Yesterday saw my 30th birthday come and go. I didn't really care too much about the milstone, until about a week ago. I started thinking more about how I will never again be able to say that I am in my 20s. How the hair I am losing will never come back.

But Melanie gave me a wonderful gift for my birthday: the full assurance that she loves me, even as I bald and age. She asked her mom to babysit overnight, so that we could stay out late like we used to do when childless. We dined at a fancy french resaurant, Mon Ami Gabi, in swank Oak Brook. We enjoyed the Oysters Du Jour, the best oysters I think I've ever had. A little cocktail sauce, a little horseradish, those babies were fantastic. My entree: Salmon, dijon crust, pommes puree, balsamic & chive oil. Mel's entree: Sea Scallops, whipped cauliflower, carmelized onion, raisins, pine nuts. They were both incredible. Then the server brought out a Profiteroles with a candle in it, and did not sing for me; "I did it all online," Melanie told me. "I requested no singing." She really knows me. We also ordered the Chocolate Mousse for good measure. Fully stuffed, we decided we would go see a movie.

We decided upon "Capote," because we were in the mood for an Oscar-award-winning performance. Minutes before the movie was to start, a large group of women could be heard in the hall, huge belly-laughs erupting from them. They entered our theater, which was very quiet due to the fact that we were about to watch a movie about a gay author writing about a horrific quadruple murder. They sprawled out around the theater, yelling to each other, announcing that they were "the loud section." Great. But I had a sense that they were in the wrong theatre. It must be my hyper-sensitive ability to read people. Then one of them stated talking about how we'd all be laughing, wouldn't be able to control it. Turns out, they were there to see that Tyler Perry Family Reunion movie, which was showing in the theater next to us.

The film was great, really tough to watch at times, but great. Hoffman was excellent as Capote. What a selfish man he was. I didn't know the stary of the writing of "In Cold Blood," and I was riveted. Great choice.

Melanie had also rented "Walk the Line," so we had an Oscar-nominee/winner evening. Phoenix really immersed himself into Johnny Cash. The music was fantastic, the acting was fantastic, and I'm a fan of director James Mangold.

The best part of the evening, though, was how Melanie shared her love with me: through some thoughts about our life and love that she wrote down and presented to me when we arrived home. It was really wonderful, and made a memorable birthday. So I am trying not to worry so much about what is behind me, but to treasure what I have.

Thanks, Mel.

I usually use my iTunes at home for my Friday Random Ten, where I fire up iTunes and see which ten songs come out. But I am at work, and only have my iPod. So let's see which ten songs are first up.

The Gun Club - Gonna Find My Baby
Nirvana - Turnaround
Mudhoney - Poisoned Water
Nirvana - Sappy
Dear Ehesus - A Woe
The Methadones - Ammunition
Nirvana - Dive (Demo)
Bad Religion - Eat Your Dog
Johnny Cash - Personal Jesus
The Tossers - Come Dancing

A lot of Nirvana songs, since I put my entire "With the Lights Out" boxed set on my iPod. Mudhoney in the middle of a Nirvana sandwich is pretty good eatin'. And I enjoy hearing Johnny's version of "Personal Jesus" follow Bad Religion. The Tossers aren't a bad way to finish off this week's list, either.

A few thoughts:

Can't they just get rid of the best song category, and leave screwing decent musical artists to the Grammys? Where else can you have three completely disparate choices such as those offered (and aren't there supposed to be five? Were there really not enough good songs from films to fill the other two slots?) on Sunday. I refuse to believe that the Three 6 Mafia song was really the best of the year. Heck, I would've picked Nirvana's "Something in the Way" from Jarhead above any of those others, but I guess I don't understand what makes a song nominatable (like that word?). Actually, the hip-hop song used in the Jarhead ads was way better also.

Jon Stewart was great. Having his Daily Show writers was great. Those low-down campaign ads were great. Pointing out that Martin Scorcese has no Oscars after the Three 6 Mafia accepted their award was great.

I found it funny that they trash-talked DVD. Yeah, that DVD really screwed their box-office revenue, didn't it? Oh wait, no, it was probably "Dukes of Hazzard" that did it.

I still get excited about the Oscars. I could without all of the pre-show interviews, which are all crap except for Roger Ebert, because he manages to slide in some decent questions and astute observations even as the "who are you wearing?" commences around him, and I could do without the post-show party coverage. If I were an Oscar attendee, I would prefer to slip away after the show and get some fast food and rent a DVD and go home. That'd show them, wouldn't it.

I guess I get most excited about the possibility that the Academy will do the right thing (meaning, give all of the awards to the movies, cast and crew that I would). No other awards show has that opportunity, least of all the Grammys. I get excited to see someone like Phil S. Hoffman win for best actor. I like some of the speeches. I appreciate any speech where a winner thanks their spouse and children, and seems to mean it. I like the best live action short and best documentary winners, because they don't appear to have had any plastic surgery, and look like they could live in the Midwest and survive.

Finally: can't we just get rid of the best song category?

Today I listened to Tom Waits' beautiful, bizarre album "Real Gone." I hadn't heard it in a while, and this time I was particularly swept away by a song called "Hoist That Rag."

Well I learned the trade
From Piggy Knowles and
Sing Sing Tommy Shay Boys
god used me as a hammer boys
To beat his weary drum today

Hoist that rag
Hoist that rag

The sun is up the world is flat
Damn good address for a rat
The smell of blood
The drone of flies
You know what to do if
The baby cries

Hoist that rag
Hoist that rag

Well we stick our fingers in
The ground, heave and
Turn the world around
Smoke is blacking out the sun

At night I pray and clean my gun
The cracked bell rings as
The ghost bird sings and the gods
Go begging here
So just open fire
As you hit the shore
All is fair in love
And war

Hoist that rag
Hoist that rag
Hoist that rag
Hoist that rag

Waits sings this song with an urgency that sounds like his life depends on it. The song (and the whole album, in fact) makes me picture a somewhat cartoonish factory, with giant smokestacks spitting out balls of smoke while huge, grimy gears turn and turn. If you hear the album, maybe you'll know what I mean.

"Hoist That Rag" is either the quietest loud song I've ever heard or the loudest quiet song I've ever heard; it seems to exist somewhere in between. Or it could be the most beautiful ugly song I've ever heard, or the ugliest beautiful song I've ever heard. Of course, maybe I'm just in a mood to consider it the ______est _______ song I've ever heard, and it's all a load of hyperbole.

Since I'm having difficlty accessing my blog from work, I started a blog at www.hintofdisaster.blogspot.com. As often as I can, I'll transfer my posts over here as well.

The Brendoman Tournament Pick'em is here.

We won't remind you how the two time defending champion is.

Ah...never mind. Lets remind you. I am the two time defending champion! :)

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