First off, big thanks to Sars for making Bad Tiki her site of the week. I’m working on getting smaller versions of My Sperm done so people can actually watch it. Also, judging by my statistics page, September 17 saw a large increase in the amount of traffic from Singapore. I have no idea why, but welcome to the Singaporians. Singaporese? Singapori? Well, welcome anyway.

I don’t know from fashion. Every pair of pants in my closet is beige (except for my suit pants, which are a slightly darker brown). I wear blue dress shirts to work virtually every day (although there is an off-white one thrown in the mix) and on the weekends my only choice is between the gray t-shirt or the white t-shirt. Yes, I haven’t had a decent date in years and I can barely dress myself. I’m still gay. I swear.

My lack of fashion knowledge really throws a wrench in my snarkiness when it comes to watching awards shows. Sure, sometimes the fine people on cable television will throw me a bone by mentioning “News Chopper E!” or confusing Dulé Hill for Juliet Mills (Joan, Joan, Joan). But, most of the time, I’m bereft of anything too amusing to say. And it bothers me.

Not only am I gay man, I also have a degree in theatre. I should be able to identify an empire waist or tulle on sight. Instead, I fall back on the Mr. Burns technique. I know what I hate. But, for my own edification and because it’s slightly more interesting than Skittles, I am going to discuss the Emmy’s by asking a few questions and issuing a few edicts. (Thanks to Eric for watching with, and being extremely catty with, me.)

Bernie Mac? Why were you wearing a suit made of floor mats? Aside from the sartorial hideousness, didn’t you realize that L.A. is, you know, hot and perhaps wrapping oneself in black rubber was not a smart choice. Also, Bernie, you know I love you, but if you’re going to sport the fro, at least make it even on both sides. The right side of your head was bordering on a hair-goiter.

Janel Maloney, I hated your dress, but I understand why you wore it. You’re Janel Maloney, always in Janney’s shadow, and now we’re talking about you. You get a pass. Also, I like you.

Jennifer Garner and Scott Foley are, separately, lovely people. Together, they are too pretty to live.

Um, Keifer, would you mind coming over to my house and massaging my feet while I watch Buffy tonight? Really? Thanks.

Actually, Bradley Whitford, could you rub my shoulders at the same time? Great. Jane who?

Oprah, for God sakes, we didn’t elect you Jesus. Yes, you do good work and you’re a successful black woman. Yay you. We want more Keifer.

Mr. Pitt? Unless you dropped out of The Fountain to play the Shaun Cassidy role in a Hardy Boys movie, cut your damn hair. Seriously, the beard beads were better.

Doris Roberts, you’re old and you win things. We. Get. It. But thanks for not telling me about the damned memoribilia room in your house. Does ET or Extra visit you once a week now?

Peter Krause? Keifer’s arms are tired, please take over. Keifer, I didn’t say you could leave.

I’m sorry, and I know it’s getting tired, but Ozzy Osbourne cracks my shit up. Kelly, however, needs to step away from the crazy pink-haired lady who dressed her. (Have you seen the crazy pink-haired lady? She’s sixty. With pink hair. And British. For some reason that makes it so much worse.)

Paula, Paula, Paula. There are no words. When are you going away again? Those ten years there were GREAT!

Kim Catrall, you’re a whore AND play one on TV. Great. Why were you wearing a large pleated dinner-napkin?

I never thought I’d say this but, Rachel Griffiths, you look beautiful.

And a special note to the ad buyers over on E!: I now have this fear that I may have a yeast infection since that chick was talking about hers in every single commercial break. Then Bobby Trendy would pop up and he is a yeast infection. Just show that Jackie Zeman, “Earn your degree at home” ad like a respectable basic cable station.

Finally, Conan. I love you. Why don’t you sit in that chair and tell jokes while Keifer, Bradley and Brian do their things. Thanks. Oh, sssh, Buffy’s on.

I really should also talk about the American Idol Vegas concert, but quite frankly I’m still trembling from the experience. Especially since I’m seeing them live in two weeks. Yep, that’s right, I’m going to the American Idol concert. And Jim will be there. I’m very, very frightened. Hold me.