My Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Emmy Experience
It’s taken me a week to write this post. Partly because I’m still recovering from the too much champagne/not enough sleep whirlwind of a wedding weekend, but also because, like a child, I needed to chill the eff out before I could use my words to express how I feel.
Let me not be a huge bitch and start off by saying that the wedding was beautiful. I was lucky enough to be a bridesmaid in my husband’s sister’s wedding last Saturday, which has nothing to do with this rant. I was honored to be asked to support her as she (finally!) tied the knot with a wonderful man and everything about the whole weekend was fabulous.
However, due to being in said wedding, I was not in my usual viewing spot three hours prior to the 65th Annual Primetime Emmys on CBS on Sunday night. We wanted to have as much time with the family as possible, so we opted to take a later boat back to Nantucket that evening. Because we had taken our car over, we had to take a two hour boat ride instead of my usual one hour high-speed ferry that left Hyannis at 8 P.M., the exact moment the show started (don’t get me started on the three hours of preshow coverage I missed- we all make sacrifices).
The entire ride to the dock, I had been attempting to get any nugget of video that I could showcasing the stars arrivals. Normally, I am planted on my sofa, hanging out with my friends Guiliana, Kelly, and George (and if I’m lucky, Ross!), updating my social media platforms with my very honest thoughts about what the TV-lebrities are wearing on the red carpet. So I went to my E! Live from the Red Carpet app on my iPhone, as I thought I could trust them to relay to me all the usual up to date coverage. But no such luck. Well, sort of. While the app did show a stream of the red carpet, it looked so different than the normal show that I couldn’t get into it.
Biggest issues- it was hosted by Kristin Dos Santos (of Watch with Kristin on E!) and some guy I had NEVER seen before. Like not even Jason what’s his name or the blonde flamboyant gentleman that is BFF’s with G and sometimes take street polls on E! News. So I missed my usual peeps. The other issue was without the red carpet interviews (these two were in a studio what could have been miles away from the actual theater just talking about the people entering, not to them) and the commercials, the entire stream ran with this annoying techno music that I never realized is always playing during the live show, because there’s usually a lot of noise and people talking that drowns it out. Every three minutes, Steve would yell out, “are they at a club?!” and after a few segments, I couldn’t handle it. I left in search of greener pastures.
I tried every entertainment app I had ever downloaded in the history of my iPhone. My first inclination was that the actual licensed Emmy app would show it, but no dice. After trying PopSugar, Entertainment Weekly, People, Us Weekly, and Perez Hilton, I gave up. Some had photos (not super updated though- I need REAL TIME, people!), others had shotty live feeds that blurred in and out of focus (once again, I would like to quote my husband, who upon seeing video chats feels compelled to scream, “it’s 2013- we can put a man on the moon but WE CAN’T HANDLE VIDEO CONFERENCING,” to which I like to remind him that there’s been a man on the moon since the 1960s). I figured it better to focus my attention and battery life on the actual show once I got on the boat and could get on the wifi.
We arrived early and waited to drive our cars onto the boat. Steve offered to have me walk on the boat earlier to get settled, but I have this weird fear of the ramp breaking away and falling into the ocean (which may also explain my fear of bridges). I figured I would contain myself and just drive onto the boat with him like a normal human being, which was the last time I exhibited that behavior for the rest of the voyage.
The second the car was in park, I bolted to the seating area. I literally left Steve behind and was all like, “peace, suckaaah.”
There’s two boats you can take your car on, one you have to sit in the car the entire trip and the other has rows of seats and a snack bar and such. And TVs. We were on the latter. But despite running I wasn’t the first person on the boat, and there wasn’t a clear ideal seating area. There were a few burly guys already plunked in front of the flat screens, staring at the football game that I could only pray was about to end. To cover myself, I immediately pounced on the only Steamship Authority employee I could find (at the snack bar) and interrogated her about what a girl had to do to watch the Emmys in this joint. She blandly informed me that I had to speak to the “controller” who sat in a booth in the middle of the boat with a desk and a cot in it (which after seeing it, I can assure you is the WORST place to work or sleep). You can imagine my horror to find that the booth was empty.
I decided to be proactive and find my seat. I must have sat in at least five different spots before I found myself immediately in front of a flat screen that I could almost sort of here… right above my head.
|are you there, emmys? it’s me, nph.|
Have you ever been late for a movie and forced to sit in the front row, but you already paid like $14 for your ticket and you just really wanted to be able to say that you had seen a movie in the theater since The Notebook? So you bear through it and stay, hoping your husband will massage out the crook in your neck later. I even made friends with the girl next to me (after all, there were a thousand seats available and I sat in the one directly next to her) and she seemed to understand my life’s purpose. I mean she also put on headphones and read a book, but she got it.
I had only missed a few minutes of Neil Patrick Harris’ opening montage when Steve found me. As we settled in, I positioned my iPad mini and phone to be at my maximum social media reporting. As I stared up at NPH’s beautiful dainty face, the unthinkable happened:
The channel changed… to football.
I would like to take this moment to say that I am not a particularly angry person. I have never been in a fight. I never scream or yell if I am upset. I have never hit anyone or anything out of frustration or anything resembling it. But in that moment, my blood boiled. If I was a mother whose child was in danger, this would have been my “lift a car” moment. I jumped out of my chair and went to hunt down this so called controller. I found him at his dreary desk and just burst out, “what happened to the Emmys? I was just watching them, and the channel changed. How can it be changed back”
He stared at me blankly, as if this was the first time he had ever had such a request. “Well, uh… four people asked that it be changed to football. So I changed it.”
Unacceptable. “Okay, well football has been on for the last six hours, and it’s not even the Patriots playing. They finished their game this afternoon. The Emmys are on once a year.”
“Well… didn’t you record it?” he responded, void of every emotion that normal humans are capable of.
What I think I meant to say was, no sir, I did not record it. While I am normally on my DVR like white on rice, I have had a busy week preparing to be a bridesmaid, which is a hectic and emotional experience. Not to mention I knew I would be returning at the exact moment the show started and assumed that one television set on a boat with at least six of them would be broadcasting the most important television event of the year. Also (and this is none of your damn business but let me enlighten you) I have a very demanding award show routine that requires constant updates in real time on all channels of social media, which I certainly cannot do watching a recording.
But instead, a trail of verbal diarrhea came out that very unintelligibly sounded like, “uh, I um, well, no… I was in a wedding… dress, bridesmaid, blugdsadhkfadshtr…” Because instead of feeding off my anger, I just get flustered and all the words in my head try to escape my mouth at the same moment.
I gathered myself and tried to think rationally. “Surely, you can put at least one television on the Emmys so the travelers outside of the four people that need to see this game have another option of something to watch.”
“Well, no,” he said. “All the tv’s need to be on the same station.”
All of them. ALL OF THEM. It’s twenty thirteen. Again, people in space, but ONE CHANNEL per six televisions. What is my $160 round-trip ticket going to?!
Because I can’t have the last word in a firm and powerful way, I choked back tears as I shuffled back to my seat. My former Emmy BFF was already asleep. So much for solidarity. Steve was staring at his phone trying not to make eye contact with me.
I collapsed in my seat, filled with the fire of a thousand suns. I had never been so angry in my entire life. And then immediately after, I was mad at myself for being angry, because I knew I was being irrational. But I didn’t care. I couldn’t stop the hatred I felt deep within my soul for this stupid sport that was rapidly ruining my life (or at least my evening).
I immediately flashed back to high school physical education class when the kids that played sports acted like they were God’s gift to the gymnasium because they could kick a ball or run a mile. I’m not saying that kids shouldn’t be active or take care of their bodies. I’m talking about the mindless drones that treat sports and professional athletes as if they are contributing something to society (you know, other than killing people and getting busted for steroids). l think football is the most is the most boring sport to watch, exacerbated by the fact that it is on for hours upon hours, consuming fall Sundays and clogging arteries with orange nacho cheese substances. I could care less about any of the coaches or the players, unless they are sleeping with a Kardashian, and even then, it barely seems worth it to learn their names. It doesn’t matter that it has been ten years since I was in high school, in that moment, all I could think about was that the jocks win and the theater kids lose.
For a moment I considered starting my own campaign of the non-meathead passengers to find five people interested in watching the Emmys to counteract the channel change request. After all, if it hadn’t been for the success of the early days of television, people wouldn’t even be able to watch sports on TV, so how about a little respect? While I sort of wished I had taken a stand, the adult in me reminded myself that while I felt alone in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, I would soon in fact return to an island in which I did not wish to be known as “that crazy award show girl” on the boat (I’ll stick with the internet, thank you very much).
Instead, I sprung into action, hoping that the wifi would prove to be my best asset under this fascist regime. I mean, that’s one of the reasons you get a tablet, right? Those people in the commercials are always streaming with such ease. Surely, I would soon be one of them.
Unfortunately, unlike the Hyline fast ferry, the wifi was spottier than Aaron Hernandez’s alibi (get it? Because of THE MURDER), to the point that I lost it entirely about halfway through the trip. Even in the brief moments I had it, I couldn’t find the show streaming anywhere, which really pissed me off even more, since there is an actual Emmys app. If you can’t get it there, what’s the point?!
One place you can get it is on your husband’s ancient HTC phone that just happened to be picking up 4G. He was able to find a random stream of the live broadcast (by Googling it, of all things) and propped it up in front of my now useless iPad for my enjoyment. It was just one of many times that I was reminded why I married him.
|best seat in the house. or on a boat.|
I opted to take my tiny viewing to the level where our car was, as I couldn’t continue to breathe the same air as the traitors on the upper level much longer. Plus, I also forgot my headphones and couldn’t hear the telecast over the sounds of the six televisions. I caught about seven minutes of the show before we lost our connection, catching the end of Julia Louis-Dreyfus winning Best Actress in a Comedy for the 18th time.
And then, I cried.
I am completely serious. I just broke down and cried. Like actual tears. I shut the iPad, turned off the phone, curled up in a ball in the passenger seat and just cried. I cried out of frustration, anger, and the embarrassment of acting like like a child, but at the same time, not really feeling sorry about it.
Steve tried to comfort me, but I could tell he thought I was being a little ridiculous, and that it wasn’t actually worth shedding tears over. He later told me that he was so relieved when I gave up and fell asleep, because he had been fighting the drowsiness of his Dramamine in order to help me and he didn’t know how much longer he could last.
I tried not to think about all the conversations happening without me on Twitter and Facebook. I pushed out of my brain the thoughts of all the moments I missed, including the tribute to Cory Monteith that I knew was being presented. I ignored the urge to continue to check my nonfunctioning phone to catch a glimpse of any red carpet fashion that I no doubt would be a day behind on in comparison to the rest of the blogosphere. I just relented, gave into my own weariness from a sleep-deprived weekend and chalked it up that this would be one of those “life’s not fair” moments.
And yes, just to repeat so that I’m not the worst human being on the planet, I get that this is minor. It’s nothing compared to the hardships that so many people face on a daily basis. It’s not the worst thing that has happened to me this year (this month, maybe). This is one hundred percent a #firstworldproblem that most would barely bat an eye at. But for me, it’s more. Award season is my favorite time of year. Unlike sports games that are aired multiple times per week for months and months (and rerun on sports specific channels on repeat), this is a one night only scenario. It’s a time that makes me feel like I have found my calling, despite annoying everyone on my feed, and you know, not getting paid for it or anything. I don’t know how else to explain it. I felt like I was missing a chunk of my soul.
But I’ll get over it. Because like everyone says, it’s just TV. Nobody died (well, except for those poor “In Memoriam” people) and the sun still rose and set in the following days.
But I really do hate football.