stress it enough: this show fucking rules.
Meanwhile, Sam and I are still leisurely and happily working through Demon Slayer. Fuck, dude. It’s a genuine delight. The protagonist is unceasingly pure, and the fights are unceasingly fantastic. It appeals to those latent desires in a lot of us, I imagine. Who doesn’t want to live in a larger, more intriguing world? Who doesn’t want to engage in serious bad assery?
No one I want to be friends with, my dudes. Unless I just called one of you out. In which case, I’m sorry. I forgive you, will you forgive me?
And after Sam and I finish Demon Slayer? She’s informed me that she’s down to watch Cowboy Bebop with me. Shit is an instrumental building block of my psyche, and she has been digging anime as of late. Why not let her get learned even more about me, nearly fourteen years into our relationship?
Finally, it’s worth noting that I’m still enjoying WandaVision, and kinda bummed it’s ending in two episodes. However, its conclusion also means that The Falcon and The Winter Soldier is getting damn close. Oh fuck yeah.
Hey, it’s an update from the world of Stephen King! I know, I promised you that I would be done with It by the end of last week. Listen, I haven’t finished it yet. But, but, calm your tits! Rub a balm on them and listen. I’m seriously fucking close, my dudes. Like, I haven’t been doing anything in my own free time other than reading it. Admittedly, between hanging with Sam, hanging with Bags, and school work, it ain’t much time. That said, I’m in the fucking endgame. Less than 100 pages left. Which means I’m polishing off this pig either tonight or tomorrow.
The novel is remarkable, dudes. Don’t get me wrong. It’s sort of a mess, some of the plots go nowhere, and yeah it’s problematic as fuck. But I’m overselling my critiques as a way to preemptively defend my stanning of the novel. I think it’s a wonderful winsome examination of growing up. Equal parts melancholic and holy, even.
So, what’s fucking next? Whelp, Bateman recommended Firestarter to me. The recommendation came as a result of me loving the movie and needing a somewhat smaller tome to handle next. ‘Cause my word, I’ve tackled a couple of King’s big fucking honking works.
I don’t know man, life is hard for me lately. Just chugging along through the Winter. I was already stressed last week, and then I found out that the head of my already beleaguered department on campus was retiring in the Fall. She’s always served me as a mentor, advocate, and bulwark against external politics.
Let me tell you, adjunct life fucking sucks. Uncertainty on top of uncertainty, and that’s during the best of times. What does this all mean now? Fuck if I know. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything! If I’m being honest, sometimes I wish the rug would be pulled out from under me, so I’d be force to find something more concrete. You know? Like, I’ll never be able to leave UMB willingly. The mission and the students are too special to me. But, if my department were to be vaporized? It wouldn’t be the worst thing the world to be forced to chase down something stable.
I’ll be honest, though! t ain’t all slush and shit and tripe. I’m stoked to be streaming tomorrow night. I’m stoked the days are getting longer. I’m stoked that Spring Break is approaching, and Sam and I may find a cabin somewhere to spend a few days.
How are you folks doing? Let’s spend some time hanging out!