It’s the Weekend! Open Bar! Fuck, I know I’m late. Last night was a birthday dinner with family, rolled immediately into five hours of wrestling with Bateman. Oh! Lucha Underground. Oh! Wrestle Kingdom 11. Truthfully? I squeezed in a couple hours of Final Fantasy XV between the former ending and the latter beginning. Oh! No matter, no matter.
Hey! Desktop Thursdays! Where I show you my goddamn worlds — populated by goddamn madness, beauty, reluctance, pensiveness, and really just a panoply of garbage!
Yeah yeah yeah yeah, I skipped last week. Sue me! I have a very good attorney, and though he specializes in Bird Law, I think he can probably do me right.
Yeah yeah yeah yeah, I’m over-caffeinated and ready. Oh, so ready. To rock! Here are views from across my existence the past two weeks. My worlds done tangible, done intangible, done textual. All of them, for your pleasure. I hope. Oh, I hope. You’ll share your own world(s) in the comments section!
Weekend Open Bar! And a content one at that.
My wife is home, tucked into bed. Home for the first time in more or less two weeks. Laffy Taff is in my gut, tucked into my digestive tract via my head-hole. In my gut for the first time in more or less too long. Outside, the crickets are chirping. A cool breeze passes by. Inside, the Red Sox are playing. A cool breeze passes by.
The Summer is winding down here in the Eastern arm of the Empire, and it was a damn good one for me. A mellow, unremarkable jaunt filled with teaching, quality time with my wife, some passable cinema, and a lot of really good wrestling.
I will not lament it leaving, though. For as I shed the husk of my most enjoyable Summer in years, it is being ushered out the door in lieu of the Most Wonderful time of the Year.
Oh shit! And a good weekend to you, as well! This is the Weekend Open Bar, the one-stop madness-shop for hanging out on the weekend. That is! If you’re a frequenter of the Space-Ship Omega. That is! If you’ve just wandered by (you poor soul) and found us this weekend. Join us! Join us, all of you. And do what? Great question!
In this post-modern world, where we doubt ourselves, our expressions, our very reality, not much is certain. At least for those of us who ascribe those wanky, somewhat debatable beliefs to Reality. But I think there’s one thing those of us who enjoy funny books and post-modernism can agree upon. One pointed, penetrating, non-perishable truth. That pierces through the pall of Post-Modernity: Jack Kirby is as awesome as it gets. In Reality. He’s the Best. And today, August 28, 2015, he would have been 98. Now sadly (for us, not him) he’s sloughed his mortal coil, transcended its greasy, entropy-bound parameters. But he’s still out there, surfing the gnarly astral waves. Beckoning us to join him. And while it is not our time to join him yet, let us honor Kirby.