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!

Saturday night Sara and I tagged along with Angel to a party he was invited to at a warehouse near Theater Row. From what I could understand it was a birthday party for a certain gay porn star, but I really wasn’t paying attention since all I cared about was getting fucked up.

Sara, Angel and I were all in no state to drive. Angel, being the least inebriated one of us, drove us to Dennys more for his sake of trying to sober up. The fluorescent cage of depression at 4 a.m. that only a late-night diner can provide drove me to silence as I just idly picked at my omelet with my fork. There is nothing glorious about the end of a Saturday night as I was then driven home, shucked my clothes off and collapsed on top of my bed. Good night.

Anyone who knows me or reads this futile attempt at a blog knows that I’m anti-marriage. I’m not only against gay marriage, I’m also against straight marriage. If you read even deeper you could infer that I am not the romantic type.

In fact over the weekend while messaging online with a prospective suitor-of-sorts, we were talking about Joshua Tree and the desert. He said, “at some point i would like to fist you in a setting like that.”

My response: “You’re so romantic.” I still don’t know if my response was genuine or sarcastic.

Anyhow, a couple of weeks ago, the foxy Christina (@xina) and I had a Twitter exchange while watching the US Open. We were talking about Roger Federer, and I told my story about how I ran into him in the players/media cafeteria salad bar when I covered the 2011 BNP Paribas Open in Indian Wells. He politely asked me if he could jump ahead of me at the salad bar, and I in my typical head-in-the-sand way just said go right ahead before looking up and seeing one of the greatest of all times.

For some reason my mind started to think how tennis players are perhaps the only athletes I could ever really date because there’s an urbane worldly sophistication about them. Then I started thinking that all steadfast rules have an exception including my personal opposition to marriage.

And voila! That’s how we’ve come to my list of people I could waive my no-marriage clause for.

There are a couple of assumptions involved in this list.

1. If they’re not gay, they will have no problem going gay. Some might be married with kids in reality, but in this thought experiment they will have no problems in going the other way.

2. No domestic violence. As much as we think we know the famous, there are deep dirty secrets they tend to keep. I’m going to assume these guys don’t beat up their partners, haven’t murdered anyone or when enraged don’t tend to beat up on people.

I might have missed some people, but oh well.

Here’s the Listicle in no particular order:

The last Dodger homestand was very hot that featured tons of titty sweat and ornery writers. This week has been a lot cooler. Although it’s nice not to be wiping my brow every 5 seconds drenching a napkin with my sweat, it’s nice not to be overly self-conscious about sweating through my shirts, it’s nice to wear long sleeves, I do miss the hot weather a little.

I got used to sleep buck nekkid on top of my bed with the fan pointed right at my balls. I got used the all the pheromones swirling in the air giving us a true butt-sniffing season.

But this is good, too.

Astonishingly enough it’s been 12 years. But I won’t go into a bunch of remembrances or self-indulgent where-was-I-when-I-heard-the-news type of bullshit.

I’ll just present the above photograph. It’s a beam from the World Trade Center that sits as a memorial at the LA Fire Department training center right below Dodger Stadium. I drive past it every time I cover a Dodger game.

That’s all I’m going to say. I’m not going to repeat the tired mantra “Never Forget” which sounds more of a command given to a dog who has gone in the middle of the kitchen. Those alive in the United States won’t ever forget it.