#May2021

Monday Morning Commute: Alive After Death

If John Carpenter ain’t the coolest motherfucker alive, I don’t know who happens to be. Look at that Force of Nature, absolutely cutting a fucking rug. Absolute stable of insane movies directed? Yup. Absolute stable of insane soundtracks and albums recorded? Yup! Dude’s just dominating on all fronts, and all he seems to have to do in his old age is play music with his family and rock video games.

Been listening to his latest album lately, and today’s column title is a reference to its titular track: Alive After Death. Shit dudes, it’s even got a fucking rad music video.

Anyways, the phrase “Alive After Death” resonates with my ass lately. Maybe it resonates as a reference to emerging from a post-pandemic world. Maybe it resonates with my idea that the ideal life is a recursive one, where if we aren’t continuously dying and emerging changed after learning from our mistakes, we’re doing it wrong. Maybe it resonates with the feeling that comes at the end of every semester, born anew after the cataclysm of another school year in the books.

Whatever the case, the phrase is snared in my synapses, and I figured I’d share it with you. Not just the song, but the thoughts behind its resonance, and a little bit of the ole opening up of the soul.

This is Monday Morning Commute. You already know the fucking drill.

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Weekend Open Bar: The Horrors of Childhood are Adulthood’s Sweet Nostalgia

Guilty of nostalgia, motherfuckers! Of the honeying of childhood, the discarding of its various horrors, and the embracing of its warm glow. Listen, if you watch the stream you know that my childhood was wonderfully replete with woes. At the same time, it was also a time of magic. Nothing quite rocks one’s ass like a childhood discovery. Be it a horror film that sculpted your brain, a video game that changed your life, or a metal album that had you throwing up the metal horns. Fucking A, bro! Sure, you grow, and continue to find things you love. Hopefully! Hopefully.

I suppose I should acknowledge that many people find themselves despondent in their aging corpus, and retreat into the bosom of nostalgia. They suckle upon the curdling milk of Mother Wayback’s teats. That ain’t healthy, and I do pride myself on continuing to find joy and wonder in new experiences, even as I approach Middle Age. That said, there’s a joy to rekindling old memories with friends, such as you fucks, here at the Weekend Open Bar and on the streams.

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