The Sound of Music, 2002

It's official. I am moved in, and have had my first official social gathering. Thanks to all for coming over and hanging out. Hopefully it wil be the first of many; we don't get together enough!

On other fronts, I finally broke and watched a FOX reality show. Joe Millionaire is quite possibly the most offensive, anti-feminist show on television. The women were, for the most part, money-grubbing hos and the "millionaire" is a big dumb lunkhead. Having said that, I'm completely hooked by the snark potential and I will be tuning in for every episode. I feel so dirty.

And I am soooo disturbed by the touring cast of Jesus Christ Superstar that's coming to town soon. Sebastian Bach is playing Jesus. Yes, the Sebastian Bach from Skid Row. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

The nominations for the Grammy awards came out yesterday. (Here's a partial list of the nominees.) You know, I'm not sure why I still care about these stupid awards. The wrong people always win, and I spend the majority of the show cursing loudly and throwing things at the screen. Now, I realize that the recording industry is vast and the people that vote on the awards can't possibly listen to everything that comes out, so the nominees are mostly top 40 artists. I don't listen to the radio all that much, so I am not all that in touch with the artists that are "graced" with nominations. However, I still feel the need to comment on the selections and pick winners, and this year I'm sharing them with you. So be warned: these are choices not based on talent or unit sales. They're simply the babblings of a highly opinionated out-of-touch thirtysomething in Cincinnati.

Record of the Year - Wow. I feel so out of touch. I don't know half of these songs. I've heard that Norah Jones has a lovely voice (from Flounder), but I've yet to hear a note. I do know the Nickelback song, but I kind of wish I didn't. This is how you remind me/How much this song sucks..." As much as I hate to say it, I'm rooting for Eminem.

(Dear Eminem: I hate everything you stand for. You're a misogynistic jerk. Please stop writing such catchy songs. No love, Myo)

Album of the Year - BRUUUUUUUUUUUUCE! That is all.

Song of the Year - Perhaps I should explain that last outburst. I was a moderately big Springsteen fan in high school. While I will probably never buy another of his albums, the man writes well-crafted songs like nobody's business. I've heard this song (unlike most of the other nominees), and after hearing an endless barrage of schmaltzy 9/11 tributes and gung-ho jingoistic patriotic crap, I was moved by the beautiful simplicity of the Boss's latest offering. I'm behind "The Rising" all the way in this category.

Oh yes, and Avril? Please go away.

Best New Artist - Wait, Avril, come back. Come back and win this award. If you will I can be assured that you will disappear forever. Please win this award. Not because you are deserving, but so you can save John Mayer from the curse attached to this award.

Female Pop Vocal Performance - Um. I really like that Pink song. Yeah, it's been played out, but so has that Sheryl Crow song. Didn't "Soak Up the Sun" come out two years ago? Or does it just seem like it because Sheryl Crow has been omnipresent in the last year? And while it is technically a better quality song, it's never made me want to shake my groove thing. "Get the Party Started" indeed.

Male Pop Vocal Performance - AKA the Old Men Who Haven't Done Anything of Note Lately Category. Elton John? James Taylor? And Sting? While I attest that "Fragile" is a beautiful song, I refuse to root for you because it seems like you've been coasting on this song for years. It's your "cause" song, and it gets dragged out of the mothballs whenever something tragic happens. I was tired of it when it served as the theme for a very special episode of 21 Jump Street. I'm all for John Mayer on this one. (As cheesy as this song may be, it gives me - to quote Anthony Kiedis - "that funny feeling in my tummy.")

And who is Craig David, anyway?

Pop Performance by a Duo or Group with Vocal - Gotta go with No Doubt here, because that song is unbearably catchy. Behold the power of Gwen.

Pop Collaboration with Vocals - The India.Arie and Stevie Wonder song was used in one of the few holiday commercials that didn't make me cringe. However, it ain't nothing compared to the dancing Joe Boxer guy. My vote's with Tony Bennett and k.d. lang on this one.

Pop Instrumental Performance - Dear Moby: I was going to root for you here, but to honest with you I don't even remember what this song sounds like. I've only listened to this album twice, and all I could think of when I played it was how much it sounded like Play, Part 2. Therefore, I'll be over in the B.B. King section until you choose to write an album that's not a retread of a previous one.

Pop Instrumental Album - Kenny G? John Tesh? Ewwwwww. This is the category of evil, and I will abstain from making a decision here.

Pop Vocal Album - Britney, I don't care if BT produced a few songs on this album. Your fifteen minutes is still up.

As I have not heard any of these albums, I will have to go on hearsay. As previously mentioned, Flounder has recommended Norah Jones, and Zappagirl says that the No Doubt album kicks ass. Advantage: No Doubt, again due to the Gwen quotient.

Dance Recording - Dirty Vegas is immediately disqualified due to that crappy Mitsubishi Eclipse dancing robot girl commercial. Groove Armada gets my vote due to that non-crappy Mitsubishi Eclipse commercial from a few years back. Yeah, yeah, it was for a different song, but... Kylie Minogue is starting to creep me out.

Daniel who?

Traditonal Pop Vocal Album -Tony Bennett, all the way. Bernadette Peters Loves Rogers and Hammerstein? Yes, yes, and Joanie Loves Chachi. I believe that Michael Feinstein merely exists to be nominated for this category. Rod Stewart? What happened to the hard-rockin', spandex-wearing, do-ya-think-I'm-sexy guy?

Female Rock Vocal Performance - Anything, anything, anything but "Sk8er Boi." That song makes my ears bleed, and it's the only one I know in this category. How sad is that?

Male Rock Vocal Performance - AKA the Old Alternative Rock Guys Category. Despite the good things I've heard about Elvis Costello's new material, I'm going with David Bowie here. Roger Mexico played Heathen for me a while back, and it blew me away. I heard the Peter Gabriel song a few months ago, and it didn't leave a lasting impression. Plus I really can't support him until he stops dressing like Dr. Evil.
Not that any of this matters. Bruce is going to win this one, too.

Rock Performance by a Duo or Group with Vocal - I like the U2 song, but isn't it too old for consideration? I've not heard the Aerosmith song, which is surprising since WEBN plays them every twenty minutes (in between the AC/DC and the Led Zeppelin). "Hero?" Meh. Overplayed, and not that great to start with. I know I'm suposed to like Coldplay - they're supposed to be brilliant, but I find them boring. I'm going for the dark horse here - Tonic, the most underrated band around.

Hard Rock Performance - I'm so torn. I really like the System of a Down song, mainly because this is the first song of theirs that I've been able to understand the lyrics without hearing a Richard Cheese cover of it. (Zappagirl: Why did you leave the keys upon the table?) However, my love for Dave Grohl knows no bounds, so I can support a win from Foo Fighters or Queens of the Stone Age.

Metal Performance - No contest in my book. Rob Zombie, because the song kicks major ass, and I'm a little scared of him.

Rock Instrumental Performance - Again, I must respectfully abstain from making a decision here. I know little about this category, and none of the nominees merited more than a "meh" from me.

Rock Song - See above comments about my Dave Grohl love. Foo Fighters, all the way.

Rock Album - As much as I am opposed to an album winning in two categories, BRUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCE!!!

Alternative Album - Wait. Elvis Costello had two albums out this year? I am so out of touch. And I'm writing in a vote for Sigur Ros, just because I think they deserve it. In fact, I'm going to go listen to them right now....


You know, maybe I should just quit while I'm ahead. And consider renting a movie on February 23rd to just save myself the pain. Looking over this list was almost as painful as watching Crossroads.

New Year, New Beginnings

Happy New Year, everyone. Here's hoping that all hangovers have subsided by this point just in time for the weekend parties.

The last month has gone by non-stop. Much of it was spent sorting through every last piece of crap in my apartment, trying to decide if I really needed it, and carting off what didn't make the cut down to the apartment complex dumpsters in the wee hours of the morning. It was slow going, seeing as how I was ill for the majority of December, and spent more than one night on the couch desperately clutching a box of Kleenex and waiting for the room to stop spinning at centrifugal force.

My car, of course, decided not to play nice in the relocation proceedings. The day before the movers were to arrive, one of the volunteers at work stopped into my office to report that my car had a flat tire. After calling AAA to change the tire, I was informed that it was just a slow leak, and it would be better to reinflate the tire for the drive home rather than put the spare on the car. (It was raining, and my car is already tiny enough to be hazardous in inclement weather.)

Fine. Good. I had neither the time nor money to replace tires at that point. I still had much of an apartment to pack before 8:30 in the morning.

I pulled an all-nighter and managed to get everything except for the closets sorted and packed. The funniest part of the night had to be when, at 4:15 a.m., my Furby decided to wake up inside the packing box, and chatted happily to itself for an hour. It insisted on telling me how bored it was. I rolled my eyes and hauled another load of crap destined for the dumpster out to the car.

The movers arrived an hour late, determined that they were parked outside of the wrong door (even though the dispatcher had been given explicit instructions about which door would be best to park outside of), and started to move my belongings to the truck. Well, after they used the bathroom. Now, I understand that it's a basic human function and I certainly wasn't going to deny them the use of the facilities, but I had sequestered two very unhappy cats in the bathroom, and I wasn't looking forward to opening that door and then having to catch them again.

After all of the movers had, um, taken care of things and I had tossed the kitties back into the bathroom, I stood in the kitchen swigging coffee (pot #2, for those of you keeping score at home) and listening to the radio. One of the movers (who seemed to be in charge) reminded me that his crew was allowed to accept tips. Yes, Mr. Baggy Pants Mover Boy, I read your contract. I saw the section that you'd highlighted about tips. Reminding me is just tacky.

After all of the furniture and boxes were packed in the truck, I wrote out directions to the new apartment for the movers. Of course, I was wondering to myself why they didn't already have this information. I assumed naïvely that movers were equipped with street maps of the Greater Cincinnati area and had a general working knowledge of the main thoroughfares, so I gave them the directions that used the expressway and major well-marked streets. Any moron could have followed these directions.

I was wrong. These weren't just any morons I was dealing with.

Zappagirl arrived after the movers left with the cat carriers. Now, to say that the kitties were agitated was a gross understatement. After I finally let them out of the bathroom, they were stunned to find an apartment empty of familiar furniture. It took them 45 minutes to adjust to that. And once they had finally stopped hiding in the laundry (still to be sorted - my new apartment has little closet space and required a major paring-down of the wardrobe), we forced them into little boxes and carried them down to Zappagirl's car. I think all of Clifton was aware of Ma Huang's displeasure; he vocalized his feelings at full Siamese volume.

While all of this was going on, my mother called from the new apartment. Apparently the movers were lost, and had taken an hour to make a 10 minute journey. And Mr. Baggy Pants Mover Boy had not only reminded my mother that tips were accepted, he'd also asked if I was single. Mom took one look at the guy, tried to picture him at a family dinner, and made up the oh-so-serious but oh-so-invisible boyfriend.

I love my Mommy.

Mom and I busied ourselves with placing furniture and unpacking a few boxes while Zappagirl played kitty therapist. Kismet wasn't very traumatized and took the opportunity to explore her new home (and "help" us unpack), but Ma Huang was terrified. He laid on the futon, eyes wide and trembling (more than usual).

After the cats had adjusted somewhat, Zappagirl and I went to Best Buy in search of wires to hook up the stereo/DVD player/VCR/TV to the optimal effect. By the time we had arrived back at the apartment, Dad had joined us and took everyone out to dinner.

The following day, my sister and her family arrived to drop off towels and couch cushions. The nieces were more interested in seeing the cats, which was a challenge since the kitties had never dealt with little people before. Allison tried to crawl under the dining room table in hopes of getting to Kismet (Ma Huang had crawled under the couch upon hearing the VERY LOUD doorbell), while Amanda stood back and watched, occasionally commenting, "Kitty! Yay!" (She's a real life blonde version of Boo from Monsters, Inc.)

The next week was spent covering four jobs at work (mine, my supervisor's, housekeeping, and the IT guy... I was only supposed to be logging problems for the contracted service to fix, but a few people seemed to think that I had the knowledge to fix their computer problems). Thankfully it was ridiculously slow, and I spent more than a little time making lists of things I needed to do to make the settling process at the new apartment go smoothly.

The Christmas Eve party at Rosencrantz and Guildenstern's was loads of fun, as usual. Good food, good friends, and much silliness. I drank a bottle of wine and crawled into a sleeping bag in the dining room somewhere around 3 a.m.

Christmas at my parents was wonderful, also. I ate entirely too much too many times, took a nap, read a few books to Amanda, and went out with Dad to rent DVDs for the new player they received from Sydney and Steve.

I spent New Years Eve dying my hair, setting off the smoke alarm (by preheating the oven), and toasting the kitties at midnight with a glass of California champagne. (Cook's now makes 4 packs for those of us who don't want to drink an entire bottle alone.) I also spent the evening taking silly online personality tests at Emode, in hopes of getting some ideas for resolutions for the new year. I didn't get any resolution ideas, but I did find out that my aura is crimson, my "style of sexy" is "sweet & sexy," my flavor is cinnamon, my lucky number is 4, my true color is green, my superpower is animal communication, my party animal style is owl-like, my perfect car is a minivan (NOOOOOOOO!!!), and I'm still single because I don't want to compromise.

So here it is, an hour into the 4th day of 2003, and I'm sitting in my new apartment contemplating the year ahead as well as the one that has past. I feel like I'm starting my life over. This time last year, I was unemployed. I was driving a car being held together by rust, bungee cords, and sheer will. I was a single feline household in a complex near the university with neighbors I'd never bothered to meet.

In the past year, I got a great job working for an organization I actually care about. I got a new car that doesn't leak a puddle of oil every time I park it - and actually learned to drive it. I got to write an article for the monthly Zoo members' magazine (yeah, it was a boring rehash of last year's article, but...). I got a new kitten that quickly turned into a very large cat while retaining her kittenish curiousity. I got the pleasure of watching my nieces grow older, albeit too fast. I discovered the true value of friendship, and learned who I could count on and who would remain questionable the next time I programmed my redial. I learned that I was getting too old for the club scene on a regular basis, and that I much preferred getting together with friends to watch movies and chat over coffee. (An occasional night out dancing is OK, but every week? No way.) I wrote half a novel, and will be getting back to finishing it soon. I moved out of my pseudo-grad student crackerbox apartment into a new building - older, but with character. Kinda the way I want to look at myself when I look in the mirror.

So, all in all, it was (as the Tori Amos song goes) a pretty good year. It's too early to make any judgements about 2003. It's only 73 hours old. I have high aspirations for the path ahead, though. I'm starting from a better place than I was (physically, emotionally, spiritually) a year ago. I suppose that's a start. So to all of you lifestyle pioneers out there, best wishes for a yearful of pleasant surprises from me, Ma Huang, Kismet, and Shirley (who is resting happily in her brand new garage, antidcipating the new tires I plan on buying her tomorrow morning).

(And as a sign, I just received an email from the "questionable redial" person. I'd included him on my New Years greetings list, and he actually emailed me for the first time in six months. Fasten your seatbelts, folks. It looks like this is going to be an unpredictable year.)