Rolling Stone Magazine: The Definitive Bullshit Incarnate.

I'm travel weary; 11+ combined hours riding on a bus in three days' time will do that. Ergo, I'm holding off on The Boston Post until tomorrow. Maybe if I didn't lose an hour to those cocksucking farmers ...

The only thing getting me out of bed and raring to write is a comment I received over the weekend. Since I don't get people responding to the posts too often, I feel this one warrants a response. After my railing against the Daily News' list of the top 200 albums of all time, it was brought to my attention that I should think about writing for Rolling Stone, because they have "some writing competition thing."

That's being far too generous. If it's what I think it is, then you're talking about "I'm From Rolling Stone", the latest reality craze inspired by the likes of American Idol and those of that ilk. This is a "competition" like a blowjob from a hooker is "true love".

I haven't seen a minute of it, because I don't have a television. If I did, I still wouldn't, because I think it's fucked up and rediculous. I seldom receive issues of my Rolling Stone Magazine these days, but when I do, I make it a point to NOT read the self-serving "reports" on the show. They synergized with MTV to create this bullshit contest so the blonde woman with the biggest tits or the greasy-haired hipster with the biggest wits can have some contrived career with the magazine. Called "Interns", in reality they do none of the work that REAL Rolling Stone interns are forced to do. Instead, when the cameras are on, they're thrust in front of the hottest celebrities of the day and, I'm assuming, made to look like bumbling idiots for the entertainment of the braindead masses who watch.

I didn't grow up with the Rolling Stone magazine of the late 60s and early 70s. The HeyDay. But, that doesn't mean I don't lose continued respect for this glorified tabloid rag. Sure, there's the requisite Liberal Political Piece that sits somewhere before the Fall Out Boy fluff interview and somewhere after the News & Notes of what today's bosomiest celebs are wearing at the beach this week. But, tell me when they've actually broken a writer and made him a national name. Tell me what kind of attention Rolling Stone magazine generates outside of the occasional complimentary quote on the cover of a movie poster. If Hunter S. Thompson wasn't shot out of a fucking cannon, I'm sure he'd be spinning in his fucking casket right about now, should his theoretical lifeless corpse catch wind that Rolling Stone magazine is involved in an MTV produced reality contest.

I appreciate the compliment, if that's what it's meant to be - that I'm good enough to write for Rolling Stone. Obviously, I still have enough regard for the magazine to continue subscribing and get pissed off when it doesn't come in the mail. After all, I'm not gonna start reading Time or People or Harper's. As far as music-based magazines go, I'm hard pressed to find another one that has all the elements Rolling Stone has to keep me interested (in other words, there are a million "indie" music magazines that talk about a bunch of fucking bands I've never heard of and don't care to EVER hear of; I need my magazine based in the mainstream with intonations towards the outskirts). But, I wouldn't want to write for Rolling Stone. I wouldn't want to write for any of these big-time magazines you've heard of. Because that involves lots of work, lots of climbing ladders, lots of ass-kissing and bullshit assignments.

I'd much rather run a magazine, or better yet, be a lead writer of a magazine run by someone I'm friends with, who'd give me the freedom to write about whatever I want. It's hard to fabricate inspiration; I'd rather not try.

But, I'll tell you what, if Rolling Stone actually DID have a REAL contest for ACTUAL writers, I'd throw my hat in the ring. I'm no interviewer, I'm not much of a researcher, but if they came a-calling with a monthly column giving me the opportunity to write about whatever I wanted, I'd snap at the chance and blow everyone's asses out of the fucking barrel.