I am relegated to the realm of the imaginary. I suppose this is how it is. How are you, Old friends? As the great Gibran says,
“And alone and without his nest shall the eagle fly across the sun.”

Music is such a personal thing. One can really know a person by the song that is their particular favorite at the moment.
The reason I write about this is that I am astounded that there are people who actually hate alternative rock. I cannot believe it. The rock that came immediately before: GnR, Aerosmith, et al is so different, though of course superb, in its own way. This music is for everyone, jocks and stoners included.
Alternative rock, on the contrary, is for losers. It is the music of the misfit, the down-and-out, the hopeless romantic: all those who struggle against fate. Every song, even songs about drugs, has that sense of fragile bewilderment which is the hallmark of the loser, even in the midst of self aggrandizement. One knows the egotism is hollow. There are words like bacchanalia and sardonic, and they sing about insecurities and neuroses...
Even as I write this, I can see you, O (imaginary) Gentle Reader, curling your lip. This short piece is hopelessly inadequate to convey the sense of belonging that these songs give me. Every day I am grateful that this... this genre exists.
Articulate, self loathing music.
This is my music.
Music for the misfits.