DON'T LET THE DOOR HIT YOU ON THE WAY OUT . . .

There's efficiency, and then there's efficiency.

They started the music on the LAST AWARD of the night -- Best Drama Series -- after 30 seconds, as per the rule. Dang. Can't get a break anywhere!

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PARTING WORDS . . .

Garry Shandling gets a big fat C- in my book. Mildly funny, but I wish Ellen DeGeneres was up there. I suspect she's far smarter than Garry is, no offense. Or at least not so ... hodey-dodey.

I looked up from Bob's screen just now and saw Charla/Mirna (honestly, I never knew which one was which, and I don't care to really tell them apart, for they are equally irritating) gleefully mingling on-stage with The Stars, as confetti fell all around them. Why are they there, and I'm home in flannel pajamas blogging about what I see on television? I knew it. There IS no justice in the world.

What a boring night. No one wore a particularly ugly dress, worthy of a grimace or a guffaw. No one slipped up and cursed during his or her speech. No one unpredictable won. No naked streakers stole the show. No one even made a cruel political joke about Shrub's stupidity and the futility of the "conflict" (that's what news outlets are calling it now) in Iraq. And it even ended mostly on time.

Sigh. What are awards shows coming to these days?!