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Many of you have asked: "What
did Bunsen think about that orgy of Hollywood autoeroticism
that is the Emmys?"
And many more of you have wondered, perhaps aloud, “What
would a crazed homeless person think about the Emmys?”
There is no one more autoerotic in this town than I am, and
occasionally people think that I am crazed. Could I productively
spend a day babbling like the dispossessed holding forth about
the greatest night in television?
To answer this, I spent Monday wandering my neighborhood,
offering my own scattered thoughts on Fox's Emmy broadcast.
The following are excerpts from observations I offered to
the souls that wander Hollywood Boulevard.
On Debra Messing, winner of Best Actress in a Comedy Series,
to a Japanese couple taking pictures of Tom Cruise's handprints
in front of the world-famous Chinese Theater: "Will and
Grace. Will and Will and Grace Jones and Grace Kelly and gay
gay gay. Closet full of brooms got more meat on its bones
than Debra do. However I do find Sean Hayes delightful. I
love tomato soup. I was scared when the truck full of midgets
come running out to put out the fire on her head."
On The West Wing, winner of Best Dramatic Series in an upset
over critical darling The Sopranos, to a man in a loose-fitting
Spider-Man costume charging tourists five dollars for Polaroids
with him: "I been to the White House. It's blue on the
outside, and red on the inside, and black in the middle. That's
why they call it the White House. Sorkin bought me mushrooms
once, we sat on the roof of my Fiat and watched the full moon
and talked progressive policy. Policy police-y. He's a Dem-o-crat,
but he's in bed with Schwarzenegger, who put a chip in my
brain and now they know when I watch Rob Lowe. This season
really was a creative disaster, but the Emmy voters were sending
a message to cable."
On James Gandolfini and Joe Pantoliano, winners of the Best
Actor and Best Supporting Actor Awards in a Drama Series,
respectively, to a man in front of a T-shirt shop handing
out fliers for an all-nude review: "How you doin'? How
do youin'? Do the Dew, you and you and you. Joey Pants and
Big Jim's pants took it home, that's what I'm sayin'. Hasta
pasta my friend, with a side of bada bing, va va voom. I cried
at the break-up of Tony and Carmela's marriage at the end
of the season, just like when my parents split up when I was
fourteen. No amount of gabba-goo gonna mend this broken cuore,
paesano. I have lasting abandonment issues and I haven't talked
to my father in years. Like-a big-a pizza pie, that's Sopranos."
On Bill Cosby, winner of the Bob Hope Humanitarian Award,
to a transvestite hooker at 2:44 a.m.: "I spy the puddin'
man. I spy the man with a plan, a canal, Panama hat and a
bowl of Jello, hello. Man, I missed those sweaters. He won
the Bob Hope award, he's cursed to eternal life of being an
unfunny American treasure with machines keeping him alive.
Ellen Degeneres is a lesbian. But Bill Cosby's all man with
a plan."
On Sex and the City, winner of zero awards, to a clerk in
a store specializing in the type of shoe popular in gentlemen's
clubs: "Thank God that overrated shit didn't win anything."
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Above:
"I thought the tribute to Bob Hope was very tasteful,"
said homeless former superagent Michael Ovitz. "Speaking
of tasteful, are you going to eat that?"
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