Always The Bridesmaid

I didn’t want to watch the Emmys last night. I didn’t agree with a number of the nominations, don’t have access to anything shown on cable, and was sure I’d be annoyed by most of the winners. But we had spent the day downtown at Celtic Fest and by the time we got home, I was exhausted from walking a continual circuit from the dance stage to the music stage to the bathroom and back again. So I plopped myself in front of the boob tube and said, “Go ahead Ryan Seacrest, I dare you to entertain me.”

And then the first award I witnessed went to Terry O’Quinn of “Lost” and things were looking up. Not just because I think O’Quinn is an amazing actor. And not just because I think “Lost” was otherwise unfairly overlooked by this year’s Emmy voters. But mostly because I was thrilled O’Quinn beat out castmate Michael Emerson. I hope O’Quinn’s victory sends a message to “Lost”’s creators, who are enamored with Emerson and his band of “Others,” that the show’s most compelling storylines and most gripping performances feature the original cast members. And the dude who plays Desmond.

It was all downhill from there, with the usually dependable one-two punch of Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert failing to amuse with their shtick. It’s never a good idea to give the viewers at home an opportunity to ponder why actors deserve a televised awards ceremony when email is considered good enough to notify Nobel Prize winners of their honor. We might say, “Hey, they’ve got a point. Click.” And life would go on.

The bloc of miniseries awards left me with no option but to switch to a re-run of “Without a Trace.” I mean “Cold Case.” Definitely not one of the CSIs. I hate these shows, which constantly up the ante in terms of cruel and unusual murders. I find them even more disturbing now that a real-life former co-worker of mine has been charged with stabbing and hammering his real-life wife to death. Suddenly “Criminal Minds” doesn’t seem so escapist.

And…it was back to the Emmys. I had no skin in any of the remaining categories, so I gave my full attention to the fashion. Blech. Not that the dresses weren’t shiny and colorful. There just wasn’t that “wow” factor and a good number of gowns reminded me of a classy bridesmaid’s dress. Which I guess is fitting, because the Emmys are definitely the “always a bridesmaid, never a bride” to the Mother of All Red Carpets—the Oscars.

My pick for worst dressed: Felicity Huffman. Nothing wrong with the ensemble, just the Skeletor wearing it. Somewhere Calista Flockhart is fuming. Remember when the artist formerly known as Ally McBeal showed up at the Emmys with all her vertebrae on display and the media went into an eating disorder frenzy? Where was the same furor last night over Huffman, whose plunging hot pink number showed off her every rib bone? I’m not sure why Felicity gets a pass on this issue. Because standing next to Teri Hatcher makes her look healthy? Because she seems too smart to play the scary-skinny game? Because she’s married to William H. Macy? I hate this phrase, but Felicity, eat a sandwich. Or three. And cover up the rack of ribs until you do.

Then before I knew it, Sally Field had been censored for saying “goddamn,” the “Sopranos” won for saying and doing a whole lot worse, the show limped to a non-dramatic finish, and I remembered why I hadn’t wanted to watch in the first place.