If You Like it Dirty Late at Night, Well....

 There's something about late night television that you should accept: no one gives a shit about Jay or Dave anymore. Jay's a terminally unhip schlub who stole Conan O'Brien's career and Dave, while much more palatable and edgy, is still getting up there in years and pulls the same tie-adjusting-slightly-corny tics and tricks he's been using for thirty years. I love you Dave, but I can only take two decades of the Top Ten not being very funny.

Plus the format is tired. Clapclapclap, monologue with jokes about something that happened two days ago, band plays filler, pre-taped bit, then big name guest comes out, ego stroke, small time guest comes out to plug book or TV show (because TV stars are C-list compared to film stars), then possible musical guest, good night.

So the rigamarole of the late-night talk show is depressingly familiar and hard to upend. I'm not a big Kimmel fan, although I loved the Lost specials he did when the show was going off the air. But he often feels like too much of a shill for ABC, like they take corporate synergy WAY too seriously. He pokes a little fun at the latest Dancing With the Stars castoff, but it's all a bit glossy for me. Jimmy Fallon is funny, amiable, cool, and young, but I'm not a big "funny song" kind of girl, and his energy is a bit nervous. Fallon does get points for coming up with original and fun stuff to do with his celebrities that don't include eliciting the same five stories from these actors that everyone on a press junket gets. One other problem with Fallon: he's on at the same time as the one guy who gives late night viewers a subversive, smart, and strange option (granted you can stay up late enough.)

Craig in his "poorly-lit basement"

Craig Ferguson has always been funny, intelligent, and self-deprecating. Late night guys have to be. But I knew he was really something special when he came on the air after his dad died. Ferguson improvs his monologues, so they can get a little tangential and silly; but this night, January 30, 2006 -- Ferguson spoke directly from his heart, eulogizing his father with a mix of rueful and hysterical stories and effectively introduced the audience to a vividly drawn picture of his beloved parent. For a variety TV host to open himself up like that, to turn his pain and grief into something universal and FUNNY….I was bawling and laughing and moved, profoundly. You can watch it for yourself here and here.

And so my dedication to this Scottish (now-naturalized) crazy person began, and no matter my work schedule I try to religiously watch him. Repeat viewing is rewarded by this show -- jokes carry over into the next night, sometimes for weeks, and there's a plethora of regular guests who have running gags (Kristen Bell, Lauren Graham, Chris Hardwick,) plus puppets who open the show (Sid the potty-mouthed bunny, Wavy the stoner cajun alligator,) and a gay robot  skeleton sidekick named Geoff Peterson. Gay. Robot. Skeleton sidekick.

Geoff is literally a stationary robot with a skeleton head, a metal mohawk, and a cheap suit draped with Mardi Gras beads. He has his own podium on stage, and as voiced by the exceptionally talented Josh Robert Thompson, he is the perfect representation of the silly slyness that Ferguson's show lives and breathes. It shouldn't work -- you can see Geoff's a bucket of parts cobbled together by Grant from Mythbusters, and he can't move very much, and he's got cold LED lights for eyes. But the writers, the voice, and Craig himself have imbued this inanimate object with a fucking soul, I swear to god. And Geoff has become integral to the show -- Thompson is off for two weeks right now, during which time they have plugged celebrities into his chair to be the voice of Geoff. Alfred Molina, Thomas Lennon, and Larry King all had a go last week. This week it's been ladies, and while Lauren Graham kinda bombed, Paula Poundstone and Angela Kinsey have saved some face since then. All of these performers gamely shared a desire to play -- to play along, to play with expectations, to play up the sheer strangeness of this late night experiment.

Larry King as Geoff - note the suspenders

The Late Late Show is the only television show of its kind that has won a Peabody award--for an hour-long interview with Desmond Tutu in which Ferguson displayed vast knowledge of South Africa's geo-political history-- while also staging awesome lip-synced numbers to punk songs in French and Duran Duran covers of "White Lines." The Late Late Show went highbrow and became "Le Late Late Show avec Craig Ferguson" for a week when Craig, Geoff, and Kristen Bell went to Paris and shot a week's worth of shows in and around the city. Mind you, there was zero real studio. They had no permits. They literally set up a card table on the sidewalk and slid through Versailles with socks on, because it seemed like the thing to do. And then the next day there's a "mouth organ" joke and an obscure Doctor Who reference. It's like a post-modern, Henson-less Muppet Show with more dirty jokes.

So if you are into the late-night talk show thing and have yet to give Craig Ferguson a go, please please do yourself a favor. Watch him, once, and tell me that he isn't the most original thing you've seen after midnight (outside of Adult Swim.) And watch some of the stuff from the Paris shows if you can't stay up that late. SO totally worth it.

The Emmys are Dead. Long Live the Emmys

Bow ties are cool.

Seeing as how TV takes up a huge portion of free time, considering that I study it and love and want to stick it in my pocket to cherish forever, well, then the Emmys should be the pinnacle of my TV-watching year.

It is not.

I hate sure things. I hate it when the same shows or people are awarded the highest prize in their respective fields five, six, nine times. A few wins in a row, sure, particularly if the competition is nil. But predictability breeds irritation, and so many amazing accomplishments are left out in the cold on a regular basis that the Emmys can be a slog and a half. Last night's broadcast surprised me a couple of times, but I was disappointed more than I wasn't.

A breakdown now of the best, worst, and most blah moments.

In the category of "Took You Long Enough":

Sorry Connie. RIP FNL.

Kyle Chandler winning for his portrayal of Coach Eric Taylor on Friday Night Lights. FNL is  poignant, funny, compelling, and so chock full of amazing performances that  the fact that it took 5 years for it to be recognized at all by the Academy is a travesty. Chandler's performances have never wavered, and he deserved this, big time. As did Producer/Writer Jason Katims, who won for writing FNL. HOWEVER. Connie Britton's snub in the Best Actress category was a terrible mistake, no matter how great Julianna Margulies is on The Good Wife. Then, to add insult to injury, Chandler forgot to thank Britton by name during his acceptance and tried to correct his mistake after his mike had been turned off. Sigh. Tami Taylor, we love you.

In the category of "Normal-Looking Women Are Award-Worthy Too":

Melissa McCarthy winning for Mike and Molly (not a great show, but she is the real deal) was not only heartening for non-size-2 funny women, but it gave the nominated actresses in the comedy category a chance to show solidarity and make us laugh by joining hands on stage and pretending it was a Miss America contest. Amy Poehler should've won, because Parks and Recreation is a stroke of genius, but McCarthy is deserving too.

Did she win this year? Knope.

And Margo Martindale, a middle aged woman of some physical presence won the Emmy for her role as Mags on last season's Justified. If you watch this show, you know why she won. If you don't, try to catch up on both seasons so you can soak up Martindale's country-fried Machiavellian matriarch who doesn't think twice about cutting off her own kin's fingers. Shakespeare couldn't have written her any better.

The award for "Are You F*#king Kidding Me" goes to:

The producers of the Emmys, for allowing Charlie Sheen to come out on stage and present an award. What Sheen said is irrelevant, other than to say he didn't annihilate the broadcast. The sheer stuntiness of his presence was gross and SO four months ago. And it was made worse later in the show when Jon Cryer and Ashton Kutcher presented and felt the need to reference Sheen again. Let him fade into the ether. Please.

The "Cripes That's Boring" award for unnecessary repeat wins:

Amazing Race. The reality competition show that is nearly impossible to beat won again last night over shows like Project Runway and So You Think You Can Dance. Here's the thing, though-- Amazing Race is a very very good show, but how in the hell can any other program compete with one that is FILMED AROUND THE WORLD? Visually it's an insurmountable challenge. Shots of designers cutting fabric in a work room, or teams racing across China? It makes this category so dull.

Mad Men. I adore this show, in all of its snail's-pace-slow-burn-repressed-emotional glory. And last year was a great year for Don Draper and company. But the Mad Men love-fest prevented the last year of Friday Night Lights from winning the award it deserved.

The Daily Show. Yes, yes, they're genius. Are they nine-years-in-a-row genius? No. At the very least Stephen Colbert deserves some big ups. And can Craig Ferguson get a damn nomination?

In the "Missed Opportunities" group:

I mean, come on. Kristen Wiig rules.

Kristen Wiig losing for her virtuosity on Saturday Night Live. Julie Bowen's win for playing Clare on Modern Family is deserved, sure, but MF will be around for a while and Wiig has been carrying SNL for years now. Let's hope she doesn't quit the show before being recognized by the Academy. and can someone get Julie Bowen a cheeseburger, please? She's got that ropy TV-star look going on.

Ignoring Louis CK in both the writing and acting categories. Louie, the show, is a perverse exercise in what TV could be if the creative types were allowed as much freedom as movie makers. CK writes, acts, directs, and edits every show with little to no input from his network, and that kind of true maverick-ness should be held up on a pedestal and fawned over.

Walton Goggins was magnetic and intense as Boyd Crowder on Justified last season, and it would've been perfect if he had joined Margo Martindale in the winner's circle. This disappointment is tempered somewhat by the fact that Peter Dinklage is an amazing actor, and dead sexy. The floppy hair is working for him.

Confidence is hot.

And in the "Too Much of a Good Thing" category:

I really wanted Parks and Recreation to win Best Comedy. The show is a little strange, sweetly neurotic, full of detailed and loving performances by Amy Poehler, Nick Offerman, Adam Scott, and everyone else. There wasn't a single episode last season in which I didn't have to rewind my DVR to catch the jokes I missed while I was busy peeing my pants. Then I realized the exact same could be said about Modern Family. So we, the viewing public, are lucky that the two funniest shows on TV aren't on the same night opposite each other.

QUICK HITS, LOVE/HATE STYLE

Love:
Leonard Nimoy describing Jane Lynch as alternately "mannish" and "womanish" in the show open. Also in the open, the entire Mad Men portion. "Women can marry women now. Hey there Peggy."

Hate:
Clare Danes shook her hair out of her eyes 743 times while presenting an award with Hugh Laurie. Jesus, get the girl a bobby pin.

Love:
FBI agents Dunham and Booth (aka Anna Torv from Fringe and David Boreanaz from Bones) together on stage. Thank you Fox, for your synergistic prowess.

Hate:
The Canadian Tenors have lovely voices. But their singing during the In Memoriam segment was off-putting.

Love:
Ty Burrell's carefully constructed and hilarious acceptance speech about his father, and Guy Pearce's deliciously bawdy one.

Hate:
Never ever ever make Zachary Levi, Joel McHale and Cobie Smulders et al. do something like the Emmy Tones again.

Love:
During the Lonely Island musical number we got to see Michael Bolton as Jack Sparrow, three dudes freaking Bill Macy, and an Ed Helms/Maya Rudolph/John Stamos three way.

Hate:
Lonely Island-type comedy songs. They irritate me, although it might just be Andy Samberg.

Love:
The pithy comments when people were walking to the stage. "Game of Thrones is filmed on location in Awesomeland."

Also Love:
Jane Lynch: "People wonder why I'm a lesbian. Ladies and gentlemen, the cast of Entourage!" She was appropriately edgy and perpetually charming as host.

That's it for this year. We'll see if my faves get recognized next year. Don't hold your breath, cast of Fringe. Or Katey Sagal.

P.S. Best dress: Kate Winslet. Worst: Julianna Margulies. She looked like a bathroom tile.

My Stunted Creativity is Your Gain

I spend entirely too much time with my nose to my smartphone, playing Yahtzee Adventure and lamenting my current career stallage, silently pissing and moaning about my lack of opportunity.
Today is the day I realized the internet is its own opportunity, and my idiot brain and idiot hands are all that is needed to create my own outlet for the ridiculous number of words that clog my head at any given moment on any given day. I say "idiot" because it's an obvious solution, an obvious fix, and I tend towards the Type-A-know-it-all class of folks, so…I loathe admitting that I've been my own enemy. Idiot.

Steve from Collider.com and me at Wonder Con

Truthfully, I LIKE getting in my own way. I must! I do it early and often. I secretly judge acquaintances who thrive on relationship drama, but I don't know that my perpetual procrastination and refusal to live up to my potential is really any better. I thrive on career drama. To my loving husband who is awesome: you really suck at giving me any bullshit to obsess over. Could you please consider a) smearing a random lipstick on your collar, b) telling me "you look fat in that," or c) smacking one of my friends on the ass? It would help get my mind off my work, or lack thereof. Thanks.

I've decide to throw my bag of self-sabotaging tricks out the window, though, and just do it, this, blogging-- for fun. I remember when writing and the idea of writing was fun before anything else. Hmph.

So this is what you're gonna get: some snark, a lot of geeky adulation and sincere fangirl wistfulness, and a deep love and understanding of television in particular. I'll include reviews and speculation and coverage of genre entertainment of all kinds, plus comic books, movies, fiction (like, real books,) and the artists that produce and create the bright and shiny escapism we all consume. I like to recommend huge swaths of books and TV shows, so expect dips into my library too.

I will eventually branch into the podcasting realm, because if there's one thing I'm better at than anything, it's talking. Consider yourselves forewarned.

"Fat Person" is Not a Career Path

I have a real problem with Carnie Wilson. Not just the regular issues with her that everyone has—I have an issue with her being professionally fat. For the last 10 years she has been on countless shows, in countless magazines, relating her struggle with weight. Celebrity Fit Club, a new reality show, Carnie Wilson: Unstapled…And this week she’s on Dr. Oz, talking about how to lose her extra weight “forever” this time. Seriously? She’s the only C-lister you could find who has extra jiggle? She’s one of millions of Americans who have this same problem, and millions of people would give their right arm to have access to the nutritionists, doctors, and personal trainers that her money can provide for her. Thousands of people apply for the chance to be on “The Biggest Loser” every season, but Carnie’s the best you could get? The neediest person? No.

So to watch another interminable segment with her crying, talking about how she screwed up after her gastric bypass (also something millions of people wish they could afford) is just too much for me to take. Carnie! You can sing. You can write a book. But you should be taking responsibility for your own mistakes, not trotting them out on national television. How much longer are we supposed to care about your inability to follow directions? Do you want us to feel sorry for you? I don’t feel sorry for recovering drunks who fall off the wagon and crash their car into someone’s house. So you get nothing.

Idiot vs. Shrew--Place Your Bets!

These were my initial impressions of the Jon and Kate Plus 8 nightmare, summer of 2009:

I hate covering reality programming in my entertainment reports. Unless it's a competition show like American Idol, Top Chef, or So You Think You Can Dance, reality shows tend to leave me covered in an oily film that won't budge with any amount of Ajax and vigorous rubbing. So when the Jon and Kate Plus 8 drama started to unfurl a couple of months ago, I held off as long as I could.

I had seen the show, I was familiar with the archetypes represented by overbearing and bossy Kate and laid-back (catatonic?) Jon. Yes, she had a tendency to emasculate. No, he had very little idea what was actually going on at any given moment. The children are all very cute and age-appropriately irritating. Fine, capitalize on your ridiculous decision to bring sextuplets into the world. You can afford their therapy when they grow up. And then came the adultery and lying and cries of "woe is me with my huge house and motorcycle and free vacations--all these cameras are just too much!" And that's when it became a publicity juggernaut.

So now the Gosselins are doing the decidedly un-Christian thing and calling it quits on their marriage with no visible attempt to get counseling or outside help. The show will continue taping after a brief hiatus, since they owe TLC 40 episodes this year-- and we the viewer will get to watch these kids transition through one of the most difficult periods of their lives. It's just gross. TLC and both parents will shower them with more presents, more trips, more toys, in an effort to keep them happy enough to smile and giggle and act like kids who do NOT have freshly divorced parents. This whole situation and the fact that any of the Gosselin children will be able to see their parents' marriage implode on tape for eternity is how people end up drinking themselves to death, or getting married 7 times, or getting knocked up at 16. This is how people end up with tassles on their boobs with a stage name like Dusty or Blaze.

Jon's attitude on the "special episode" was ridiculous. He let Kate rule the roost, huh? Perhaps because she was the one who gathered together all of the disparate pieces of their lives, public and private, and kept them on track. Jon, in the meantime, acts out like one of the children when he feels slighted, instead of having a real live conversation with his wife. Maybe if he had spent more time reading and less time flirting in high school he'd be articulate enough to communicate his needs. Jon is going to end up one of those sad sack paunchy guys with a suspiciously full head of hair-plugged hair that attempts to fit into the Big City lifestyle and recapture his early 20's as if he had never contributed to the creation of 8 defenseless yet powerfully noisy small people. "Hey hey," he'll say all swagger and bratty frat boy attitude, and try to pass himself off as a swinging single who just happened to have some TV exposure once a long time ago. And then the girls will recognize him and throw drinks in his face and kick him in the shins because he's got 8 FRICKIN' KIDS and should act like it. He's an immature tool.

And the first person to come up with a reality show that blends that dating show The Cougar and a Brady Bunch style reality show tracking blended families should sign Kate up now. It'll be her weekend to have all 8 of hers, and she'll go on a group date with some random man that has 7 kids of his own and then they'll get married and film it and call it Kate and Dean Plus 15! or whatever. Before then she will have abruptly switched her public persona from one who is overbearing and mean to the one who wanted to work the marriage out, and she'll have climbed up on her cross and firmly nailed herself there.

And the kids will hate them forever.

Hillary Clinton and I Are Not Your Bitches

From Stanley Crouch: "On TV, Clinton seems by turns icy, contrived, hysterical, sentimental, bitter, manipulative and self-righteous. In short, dehumanized by the mysterious dictates of technology, she takes on qualities that most people hate."

 She has been called a ball-buster, a whiner, an ice queen; her suits are mocked, her displays of non-robotic behavior are mocked; Chris Matthews has thrown away whatever journalistic integrity he might have clung to before by being openly biased against her.  Under the guise of a tough political race, Hillary Clinton is being defined by her gender.  I don't care if you don't believe it.  When women like Camille Paglia go so far as to chastise her for not connecting with today's feminists, and women across the country are still pissed off by her decision to stay with her husband after he cheated on her, we are not playing on a level field.

And I'm over it.  The first time I was ever called a bitch I was ten years old.  Not because I was mean to someone, or malicious, or rude; but because I spoke.  I have always been unabashedly opinionated.  I have never suffered fools, or b.s.  Even at the age of ten I was defiant in the face of societal gender traps, and expected everyone else to follow suit.  I am not defined by my gender, I am defined by my intelligence.

I've been called strident, obnoxious, loud; the favorite of my high school peers in the '90's was "dyke."  (Short hair, skater clothes, and avoiding dances could really set you back at that time.)  Girls are not well rewarded for being independent thinkers, not if it comes with a forthright personality.  You can be smart, but don't be all flashy about it.  You can have opinions, but not too many, or you're uppity.  You can be ambitious, but don't aspire to jobs men already dominate.  I get called agressive, when a man would be called assertive. 

Hillary Clinton is perfectly qualified for the Presidency.  She's smart, savvy, and well-connected.  She's already two up on the current President right there.  Her choice of pantsuits is irrelevant.  Her decision to stay with her husband is irrelevant.  If I hear one more person refer to her voice as shrill, I'm going to lose it.  And my voice doesn't do that upper register thing, so it's nothing but irate verbal evisceration if I get that mad.  Anyway, Bill Maher and Chris Matthews are often shrill, and never get called on it.  And President Bush is practically illiterate.

Don't define me, or Hillary Clinton, by our lady parts.

Originally written 9.08