By Sean Hughes

What's the deadline for nostalgia? I'm still flabbergasted that there was a Totally '90s CD of the hits of that bygone era released in the year 2000. I swear I saw a commercial for it during the Y2K New Year's Eve television parties. And, even though it was just four years ago, VH-1 is producing a flashback miniseries about the previous decade and people are watching it all misty-eyed.

When is it too soon to hear someone say, "Oh my God, remember iPods?!" or "Those OutKast guys were crazy!"?

Though the instant churning of nostalgia seems to be a new thing, I'm sure every decade has had a similar experience. And it is a little weird to think that when CityBeat started some members of the newer local bands we write about were still in elementary school.

Poring over old issues of CityBeat from the past 10 years, I'm proud about how far we've come and sometimes embarrassed about where we came from. But I just can't get too nostalgic about CityBeat yet. It's too close. And it's still going on.

But for the sake of retrospecting, I'll give it a shot. My proudest "professional" moments -- or at least the ones I remember most -- usually have come from when I've pissed off someone. Before a Barenaked Ladies show, I wrote that one of the singers sounded like he was singing with a turd under his nose (you know which one). This apparently upset turd-boy enough to mention it during their performance, where I was booed by thousands of Barenaked Ladies fans. I've also heard that Everlast sounded off on-stage about a preview I wrote for his show at Bogart's, which called him out for writing the same song over and over.

A member of Less Than Jake once called and bitched me out for daring to mention that some in the Ska underground had turned their back on the band after they went to a major label. Greg Dulli, then in the Afghan Whigs, was angered by some (admittedly juvenile) ribbing in CityBeat -- so much so that he had his publicist at the time fax me an "H.I.V. test challenge" (something I'm still confused by).

And, with the advent of message boards on the Internet, I can now read the personal insults once relegated to behind-my-back whispers. I read them all. And every one of you is blacklisted. Just kidding.

But my all-time favorite hater-fest -- the one I'll be telling my grandkids about -- is when I dared take on the Cincinnati institution known as Jimmy Buffett.

After an article titled "10 Things I Hate About Jimmy Buffett," a Buffett newsgroup posted a link to the story and encouraged fans to let me know what they thought of it. They even had the audacity to post the home address of "Mike Breen." It wasn't my address. Sorry, dude.

But, after the 400 or so e-mail messages I got about the article, I was kinda glad. The hate mail was some of the most vitriolic and disgusting words I've read outside of terrorist chatter. The most memorable was the one that wished AIDS on my (then-nonexistent) children. I'll keep that one forever.

It hasn't all been so negative, though. Here at the paper we occasionally talk about how we get mail only about stories or columns people disagree with; rarely do we hear a "Keep up the good work" from our readers. But I've received some wonderful feedback from musicians over the years, which has made things bearable when the chips are down.

I've learned a lot about perception and perspective in the last 10 years working for CityBeat. I've heard that our music coverage is too positive and nice, and I've also heard us accused of being too negative and mean. I gain perspective by keeping tabs on other alternative weeklies around the country and realizing that we all go through the same things and that CityBeat, compared to alt weeklies in other cities Cincinnati's size, is doing exactly what we should be doing -- exposing people to ideas and artforms the mainstream media aren't interested in covering.

Besides covering Cincinnati's vibrant original music scene, one of the most rewarding things for me has been working with a steady stream of gifted writers. As an editor, there's nothing better than watching someone grow while they're working with you. To all the freelance writers and interns who have gone on to bigger, better things -- and the ones still dutifully writing for us today -- thank you.

I've been privileged to be able to work with many of the people that have passed through CityBeat's doors over the years, and the work of the folks still here is a constant source of inspiration. I have the greatest appreciation in the world for our trusty editor/co-founder John Fox, who rescued me from a floundering college career and showed me -- literally -- that I could make a living doing something I'm passionate about. I feel like I'm doing what I was meant to be doing. I don't know where I'd be in this world (head slaw chef at Lee's Famous Recipe, most likely) if it weren't for Chief Fox and CityBeat in general.

The one thing I do know is that, if I walked into Fox's office tomorrow and got the ax, CityBeat would still be 10 years of my life. It's so explicitly woven into the fiber of my life that I'm sure I'll be blathering on incoherently about it when I'm 80 years old.

That, and that Franz Ferdinand song. Remember that song? That was awesome.

Quick Links to Cover Features:

Hanging 10
10 local artists answer 10 questions about the past 10 years of local music

Best of the Best
The top local CDs from the past 10 years