Talking Heads lyrics fucking speaking to me today, man. How is life during the pandemic, this week? Same as it ever was. Alternatively, the title of the song those lyrics are from is also apropos. Once in a lifetime. ‘Cause fuck me, if we have to live through this goddamn trash a second time. And okay, I’m not counting some sort of recurrent wave that’s indubitably hitting this fall. I mean, like — when it’s done.
Another week has passed. Nothing has changed, at least for the better. More morons outside. Increasing death rates, increasing infection rates. Extending stay-at-home orders in my state. The mundanity and the madness trudges forward.
Same as it ever was. Same as it will be.
However, it ain’t all bad news, motherfuckers! Nope! Nope. In fact, yesterday I recorded my final “virtual” classes for my students. All that stands between the end of the semester and me is two weeks of grading, and Zoom sessions. Not bad. Not bad at all.
I have to say, I guess I’m not depressed today, though! Small victories. Day by day. How do I know? Well, I’m actually stoked for shit. And, I’d like to tell you what I’m stoked for, friends!
This is Monday Morning Commute!
Nice goddamn night to write Monday Morning Commute. Windows open. Pleasant breeze. The gentle, but not intrusive hum of caffeine thumping down the vein-pipes. But, for a moment, I am content. How are you doing, friends? I hope you’re doing well. Well enough, at the least.
I’m getting real shit at publishing a weekend column at the start of the weekend. Man! Fuck! But yesterday was busy, hopscotching from work, to dinner with a mentor, to an entire bag of Sour Patch Watermelons, to staring at the IdiotBox for three or so hours. I’m here now, though, and I’m hoping I can lure you in as well! This is Weekend Open Bar, the weekly column where we all hang out.
We gotta get the ventilation system working here on the Space-Ship Omega. Okay. I know that. My phlegm-farts have been stinking up my cabin, floating through the grates, and now your milk steaks taste like ass soup. Apologies. In the meantime, let’s all indulge in some Monday Morning Commute. The one-stop shop for sharing all the easy, breezy, beautiful things you’re looking forward to this week. Just don’t list “my milk steak not tasting like your rectal leakage” as something to be anticipated. Please. I get it. Okay.
It’s the Weekend! Fuck yes. Forty+ hours of work, a lung-filling cold, a leaking bung-bung, none of this can stem my excitement! Now begins the restorative forty-eight hours of nonsense that allows me to momentarily forget the beef-and-phalange grinder that is the work week. This is Weekend Open Bar. The column of pure nonsense. Post the GIFs you find. Share drunken stories. Stumble in here and share dumb loot you find in dumb video games. It doesn’t fucking matter, just chat. Come with me! Literally! Figuratively! Join me!