The Emmys have a reputation of lulling even the most hyperactive into a coma-like state and last night's painfully paced telecast from L.A. did nothing to stop the tide of narcolepsy. Beginning with Ellen DeGeneres who tried to mimic the same understated approach she took in her post-9/11 emcee outing. Yet as a Louisiana native, you would've expected a greater input from a host whose ties to the Gulf Coast were well-documented. We had to sit through Earth, Wind & Fire alongside the ever cloying Black Eyed Peas, yet no musical montage to the Big Easy or something bit more substantial contributed from Ellen? Bad move, Ken Ehrlich.

So let's just fast forward to many of the most egregious moments of the ceremony (i.e. each time an envelope was opened at the podium):

Everybody Doesn't Love Raymond. Okay, seriously...the hard-on for this sitcom is nothing short of sickening, but ANOTHER reason to bestow statuettes to previous (and multiple) winners Brad Garrett and the ubiquitous Doris Roberts? Just tranquilize me now. Jeremy Piven and Jessica Walter were robbed.

Blythe Danner picked over the scene-chewing power of CCH Pounder. Stop the fucking madness. This woman could fart on screen and it's worthy of a nomination alone.

Patricia Arquette besting Glenn Close? Huh?! No Patti honey, you weren't the only one wondering if you were hallucinating when your name was called. Was the curse of The Ring encoded onto the "for your consideration" promo tapes?

James Spader, I pumped my fist for your win last year that propelled The Practice off the chopping block into the Boston Legal spin off, but this time around, Ian McShane was clearly head and shoulders above the competition. The man who reintroduced "cocksucker" into series dialogue would've been a barrel of laughs had he rightfully gotten the Academy's vote.

The few and far between bright spots:

S. Epatha Merkerson's first time triumph as Best Actress in a Miniseries or Movie for her turn in HBO's Lackawanna Blues. The night's funniest speech came from her thank you's getting caught too low in her cleavage. She's always been such a steady presence from her Law & Order days, so it was nice to her see receive some much needed recognition. Not to mention that I was ready to chuck a fuzzy slipper at the TV if Halle Berry picked up another statuette in this category. Not consciously trying to flex my considerable playa hater skills, but can we move away from getting caught up in the stunning looks for a sec and be real? Her performance as Janie Crawford in the disappointing adaptation of Their Eyes Were Watching God was akin to a 2 hr. Revlon campaign filmed on location in the Florida swamp. Long on lush cinematography and weave-twirling beauty shots, short on depth.

Donald Trump & Megan Mullally's incredulous rendition of Green Acres which kicked off a head-scratching Emmy Idol competition with various stars matched up to perform TV's most popular theme songs. Even in your wildest dreams, you'd be hard pressed to picture the godfather of pricey real estate trading a tailored suit for hillbilly staples of bib overalls, field rake and wretched combover obscured by a straw hat. Manhattan goes Mayberry. To call this a fish out of water situation would be an understatement.

Everyone pegged the Best Actress in a Comedy prize as a cat fight between Golden Globe winner Teri Hatcher and critic's darling Marcia Cross but when the dust settled, Felicity Huffman proved to be the last one standing among her fellow Desperate Housewives. Being an unabashed Bree fan myself, this was one upset that didn't get under my skin. Her touching and teary shout out to husband William H. Macy ["thank you for taking a chunky 22-year-old with a bad perm and glasses out into a cow pasture and kissing me and making me his wife" Awwww...] was a nice moment for an underdog who earned her time to shine in the spotlight.

Labels: award shows, TV