If only there were a Rogaine ad next to the page's title

Since my dear friend Eric has already brought the Aretha issue to the surface, let me just say that this article placement on the Drudge Report is just wrong, wrong, wrong.



Not to mention that I didn't get the Aretha article, either. Why can't both Tina Turner and Aretha Franklin be queen? And does this make Beyonce the Thomas Cromwell of soul?

And my theme for 2008 is...

..."Beautiful," by Jessica Molaskey. Not bad, considering it took me--well, my iPod, actually--until March to make up its mind last year. At any rate, I'm happy enough, because I adore Molaskey and can't wait to see her in "Sunday in the Park with George" in a few months. I actually downloaded the whole Pentimento album by accident, meaning to get only one song but hitting the "buy album" button by accident. Serendipity, actually, though.

So I'll be waiting for those sounds of the rude world to lull away with the moonlight, thank you very much.

My peace pipes are getting hoarse!

Things have been so hectic lately that I failed to give my usual shameless plug for the New York City Gay Men Chorus' concert! Alas, this time I missed out the off chance that I might help sell one extra ticket to a lost googler trying to figure out Tyler Hanes' sexuality of find the script to "A Coupla White Chicks Sitting Around Talking" (seriously -- that's been the most frequent search leading people here as of late). So, I'm left to praise the morning after.

Really, I always hate the day after a performance, especially one for which I truly enjoyed preparing. Such a crash! Our new director, Charles Beale, did a really great job putting this one -- our annual holiday concert at Carnegie Hall -- together. Admittedly, some of the song choices had a lot of us saying "Huh?" at the beginning of the rehearsal process --"You're the Voice"? That Heart song? Really? -- but it really blended into a lovely, coherent program, if I do say so myself. Angels and peace were the motif throughout, and it really spoke to some personal stuff with which I'm dealing right now, not to mention the crap that's going on in the political landscape right now. (I'm ready for my quarantine, Mr. Huckabee!)

I'll especially cherish the memory of working with Kelli O'Hara. She was a real workhorse for this concert, doing four numbers in a row in the first act as well as a surprise appearance in the second. She told us it was a special occasion for her as well, as a friend of hers who has since died had been in the chorus a few years back. She and bari/bass Robert Osborne were stunning on the Gerald Finzi cantata "In Terra Pax." I wish I'd slipped in my voice recorder for a bootleg, but those Carnegie folk are pretty scary about that, and I didn't want to risk getting caught and getting the chorus stuck with a heavy fine. Even if I had, the organ would have been overpowering from where I was standing, anyway.

Beyond that, I wouldn't be so presumptuous as to review my own performance! I will say, however, that there's no feeling like walking out to an applauding, packed house at Carnegie. Last year, my first concert with the chorus, I was really too overwhelmed to appreciate the experience. This year, I savored every moment.

So, since I can't plug the concert, buy our recordings! Even though I only participated in one of those recordings.

OK, enough of that. I'm falling behind, so I have a lot of reviews to get through this week as well as photos from Budapest. And a silly little detail called "work."

My holiday sanity guide

At this point, I've already had all the Starbucks holiday drinks -- even the fat, fat fatty eggnog latte -- the wreaths are up at Penn Station, and, thanks to preparations for the NYC Gay Men's Chorus holiday show, I've been singing "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" since September. But that's OK with me. I'm a pretty damn cynical person, but I still get caught up in the whole holiday thing.

It's largely because of the music. Yeah, I'm one of those annoying people who doesn't mind mixing in a little holiday music on his iPod shuffle year-round. But I'm convinced the people who hate holiday music are those who don't listen to it right. They either get stuck on on of those all-holiday radio stations that play the same flat versions of the standards over and over again -- Just what IS so funny to Bruce Springsteen at the end of his "Santa Claus is Coming to Town"? And don't get me started on the cruddy Christmas shoes song, or the one where Dan Fogelberg drinks beer with an old flame in a supermarket parking lot -- or, even worse, they just judge by department store holiday muzak.

Nay, I say! Here's 10 holiday songs that I can't live without, in no particular order:

"That's What I Want for Christmas," as sung by Nancy Wilson
The radio leans toward the Dixie-Chicks-lite group sheDAISY's version of this song, but there's no holiday song around that's better suited to the sultry Miss Nancy.

"Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas," as sung by Doris Day
The Judy Garland version is just too obvious, so Day's is a nice alternative. And, unlike most non-Garland versions, this one sticks to the original, depressing lyrics. Oh, crap. I'm going to get that "speaking of Judy Garland..." message in my comments now.

"Jingle Bells?," as sung by Barbra Streisand
This one gets a little radio play, but not much. Absolutely hilarious and a wonderful reminder that Barbra doesn't ALWAYS take herself so seriously.

Ding Dong Merrily on High," as sung by Julie Andrews
The recording is kind of hard to find now, Dame Andrews' Christmas album -- given away at Hallmark more than a decade ago -- is one of the best. This is probably the most showy piece for her on the album.

"God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen," as performed by Linda McKechnie
McKechnie isn't well-known outside of the church musician circle, but she's really quite a fun arranger. Her usual gimmick is to take a classical work and wrap a hymn tune around it. It's stunning how well they intertwine sometimes. This is one of those cases, in which the old carol is mingled with "Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies."

"Gloria," as performed by the Boston Pops
I didn't know this Randol Bass composition until last year, when I performed it with the chorus. Quite a fascinating piece, using a lot of irregular meter, actually. Of course, it's also available on the chorus' "Holiday Homecoming" album. Plug!

"Do You Hear What I Hear?" as performed by The Carpenters
I'm hard-pressed to pick just one song of The Carpenters' holiday canon, as those are THE holiday albums for me. While everyone might gravitate toward "Merry Christmas, Darling," I prefer this standard in all its Carpenter cheesiness.

"I'll Be Home for Christmas," as performed by Connie Francis
She sings it just like she sang "Where the Boys Are." And, uh, pretty much everything else. 'Nuff said.

"Please Come Home for Christmas," as performed by Anita Cochran
Again, the song itself its in fairly regular rotation on the radio. But they play only the dull-as-Dishwalla version by The Eagles or the version by love-him-or-hate-him Aaron Neville. Listen to a country-fried version, though, and you'll never want to hear it any other way.

"What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?" as performed by the O'Jays
It's probably blasphemy to pick their version when both Frank Sinatra and Ella Fitzgerald have versions. But this is shrieky doo-wop at its best, folks.

There you have it. Most of these are on iTunes, except for Julie Andrews, I think. Still not convinced? Perhaps as December gets closer, I'll put together the 10 absolute worst holiday recordings I know.

A vision of the Claymates in the year 2050

As was alluded to in the comments, it was a rather fun people-watching experience at the Steve & Eydie concert the other night 4 p.m. in the afternoon. Let's just say it made us feel quite young! But nothing compared with the crew behind us.

It was a crew of typical er, mature Long Island ladies. I couldn't really describe their appearance because I didn't look behind me too often. But I could pick any one of them out of a lineup if they opened their mouths.

Even before the dazzling duo appeared onstage, the opening clip montage was enough to provoke squeals of delight. It was kind of like the dead people reel during the Oscars. Who could get the biggest gasp? Steve Allen? Judy Garland? Bob Hope?

Nay, but that nothing compared to the nonstop chatter once Steve and Eydie started the show. I swear, it was like Hannah Montana herself was up there and I was a Brownie den mother. Or whatever they're called. Each song was followed by shrieks of "I LOVE YOU STEVE! YOU'RE FANTASTIC EYDIE!" And so on. Meanwhile, the songs themselves provoked orgasmic ohs of delight. I was expecting a pair of support hose or a bladder pad to fly past my head toward the stage at any minute. This was their Woodstock, dammit. And as seemingly annoying as it got, my companion and I agreed that it was just too funny to be truly annoying. Hell, I hope I keep passion for something...anything...going that long into my life.

Speaking of which, I just realized I've been quite neglectful in adding said companion to my link list. I've rectified that now.

Blue and yellow make, um, Green Day?

It's always nice when friends from my Houston days come to visit me here. Especially when it's these guys:



Yes, Blue October, my favorite Houston-based band--OK, the ONLY Houston-based band I really like--was in the city Wednesday night, performing at the Nokia with Yellowcard. This was my third time seeing them. My college roommates introduced me to their music at a concert at Fitzgeralds in about 1998 or so. Yikes, almost 10 years ago! I saw them several years later at, I think, Numbers, about the time History for Sale was coming out. And this was my first time seeing them outside of Houston.

I really had lost track of them in recent years and was much more familiar with their older stuff, but no matter. I've always wondered why they haven't caught on to more widespread appeal when many less-deserving bands have, but even so, I was quite pleasantly surprised with their fan base here -- particularly since the crowd who were there for Yellowcard was making me feel damn old.

Although I was really familiar only with two Yellowcard songs, I gotta admit they put on a good show, too. The worst thing about Blue October concerts in Houston is that you had to sit through some awful bands to get to hear them. The first time, it was some angsty, pre-emo girl whose band featured an alto flute that suddenly launched into "The Hustle" mid-song. She was sweet enough to dedicate one song to her dad, who had showed up to support her, although the song was mostly about how horrible he was. At Numbers, it was some band of chunky frat boys who tried to turn "...Baby One More Time" into trance rock. Think Me First and the Gimme Gimmes on barbiturates.

Oh, and speaking of Yellowcard, tell me if this is gross. At the end, per usual, they tossed every expendable item onstage out to the audience: towels, guitar picks, water bottles, et al. I caught one of the lead singer's, Ryan Key, water bottle. It was half-full. I'd pushed my way up to a good spot, and I was thirsty. Leaving that spot would mean it would be filled with drunk Jersey girls. Do the math. Hey, he's cute, and I've swapped spit with worse.

Honestly, I need to get to more concerts, or at least, more concerts that don't feature a 60-something-year-old woman singing "Evergreen" in Madison Square Garden.

Sunshine, lollipops and...so on

For the first time in a while, I'm actually going to have theatre to write about this weekend! It's not that I didn't see anything during the summer. It's just the things I had seen I had either seen before ("The Drowsy Chaperone," "Rent"), they'd been around so long I saw no point in writing anything about them ("Legally Blonde," "Three Mo' Tenors") or they were just so plain awful I didn't have the heart to write anything ("Ido..." -- no, wait, I'll hold to that promise).

Before that, however, I do have throw out a quick few words of praise for the Public's outdoor concert series. Or, the first concert in that series, at least. Yup. Lesley Gore's still around. Out and proud, in fact. And you wouldn't believe the number of people who responded, when I told them I was seeing her: "Isn't that Al Gore's daughter? She sings? Is she going to talk about global warming?"

Philistines. Lesley Gore was Britney when Madonna was still in kindergarten. Probably one of the last people to still sing hit songs about class rings and such. And the bubble gum might have been sitting underneath a chair for a while, but it's still just as chewy and flavorful as ever. OK, that was a little gross.

Anyway, the Public helped Gore put out her first album in decades a few years ago. You can still hear traces of the old Lesley's voice, but it's really involved into something remarkable to hear: much deeper, rather husky but still able to sustain quite well. Her newer stuff is smoky jazz that juxtaposed remarkably well with her peppy, innocuous hits of the 60s, which she didn't shy away from at all. She even sang "Judy's Turn To Cry," the sequel to "It's My Party" and a song she said she didn't even care for when she first released it.

Also fun was Jill Sobule. Yeah, another name that usually got me blank stares. Remember "I Kissed A Girl"? "Supermodel" from "Clueless"? Yeah, her. Well, aside from those -- and she didn't even perform the latter, while Gore joined her on the former -- she has a repertoire of some really lovely songs with some brilliant lyrics, particularly "Mexican Wrestler."

Anyway, it gave me some downloading ideas. Speaking of which, I've already lost two more songs from the theme list: Rufus Wainwright's "Crumb by Crumb" and the Willie Nelson/Kimmie Rhodes duet "Love Me Like A Song." Pity. I liked those.

Pain is Hate

Not reaching people with those Pat Boone records? Worried that nobody knows who the hell Dean Jones is anymore? Thinking Anita Bryant is never going to get out of Branson? Don't fret, Concerned Women for America. You've found your new musical spokesperson: Jeffrey Atkins, er, Ja Rule. Said he to Complex:

We need to go step to MTV and Viacom, and lets talk about all these fucking shows that they have on MTV that is promoting homosexuality, that my kids can’t watch this shit. Dating shows that’s showing two guys or two girls in mid-afternoon. Let’s talk about shit like that! If that’s not fucking up America, I don’t know what is.”

Yeah, Ja. Those dating shows are pretty insipid. But, as far as I know, those contestants haven't been arrested for beating up a DJ in Nigeria, played a part in shooting a rival rapper, gotten arrested for gun possession nor called their fellow collaborators a bitch. Well, maybe they did do that last part. But, whatever. Go on back to spreading the Gospel of Jesus, peppered with the word fuck every few minutes, and working for Murder, Inc., and your liquor and online gambling enterprises. You're a moral beacon to us all!

Up to this point, Ja Rule was best known for feuding with a bunch of people, grumbling a few things under Jennifer Lopez's vocals and putting out a bunch of songs no one has thought about in several years. He's also rumored to be starring in the family-friendly flick "Saw IV."

Enjoy your new friend, Sandy Rios! Perhaps he can rechristen the group Concerned Women For Not Fucking Up America.

In other news, the homophobic 50 Cent--the aforementioned rival rapper, in fact--was outsold by Kanye West, who has made it a point to speak out against homophobia in hip-hop. Let's hope fiddy keeps good on his promise to retire.

Milking one more post out of that trip

So, a fellow blogger told me that, as this blog is mostly personal in nature, I need to put in more photos of myself. Well, OK, I always feel kind of like I'm doing Vacation Slides 2.0 when I do that, Iceland trip not withstanding, but to give it a try, here's some shots from that Fire Island trip. Thanks to my fellow chorines for the photos!

Here I am arriving on the dock. I couldn't find my iron.

We sang really pretty. I'm wearing pink, if you can't tell.

Fall Out Boy was our opening act. Those rumors about Pete are true.

Somehow, someone got a photo of me at an open bar party without a drink in my hand.

So, they caught me eating, instead. And wind is kind to your hair for only so long. Notice the sunglasses I was wearing in the first photo and had hanging from my pocket in the previous photo are now gone. They're on the beach somewhere, so if you find them, give me a ring. Or maybe not, because now I can see they made me look like Lisa Loeb.

So, there you go. OK, one of those captions is somewhat deceptive. I knew where my iron was all along, I just didn't feel like ironing a T-shirt I was going to be wearing for less than half a day.

A last-minute redemption

June, for me, was a rather wretched month this year for a bevy of reasons. It almost made up for itself with its grand finale this past weekend, however. So pardon me for gushing for a moment.

First, Nancy Wilson. What an absolutely extraordinary concert! The guest performers alone -- including Regina Carter, who can make a violin sing as beautifully as any voice; pianist Herbie Hancock and the exquisite Dianne Reeves -- would have been a great night on their own. Wilson, meanwhile, is on that same Barbara Cook regime that makes a voice as effective at 70 as it was at 20. To hear her perform live "Day In, Day Out," the devastating "Guess Who I Saw Today?" and "How Long Has This Been Going On?" (which she's never recorded, unfortunately) is something I'll truly never forget. I also got to celebrate, albeit quite briefly, the birthday of a dear friend to boot.

Next, Fire Island. With the New York City Gay Men's Chorus, one of the drawbacks to performing in large concert halls is you can rarely see the faces of your audience as you perform. Well, thanks to a construction schedule snafu, we ended up performing in a firehouse rather than a concert hall, so it was certainly up close and personal! The audience, however, couldn't have been more appreciative. Just watching one big Billy Strayhorn fan in the back sing along with every song, including beating us to the last note on "Lush Life," made it worth the long trek out there. Plus, the weather was absolutely gorgeous for a weekend at the beach.

Sunday wasn't really part of June, but it was certainly lovely in its own right, too. So, you're forgiven, June. I guess I'll allow you to come back next year.

When one diva door closes...

I'm absolutely crushed. I had the opportunity dangled in my face this week to attend a private concert by Diana Ross, and then it was mercilessly yanked away from me. The concert was part of a publicity event for a certain airline (don't try to guess which one, because you never will). Unfortunately, the invitation reached my desk past the RSVP date. I'm actually calling BS on the agency planning the event, because a coworker of mine who called a full day after I did mysteriously got admitted.

No matter. Tomorrow night, I'm seeing my true diva first the first time live: Miss Nancy Wilson. No, NOT the lady from Heart!

This Nancy Wilson, unfortunately known to too many just as Denise Huxtable's mother-in-law from "The Cosby Show" and not at all to too many others. I, however, just adore her take on every song I've heard her sing: her breathy "I've Never Been to Me," her tart "Makin' Whoopee," her divine "Lush Life" and all the wonderful gems on her RSVP album, particularly "Blame it on my Youth." Albeit a few months late, she's celebrating her 70th birthday at Carnegie Hall tomorrow night, and you bet I'll be there. And perhaps Phylicia Rashad, Bill Cosby and Moses Gunn will be there to join her in a rendition of "Moody's Mood for Love." Of course, that might be much more likely were Moses Gunn actually still alive.

Another point for progress

This is a paraphrased actual conversation I had with my mother last night, while telling her about my trip to Fire Island this weekend for a concert as part of the New York City Gay Men's Chorus:

MOM: So, are you ready for the concert?
ME: Yeah, if anyone's there to hear it.
MOM: Why do you say that? Haven't they sold any tickets?
ME: Oh, I'm sure they have. But it's not exactly easy to get there, so we're mostly depending on the locals. I think mostly older, rich folks stay there.
MOM: Oh. I always thought mostly gay people live there.
ME: Well, yes, that, too.
MOM: Well, good. Maybe you'll find yourself a rich gay man.

Yes, my mother, who only eight or so years ago had difficulty even saying the word "gay" is now wanting me to find a sugar daddy.

Lying to you through song

Once again, I'd like to give myself a little shameless plug, as it's time for yet another concert with the New York City Gay Men's Chorus. This time--next Monday, 8 p.m. at the Nokia Theatre in Times Square, to be precise--we're focusing on the music of Billy Strayhorn in a new work, "Take the A Train."

Never heard of Strayhorn? To be honest, neither had I until not too long ago, but I was certainly familiar with his work: "Satin Doll," "Lush Life," and, of course, the title song. Strayhorn, who is most known for his 20 years working with Duke Ellington, was an out gay man, and it's pretty darn obvious when you listen to his lyrics.

And, of course, it's not just us you'll be seeing. We've got two great soloists: Darius de Haas, who has put out a full album interpreting Strayhorn's work, and Judy Blazer, a dynamo who now has a supporting role in "LoveMusik." Writer Jeffrey Lane, last represented on Broadway with "Dirty Rotten Scoundrels," penned the book, and Tony winner Joanna Gleason is directing the stage part of the show. Not a bad crew if I say so myself.

I'll admit that it took me a while to warm up to this music. I do like jazz, but I wasn't used to choral arrangements of it at all. The chromatics can be quite difficult to hear, particularly as it seems my part ends every single song on a sixth of a major. What's more, some of the baritone notes are NOT baritone notes, being much further down or even below the staff than I ever care to see! But I've truly come to enjoy it, and after hearing it with the entire band last night, I'm more confident than ever to egg people to come see this. One night only!

Oh, but I should warn you that the title song is a lie -- on weekends, at least. Seeing how sporadic A train service has been since the beginning of the year, it's no longer the quickest way to Harlem. Should we sing "You must take the D train" instead?

A little shameless self-promotion

Since I know a good portion of the people who either visit regularly or just stumble upon this blog are New Yorkers, I have to throw in a quick plug for my upcoming concert.

OK, not my upcoming concert, but I will be one of more than about 100 men (and a few women) performing in the New York City Gay Men's Chorus' "Classically NYCGMC" concert at Merkin Concert Hall on Monday and Tuesday.

Having worked with several different styles of choral directors in my lifetime, I can't say enough good things about our director for this concert, Casey J. Hayes. He's done an impeccable job from start to finish, from picking the music to getting me feeling as prepared as I've ever been for any performance. The "classical" designation is purposely loose, as we'll be doing well known favorites like Offenbach's "Barcarolle" and selections from "Die Fledermaus" and "Carmina Burana" as well as some lovely new works -- terribly modern, as Vera Charles would say -- that are being recorded for the first time. Our guest artist, Met mezzo Kathryn Day, is worth the price of admission alone.

Or look at it this way: For anyone who has ever hated one of my theatre reviews, here's your chance for revenge.

Turn around

I have a theme song!

I'd almost forgotten I was even doing this, as I had no idea it would take so long. That's what I get for having more than 1,300 songs on my iPod and, for the most part, exclusively using the shuffle feature without the aid of playlists. This also could explain how my workouts are often driven to a standstill when a song by Jessica Molaskey or Norah Jones comes up, when a Widor organ sonata comes up, or worst of all, the most sluggish song on my iPod: a suite of songs from "Camelot" performed by Julie Andrews shortly before she lost her voice.

But back to the issue at hand. After about six months, the Barbra/Judy duet finally came up, leaving me with only one song: the remix of "Total Eclipse of the Heart." How uplifting!

I do love that song, though.

Toot, toot, Tootie goodbye

I'm a few days behind in posting this, but Eric and I had the pleasure of catching Charlotte Rae's appearance at the Lincoln Center Barnes & Noble on Wednesday. She was there to promote her recently reissued album "Songs I Taught My Mother."

What a delight it was! At 80, she's just as adept at mugging and broad comedy as ever. She had the room eating from her tiny hand during the approximate hour-long set -- most of the songs in which I didn't know, but no matter. Who else could sell songs about lovelorn gophers and merry minuets to sing amid the strife in the daily news? Sheldon Harnick, the author of the latter, also was in attendance. And it was truly a joy to hear her perform "The Ballad of Dependency" from "The Threepenny Opera," a song she performed as Mrs. Peachum in 1954. A side note: Her version of "Pirate Jenny," which is available through iTunes, is one of the most wonderfully vicious versions of that song I've ever heard.

Eric and I also had a lot of fun failing miserably at star-spotting in the audience. We were able to pick out Olympia Dukakis, but the rest were people who we knew we should have known but didn't. For a second, I was sure that I had spotted Pamela Myers until it was pointed out to me that she was involved in another project and not nearly old enough to have been the woman I was looking at.

At any rate, it's a little sad that most people will remember her as nothing more than Mrs. Garrett from "The Facts of Life" -- or even worse, for Paul Vogt's impersonation of her as Mrs. Garrett on MadTV. She was nominated for a Tony twice, after all. And more recently, she called Joan Collins a bitch.

Embracing my inner lesbian

I'm still organizing my thoughts on "The Coast of Utopia," so meanwhile, I wanted to mention the concert put on by the Brooklyn Philharmonic last night: Four-Scored, featuring Nellie McKay, Laurie Anderson, Suzanne Vega and Joan Osborne.

It was a great lineup with all four performing sets just long enough to keep me wanting a lot more. Yes, some might shrug this off at a casual glance as Lilith Fair redux, but truly, the disparate styles of all four couldn't have complemented one another better.

McKay is quickly becoming one of my favorite performers. I saw her last year in the "Threepenny Opera" revival without knowing much about her and enjoyed her performance--thinking of her as kind of a more musical Sarah Silverman, a pretty, petite girl whose great at firing off quirky non-sequiturs. Since then, I've slowly become acquainted with her "Get Away From Me" album and love every bizarre, driving song. From what I heard last night, "Pretty Little Head" is another winner, and I'll definitely be picking it up soon.

I'm embarrassed to say that I'm not really that familiar with Anderson, but her set--all brand new stuff--was a great contrast to the rest of the night. Haunting and lovely.

Vega's voice has gotten only better with time, and it was a treat hearing some of my favorites with the philharmonic orchestrations. Of particular note was one--I can't recall the name, and I really wish they had given us a set list in the program--with a new Philip Glass arrangement. Gorgeous. "Marlene on the Wall" also was superb.

Finally, I really like where Osborne's style has migrated over the years. She performed from her upcoming album, and it has a great Motown, funky feel to it. I'd recommend picking it up when it comes out as well (April, I think she said?).

Oh, and McKay might not have played my favorite "Inner Peace," and Osborne might have stayed far away from "One of Us," but by God, Vega played "Tom's Diner." They mentioned last night that the actual Tom's Diner was written about Tom's Restaurant in Morningside Heights, the same one which "Seinfeld" used as the exterior for its omnipresent Monk's Cafe. Fun fact! At least now I know to what "the bells of the cathedral" line refers.

If nothing else, at least you can smoke pot there

Two notes on my post from yesterday:

First of all, apparently Annie is not in some futuristic realm but is now in the lost city of Atlantis. Before it was lost, I wager. Which raises a few questions --Like if they had the technology to warp in Depression era redheads, why didn't they have the technology to warp out everyone before the city was destroyed? Even the Titanic took a few hours to sink. -- but I digress. At any rate, it should be fun to see what perky song of optimism Annie comes up with following the inevitable disaster.

And maybe I'll forget this deadly tragedy.
And how Sandy drowned with that lady.
Maybe.

More interesting, however, is that the arbitrary name I chose for my imaginary titular planet, Galbatron, is actually a Dutch electronica band. I really wanted to hear their version of Widor's organ toccata, but unfortunately, it's not available on iTunes.

Profanity, old people make great dance mixes

Didn't make it to the Streisand concert? No worries! Coming, I hope, soon to a dance club near you: a dance mix of of her infamous outburst. This was put together by a protege of Marc Shaiman, the composer of the South Park movie and Hairspray musical fame (they're both now working on Martin Short's show), and it's fantastic.

I've adored campy mixes ever since I first heard Crystal Waters' "Come On Down" set to scenes from "The Price is Right" at Rich's in Houston years ago. I could make a whole playlist out of these things. I'm also quite fond of the mix made to the ranting "God Warrior" woman from "Trading Spouses" as well as the babbling Janet Parshall's "La-la-la-la, I can't hear you moment," set to Outkast's "Hey Ya!" Diva moments are great, but of course, cheesy TV commercials can be just as much fun when put to music.

There's a whole cult on YouTube built around Wilford Brimley's Liberty Medical commercials and his mangling of the word "diabeetis." Of course, this includes some dance mixes. But they still don't beat my favorite...this classic from the early 90s.

My theme for my 29th year

I enjoy goofy, randomly decided stuff that means nothing--as long as Diebold is not involved--so I'm letting my iPod decide my theme song for Mike's fiscal year 2006, which runs from (my birthday) Aug. 25 2006 until Aug. 25 2007.

Day-to-day, I almost always listen to my iPod on random shuffle for the nice eclectic mix that is my taste, and I've decided that the last surviving song with my birthday as the last-played date will be my theme for the year.

About 20 songs played on my birthday during the subway ride to and from work, and that's already been whittled down to 10 from the other songs showing up on shuffle since then. Fortunately, Reba McEntire's "For My Broken Heart" and "The Internet is for Porn" from Avenue Q have already been eliminated, but here's what's left:

"Get Busy" by Sean Paul (knocked out Oct. 24)
"Move Your Feet" by Junior Senior (knocked out Oct. 30)
A really schlocky Ferrante & Teicher version of "You Are The Sunshine of my Life" (knocked out Oct. 23)
"Christus, der uns selig macht" from Bach's Passion of St. John (knocked out Oct. 20)
"Our Children" from Ragtime, as performed by Marin Mazzie and Peter Friedman (knocked out Nov. 3)
"Sail Away" by Jessica Molaskey (knocked out Nov. 10)
"I Get A Kick Out of You" by Frank Sinatra (knocked out Oct. 30)
A remix of "Total Eclipse of the Heart" by Bonnie Tyler
"Let Mt. Zion Rejoice" by a rather shrill choir that I won't name (knocked out Dec. 21)
The "Get Happy/Happy Days Are Here Again" duet by Barbra Streisand and Judy Garland (no Bush tribute artist in sight)

I rooting for "Move Your Feet," myself. It's my kind of theme song -- peppy and just a little sugary. The Barbra/Judy duet is just, well, too obvious. As much as I love Bach chorales, I don't really think that's me, and likewise with Mt. Zion. I hope not to be sailing away anytime soon, unless that means there's a cruise in store for me, and I certainly don't want any children. "Total Eclipse of the Heart" is the only loser-in-love song left, so I'd like to see that one off the list as soon as possible. Sinatra and Ferrante & Teicher might have good intentions, but who wants an easy listening kind of year? No comment on how appropriate "Get Busy" would be.

Oh, and about the post title: This was an annoying little fact my father always has to bring up on everyone's birthday. You see, even though you're a certain age, you're actually in the "nth year" of one higher number. Get it? For example, when you're born, you're not considered to be a year old until your first birthday. But until that birthday, you're in your first year. So after your first birthday, you're in your second year, even though you're one year old. And since I'm 28, that means I'm in my 29th year. Now do you get it?

Of course, my dad also probably would tell me this is the dumbest thing he's ever heard. Sigh. Engineers.