Vaughan and Chiang’s ‘Paper Girls’ adaptation gets full-series order from ‘Amazon Studios’ which is neat but where that ‘Saga’ adaptation?
Gonna level with you: don’t really care for Paper Girls. I’m a good bit burnt out with 80s nostalgia peddling. That said, I’m glad that Vaughan and Chiang’s product is getting adapted. Always a feel-good for the creators involved. And, who knows? Maybe the show resonates with me more than the comic does.
The bar is open early, friends. It’s Thanksgiving Eve here on the eastern arm of the Empire. I’m blessed enough to have the rest of the week off. So why not let the Asgardian ale flow already? So why not let the Martian space spice be smoked already? I have no good reasons for why not to, I have no good explanations. All I know is that life is too short, too vicious for even the most blessed, to not seize upon moments of revelry with you and yours.
Weekend Open Bar on a Wednesday evening.
Finally, the Bar is back! Finally, the Bar is Open! Where have I been? Where have you been? A blinking cursor staring at an unclicking keyboard, attempting to nudge an illusory mousepad. Right? Right! Right? Right! I think, if the synapses are firing correctly, and oh god are they never firing correctly anymore, that this is my second week off from the (welcomed) grind of summer teaching. I’ve been filling my (non)free hours with posting dumb memes on OL’s Facebook page, tutoring students on campus, eating too little, conversely at times eating far too much, and occasionally playing Rise of the Tomb Raider and Borderlands 2.
Oh. And oh! Oh. And oh!! Oh. And oh!!! I’ve also been obsessing over Stranger Things which really should be called Boner Things or perhaps more accurately An Array of Things In The Guise of a Television Show That Give Me A Boner. Not sure why they didn’t go with that title, but I suppose one’s flaws serve only to point out their perfections. Or, in my case, to keep me from getting laid the first twenty-five years of my life and suffer through wearing an uncomfortable though familiar shawl of self-doubt and insecurities. But we can talk about that more! Later! Oh, where, when, later?
How about here, in the comments section, of Weekend Open Bar!
The weekly column where I encourage those of you kind enough, brave enough, pitying enough, lonely enough, horny enough, strong enough, gassy enough, brash enough to share what you’re up to during a given weekend.
Share what you’re eating. Share what you’re watching. Share what you’re playing. Fuck it, tell me what’s giving you a boner. I don’t care! We’re all friends! We’re all family! You’re all getting a toenail and a used pair of underwear of mine when I die, so fuck, you know you’re close to me.
My wife tells me she ain’t waiting for me to eat the pizza. The pizza, it’s coming. This can only mean one thing: I must sprint as quickly as I can to open the Bar. The Weekend Open Bar. Turn on the halogen lights, kick the mechanized kegs of moon-juice to get them cranking. Dust the blood, tears, and forgotten ass-relics off of the chairs. And welcome you! Welcome you to the Weekend Open Bar!
The column at the (theoretical) end of the Work Week/Internet/Good Taste. Every week we gather, oh we gather! We share what we’re going to be eating (pizza!, and more!), what we’re going to be playing, what we’re going to be reading. Really, sharing anything. Half-baked thoughts about the End of the World, half-aroused thoughts about 1980’s babes (Kelly Lebrock from Weird Science haunts me), half-indecent proclamations about whatever sort of gastronomic problems that eighth burrito gave you.
Anything. Everything. So long as it follows the golden rule: thou shall not douche.
Welcome one, welcome all to Weekend Open Bar. The weekly weekend column where those of us lucky enough to have the next couple of days off (and those unlucky enough to not have them off, too) gather around the Digital Hearth. We share stories of what we’re going to be doing to enjoy our weekend. We share stories of the games we’re going to play, the movies we’re going to watch. We share stories of the meals we’re going to eat, the mistakes we’re going to make.
And go ahead! Make mistakes! Kiss that guy you can’t see yourself with long-term. Eat that twelfth slice of pizza. Play Overwatch until 6:30 am, bleary-eyed and too caffeinated to sleep well. Too hungover to yield a non-spinning room. And go ahead! Make mistakes!