One Last B-day Gift to Mimi

Even The New Yorker is riding the train. Delish—though the article does fail to mention that the Glitter soundtrack, despite the awfulness of the movie, is one of her most confident, best, and most "pop" albums.

(Somewhere—actually nowhere, except in my mind—Phyllis Nagy is wondering what she is doing in between two paeans to Mariah Carey.)

L'Anniversaire de Mimi

Yes, yes, I'll be back soon enough with a book review, some film write-ups, and my own weighing in on the Hills Have Eyes question, now that I'm back from a long weekend trip to see my mother and brother. It's all coming. But you know what's faster, easier, and more urgently of the moment? Mariah is turning 36. Only a year ago, I was one of a precious handful of Mimiphiles still in this girl's camp. Three years before that, I was still carrying her train, even though she had so suddenly become the Corpse Bride of American pop culture. Now, as she so memorably told Barbara Walters last month, "Well, I guess anybody who counted me out is just going to have to count me back in." Against all odds, guess who's back in the m****af****n' house?!

We belong together, M, despite all the ineffable ways you make things so easy for your enemies. You'll always be my baby, 'cause I'm a sucker for a talented ditz—I think of myself as a sort of talented ditz—and anytime you need a friend, I will be here!

One Sweet Day?

Yes, I know that my Mariah Carey fandom sits wrong with lots of my friends and readers, but look: the sister and I go all the way back to 1990, when I bought her first album. I've been singing her songs into toothpaste tubes and loofah pads for 16 years—not just the singles, but the album tracks, the frigging B-sides (remember B-sides?)—and having stayed right by her side through the lean years of Glitter and Charmbracelet, it's not like I'm going to bail in the midst of her radio Renaissance. There is simply nothing to be done. I come with Mariah. It's a package deal. (And some of y'all out there who rag me on this but then get pippy and excited about Kelly Clarkson, I say, Heal thyself!)

So, though I will be teaching tonight—screening Paris Is Burning and Sandra Bernhard's Without You I'm Nothing for my Queer Cinema students, and therefore missing the Grammy telecast—I am rooting for my Emancipated girl, my tragic mulatta. A fan like me thinks back to 10 years ago this month, when Mariah headed into the ceremony tied for the most nominations (as she is this year), and promptly lost every. single. one. Reader, that can't happen this year. "We Belong Together" deserves some haul, at the very least in the Female R&B Solo Vocal category. "Mine Again," admittedly a tad oversung, and plagued like so much Mariahana with lame vestigial coloratura at the end, is still an inspired nominee in the Female Traditional R&B Vocal category. Song of the Year, where she is the only Record of the Year nominee to appear, is probably out of her reach, but if she loses to friggin' U2 or John Legend, I'm out. No way they'll give her Album of the Year, but a fan can dream.

I repeat: Just don't make her go home empty-handed. This girl had ZERO game face in '96, and just sat there glowering and stewing in the audience as all of her gewgaws drifted away. I can't watch that again, even in replay. And I certainly can't take another round of dish-smashing and Mariah di Lammermoor insanity. Act right, Grammy voters.

Meanwhile, over on Bravo, I want to see either Kara (especially) or the weirdly tail-spinning Nick (his work has been pretty wack since the Nicky Hilton ensemble) on the chopping block. Daniel V.'s immunity, secured last week, should free him up nice and good, to which I say, Daniel—take one of those relaxed moments and wave hello to me.

Grammy Love

How kind of the Grammy Award nominators to court me so personally. My reply to these nominations?: I do, I do! My girl Mariah is right out there in front with eight nominations, including the fact that "We Belong Together" is the only song up for Record and Song of the Year. She even worked in a plug for "Mine Again," the Mimi track you are most likely to wail along to in your kitchen, while you cook, if you're me; this is what I call an Emancipation proclamation. Missy Elliott, booty-shakin' shaman of our age, didn't do too shabbily, either, with five nods for her own songs, her duet with Ciara, her production work with Neptunes, and her video for "Lose Control." Gwen Stefani's "Hollaback Girl" stomped its feet like this in a bunch of nominations, including Record of the Year.

But the nomination for Sean Penn? Grammy make me lose control.