Come one, come all!

Step right up folks, no need to be shy! Thissere’s the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE, Omega-Level’s weekly session of pop culture show-and-tell! I’m going to show off the various entertainment-runes I’ll be using to ward off the workweek-trolls, and then you can hit up the comments section and display your own wares.

It’s a goddamn breeding ground for all ideas nerdcore.

This week it looks like I’m finally paying tribute to those wonders to which I’ve been negligent. Enough is enough, I owe it to myself to experience the rockin’ tunes and fantastic episodes and whimsical passages that’ve eluded me. Time to map out this week’s mind-commutes!

Let’s do this!

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[face of a franchise presents two individuals that’ve fulfilled the same role. your task — choose the better of the two and defend your choice in the rancor pit that is the comments section]

Monsters kick ass.

Since the dawn of narrative itself, we have been absolutely obsessed with monsters. These grotesque aberrations of death and doom have served as metaphors, representations of the tests of will that the human spirit must endure. The talking snake in the garden paradise is actually the ever-present temptation to do wrong. The giant fire-breathing dragon is a warning against the dangers of hubris. The reanimated corpse-man is the reminder that, for better or worse, we will be remembered by our work.

Once again, monsters kick ass.

So when cinema came around, blessing us with the awe-inspiring combination of moving-pictures and sounds, it was only natural that monsters followed suit. This new medium enabled the monster-metaphors to be pushed even further, inducing more fear and provoking more thought than previously possible. The horrors were no longer confined to the breathy whispers of epic poems or the staid declarations of prose, but could now run as free as the imagination itself.

Unfettered, movies figured out the exact type of behemoth that horrifies, thrills, inspires, excites, and shocks more than any other. Ghosts and wolfmen and vampires and trolls might be scary, but they pale in comparison to the champion. `Cause at the end of the day, ain’t nothin’ better at conjuring up cold sweats and death-screams than this juggernaut:

The city-rockin’ monster.

In the nearly hundred years of cinema history we’ve accumulated, there’s been no scarcity of city-razin’ beasts. Truthfully, most of ’em turned out to be more sizzle than steak, and a select few terrified us beyond the capacity for rational thought. But two of these metropolitan menaces have stood the test of time, and as such now must battle for the title of most formidable city-rockin’ monster!

The combatants are, of course, Godzilla and King Kong.

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Rodrigo’s eyes went skyward, following the rocket as it pushed against unseen forces. Gravity. Defeatism. Self-appointed moral barometers. The seven-year-old was watching magic incarnate, and although he knew this to be the case, he couldn’t find the words to express it.

“It’s…it’s…it’s…” was all that Rodrigo exhaled when his opinion was polled.

Once the rocket had disappeared, Reggie tried to pull his kid brother towards the car. Unsuccessfully, of course. Rodrigo kept his neck craned, concentrating on the fading wisps of purple exhaust. Imagining the strange world the crew was going to explore. Contemplating how wonderful it’d be if the planet’s inhabitants actually accepted the offer.

From what the scientists said, they could be quite stubborn.

“D’ya think the aliens are going to come back with `em?” Rodrigo inquired through a gap-toothed grin.

“Well,” Reggie began, pausing to take his brother’s hand while crossing the street, “for their sake, I certainly hope so.”

“Why’s dat?”

“`Cause they’ll never get here on their own. And they’re hurtin’ for certain – more people than resources, more hatred than love. Sometimes even the brightest of rainbows can’t shine through the storm clouds. Doesn’t mean the rainbow ain’t there, jus’ needs a sweet breeze to clear out the air. Get what I’m sayin’?”

“Uh-huh,” Rodrigo mused, idly scratching his scalp. “The rocket-men are gonna go help the aliens `cause the aliens are in big-time trouble.”

“You got it, buddy.”

The seven-year-old pushed his legs into double-time to keep pace with his older brother. Other days, he’d dawdle behind. But at this moment, there was an electricity in the air and Rodrigo’s inquisitive mind was surging. So many details to consider and questions to answer.

“Hey Reggie, how long’ll it take the rocket-men to get to Earth?”

–-

Welcome to MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE! This is the spot where I rummage through the entertainment-debris that’ll be occupying my mind during the workweek. Your task is to hit up the comments section and share what you’ll be doing to survive the 9-5 life. It’s like a show-and-tell cocktail with a nerdcore garnish.

C’mon, let’s give each other some bad ideas.

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When people think of Boston’s beer, they probably think of Sam Adams. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, considering that the Boston Beer Company not only helped usher in the wonderful epoch of craft brewing in which now find ourselves but also continue to produce quality products. What would be a shame is if one were to think that Sam Adams is the only worthwhile suds-soda brewed in Greater Boston.

`Cause the fact of the matter – it ain’t.

Sure, if you’ve ever visited Lord Bergeron‘s domicile, you’ve probably stumbled across Boston Beer Works or Harpoon. While these brewers are good folk, and deserving of your palate’s attention, they’re essentially part of the same crew that John Adams’ cousin rolls with. But if you’re willing to look beyond even these supporting players, you might just find another star-to-be in the cast of Boston’s Brewahs!

And that’s exactly what I’ve done.

Tonight, I’m sipping on Porter Square Porter from the up-and-coming Slumbrew.

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The DC relaunch has left most of us unscathed – the comics are generally pretty good, the continuity is a bit cleaner, and some casual fans have now hopped into the paneled-abyss with the rest of us. Considering the level of trepidation surrounding the reboot, I’d say it’s been a success thus far.

But that doesn’t mean that everything is as rad as it could be.

If you want to see how the Justice League should have been redesigned, hit the jump and check out the fine work of Codyssey.

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Hey there!

How’s it going? If you’re a citizen of the Empire like I am, then chances’re that you might have the day off of work for the Martin Luther King, Jr. holiday. I’d like to think that I’m going to spend the day contemplating the racial disparity that’s marred the history of the United States. Perhaps I could even set aside some time to figure out a way to try to oppose the inequality that lingers to this day.

But the fact is that I’m more apt to sleep in late, eat pizza, and straight-chill.

Hey! Don’t judge me! I’m just bein’ honest! If you know something I can do to help the world, let me know and I’ll see what I can do. But if nothing else, I’ll probably figure out some nerdy way to empathize with racial tensions.

Okay, okay – thissere’s the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE! I’m going to show you the different bits of entertainment I’ll be using to assemble my own anti-stress mech. After you check out the ways I’m going to entertain myself through the workweek, your task is to hit up the comments section and show off your own wares. Yes, this is essentially show-and-tell, minus the rules and kindergarten teacher who was probably hot back in the 1970s but is now a crabby old bitch.

Let’s rock.

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It’s only 15 degrees Fahrenheit outside.

While I don’t have to worry about stray probe droids or wampa attacks, I can’t help but feel like I’m trapped on Hoth. I keep starting my car, just to make sure that its hyperdrive hasn’t been deactivated. After all, I’m going to have to get the fuck out of the driveway once Vader and his crew roll up.

They don’t mess around.

Okay, so I don’t have to worry about the Dark Lord of the Sith tossing my dessicated corpse into a snowbank. But I also don’t have the benefit of taking a dip in a bacta tank. So how am I, a regular fanboy without any mastery of the Force, supposed to survive the frozen hell that is the Bostonian January?

Why, with the sweet warmth of alcohol! On this early Sunday afternoon, I’m tossing back a bottle of the oak-aged elixir that is Innis & Gunn Original.

C’mon Chewie, punch it!

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There’s an argument to be made that individuals shouldn’t try to improve themselves through any means other than those that’ve been pre-approved In this mindset, personal evolution is certainly acceptable, but circumventing the system is not. You want to   push yourself to the very edge of your potential? Sure! Go for it! Make the most of your experience on Spaceship Earth! Just make sure to never, ever, consider redefining the limits that’ve been ascribed to you.

After all, if you stumble across a way to improve yourself that others aren’t hip to, well, that wouldn’t be fair. Right? In fact, some might even call that cheating.

But others…well, we call it innovative.

Think of the bad motherfuckers that Earth would’ve never seen   do awesome shit if they’d felt compelled to play by the rules. Robert Rodriguez wouldn’t have decided for himself that an action movie could be made for less than $10,000. Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa wouldn’t’ve found the right supplements to give baseball fans the 1998 home run race. And perhaps Bruce Banner wouldn’t’ve ‘t acknowledged what’d happen to him after jumping into the path of a gamma bomb.

Sometimes being good just isn’t enough, even if you’re a director or a baseball player or a scientist. The bottom line is that if you can figure out a way to exponentially increase your talents, whether they’re limited or formidable, you’d be a fucking fool not to. Take whatever it is your good at, and rock it as hard as you can.

This is the very idea behind Dark Intrigue.

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