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 So, it’s no mystery to the people that know me, awards shows are not my thing—not even the Oscars.  I will on occasion watch, as I am the Grammy’s tonight, though.  They always feel like a giant ego fest, full of affectations and self importance.  I have tried to look inwardly to see why I judge these things so harshly, after all, why shouldn’t we celebrate people’s accomplishments and allow them their moment in the spotlight.  It’s just the perceived importance that seeps into all other aspects of life—that realizing celebrity suddenly affords the person a PHD in all things important.  It seems like we give them “god-like” status rather than simply celebrating their expertise at their specific craft.

Anyway, I’m watching Paul McCartney sing on the Grammy’s as I type.  I love him and the Beatles, but the song is boring and his vibrato is getting wider and wider—a little Carol Channing-like.  I hate to say that because it feels disrespectful, but sorry, Sir Paul, your best musical years are further behind what you can even see in your rearview mirror. 

Then this mediocre performance was followed by Chris Brown (the one who tussled with Rhianna last year and got sort of black listed for a minute or so) accepting an award for god knows what, I wasn’t listening.  Greg, naturally with his infinite powers of prediction, proceeds to do Mr. Brown’s acceptance speech with his own urban intonations “First and foremost, I would like to thank God.”  Within seconds the real speech began with such precision and accuracy, Greg and I just about fell out of our chairs laughing.  Wish he could predict winning lottery numbers.

The best performance of the night so far—and I say this from purely an entertainment perspective—was the reunion of the Beach Boys for their 50 year anniversary.  Whoa!  They actually sounded pretty tight, unfortunately, so were their geriatric movements.  I think some publicist loaded them up on a bus and told them that they were performing at a convalescent home, because when they saw the size of the audience, I am sure some of them definitely needed to change their pants.  Brian Wilson looked terrified—sounded good, but looked like a deer in the headlights.  Then the other singer/frontman (whathisname?) I thought was John Glen or Ed Harris playing John Glen.

On a sad note, the death of Whitney Houston was both shocking and predictable given the last ten to fifteen years of her life.  There were numerous musicians that paid their respects to her talent and career tonight at the Grammys.  It’s always tragic when anyone falls victim to their own weaknesses as she had.  Sadly, we have missed her voice for years, and she has finally been release from  her battle with her own demons.  I listened to her version of the National Anthem at the 1991 Superbowl this morning, and truly—nobody has ever EVER done it more justice.  It was the finest performance of it I have ever seen and still is.  May her soul finally rest…

I’m tired, and I’m not sure I should even post this since it’s really pretty mean spirited, but I got nothin’ else, except “ First and foremost, I would like to thank god—I’m audi 5000, Peace out!”