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It’s fucking weird out today. Something’s up. Massachusetts feels like it exists on an inhabitable planet. Which is really odd, since the shit and the snow and the sleet and the muck had convinced me we were on some awful amalgam of Hoth and Dagobah. I’ll take it though. The skies are blue, the air doesn’t stink of frost and snow, and the wind only makes my nipples slightly hard. Knowing New England we’ll be struck by an unforgiving blizzard next week, but who the fuck cares. Enjoy it while it lasts.

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.

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Spring is coming! As I type this laying on the snow-covered mud-filled backyard of mine, entirely in the nude, I can feel it coming. And it fucking better! Because I fell down my ice-covered god damn stairs on Saturday night. Right in front of my fucking girlfriend. And I could almost hear her thoughts, “I am seriously considering combining genetic material with this lumbering asshole?” So fuck the snow! Despite feeling my lower extremities freezing as I type this on my iPhone in said snow bank, I can almost hear the birds. And flying saucers. I think I may be experiencing brain death. Shit.

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.

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I’m fucking insane for jelly beans. What a great time of years, when I can just go up to a register at my local Target-Greens, Rite-Mart, or CVS and buy bags of raw sugar. Little round balls of teeth-rotting goodness. And they’re mad cheap, too. The jelly bean may be the candy that was designed with me in mind. Bless you Jesus Christ for being crucified, because the jelly beans which logically come from the season which celebrates your self-rez. Kudos and jelly beans to you!

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.

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Oh shit yeah! What the fuck is up, ya’ll! Happy President’s Day! For those outside the Empire, it’s basically a meaningless holiday. Like every other holiday, we Americans just use it as an excuse to draw people into centers of merchandise through the allure of sales based on the holiday. It’s pretty cool though, because I just bought myself a replica of Peter North’s cock. JK! Though, I’m actually impressed but not shocked that one exists. I wrote the previous sentence without verifying that it was real.

Oh, internet, you never ever fail me!

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 / The Hurt Locker

It’s worth nothing that The Hurt Locker is one of my favorite movies in a long fucking time. I watched it a couple of weeks ago, and I haven’t been able to get it out of my mind since. If you’re like me, and didn’t get to see it in the theaters because you’re an idiot and only see pop-slop explosion movies, go rent this shit. It’s value lies primarily in the tension that permeates the entire movie. Do you remember how intense The Dark Knight was when they were transporting Dent? The entire movie is the same sort of white-knuckle insanity.

Underlying it all is an examination of the toll of having your life on the line everyday while in the army, and the value you begin to place on various things due to it.

Also? It’s got impressive explosions.

Reading / Infoquake, David Louis Edelman

I’ve been wanting to read Infoquake like woah since I came across a review of it at Mishka Bloglin. The reviewer sold me with:

This book is equal parts Liberation: and Snow Crash. With maybe a slight dash of Neuromancer. Maybe.

I’m a sucker for cyberpunk, post-cyberfunk, and anything that is an off-shoot or derivative of said genres. Also, Snow Crash is one of my favorite books of all time, so the aforementioned quote translates to something like “If you like your favorite things, you’ll like it.”

After being pissed off that I couldn’t find it at Barnes and Noble, I manned up and ordered it through their website. While I wanted to spurn their asses for not carrying quality books in their stores, I recalled that I won a gift card for B&N in a vicious game of Yankee Swap back on Christmas Day. Yeah, fuck you and your Patriots’ t-shirt, I want the book fake-money! Now to be outdone, I expedited that shit! It’ll be here soon, and I plan on pushing anything I was intending to read off to the side until I rip through it with the ferocity of an unhappy Ares.

Playing / Bioshock 2

It’s taking every fiber of self-discipline I have to not buy Bioshock 2. Like, seriously. Self-discipline is up there with Not Leaving Crumbs as two of the skills I will probably never master. And usually, the two collide. Like, when I eat an entire box of Chez-Its while drifting off to sleep in my bed as I watch NHL On The Fly. Then I wake up covered in crumbs, and I contemplate the fact that I’m never going to be able to get away with this the day My Beautiful But OCD Girlfriend lets me into her home.

So, self-discipline? Yeah, I don’t know how I’m pulling it off. Bioshock is one of my favorite games of the decade, and its sequel is just sitting on shelves asking me to consume it. I don’t think a sequel was needed, and that is one of the things I keep repeating to myself when I stare longingly through the glass at it in Target. That, and I have fourteen games I haven’t finished yet.

I know myself though, and I know that by the entire of the week I’ll be rapturously within Rapture. It’s only a matter of time.

—

What are you guys up to this week?

Do you know what I did on Friday evening? I spent seven hours reading Millenium Hall. What, you say that you don’t have a thing for eighteenth-century British women’s literature? I say to you, neither do I! Jesus Christ with a Guitar, get me the fuck out of here. Getting into my graduate program late, I didn’t have the luxury of picking classes. Rather, it was “Here is what’s available to you, and they’re still open for good reason – you’re going to want to kill yourself.” As someone who spent his entire undergraduate career focusing on ethnic, African-American, and philosophical readings, this shit is from outerspace for me.

When I haven’t been doing that, I’ve been playing Mass Effect 2 and consuming too much caffeine.

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.

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Busy week. Tons of shit going on. LOST premiere. Playing Mass Effect 2. LOST premiere. Did I mention the LOST premiere? There’s the LOST premiere this week. I’m going to keep this short and sweet. I implore you to let me know what you’re up to this week, the countdown until Sunday, where we are treated to Corpulence and Advertisement night.

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.

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It isn’t so much that I’m completely enamored with Zooey Deschanel, so much as the fact that when I look at her, her Indie Chick Goddess-ness burns a feeling of deep lack of worth in my soul. I want to write witty articles for a fansize to show her, and maybe pretend to listen to crappy bands who write about esoteric things and love. As opposed to my crappy esoteric bands that write about vikings and death.

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

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I have nothing to say. I am awaiting the great deluge. The next couple of weeks see me starting graduate school, trying to pretend I have time for Mass Effect 2, while also spending time I don’t have playing Mass Effect 2. The grind of writing a daily thing about LOST is beginning to wear on me. If you’re ever considering writing about something everyday, for a month this is my suggestion: don’t. It isn’t like I hate it, but waking up knowing I have to rip something out of my ass that isn’t my finger is daunting.

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

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Welcome to the suck! I am willing to trade in Bostonian pride these days for a warmer climate. If I have to clean off my car one more time, I’m going to lose my mind. I never understood why my parents hated the snow when I was going up. You see, snow back in the day just meant snow days. While my parents had to shovel out their cars and endure the elements, I just sat inside eating Chez-Its and playing fucking Toe Jam & Earl. Now I understand all too well. It is a barren wasteland this time of the year. Get me the fuck out!

Starting school in Boston in a couple of weeks from now is going to be glorious. I’m going to have chapped lips and rosy cheeks.

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.

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Oh shit! I think I say “Oh shit!” so much that it has lost any impact on the reader. Sort of like all the other vulgarity I trot out these days. Sigh, I’m so derivative. Really, a pale-imitation of whatever true Ian hangs out in the Realm of Ideas with Socrates and Plato. Whatever, whatever! Tomorrow is my fucking birthday! And that means a few things. Firstly, I’m old as fuck. When I told The Girl Confused Enough to Date Me that I was weirded out at turning 27 back during the summer, she couldn’t contain her smile. She was laughing at my old, wrinkly balls. Yeah well, you’re stuck with them!

But more importantly, Bayonetta comes out tomorrow. I’m ready to climax! I’ve been plugging this thing forever. I was talking to Pepsibones, and I told him I had absolutely no idea what product I was going to champion to get fanboy and fangirl perverts from all over the internet to come to this watering hole. I’ll figure it out.

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.

Keep Reading »