How Elvis Felt When He Shot His Television

And so it goes. Another year, another Emmy Awards broadcast, another exercise in show-biz politics that is loosely based on actual merit, and more intent on glorifying the celebrity image. Of course I was drawn to the Sparkly like everyone else.

It is the guiltiest of pleasures, this celebrity self-love extravaganza that is simultaneously horrifying and irresistible. I told myself that the only reason I was going to watch this year was in support of my two favorite TV shows, House and Lost, and it was really just a passing interest anyway. I don’t really need an award to tell me those shows are good. As I watched the show, I found myself contemplating the absurdity of these awards that make "winners" and "losers" out of talented people, that reduce or enhance a person's worth according to how they dress or do their hair, who they're "wearing" and who they thank. I also found myself contemplating where on earth Halle Berry got that beautiful dress and how anyone could have told Patricia Arquette that her hair looked good that way, and I resigned myself to the hypocrisy.

Once I did that, I was able to open my heart to the Spader-hate. More on that later.

There were things I loved about the Emmy broadcast, but they were miserably outnumbered by the things I hated. It seems I was more invested in this than I thought.

The show started with a musical number that was so remarkable in its hideousness that I very nearly changed the channel and scrapped the whole thing altogether. Almost. But I really did want to see my shows get honored, so instead I just furrowed my brow hard enough to get a cramp.

The “Emmy Idol” thing was like watching a car wreck. It was obnoxious and bizarre, but strangely captivating. I know I’m not the only one who was stunned to see Donald Trump in overalls.

Ellen is a great host. She did the best she could with the material she had.

I loved all the nomination clips for the writers of a variety show, and the one from Conan O’Brien's team (along with his award presentation later) made me remember why he was (unknowingly) my boyfriend for years and years. Sadly, I left him earlier this year for my new late-night beau, Craig Ferguson, but it was a tragic and difficult breakup (as breakups usually are), and there will always be a warm space in my heart called the Cone Zone.

I feel bad for the presenters of the awards. At all other times in their lives, these actors are probably decent, respectable, smart people. But for 60-90 seconds they are transformed into stiff, unfunny puppets spouting what may be the worst jokes in the history of the television medium. That said, I did enjoy Zach Braff and Hugh Laurie presenting together; they performed a great delivery of a mediocre joke, and it is owed entirely to their good comedic timing. And my natural bias.

As the show progressed, it was clear that Emmy-voters got stuck in the same rut they find themselves in every year. Everybody Loves Raymond took home its umpteenth undeserved award. William Shatner stole another award, perhaps on sheer smugness, and while I like Tony Shalhoub, I didn’t know Monk was still on the radar. On the bright side, Lost took home two very deserved awards for Best Drama and Best Directing, and House nabbed the Best Writing award for the brilliant episode “Three Stories.”

Someone told me that Tony Shalhoub made a good crack to Ray Romano during his acceptance speech. I missed this, as my local CBS affiliate felt it was necessary to interrupt my hypocritical celebrity worship to tell me that we were having severe weather and we might all be torn to bits by a tornado with accompanying hail. I failed to see the importance and did not feel it justified the interruption. Luckily, they tuned me back in just in time to see the presentation of the Best Lead Actor in a Drama category, also known as How Elvis Felt When He Shot His Television. James Spader took home the statue, when it was appallingly clear to everyone in America (especially those in my household; population: 1) that the Emmy deserved to go to Hugh Laurie for his hilariously nuanced performance in House. I recognize that I may be a little bit biased, but the buzz for Laurie was good, and he was considered the deserving favorite by pretty much every critic, everywhere. Ever.

I’m disappointed at the overall Emmy experience, and I’m pretty sure I could have spent those 3 hours doing something productive with my life, like curing cancer or making some sort of human contact. Awards shows are never good. I know this, and so I’m making a resolution to avoid wasting my time on them over and over again.

Well, the Oscars will be different.