jimmy

I started feeling a little bit of something yesterday: fatigue, a little tickle in the back of the throat that felt nothing like a penis. This morning I have a little bit of congestion and feeling tired. It’s not a full-blown cold, but enough to annoy the piss out of me. Then again, everything annoys the piss out of me so I guess everything is normal. ?

This past weekend seemed to take more of the piss out of me than I expected. I initially was going to not write anything on Monday, which I didn’t, but it extended to Tuesday. I only wrote a little preview piece of the Dodgers-Braves series last night, so I guess it’s time for me to get my act together.

I finished reading The Dreyfus Affair last night, a love affair between a shortstop and a second baseman. The premise is good: a gay love story amongst players on a baseball team. I found almost all of the characters deplorable, and there is a sudden plot shift in the middle of the book when their love affair is exposed, it felt like a bit of a stretch.

I’ll write a little more sports here. I’ll do some college football and NFL stuff here, stuff that doesn’t really belong on LAist. (hint: I’ll do my college football rankings here starting Saturday night.)

I didn’t expect to be too busy today. All I had to do was go to Dodger Stadium at 1 p.m. for a presser on the Kings-Ducks outdoor game in January and write that up.

But I woke up this morning to the Dodger fan stabbed to death in SF. I wrote that up quickly. Then more surprises when I was asked to help fill in due to sicknesses. So I wrote about jersey sales, bike share programs and homophobia in pasta.

I left for the presser and came back just in time to tutor my cousin who needed help in chemistry and US History.

Got home. Cooked chicken. Since I can’t fill in tomorrow, I wrote some pieces to help fill things in tomorrow. Oh, and I wrote the hockey at Dodger Stadium bit. I’m happy that commissioner Gary Bettman didn’t laugh at my question.

So that was a good 12 hours of running around which was cool. Beats sticking my thumb up my ass I suppose.

Tomorrow is gay day at the Ravine, and I haven’t a thing to wear!

My fantasy football team, the Titsburgh Feelers, is just about as good as the actual 0-3 Pittsburgh Steelers are. They’re awful, and lord knows if they actually win a matchup this season.

So much for my triumphant return to fantasy football after a three-year hiatus.

I am participating in a weekly Pick ‘Em league that uses confidence points. And it is here where I will pat my own back, kiss my own ass, or whatever. Yes. I am winning. First place. Sure it’s only a six-point margin, but I’ll take anything I can get. Besides, we all know that picking games is nothing more than a lottery toss up.

Did I really know that Kansas City was going to beat Philly? (I changed my mind three minutes before kickoff.)

But as far as real victories go, for me those are very few and very far between. So I will take my victory lap.

 
In the last week I posted two fake stories. To be honest those were a couple of scraps that have been lying around for years. I’m writing some new ones and realizing that most of the filth that spilling forth is an exercise in nostalgia.

I might throw up.

 
Does anyone have any personal blogs that they read regularly and that update somewhat regularly? I’ve been spending time on people’s blogrolls on a hunt for interesting reads.

One word of advice. I know I use a black background here, but most of the text is gray so as to not burn images on the retina. Please don’t use white text on black backgrounds. It hurts.

I wonder how these things get approved, but it seems clear that no gay man was in the line of approvals for this monstrosity of a helmet.

The Jacksonville Jaguars are awful. They are a shitty team in a shitty city in a shitty stadium with shitty fans. Now they have an equally shitty helmet to show the world just how shitty they are. Doesn’t it look like it was dropped in a vat of paint before they put the Jaguar decal on the side?

I harp on this over and over again, but sports teams should really hire gay men to have a say in matters like these. No fag in his right mind would allow anyone to wear a helmet like this or stupid camouflage jerseys (I’m looking at you San Diego Padres.)

Silly breeders.

Grantland staff writer (and Pitchfork Media contributor) Steven Hyden wrote a piece entitled “The Loneliness of the Alt-Rock Anniversary.” The subline: “Twenty years later, why Counting Crows’ August and Everything After is as meaningful as Nirvana’s In Utero.”

I damn near threw up.

To lift the curtain behind the scenes, most of the time the author of a story do not write their own headlines or sublines. There are copy guys and editors who will write them. Most of the time headlines will sum up a story pretty well, but sometimes they don’t. And the author has no control over it.

But after a lot of exposition, eight graphs into the story we get the real stomach-churning meat of the piece. Hyden writes:

I was a huge fan of both records in ’93 — and still am in ’13 — and I know I’m not the only one. August and In Utero existed in essentially the same context — their videos were played during the same Alternative Nation segments on MTV, their singles were heard on the same radio stations, and many of the people who bought the Nirvana record also bought the Counting Crows record.

No. No no no no. No. No.

They might have existed in the same period of time, but they did no exist anywhere near the same context. Nirvana laid down the foundation for the marketplace in which Counting Crows were able to swoop in, pick up their shekels, nab their Friends girlfriend and live a nice quiet life while still putting out the Starbucks classics.

Here’s another bon mot in the ninth graph:

August was actually more popular than In Utero, eventually selling 7 million copies. The album’s big hit, “Mr. Jones,” is arguably better known than any Nirvana song with the exception of “Smells Like Teen Spirit.”

So?

Counting Crows epitomized everything that was disposable in the ’90s from Sha-La-Las of “Mr. Jones” to anything they have done afterwards.

I’m glad they made their money. Good for them. But to call their music anywhere in the zip code of Nirvana’s is utterly laughable.

As for Mr. Hyden, I inferred from the story he’s a year older than I am. I loved Nirvana and could not stand Counting Crows, the Wallflowers, Candlebox, Gin Blossoms and all of the other “alternative” bands of that era. I hated the shows Friends, Seinfeld and ER.

We came of age in the same era. So it just amazes me that he could justify what he’s trying to sell.

So here’s “Beeswax”

People call the skies gray, but it always looked purple to me. Perhaps purple connotes something more colorful and vibrant rather than the malaise that comes with gray.

The weather says it’s overcast and 67 degrees just about an hour before high noon. It’s quite the change from the weather a couple of weeks ago that involved tittie sweat and pheromones. It was really the only heat spell we had here in Los Angeles all summer long.

With so little butt-sniffing season, it’s a little sad to see autumn come so soon. Of course, it’s in September and October that we tend to get the hottest weather in Los Angeles with the santa ana winds, the wildfires and all around horniness. So I’m holding out hope for that. Or it could just be SAD.

 
I’ve been trying to find more personal blogs written by gay dudes, but most are:

• defunct
• politcal
• pop culture
• filled with porn and pictures stolen from other places
• very poorly designed

So I’ve been going on the archives and reading what I think is the best personal website ever made: Dante Woo.

It’s forcing me to make an effort. I’ve done some things here and there. Or, to put it bluntly, I’m stealing stuff directly from Dante Woo. I would feel bad about it normally, but his blog is completely defunct and he has a lovely job at the Wall Street Journal.
 

Fuck you.

From Astrolabe

Moon is in 29 Degrees Pisces.
You have strong feelings and are extremely sensitive. It would help if you had a thicker skin — you tend to react emotionally to every situation you come across. Kind, gentle and considerate of the feelings of others, you are good at taking care of the sick, wounded and helpless. But you tend to absorb the energy of others — so avoid those who are always negative. You have a rich, creative and lively imagination, but you should be careful not to spend all your time daydreaming. Very intuitive, you have good ESP and may be quite clairvoyant or psychic. Remember that you too have the right to get what you want from life. If you are always defensive and kowtowing to others, people will take advantage of you and exploit you.

I’m still laughing. Hold on.

I don’t know what’s funnier: the Glee-inspired gay men’s chorus in skinny ties; the white boy rappers who constant have to remind themselves where they put their penises; that USC would release this to try and get people to go to their miserable school.

I documented before just how rigid and stodgy USC can be even on game days during college football season. This attempt to show how “hip” they are is just sad. Really?

Besides, the title “Trojans for Life” really sounds like a bad case of herpes you can’t get rid of.

(via Deadspin and With Leather.)

Yup. This is about how Lomita looks. Using filters I made it look halfway palatable. But this is about it, a land of strip malls, NRA chapters, hick white trash folk, gay Mexicans and Salvadoreans who try their best to stay in the closet, hookers, cheap motels, cult subdivisions and really shitty drivers.

I talked to NY last week. She accused me of being a complete hermit and a depressed mess. She was right, but in an attempt to disprove her there I was at Burger City Grill. It’s amazing that in such a city they have a place that can make a good burger. Shitty fries but really good burgers.

I’m sure the appearance did nothing to reassure NY of my mental stability. We’ve known each other upwards of two decades, so we both know better. But we did make plans for tennis on Sunday. So perhaps it’s progress.

Driving around in this postcard snapshot of suburban hell makes me fully understand why meth and oxy and heroin are such problems. If I had purchased my part of the American Dream (c) I too would want to numb my pain or go into such a manic state I forget exactly where I am.

Fortunately I’m too broke for all of that shit. I just huddle in a corner weeping, using my tears as lube to masturbate. Not really.

I was really considering italicizing this entire post. Ha!