[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.]

I want you to consult your medium.

And I’m not talkin’ about that gargantuan-racked Gypsy babe you met at the bus stop. Do I think it’s righteous that she wore a revealing shawl and was jambox-blastin’ an Among the Living cassette? Yes. Do I think that she actually has psychic powers? No. Unless you like waking up in another state to find that you’ve been drugged, robbed, and’re wanted on an arson charge, you’re goin’ to want to stay away from her.

Trust me, I know from experience.

Anyways, the sort of medium we’re dealin’ with today ain’t of the supernatural variety. Well, not literally (we’ll come back to that). See, the word “medium” comes from the old-tyme Ancients’ expression for “in the middle.” As such, there’re a whole mess of ways to apply the term. Yes, that’s why when you go to Dunkin Donuts, the serving size of hot dirt-water that’s larger than the small but smaller than the large is called medium!

Ta-dah!

When takin’ a stroll across the Arts & Entertainment Dance Hall, we need to look at media as the ways in which creators express themselves. In a sense, any given medium is the means by which a transfer occurs from the mind of the Creator to the mind of the Viewer. It’s actually an alarmingly simple process: an idea is in the Creator’s mind, the Creator shapes some sort of artifact, the Viewer experiences said artifact, and now the same idea is in the Viewer’s mind! Voila!

Stephen King describes the process in On Writing:

Look — here’s a table covered with a red cloth. On it is a cage the size of a small fish aquarium. In the cage is a white rabbit with a pink nose and pink-rimmed eyes. In its front paws is a carrot-stub upon which it is contentedly munching. On its back, clearly marked in blue ink, is the numeral 8.

Do we see the same thing? We’d have to get together and compare notes to make absolutely sure, but I think we do. There will be necessary variations, of course…

I sent you a table with a red cloth on it, a cage, a rabbit, and the number eight in blue ink. You got them all, especially that blue eight. We’ve engaged in an act of telepathy. No mythy-mountain shit; real telepathy.

That’s right, you degenerate broads and bastard boozers clinging to the railing of Spaceship OL — every time you read a book or listen to an album or play a video game, you’re on the receiving end of some genuine telepathy! And when you find it in your soul to create some art? When you show someone the landscape you painted or the sonnet you penned? Yeah, you’ve got it — you’re on the transmitting end of the thought-transfer!

So what’s this all gettin’ at? Well, simply put, I want every goddamn one of you to declare your medium-allegiance. At the end of the day, in which art form are you most invested? Which mode of expression sweep-picks your heartstrings? What is it about this medium that gets your blood pumpin’ and spirit swirlin’?

[What is your medium of choice?]

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Harry Ford is going to be up in the Anchorman 2 house. I can get behind that. Here is hoping that whatever sort of preparation goes into this role involves finding some way to unmelt his face. Good lord, the guy sort of freaks me out these days.

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Steel yourself for the third season of Game of Thrones, as George R.R. R. R. R. R. Martin continues to kill characters. He slays them from his computer chair, giggling to himself. He pauses only to feast upon the glut of tears he harvests from the crotches of his fans, and then returns to his act. Killing, slaying, forever. Forever.

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Yeah, I know there were dragons last season. But in this trailer, we totally get to see one doing dragon things. I cannot wait.

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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.]

It’s time to sing the praises of the unsung hero.

That’s not to say that there isn’t something wonderful about zest and panache and pageantry. `Cause there most certainly is. In fact, some of the best entertainment consists of the bombastic acts of conspicuous heroes. Take the guitar solos out of Megadeth’s Rust in Peace and see how much headbanging you do. Don’t let Tony Stark drink and bang babes and fly in his metal-dude suit, and feast your eyes on a rich nerd. Hell, would you even watch basketball if the NBA outlawed slam dunks?

I certainly wouldn’t.

Still, that’s not to say that all heroes are of the sweep-pickin’, philanderin’, slam-dunkin’ variety. There exists another sort, a breed concerned less about the spotlight and more about gettin’ the job done. Y’know the type — the guy quietly keepin’ to himself while the hero of the day slugs champagne and smacks ass and gets high-fived. These taciturn troopers may not be the first to spring to mind, but when we consider their contributions it’s impossible to deny their importance.

What I’m tryin’ to say is that there are unsung heroes who deserve our praise. If you really love the Beatles, send George Martin some flowers. If you think Michael Jordan’s the all-time greatest, get Scottie Pippen a Dunkin Donuts gift card. And if you think Tarantino is an unparalleled master of cinema, find a way to pay tribute to Sally Menke.

Even Moses would’ve been a useless sack of shit without Aaron.

[Which unsung heroes deserve to have their praises sung?]

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What is a Spacey Riot? It is when a thousand clones of Kevin Spacey roll into your house. They begin kicking down objects, mashing them into bits while mimicking Spacey’s heinous Lex Luthor performance. You will cry and scream, but they will not relent. Should you even think of cancelling your Netflix subscription, they will end you. American Beauty style.

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Fuck yes. Every once in a while, I recall that Arrested Development is getting a fourth season. In these brief moments of mental illumination,  a tingling feeling engulfs my genitals. Quietly, they hum with the consolation of a temporarily beautiful universe. Now that I know both Kristen Wiig and Seth Rogen are guest starring in season four, said humming and glowing will feel even more fantastical.

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Joss Whedon has dared to call one of his shows “very hopeful”, inadvertantly exposing the fact that his existence has been taken over by a Skrull impersonator.

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Aloha! Welcome to the Monday Morning Commute! What is it that I do here at the MMC? Well, first I gather up all of Spaceship OL’s passengers – nerd-culture slovens and amigos and infidels alike! Then, I show `em the various bits of art and trash and fast-food debauchery that I’ll be devourin’ during the course of the week. At this point, I deactivate the laser-shackles and let the wayfarers bludgeon one another with their prospective plans for destroying ennui and undermining workplace productivity.

It’s a thing of goddamn beauty.

C’mon, jump in and join the madness!

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Ok, look guys. I’ve been hemming and hawing over this damned CommuniCon piece for like half a week. I was gonna be all journalistic about this and try to cover everything that happened, but I’m Harmonish and rambly and it’s not gonna work. So, highlights after the jump. Keep Reading »