I Still Love the 90s Part II: Harder.

What?

Sorry, I can't hear you. You're going to need to speak up.

Oh. The music? Yeah, it's pretty great, isn't it?

HUH?

No, I...uh, I can't turn it down until the song's over, man. Sorry, it's...it's too good!

But in the meantime, let me tell you what I love about the alternative rock scene of the 1990s. In a word, it was overwhelming. There was so much of it around, so many bands who all sounded a lot like each other while somehow sounding remarkably different. Sure, Alice in Chains resembled Mother Love Bone, but you would never confuse the two if you heard their songs back to back.

I've lauded the shinier, happier version of 90s alt rock, but let's not forget this was also prime time to get up to your elbows in sludgy rock anthems about disappointment, depression, and distaste for everything that preceded. It was a time to wear your heart on the sleeves of your flannel. Sorrow was now a badge of honor. Lyrics about burning loins and drowning livers were ousted in favor of ones about tortured souls and wrecked childhoods.

Basically the 90s.

Here's what's problematic about all this, though: the 90s grunge/alt rock/whatever scene usually tends to separate people into extremely differing camps. There's the hardcore, slightly elitist who view Mudhoney, Pixies, and Dinosaur, Jr. (and other bands no one not in those bands has ever heard of) as the only alt-rock music worth listening to. Then there's grunge traditionalists who cling to Nirvana, Soundgarden, Pearl Jam, and maybe Alice In Chains. The recluses look to Radiohead and Sonic Youth. The goths love Manson and White/Rob Zombie. Those who wandered in late to the party can't get enough of Bush, Stone Temple Pilots, and all the other "grunge-lite" acts.

And then there was Nickelback and Creed. (But we're not going to acknowledge them any further.)

And then, of course, there's the relentless number of sub genres trying to incorporate every Neil, Chuck, and Mark to ever pick up a guitar: industrial rock, college rock, ska punk, post-grunge, post-punk, Post Cereal rock (bringing us such greats as Honey Bunches of Shotguns and Shredded Guitar Wheat), and so on.

Categorizations and individual preferences aside, though, I think it's safe to say everyone can agree on one thing: Hole was a fucking awful band. Right? I don't even care what you think about Courtney Love as a person--if you want to call her that--but you absolutely do not enjoy Hole. Every copy of every Hole album is now on a Goodwill used CD rack. That's not hyperbole, it's fact.

And every hole in Courtney Love is currently filled with a Goodwill employee...

But I'm not here to dwell on the rotten apples. I also realize that hate is subjective. So while I proclaim Hole to be the worst thing to happen to the 90s (at least until Sugar Ray came along), there's going to be someone out there shouting some combination of the words "stupid," "douchebag," and "charlatan" at their computer screens once I confess how much I loved the first Linkin Park album. (Luckily, I won't hear any of this because your laptop speakers do not link directly to my inner conscience.)

So on with the love! 

Though there's far too much to point out individually, I'm going to run down a list of the great music that was made to incite, emote, and make ears bleed. We, as a people, learned about "Sex Type Things" and "Bullets With Butterfly Wings." We were fed Cake, Crackers, Placebos, and Pearl Jam. (Just like grandma used to make.) Some of us even ate Korn and Bizkits but regurgitated it all a few years later.

Much of the decade was a Blur, a rather "Cumbersome" Orgy of "Teen Spirit" that took quite awhile to "Comedown" from. We had "Machineheads" that doubled as Radioheads. We planted Soundgardens and Screaming Trees. Dave Grohl became "My Hero" after Nirvana was no more. Eddie Vedder "Led Better" (and longer) than his grungy counterparts.

Whatever you called your poison, whether it was "grunge" or "heavy alternative" or "space blood rock," there's no getting around the fact that, for better or worse, it was an infinitely cool era to plug in a guitar, dress like a lumberjack, and get your bummer on.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go put on some Our Lady Peace and take a trip down Bleak Lane. Join me?

Word Sex

Auto erotic asphyxcianado = Someone well-versed in the art of sexual choking.

Balloon-y Tunes = Bugs and Daffy in a Thanksgiving Day Parade.

Bananigans = Restaurant with a very limited menu.

Beelzetub = A hot tub that's just far too hot.

Goo Goo Fighters = The band behind every rock song on the radio in the 90s.

Medieval Knieval = Man who jumped fire-breathing dragons on his steed.

Mismanage à trois = Why you and your best friend aren't on speaking terms.

Parentesticals = An aside to one's genitals.

Pronounciationanigans = What's keeping you from being able to say this word.

American Airlines Charges Extra for Those Fleeing Bahrain, Also Offers Charlie Sheen Free Tropical Getaway.

Increasingly dangerous protests in Bahrain that have so far resulted in riots, several deaths, and a general sense of hostile unrest, can now also add "population isolation" to its effects on the island.

American Airlines, a primary source of flights for U.S. citizens traveling to and from the island, has begun sharply increasing the price of tickets from Bahrain to the U.S. in order to capitalize on the amount of people trying to leave the area.

In related news, American Airlines has also offered to fly actor Charlie Sheen to the tropical resort of his choosing, and put him up in an ocean-view suite, at no cost.

The long-running grudge between Sunnis and Shiites has now escalated to the point that the king of Bahrain has declared a 3-month long state of emergency. Many American citizens were told by booking agents at American Airlines that they would have to pay much higher fees than they would have in previous weeks if they wanted to leave the island.

When reached for comment about why the airline is now charging extra, one AA manager commented that the situation in Bahrain, where martial law was recently implemented, "must not be that serious."

However, Charlie Sheen's recent breakdowns in the national news media have now elevated the possibility of his permanent withdrawal from television and film to "super serious" levels. Representatives for American Airlines realize how taxing the last couple weeks must have been for Sheen, and considered the free vacation a necessary deed to the Two and a Half Men star.

"He's given all of us so much joy over the years," said one AA spokesperson. "We figured this is a good start to showing our immeasurable gratitude."

A one-way ticket from Bahrain to the United States currently costs more than a round-trip flight. Theoretically, if someone wanted to permanently flee the dangerous riots of Bahrain today, that person would pay $1,106 to land in Des Moines, Iowa. However, if that person wished to flee the riots for only a day to get a whiff of the fresh, relatively kill-free Des Moines air, and then promptly return to the dangerous conditions of Bahrain the following day, they would pay just $818.

Sheen has been going back and forth between either Sandals and Bali, but so far hasn't reached a final decision for his fully-comped trip. He's ruled out Maui because he's already been there several times with his ex-wife Denise Richards, which, in Sheen's own words, "totally taints the thermal ecstasy of the sand now."

Another spokesman for American Airlines stated the company plans to raise prices even further if the civil unrest isn't resolved by next week. "People paying $1,100 now should count themselves lucky," he said. "Next week we're going to start charging pints of human blood."

*In a completely farce-less sidebar: please show your disgust by posting this article to your Facebook, Twitter, or other social networking account and write in to American Airlines about this outrageous act of greed!

**Also, only what's presented in bold is factual information, the rest is purely fictitious.

Does a Pooh Bear Crap in the Hundred Acre Woods?

Brad Pitt and Johnny Depp to Star in Movie Together, Bring Women Everywhere to Tear-gasms

"It's finally happening," says 39-year old Julie Seyers of Elkhart, Indiana. "It's my most beautiful dream coming true."

Rumors about a film starring two of the most prominent actors of the last two decades arose in an online forum discussion titled "OOOOMaG! JoHnNy n BrAd 2getha SOOOOON!!!!!"

"Except, in the dream version, I'm in between them. And there's a lot of non-toxic oils involved," the mother of two continues.

A blogger with the username Brand_Pijol, a less-popular portmanteau of Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, tweeted the post, adding that the film will be "offfffff the hooooooook sexAY!"

"Oh, the things that we do to each other. Sometimes it's me and Johnny. Sometimes it's me and Brad," says Seyers, who celebrated her 12-year anniversary with her husband, Paul, in January. "And other times, it's just Johnny and Brad."

Several of the web's most reliable sources, including TMZ and Perez Hilton, have since confirmed that Depp and Pitt are signed on to co-star, with Ashton Kutcher, Leo DeCaprio, and Ryan Reynolds filling the supporting roles. George Clooney and Denzel Washington will reportedly make cameos.

This will be the first time the two 47-year-old heartbreakers have shared the screen since 1988, when a then twenty-something Pitt appeared on 21 Jump Street.

"That Brad is such a tease sometimes," adds Seyers, now 20 minutes late for picking her son up from soccer practice. "But Johnny...he's down-to-business. They compliment each other well."

It remains unclear how the superstars were brought together for the project, though some speculate it was a connection through Angelina Jolie, who recently starred alongside Depp in The Tourist, that made it happen.

The as-of-yet untitled project will feature both stars "shirtless in sophisticated situations," according to every comments section of the World Wide Web.

Commando Cats

It's 0200 hours. Me and my men have the only open eyelids in a 550-square-foot radius.

Our rations have dwindled to almost nothing. Some have already grown delusional with hunger and we probably don't have enough Whisker Lickin's to make it through the night.

But I'll be damned if I'm gonna walk away from this mission without a victory. I will not live in a world where mangy, backside-sniffing, walking puddles of slobber rule with an iron paw. I will not stand aside as they pant their way to the top of the heap, offering nothing but an occasional hot mess on the new carpet.

I will never say die to a dog.

We've lost some good felines along the way. I...lost a best friend. And I won't soon forget the image of Sergeant Pickles--the best goddamn soldier a commander could ask for--being chased into the vast darkness of that basement...where only the unspeakable happens...

"Major Bojangles, one of your paws is bleeding, sir! We should have the medic take a look at that."

My mouth is suddenly overwhelmed by the taste of kitty litter. Private Muffin Top is a good kid, but he's got the nerves of a squirrel and the gas of a 15-year-old house cat. I can only imagine what his guts must feel like in the heat of battle. I'm just glad he's got better control of his weaponry than he does his colon.

"Son, I ain't got time to bleed. And if the medic's lookin' at anything, it's gonna be that suffocating stench you carry around in your intestines."

If I had a penny for every time I made a new solider whimper, I could make it rain Fancy Feast.

"Listen up, troops. We're getting ready to move into the final phase of our mission."

As I scan the faces of my men, I see a collection of weary eyes and heartache-heavy expressions. It's sometimes easy to forget that these cats have feelings, too.

After all, we're not hate machines. We're just war machines.

"I know we're all tired. Our souls...they're heavy with fatigue and even heavier with the memories of those we left behind: Blaine. Dutch. Poncho. Colonel Spiffy. Our enemies...they want this jungle--with its mountains of suede and its electronic sunrises--to shut us out. They want us to feel out of place. They want us to feel like men without a home.

Well I say we lay out the welcome mat for these bastards and show them whose place this really is. Tonight we take back what is rightfully ours!"

A collective purr rises into the air. They come up off their haunches for the first time since The Battle at Ottoman Square.

"I promise you all one thing: when this is over, when we've got canine teeth under our feet and their slobbering jaws tight in our hands, you're going to go home to your wives, your kittens...your favorite lounge pillows. 

You're going home, soldiers."

If they knew how to clap their paws together, the applause would be overwhelming. As it is, the meows are loud and screeching; the way they should be.

But joy doesn't last very long on the battlefield. Within seconds, the high-pitched exclamations of my soldiers are overtaken by a series of low, hollow grunts--the unmistakable sound of a bloodhound.

From out of the shadows, his dripping snout appears; a hound's only real weapon.

Another booming grunt sends my soldiers scattering for cover, barricading themselves behind the square, painted trees and ducking into plastic leaves.

It's easy to fear what you do not know. But I know this snot-ridden face is nothing to fear.

"Brigade, regroup! This hound isn't a threat. He's nothing more than a scout with a scary voice."

The first to inch out of hiding was Corporal Skittles. "But sir, he's a purebred!"

"Skittles, I eat purebreds for breakfast. And right now...I'm pretty hungry..."

To Be Continued...

I Still Love the 90s. Hard.

Tell me, do you like hip-hop?

Then I'm not talking to you.

How about indie folk?

Get the fuck out of my face. Seriously.

How about 90s rock music?

Yeah? How about 90s alt rock? Okay, how about 90s light alt rock?

Well then, all right! Let me buy you a beer!

No, not really. This is the internet. I have no way of doing that. But, tell ya what, I'll go grab one from my fridge, you go grab one from yours, and we can drink together across the wires.

I gotta tell ya, it's nice to finally find someone who's not too busy "gettin' their swag on" or "crankin' that" to appreciate a bouncy and/or mopey 90s rock song when they hear it.

It was a fucking amazing era, wasn't it? I swear, every time the radio plays Oasis, an angel gets high and fails out of angel college.

True story: in 1993, the Statue of Liberty read: "Give me your Blues Travelers, your Foo Fighters, your Collective Souls yearning to be Better Than Ezra." (Sidenote: It was promptly replaced to its original wording in 1995 when Collective Soul released "The World I Know." What a shitty song.)

Go ahead, call me a fag for listening to the Gin Blossoms.

I dare you.

The fact is, anyone who listens to Hey Jealousy and doesn't get a little wistful...well, they're the ones who are wrong.

The 90s were breeding grounds for some of the best One-Hit Wonders to ever not...ya know...get a second hit. Remember all the success The Verve had after their big breakthrough? Me neither! But Bittersweet Symphony was a great fucking song.

Like a cheesy, melodic wine, these tunes only get better with age. "Breakfast at Tiffany's," for example: like nails on a chalkboard when I first heard it, but 15 years later, it's delightful. Ditto for anything the Spin Doctors ever put out.

(Some of you right now are thinking to yourselves: who are the Spin Doctors? And who sang Breakfast at Tiffany's? ...was it the Spin Doctors? To you people: go read a book, the rest of this does not concern you.)

I'm sure a few of you are thinking, "you're just selectively remembering the best parts of the era; there was a also ton of shit on the radio from 90 to 99." This is the part where you "helpfully" namedrop bands like Goo Goo Dolls, Blessid Union of Souls, Sister Hazel, Hootie (and his Blowfish), Matchbox 20, Vertical Horizon, Live, Tonic...and Sugar Ray.

Mark McGrath: the worst thing to happen to music since AIDS.

I can't say much in response to that. But I can say this: Dizzy was a good song, Hey Leonardo (She Likes Me For Me) is better than you remember it being, Sister Hazel put out two great albums in the past two years, Hootie is the most tolerable thing in country music, and all those other guys are most likely working for minimum wage somewhere in Idaho. So it all evens out.

Now, I've already listed some wonderful goodness to come out of the speakers of the 90s, but I've left out some of the greatness.

Between 1990 and 1999, we were lucky enough to have the radio give us Everclear, No Doubt, Mighty Mighty (mighty) Bosstones, the lighter side of Green Day, the beginnings of Ben Folds, the Lemonheads, a very commercial (and more fun) Tom Petty, "Today" and "Tonight, Tonight," Oasis a.k.a. the most artistic drunks in the world, two types of Crows (both Black and Counting), Third-Eye Blind, the mopiest of R.E.M., and Lenny Kravitz.

Remember Lenny Kravitz?

So, haters of this wonderfully prosperous decade for the jaunty, jangly, less-distorted side of alternative rock music, you have fun with your Daughtry and your Fray and your Coldplay.

I'll be over here in the corner listening to Fastball.