Okay, so where am I? 


I’m at the Microsoft Theatre in Downtown Los Angeles taking in the 69th Emmy Awards and trying to get one of those drinks loaded with bitters that Stephen Colbert and Jimmy Kimmel are sharing.

No luck.

Speaking of luck…last year I waxed poetic (very much tongue-in-cheek) about flirting with the Emmy statuette and her going with a hundred or so other writers, producers, actors, and actresses. This year was different. Sometimes you get lucky a second time.

Flirt no more…

This year also saw my return to the red carpet, and honestly the two best parts of my night was watching Lena Headey and Sophie Turner (both of Game of Thrones) scarf McDonald’s fries and milk shakes on their way to the red carpet. At the end of the entertainment debauchery, it was a fantastic night for Hulu, which proved to be a late bloomer to the original scripted series game. Sunday, it became the first streaming service to win an Emmy for Best Series for The Handmaid’s Tale, leapfrogging Netflix and Amazon.

Hat’s off to the marketing folks at Hulu. Seriously, how much of the public do you think has seen The Handmaid’s Tale? Certainly the voters have (again a credit to Hulu marketers), but it goes into the category of the things that make you go “hmmmmmmmm.” Does this show have 1/100th the audience penetration of This Is Us? At the end, it was a triumph for not-widely-viewed series, led by The Handmaid’s Tale and Black Mirror (Netflix). It was also a big night for Big Little Lies and Veep which held onto the best comedy series and best lead actress in a comedy series titles. Women broke that glass ceiling through with wins for Lena Waithe and Reed Morano (you’ll have to look them up to know more, sorry. I didn’t know who they were before last night). 


Back to the red carpet…whatever you think the carpet is like, think again. Here’s a taste:

During the show, I decided to troll celebrity and celebrity-ish Twitter accounts looking for behind the scenes tidbits. I mean celebrities are people too. Right? Let’s see:

Red Carpet Gallery

Maybe because there’s no McDonald’s north of the wall…

Nice that Keith Urban and Nicole Kidman stopped their PDAs long enough for a few pictures.

Anna Chlumsky, robbed again.

Poor Justin Timberlake…

Keri Russell and Matthew Rhys of The Americans. In my world, these two would win every year.

Yeah, I don’t get this guy either.

Alec Baldwin. Genius. Pure.

Another win for Julia Louis-Dreyfus.

The new Dream Team (if you don’t know who these ladies are, watch more movies)

Just some serious eye contact with Reese Witherspoon is all…

This streak you have going is pretty, pretty, good!

The post Getting Social at the Emmy Awards appeared first on Media Guy Struggles.

Okay, so where am I?

I’m preparing for an other trip…and another surgery…yeah, getting old sucks. I’m also prepping for the Emmys on Sunday. I got a new lens to break in. You know I’ll post pictures. Stephen Colbert is hosting…more political humor. Ugh! I’m thinking Louis Vuitton for the red carpet. Yeah, that’s the ticket…yet I digress.

I bring up the traveling because it’s a little known fact that I see a classical music performance or an opera in every country I visit that offers such a thing. In Europe, it seems every major city has a beautiful opera house. Ah, the Opera…a kid I remember it being something you were taught to avoid. It was a old school meant to be enjoyed by the stuffy, nose-up crowd in tuxedo tails and shiny shoes.  The opera was strictly for the high cultured. As I aged I learned to truly appreciate it because I get to use my slim knowledge of classical music and study up on the stories and the history of each type of performance.

Regardless of how well I’ve aged and how cultured I’ve become, the fact remains that it is still a difficult sell for younger audiences.


Swedish opera house Folkoperan knows this fact and decided to pick the easy path to try and reach Swedish millennials is to use the old advertising adage that “sex sells.”

To promote the premiere of Puccini’s Turandot, Folkoperan and its agency crafted a commercial called “The Opera of Orgasms” that is devoid of words, just moans and groans and, well, orgasms.

So much for high culture…

If you are new to opera, the connection to sexual situations isn’t a stretch by any means. Opera is peppered with fables spun from of unbridled yearning, retribution and heartrending losses. Elevating its more applicable qualities was invented yesterday either. Last year, the Paris Opera recruited Bret Easton Ellis to craft a modern version of “Figaro,” a story as contemporary and depraved as you can get without dolling our red-light district ticket prices.

Turandot is especially suitable for this kind of interpretation. First released in 1926, it narrates the tale of Prince Calaf who falls in love with the unemotional Princess Turandot. To gain permission to marry her, potential suitors have to solve three riddles; any wrong answer results in death. Yikes!

“We live in a society where we’re constantly encouraged to indulge life, but it’s often in very superficial ways,” says Mellika Melouani Melani, director and artistic director at Folkoperan. “In our interpretation of the opera, we want to pay tribute to the urge of desire and the total devotion that comes with it. In our film, the orgasm symbolizes this.”

In the commercial (the Folkoperan marketers call it a film), people in diverse—not necessarily glitzy—sexual circumstances express their apex to the tune of the Nessun Dorma aria. It’s a festival of unlimited longing, those moments when you’re so close to metaphorically falling off the cliff that things like environment, expectancy and social norms no longer carry any weight. And it exquisitely echoes the state Turandot’s admirers find themselves in, one in which the proximity of pleasure is so painful that nothing matters more than finding release, not even oblivion.

Now trust me, having an orgasm might actually be the closest you and I get to singing opera. Both are big physical experiences that release endorphins and oxytocin, but this piece just rings wrong with the current state of advertising. It’s over the top and getting ample amount of press but it’s done so well, it’s much too hard to be incredulous.

So what do I know?

I do know this—it’s becoming all too easy for brands to use sexism as low-hanging fruit to go viral. Time after time, we rise to the bait, giving the brands exactly what they set out to achieve: Internet Fame.

On an almost daily basis, sexism in headlines, adverts and newspaper front pages is getting taken to task on Twitter. But, by tweeting about those brands and making them go viral, are we giving them exactly what they want?

As Oscar Wilde said “the only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about”. Brand managers are well aware of this,” says Anthony Patterson, professor of marketing at Liverpool University. A “response — whether outrage or support — demonstrates that consumers are engaging with their brand.”

Take the London’s Daily Mail. On eve of Britain triggering Article 50 and officially entering Brexit negotiations, it was #LegsIt (not #Brexit) that topped the UK’s Twitter trends. The newspaper’s headline declaring “Forget about Brexit, who won Legs-it!” alongside a photograph of Scottish First Minister Nicola Sturgeon and British Prime Minister Theresa May and a pain staking analysis of their legs, prompted the ire of thousands on social media.

A statement from a Daily Mail spokesperson (which began with “for goodness sake, get a life”) only added fuel to the fire. “Sarah Vine’s piece, which was flagged as light-hearted, was a side-bar alongside a serious political story.” The Daily Mail wasn’t sorry. And, why would they be? We, by venting our outrage on Twitter at their “light-hearted” sexism, made #LegsIt the most talked-about story of the day.

Long story short: Women shouldn’t be roadkill in a brand’s race to get viral fame. Brands, it’s time to get your act together and find another way to get internet fame.

The post The Opera of Orgasms appeared first on Media Guy Struggles.

Oh my lovely giant Emmy statuette. I flirted with you all night and after all that you went home with a hundred or so other writers, producers, actors, and actresses. And this morning, there you are. Face down after a wild night of partying and rubbing elbows with the television elite. Most of us would take the long walk of shame home, heads bowed, shirts inside out, one sock or sticking missing. But here’s the thing…walk of shame is only shameful if you let it be. So here’s how to turn that walk of shame into a stride of pride…

1) Before you tuck yourself back in that box for 300 plus days of hibernation, remember how much fun the night before was. You wouldn’t have done it if you didn’t want to. And let’s be clear Ms. Emmy: YOU KNOW HOW TO PARTY!

2) Hold your head high, shoulders back, and strut your stuff. Yeah, you had fun. Yeah, the next door neighbor might already know that. But who cares? They know already. There’s nothing to be ashamed of because next year they will be fighting to take you home again.

3. Enjoy the morning breeze. If you’re in last night’s golden party dress and you’re holding your heels as you walk barefoot, don’t let it stop you from enjoying the refreshing morning breeze. Breathe it in, and let it clear away any potential hangover. Look around and enjoy the manufactured beauty of downtown LA and the LA Live complex. They’ll be talking about last night for the next year…….Hold your head high Ms. Emmy. You’re still my favorite lady.

So okay, you already know where I am…

A happy Game of Thrones cast as their 34 Emmy wins.

I’m at the Microsoft Theatre in Downtown LA taking in the 68th Emmy Awards and snacking on a PB&J sandwich presumably made by Jimmy Kimmel’s mom.

I was expecting more Beyoncé as was a disappointed John Oliver:

“I thought Beyoncé was gonna be here. I saw a seating chart and I was supposed to be sitting two rows behind her and I was going to stare at her head and experience happiness in a way I haven’t felt before … so this evening is a bit disappointing.”

Jerry Seinfeld spoke out—in true Seinfeld-esque wit—about the current state of television: “I don’t know why I’m here, I’m not on television. My show’s on the Internet, but now they consider that television.”

Meanwhile Bryan Cranston did his best to convince the TV bigwigs that he should take on the role of Donald Trump, “I think it’d be huuuuuuuge.”


James Corden shared his insider paparazzi tips to take the best photos “I try to suck in my cheekbones. If you ever see me and it looks like I’m in a mood, it’s not because I’m being moody.”

In the Emmy lobby, people moaned about the ‘dry’ Emmys. Every star under the sun was inside the Microsoft Theater, but the one thing all of that star power can’t get inside the room is booze. The Voice host Carson Daly walked out to the lobby, Emmy in hand, and yelled to the bartender, “You guys selling beer out here?” Daly turned, disappointed and walked away. Iwan Rheon (Ramsay Bolton on Game of Thrones) also lost his mind berating a would-be bartender—life immitates art. Sorry boys, those juice boxes are all you got.

Julia Louis-Dreyfus’ Emmy win breaks the record. By winning the Emmy—her sixth for lead actress in a comedy, and her eighth Emmy overall—the Veep star broke the record for most lead actress wins, breaking the three-way tie she held with Candice Bergen and Mary Tyler Moore.

Well, that’s all I overheard. After all I was there to flirt with the Emmy statuette and take pictures…so without further ado, here are the pics…

Tori Kelly with my favorite picture of the night.

There was a lot of kissing – part one with Julia Louis-Dreyfus.

Jimmy Kimmel’s mom must have had writer’s cramp after penning 7,000 letters.

Cranston as Trump?

Jimmy Fallon crashed Corden’s interview. Ham!

There was a lot of kissing- part two with Patton Oswald.

Priyanka Chopra knows how to work the photo pit.

Yes, Sarah Paulson did have her lady engraved with Marcia Clark’s name on it!

Tatiana Maslany all smiles with her Emmy!

There was a lot of kissing – part three with Key and Peele.

The Governors Ball transformeds the L.A. Convention Center with over 700 floral arrangements.

The post Ms. Emmy: YOU KNOW HOW TO PARTY! appeared first on Media Guy Struggles.

“Paint the wall red and I’ll see if I like it…” 

So starts the long journey of getting the Media Guy Struggles green lit as a pilot or even a bona fide television show.

Okay, so where am I?

The table reading is kind of like painting the wall red and seeing if the powers to be like it. The actors and actresses have to put on a fabulous show for my would-be Japanese producers. The producers were so enthusiastic about the prospects of a Media Guy Struggles television show that they financed a day-long event with out-of-work actors looking for pocket change and a shot to add a pilot to their IMDB profiles.

So what’s the Media Guy Struggles about, you ask? What was the tasty pitch that whetted the appetite of Far East producersenough to put together a full cast to hear a table read?

(Hmmmmmm…I hesitate to put this online for anyone to take as muse, but since it’s registered with the Writer’s Guild of America (WGA Registration Number: 1489628), I feel safe that there is a measure of recourse to force intellectual thieves to put me on a show as an Executive Producer at the very least.)

Well…

The Media Guy Struggles can best be described as Mad Men meets The Office with a touch of Ballers mixed in. Being the Media Guy isn’t easy for (loosely) fictional Alex Logan, aged 42, Vice President of Media (aka The Media Guy) at the (loosely) fictional Larger Than Life advertising agency. As the Media Guy struggles to balance office politics and the new conflicts of social media vs. traditional media, he’s haunted that after 25 years of traveling the globe as a premium ad man, the landscape is changing. 

With a skeptical eye and a 10,000-foot perspective on the world, Logan believes he has all of the answers for all things media and advertising related—and he usually does with the help of his faithful associates and his best friend. With the respect of the office and their off-beat client base, what could possibly go sideways for the Media Guy? Things get nervous, and hilarious, when hits the road in this unfiltered, self-analyzing look at advertising along with the media and the madcap workforce that drives it. 

With three degrees, 20 years on the job and witty personality, the Media Guy has life at the agency wired. That is until life’s minutiae gets in the way. Things like Arrogant Bob from accounting’s per diem denial, the dreaded networking event, running into old crushes, contemplating new secret identities, channeling Jane Goodall’s Tanzanian monkeys, the battle to compartmentalize life’s segments, the socialistic traumas of the group brainstorming session…and above all his search for great stories to tell.

The scene than got the biggest boost went something like this:

INT. LARGER THAN LIFE – RECEPTION
The curvaceous MORGAN sachets down the hallway, leading clients to their respective account executives. Along the way, MIYA can be seen wiggling into a designer dress flaunting her obvious assets in the wardrobe room and the MEDIA GUY is polishing a flamethrower in his adjacent office.

There were tears, laughter, and heated moments emitting from the words on my pilot script. At the conclusion of the table read there was a energetic applause from the seated cast. The applause seemed to come not from a place of “Yeah!” but “Wow, this Media Guy stuff might actually have some legs.”

Now the hard part: the waiting game.

Here’s to hoping for that green light, whether it be tomorrow, next week, or next year.

—–

Want to see what a table read is like? Watch the Family Guy table read from the “Jedi” episode:

The post The Table Read appeared first on Media Guy Struggles.

Not everyone can look like this in a rented Vera Wang tux. #LifeGoals

Now that the Emmy Award nominations have been announced I’ve gone underground for a few days, escaping Los Angeles, ever so briefly. I mean, really, how many Emmy consideration billboards for obscure shows on networks I’ve never even heard of can I handle in one drive down Sunset Boulevard? I have a sneaking suspicion that more people will see the billboards than the actual shows.

I’m sure you’re sitting there saying, “Surely you exaggerate. How many billboards could drive you from the palm tree lined greatness that only Hollywood can deliver?” Let me tell you, there are a ton. I counted 37 on my 5.9 mile drive from one part of the city to another. Thirty-seven! 

(See them all in the For Your Consideration gallery below!)

I used to buy billboards and outdoor media every summer when I worked for the giant swimming pool supplies conglomerate. Gotta sell those outdoor pools, right? I poured over thick stacks of data to buy just the right billboard, at just the right stretch of land, at just the right point near each store. I had to stretch every dollar because there isn’t much margin on a bucket of chlorine tablets. I found myself growing more and more jealous of those media buyers at AMC, Hulu, Netflix and F/X with their seemingly endless budgets, clawing over each other to grab as many billboards as possible. No strategy, just spend, spend, spend.

With an average per billboard cost around $11,000 a month in Hollywood and Los Angeles’ Westside, that’s over $800,000 spent on outdoor advertising in May and June. Factor in printing costs (upwards of $2,500 per) and we are closing in on some serious cabbage spent on just the advertising I saw on my short drive that took well over an hour to cover.

Sheesh! An hour to go six miles. What a life! Yet I digress…

The $4 Million Emmy Care Package

Emmy campaigning has become a cottage industry. Once the Oscars are handed out, publicists kick into high gear, vying for key roundtables, spurring ad buys and getting screeners in the right hands. The competition is fierce with more than 400 scripted series on the air and over 100 programmers across cable, broadcast TV, and streaming services. That’s a lot and remember there are just seven comedy and drama series slots. And that’s not even counting the acting, reality, movie and limited series races.

What’s the cost for a campaign? A small Emmy push will cost you upwards of one million dollars and big campaigns can easily cost over ten times that. But buying billboards won’t do the trick. Insiders will tell you that you have to do something disruptive. And huge.

Weighing in over 20 pounds with more than 25 original series included!

Netflix took that disruptive advice to heart. The mail-order/streaming service sent out their pre-Emmy care packages to film and TV critics. This isn’t your average package. The care package includes physical copies of every episode comprising the over 25 original series and features eligible for this year’s Emmy Awards. It’s a humongous, 20-pound, four-box set. The cost? $4 million dollars.

Holy geez! But well worth it. The company amassed a record 54 nominations. That’s only $74,074 per nom. That’s not too bad, is it?

Adding to the cost is that every mailer has to be sent through the Academy of Television Arts and Sciences’s internal shipping service. The cost there is around $1,750 per episode.

All this adds up to some serious dough. However, I’m worries about the $275 Vera Wang tux and shoe rentals for the red carpet photo shoot on September 16th. I’ll be there but still waiting for a chance to earn a Primetime Award to go with my Daytime win.

The post For Your Consideration… appeared first on Media Guy Struggles.

First, the big news…

It only took three years, but my movie “Black Hand” is set to premiere in South Korea. The thriller I penned (and was later translated by the great Byeon Hye-joo) has a wonderful cast including Han Go-eun who goes a bit haywire after her new hand she had surgically attached provides some eerie drama. Not for the weak of heart. Maybe a Grand Bell Award (aka Daejong Film Award) is in my future.

Okay, so where am I?

There is no truth to the rumor I am in South Korea attending the premiere of Black Hand. AND, I may or may not be in working on my next pieces of advertising so that my next Emmy submissions are top notch.

What I can tell you is that I may have detoured through Pamplona, Spain for the running of the bulls, aka  the Las Fiestas de San Fermin. There’s something you feel in the soul when you hear the rustling of the crowd eager to soak in the testosterone cloud emitted from the raging bulls. You feel an aura around you, as if you were part of the herd. A day in Pamplona does nothing but help you on your journey towards inner chi.

Those that know me will know that I’ve long said to my best buddy Charles that we are simply on a vision quest…just trying to find a place in the circle. The running is definitely part of the grand quest. It’s also one of the world’s most dangerous spectacles (and also one of the true parties left on this planet). To succeed you must avoid being gored. You must also be three things: Cautious. Sober. Fast.

That being said, you cannot be afraid of the bulls. I refuse to be. After all, there are scarier clients in the boardroom after a bad advertising campaign that cost millions. When I find myself in the herd’s center, I feel a sublime safety. “How is that possible?”, you ask… When you are are part of the herd, the bulls are somehow united with your being. They sense you are part of the herd, running with them every step of the way. I despise those “daredevils” that need to put their hands on them, pushing, hitting or grabbing them. That went they get defensive. That’s when the fire burns deep inside these magnificent creature. True runners know this truth: Never touch the bulls.

THE VIRGIN RUN

I remember my first run. I was shut out the previous time I went because I was in advertising executive mode — at the hotel awaiting my continental breakfast and a private sedan ride to the run. That was definitely not a recipe for success. I couldn’t even get close enough to take a picture of the bulls let alone run with them. The next time was different. I decided to stay up all night and be in prime position near the arena. I nodded off in a restaurant doorway only to be shoo’ed away by the local police and general treated like a vagabond. I mean do they know who I am?

I jokingly thought I was a kinda of big deal, ala Ron Burgundy. I learned pretty quick that the bulls are the only big deal in Pamplona. In my 3am haze, I staggered to the Hemingway statue.

Hemingway Aside #1: This is definitely one off the oddest statues I have ever seen. The full-bearded depiction of the literary giant shows him in his stoic glory, the bust meticulously finished and polished. Then, they took this beautiful bust and dumped it onto a mess of a concrete block as if the money for the project ran out. Strange indeed.

Hemingway Aside #2: His work was the fodder of inspiration. Do you remember the books we were assigned to read? The Count of Monte Cristo, the Three Musketeers and the like? Yawnsville. Hemingway’s work was relatable and adventurous: old fishermen and soldiers and street fighters. You wanted to write like him. And you did, until you found your own style. He once wrote, “There is nothing better than to be shot at and missed.” What could sum up a grand adventure better than that?!

Yet I digress…

At the foot statue of the statue sits a lovely makeshift bed in the form of a rounded brick slope. I rested there until the dawn’s sun served as my alarm clock. Workers had already secured the barricades about 100 feet away and so I wandered to Telefonica; that’s the area where the street widens and it becomes impossible to keep the herd of bulls grouped together. I must say that the locals are nothing short of stunning—both sexes. As a younger Media Guy, my flirt scale was still on 9,000 RPMs and thus I tried my best non-gawking Spanglish on the any young lady who stopped long enough. Some made eyes, some whispered “gringo”, but most just giggled at my one hundred poorly-constructed words of Spanish. Then, panic set in.

The police line came from nowhere, reminiscent of a swarm of locust striking some unsuspecting farmer’s crops. The line closed in and pushed everyone up the street and through the first barricade on the first intersection on Estafeta. Everyone scattered from down side streets, through alleys and around building. I was already tired and I hadn’t seen a bull yet. My chest ached and then I heard the beacon of hope: the loudspeakers blaring something in multiple languages. I followed the voice like those hypnotized Eloi as they moved towards the Morlock’s underground horror pit in The Time Machine.

All at once I was trapped in a sea of humanity. The body-to-body pressure was crushing and it ebbed and flowed in unison with our collective breathing. Dawn had turned into 7:45a and the loudspeaker finally started screaming in English, which turned out to be more startling than the suffocating crowd:

“Bull runners are in danger of great bodily harm—if you fall down, stay down.”

This only charged the crowd as the murmur turned into a roar of great proportions. It took a few moments until the police line broke free and we unraveled up the street. I moved to to La Curva, aka the curve, aka Dead Man’s Corner, aka Hamburger Wall. This was THE SPOT. This is where the herd crashes every morning. The media and photographers hang here, protected from the police with the media badges. My international press card came in handy here as I flashed it liberally to avoid being moved yet again.

A rocket screamed into the sky and was quickly followed by a second. The crowd in the balconies and behind the remaining barricades surged with energy and wild noise. The runners were now in full motion, flowing around the corner and past me creating a breeze. Their expressions ran the full gambit of emotions: Cavalier. Scared. Excited.

The ground began to quake as a the galloping murmur of hooves grew to rumble. The mass of runners poured around the curve dressed in white with red scarves. It was dense and carries a certain stench of sweat and fear. This group was united in terror and each second seemed like hours. Time was grinding to halt and then, it simply froze.

Cartoons like to show the bull staring across at the matador with menacing red eyes. I often laughed at that as a child, but as the massive brown bull streaked around the curve I locked into his eyes. If I were older, my heart surely would have stopped as his red eyes literally put me squarely in his own bullseye. The unforgiving cobblestones could not absorb me or shield me from death. But then a foolish angel intervened. A runner crossed in front of me and took the full force of the lead bull’s forehead. As if in slow-motion, the man hovered on a blanket of air above the bull’s head as his arms flailed higher above as five other bulls thundered past. The man crashed to the side of me and he scurried towards safety, somehow gaining his feet. A giant white steer basically said “not so fast” as he barreled towards the man plowed through him, its hooves gobbling him up. The high-pitched grown that squeezed from his chest still haunts me today. Somehow he limped away without serious damage.

Two lives saved.
One grand story.
Viva los toros!

AD OF THE WEEK/MONTH/WHATEVER

M&M’s Tainted Love Spot

“Our latest commercial shows how irresistible M&M’s really are in a way that’s part comedy, and part soap opera,” says BBDO VP of Marketing Berta de Pablos-Barbier. “We think viewers will have fun with all the twists and turns, and see how it’s even more fun to share M&M’S Chocolate Candies versus keeping them all for yourself.”

Fittingly, the 80’s classic “Tainted Love” by Soft Cell closes out the spot.

WAXY FUN

I couldn’t resist sharing this from London’s Madame Toussauds – Helen Mirren checking herself out at this week’s press conference. Classic!

RIP Roddy Piper

He ruled the squared circle as one of its greatest non-champions. He didn’t need a belt to prove his worth. We was the king of the interview and knew how to hit people over the head with a coconut. He taught me how to think on my feet and pour out words in great volume while captivating a room. He is the king of the soliloquy. Long live the king…you will be missed.

The post Bullsh*t! appeared first on Media Guy Struggles.

So Monday night the Academy of Television Arts & Sciences handed out their beautiful statues at the Nokia Theatre. As always, the Emmys were a snore-filled snooze fest , but luckily there was a brightly shining stoned star who guided us safely through that never-ending mess. (**-more on that in a minute.) 

See more on the Media Guy’s Instagram.

Of course I was late (when am I not?) sheesh! I didn’t have a tux, despite the fact there were tuxedo fittings (gratis) But sometimes you just say fugedaboudit, I’m wearing whatever passes for dapper like grey slacks, a short grey tie (new invention), Prada shoes, and a tux jacket with weird seams that make it look like I’m a reflection in a carnival mirror, and if I have time, I’ll finger-comb some dusty defining paste through my hair in the limo, because YOLO. Or whatever the acronym for “zero effort, I’m only here for the gin and tonic and free cigars from the gift suite” is…

Oh how I love the red carpet, Haute Couture and modified tuxedos. I’ve been nominated twice but thus far unlucky with the golden envelope.

My excuse is that all the same people keep winning.

Low and behold, the 66th Emmys were almost all carbon copies of past years. That’s the problem with the Emmys–they are the only one of the Big Four (Oscars, Emmys, Grammys, Tonys) that have the option to continually nominate the same people for the same body of work. Regardless, the Emmys are THE status symbol for creatives and television actors alike for they are the Mount Everest of TV awards. A Media Guy can dream right?

Hamm: Close but no cigar

The awards also represent something tangible network presidents can present to their board of directors and stockholders and sales departments to use as a tool to get more money out of advertisers. In a word, it is validation. Yet while the Emmys have shown a willingness to accept new forms of entertainment, voters still aren’t quite ready to reward them…which is going to have a unique effect on big media’s bottom line.

Take Netflix, for example. While Hulu, Amazon and others maintain a larger streaming presence overall only Netflix has really gotten a seat at the awards table so to speak. Yet for some reason, despite Netflix’s success in breaking through with nominations, its programming can’t take the big prize and that’s an area the traditional networks still hold a huge advantage in.

** – Spoke with my buddy Allison at dlisted.com and I nearly split a gut with her take on Sarah Silverman…

For those of you looking at the toes poking out of the bottom of Sarah Silverman’s dress and wondering “Did that crazy go barefoot?”, the answer is yes, that crazy B went barefoot. Okay sure, she might not actually be barefoot; she could be wearing a pair of JJ Casuals. But since it’s human cloud of weed smoke Sarah Silverman we’re talking about, it’s probably safest to assume she’s barefoot.

Silverman: Do you want to build a snowman?

The second Sarah Silverman arrived, I knew everything was going to be alright. First she sashayed onto the red carpet looking like a sedated avocado with her breasts out, which is always the look. Then she got freaked out by a talking blonde grasshopper (Giuliana Rancic) and forgot how a microphone works. Then she started fighting with the grasshopper while trying to fix her breasts, at which point, Rancic opened her gold clutch to explain what she brought with her to the Emmys (good idea, distract the stoner with something shiny) and inside it was a vape full of liquid pot. Sorry, did I say full? I mean about 1/3 full, since she clearly inhaled most of it on the way to the Emmys.

Thankfully, that wasn’t the last we saw of a high-as-hell Sarah Silverman. She came back a little while later when she won the award for Outstanding Writing for a Variety Special, which she accepted by running to the stage barefoot, leaping up the stairs like Stoned Jesus, rambling about space and molecules, and thanking her boyfriend “Mr. Fancy Pants Sheen” (Michael Sheen). Afterwards in the press room, some adorable innocent naive cherub asked Sarah if had smoked weed before the show (aw, stay sweet, you). She answered that she likes to “have a puff as a treat, at appropriate times” (which I guess is the “Bitch, I might be” for more formal occasions), but really, did she even need to answer?

She was barefoot! That’s all the answer you need.

Yet I digress.

Really I didn’t sit there wondering about all of this. I was trying to hold my man crush for Mad Men star Jon Hamm in check. Really, the Academy needs to get their act together. No only do they “owe” me a golden lady statue, but they owe Don Draper one too! Jon Hamm, best actor for “Mad Men.” Academy voters have one more year to make this right. We know where they live you know.

…But that’s another story for another day…

Double the fun: Anna Gunn and Debra Messing (click to enlarge)

Hi Julia! (click to enlarge)

Ah Sofia… (click to enlarge)

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