Monday, May 29, 2017


It was like seeing a unicorn.

To be there, in the sunshine, under the blaze of a spring sky, to gaze at the vista they saw that day, to breathe the salt of the same blue waters…to both fulfill a fervent wish for a visit and remember what we’ve learned in the history books, seen in the movies, pictured in our minds. 

Yep, a unicorn…maybe rarer. Pearl Harbor. In color…in Honolulu. For real.

Recently, Seth and I were fortunate enough to visit that storied and world famous naval base. You all know the facts…an early morning attack led to America’s entry into World War II, stole the lives of nearly 2,500 Americans and, maybe, some of you want to visit like we did. Seth, being a history buff, making me into one, as well—we always knew we’d get there if we could.

And there we were. Goose-pimpled on an unnaturally hot and still day in Hawaii. My reputation for bringing freakish weather to places I travel intact, the locals all commented on the extreme temperatures as we sought the shade of a palm tree’s umbrella and guzzled bottled water, returning the many “alohas” of nearly everyone we met. 

Shimmering in the heat, out in the harbor, the eerily beautiful memorial for the USS Arizon rested atop the rusted hulk of the sunken battleship. Nearby, we saw the markers for the ships that were hit but still salvageable.

The mighty battleship Missouri, most famous for hosting the surrender of the Empire of Japan, waited beyond a maze of ramps. We boarded in awe and stood in reverence on the exact spot where Douglas McArthur oversaw the signing of the documents that ended World War II. Later, emotionally spent, drenched in sweat and seated at a beach-side bar, our waiter -- noticing my wilted lei and Seth’s fresh sunburn -- dutifully asked what we “tourists” had been up to all day. When we told him we’d been to Pearl, he stopped and looked directly into my eyes to inquire if we’d felt “the spirit.” “Yes,” I told him. We’d felt it.

Normally, careful about timing and not missing things like trains or buses, we were mistaken about when to return to our group and were two hours late. While we regretted inconveniencing our fellow travelers (who, wisely, gave up on us and left us behind), we realized that our error had given us an unusually long time on the Missouri, allowing many extra reveries as we visited the quarters of the men, sat where the great Admiral Nimitz (and Seth’s hero) had, himself, sat to contemplate and discuss the enormity of enormities that was his command during that historic time as well as linger on the spot where heads of state gathered as the papers were signed.

Visiting the Memorial to the Arizona, we marveled at the small bubbles of oil that, to this day, rise to the surface of the water as they escape the ruptured tanks. We learned that many of the few who survived the attack on that vessel, request that navy divers place their cremated remains back in the ship so they can rest with their comrades.

Seth and I will never forget our day at Pearl.

If we had been true to the emotions we controlled throughout our visit, we would have been crying our eyes out on those sun-soaked decks. The waiter we’d meet later understood…the “spirit” is there. If you want to, you can feel it…the heft of the events that transpired remains palpable. And, as the many American flags began to flutter in the breeze that eventually sprang up, you feel other things, too: pride in America, gratitude for the men who gave everything for their country and hope that America, once again, can galvanize against the enemies who seek to undermine her daily.

If a visit to Honolulu isn’t in your future, do some googling and encourage your kids to do the same. Rent “From Here to Eternity” and “Tora, Tora, Tora!” from Netflix and see, if only in a movie director’s vision, what went on there. I hope you all had both a contemplative and enjoyable Memorial Day weekend. God bless America.

The Memorial rests atop the fallen ship.

Monday, February 27, 2017

The 2017 Oscars and the Big "Oopsie" Moment...A Review

This year I’d decided to take a break from my annual Academy Awards review. 

Fearful of a climate heavily clouded by Trump-hating Hollywood, my plan was to watch until the first self-righteous tantrum was delivered from beneath a glittering bib of borrowed Chopard diamonds and then snap off the TV. So, I sat down without my yellow pad and Sharpie...or a care in the world.

The terrible kiss of a few years back.
Halle is still in therapy as a result.
Unburdened of note-taking yet needing a little busywork, I was free to back comb the cats and begin fashioning a replica of the Golem of Prague from their fur for future use which, apparently, might be pretty soon. So, while I do have an unactivated golem in the laundry room, I have not a single note from the evening.

It was, however, a very vivid night and, ironically, one of the better and more entertaining “Oscars” I’ve seen in years. 
Oh, yes, she did.

Thanks, in part, to the heightened suspense about who Meryl Streep might compare to a “brown shirt” this time, I was mentally piqued and used some of my nervous energy Snap-Chatting my poor daughter-in-law (about 400 times) the minute I spotted Halle Berry’s “hair” early in the evening. 

What Halle was thinking, I do not know. I can only guess she was worried that Adrian Brody might be there and hoped the hair might deflect another molestation. Sources tell me Adrian was busy handing out towels in the men’s room and was too busy to even dream of his former lip lock with the then closely-shorn Ms. Berry.

Parachute Drop: candy and doughnuts
Even without notes, I remember that Jimmy Kimmel was pretty darn good as host. More self-deprecating than on his own show, he wrangled the crowd efficiently, maintained a gag about a supposed feud with Matt Damon and enjoyed orchestrating candy and doughnut drops to the audience via little gossamer baggies from the sky. 

He was fun…and kept his politicizing to the level he might have used for any new POTUS--meaning he didn’t call for impeachment or mass rebellion. This was a good idea since Jimmy’s audience is comprised not solely of Trump loathers and he needs to hold on to his day – or, in his case, night job.
A popular post-Oscars spot for hangry stars

Public opinion, in fact, may have been the underlying reason last night’s celebs were tempered.  I doubt they’d listen to a memo from the Academy requesting politics be kept to a minimum since their levels of sanctimony are astronomically high but so is their desire to maintain their box-office numbers. 

Salma Hayek, who looked lovely in simple black lace, was one of the few who mumbled somethin’ about somethin’ but kept it to eyebrow wiggling and a veiled suggestion to "question authority". For all we know, however, she may have been referring to the night crew at In-N-Out Burger if they try to limit the number of toppings one can request upon one’s post -award show burger.

The moon (s) were out that night.

Cher's feathers
The dresses seemed nice (how I miss pre-stylist days when Cher wore feathers and Barbra’s bare tushie shone through her pantaloons) but Alicia Vikander took a wrong turn somewhere off Hollywood Boulevard and ended up at Happy Endings Tanning and Massage instead of where the special, fancy people go for their spray-ons. As a result, she was Oompa Loompa orange. And, the young  Hailee Steinfeld, when looking back at footage of herself, might regret wearing two giant silver decals on her boobs but, hey, attention is attention. Just ask Adrian Brody after he tried to kiss Ben Affleck in the men’s room.
I didn't think this worked but Hailee looks pretty confident about it all.
Janelle Monae 

Janelle Monae, who was everywhere last night, channeled Queen Elizabeth I in that crazy dress and Mel Gibson, who cannot be redeemed in my eyes no matter how good Hacksaw Ridge looks in previews, appeared either high as a kite or genuinely nutso as he sat in the audience baring a new set of veneers for the camera. A man of great former beauty and apparent sanity, he has been welcomed back to Hollywood after unthinkable racist rants and documented misogyny but, hey, he was Brave Heart and painted his ass blue so it's all okay.
Craziest Mofo in Hollywood

There was much to enjoy in this year’s awards…I found Seth Rogen and Michael J. Fox charming, was thrilled to see Shirley MacLaine who milked her oft-mocked reincarnation beliefs for fewer laughs than she expected, always enjoy Leslie Mann and even approved of the sparkling backdrop in the shape of “Oscar” himself. Damon and Affleck are great fun together, I loved the flashback clips, enjoyed Sara Bareilles performance and, despite disliking child actors in general, I love that darn kid from “Lion.”
Sorry, chemistry between
you guys last night.

On the more unfortunate side, I didn’t understand a word Viola Davis said as she accepted her statuette, was frightened by the grizzled dishevelment of Jeff Bridges and was as embarrassed as Jamie Dornan appeared as he stood next to Dakota Johnson who looked absolutely horrible. As for Amy Adams alabaster boobies, it is said that this is the real way to communicate with aliens.

The tour bus routine, where a group of unsuspecting out-of-towners were surprised to find themselves front and center on national TV, didn’t quite work as a few seemed straight out of central casting and, for me, cast aspersions on the authenticity of the entire escapade. Halle Berry didn’t seem thrilled either. Notoriously driven to mayhem by paparazzi, perhaps she feared this was simply a ruse for a close-up of the haystack on her head and poor Jennifer Aniston was guilted into giving one of the “tourists” a pair of sunglasses that, no doubt, cost a fortune. Good work, Jimmy Kimmel!

Congrats, Mahershala!
As for the winners, I have loved Mahershala Ali since season one of “House of Cards” and admit I haven’t yet seen “Moonlight” but cannot imagine a better supporting performance than Lucas Hedges gave in “Manchester by the Sea.”  I was also pleased to see Casey Affleck win the gold for best actor although Denzel, the heavy favorite, did not share my happiness.
"I was supposed to win, dammit!!"

But let’s get to the best part. Or the worst part. It all depends on which movie you’d worked on but it sure snapped me to attention as nothing has in 50 years of awards show viewing.

Warren Beatty back in "the day."
Let’s set the table, friends: Warren Beatty, no longer remotely resembling the sex machine of his youth and Faye Dunaway, one of Hollywood’s greatest beauties but currently resembling her own death mask, wobbled out together and proceeded to screw up everyone’s entire lives forever.

The mistake, apparently, was not theirs as it seems they’d been given a duplicate card from a previous award. I give Warren credit for forcing poor Faye to do the dirty work as he clearly suspected a problem but, as every man, woman and rescue puppy knows by now, they presented the most important and anticipated award of the evening to the wrong movie.

I bet Shirley MacLaine, even shorter than she’d been a mere half hour earlier, probably wishes she hadn’t waved so cheerfully to her brother,Warren from the audience.

As the La La Land-ers hugged and gushed at the microphone, confusion soon swept through the throng of back-slapping high-fivers as important looking men in headsets scurried out to check envelopes, paperwork and green cards...but panic and horror took over. This gave Jimmy Kimmel the best unscripted moment of the night as he blamed Steve Harvey --  himself a hapless survivor of a similar oopsie when he awarded the tiara to the wrong Miss Universe last year – for the entire debacle.

La La Land was very gracious to Moonlight as they ceded the spoils to the true victors and apparently everyone (except Adrien Brody who, by now, was chained down in the men’s room) took a turn to try and explain just what in the name of Mel Gibson’s glittering eyeballs had happened. 

It was awful….but it made for great TV.  Public graciousness aside, if I were Warren or Faye, I’d employ food tasters from now on.

All in all, it was the best Academy Awards in forever. No one knew what to expect and while that kept people edgy, it also worked. The whole night seemed, oddly, more relaxed. And, other than the terrible mistake at the end, the show was loose and well-paced.

Congratulations to all the winners, my condolences to whoever gave Warren and Faye the naughty card and happy catch-up to those of us who have yet to see most of the nominated movies. I, for one, await their arrival on Amazon Prime since I spent all my money on golem supplies.

Monday, February 13, 2017

Snarkiest Review Ever: The Grammys 2017

Well, friends, I almost stopped watching the Grammys last night. 

In fact, I actually turned off the TV right after Beyonce’s inexplicable, asinine, pretentious jumble of nonsense but I kept the DVR running and, after spending a few hours rolled into a little ball on the floor, turned it back on only to be so traumatized by a terrifying commercial for Adidas with images of people wearing the heads of dogs, that I shut it off again. After chasing down Tito the Cat for a soul-saving cuddle, I tried again...


Mercifully, I don't remember much before Lady Bey took the stage but I know that if my mother had access to the Weekend (who won the night for most improved hair-do), she would have slapped his face for his lyrics. She would also have told Bruno Mars that if he really planned to have sex anywhere near a fire to be sure and take off that synthetic Garanimals outfit he was wearing because it appeared to be extremely flammable. 

I'm pretty sure this very outfit was on sale in the children's department of Sear's last week.

Every year I announce the Grammys were the worst  ever. While I’m not sure if yesterday’s were the worst, they were very, very weird---starting with the noted absence of Taylor Swift gyrating with closed eyes from the first row. Instead, they filled the audience with Jonases. 

"We're everywhere...."
In what seemed like every camera shot aimed at the crowd, there appeared to be a member of the Jonas family staring back, each in various stages of five o'clock shadow. Are there really that many Jonases or were mirrors involved? How fast can they grow facial hair and, most importantly, weren’t the original three more than enough?

Thanks to the magic of my DVR, I was able to fast forward through Katy Perry’s partially pre-recorded production number which concluded against a backdrop of the preamble to the Constitution. Now that would have made James Madison and the co-authors of the greatest document ever written very proud, I'm sure. What was Katy's specific intent with that message, you may ask. Who knows...but I wonder if Katy voted in the last election or if, as usual, she spent her day making prank calls to John Mayer or trying to get Russell Brand's visa permanently revoked.

"I'm so sorry I swore....again.

My memory is definitely not what it once was but don’t I remember Adele stopping mid-song once before to swear in that adorable British way of hers and start again because she sounded terrible? Well, everyone’s favorite singing billboard for Spanx did it again last night after starting her tribute to George Michael in the worst possible way. Once she began again, the dirge-like rearrangement of one of his least memorable songs proved totally uninteresting. She did, however, wear her best dress of the night, which isn’t saying much. For the youngest among you, head on over to youtube and listen to "Careless Whisper." You're welcome.

Usually when I write an awards show review, if I’m unfamiliar with an artist I’ll do a little research but, this year, while I enjoyed the duet between Alicia Keys' hair and the woman who forgot to put on her pants, I am unmotivated to do any googling. Instead, I’ll dig out my old Duffy CD and listen to it again. While the primary difference between Alicia’s mystery partner and Duffy is that Duffy wore pants while performing, the two sound so similar that I fear they will suffer identical fates: the bargain bin at Walmart in about a week.

Off her game last night....

Laverne Cox was more drag queen-y than the gorgeous and dignified trans-gender actress I’ve enjoyed in the past and while the always magnificent James Hetfield’s mike didn’t work for half the song, Metallica’s performance with Lady Gaga perked up my night. In other highlights, Bruno Mars and that sweet little hairless face of his can do almost no wrong and, while I am sick of Prince worship, I enjoyed Bruno's rendition of my personal favorite from the pen of His Purpleness, “Let’s Go Crazy.” Another enjoyable performance was by the eternally funky Morris Day and “The Time” of Minneapoliswho did a nice job honoring their mentor.

Neil Diamond, enjoying a day pass from assisted living, participated in a faux car pool karaoke with the irrepressible (because he says so) James Corden who is reportedly locked in combat for the most self-aggrandizing behavior from a late night talk host with the coked-up (mark my words, America---you heard it here first) Jimmy Fallon. A group of A-listers was quickly assembled to sing Diamond's “Sweet Caroline" yet, despite its status as an established classic, everyone seemed to be looking at a monitor for the lyrics...except Blue Ivy who, in an attempt to escape the gravitational pull of her mother’s gleaming busoms, wandered into the shot.

Poor Celine Dion has had some very tough times lately. It appears grief has intensified her French Canadian accent as she presented an award to Adele decked out in yet another outfit whipped up from discontinued upholstery fabric. Soon after Celine left for diction class, Solange Knowles popped up. Heavily sedated at the direct request of her brother-in-law Jay-Z so she wouldn’t attack him a second time, I happily sniffed my Sharpie in solidarity and again, tried to avoid looking directly into the vortex of her sister Beyonce’s glowing cleavage. 

Much of the remainder of the show is a blur, including the tribute to the Bee Gees. I seem to recall Barry Gibb looking confused amidst the sea of unshaven Jonases but, by now, I was also having trouble staying awake, so most of Chance the Rapper’s performance was lost although I think I saw Chef Anne Burrell from “Worst Cooks in America” in a glittering gown, belting out a gospel number. 

The DVR stopped recording a few minutes before the end so I will never know what adorable shtick James Corden employed to further endear himself to the universe or if Jimmy Fallon rushed the stage and they tumbled away like Cato and the Pink Panther.

All I know for sure is I’m buying a Gary Clark Junior CD later today.


Thursday, October 20, 2016

Time in a Bottle

As I enjoyed a leisure moment with a crossword the other day, both a mug of coffee and a snoozing cat within reach, a clue in my puzzle  -- “old time anesthetic” --  gave me a bit of a shock. The answer easily worked out to “ether” but I have terrible memories of ether, you see…and, most importantly, did all this make me “old-time ” too?

I’d recently seen a movie with Richard Widmark (first clue that I actually might be old---how many remember him?) made two years before I was born in which, portraying a troubled surgeon, he toiled in a dim operating room that had nothing plugged in. 

There were no glowing monitors, screens or beeping machines anywhere in sight. Besides a patient on the table, there was a doctor with a scalpel and a nurse in high heels and a winged white cap. They might as well have been wearing animal skins; the doctor cutting open his patient with the jaw bone of a mastodon. Upon realizing that I’d entered the world just 24 months later, I was horrified. How did we survive without all the equipment that checks all the equipment that checks us? Was there even electricity in the delivery room?
Actual operating room from the 1950s.
And now, the Times’ Crossword Editor is smugly referring to something I vividly remember as “old.” What in the name of Marcus Welby (clue #2) is going on here??

I'm pretty sure this was my nurse.
Based on the then accepted medical trend of yanking tonsils willy nilly out of small children, my mother decided that, at the age of three, mine needed to go. And, while I cannot remember if I’ve eaten breakfast, I can actually tell you all about how I was blind folded, thrown into the trunk of a car and driven to a tonsillectomy mill somewhere in Brooklyn. Once there, I was terrorized by a staff of supposed medical personnel straight out of a Bette Davis (clue 3) movie once she got old and was relegated to playing lunatics who loved pushing invalids down flights of stairs.

Taken into a large room with nothing but a padded table in the center and placed upon it, it was from this vantage point I accessed my captors. Uncertain as how to handle this mystifying abandonment by a mother I’d entirely trusted until this very moment, I spotted the only other thing in the room---on the floor, in a corner, was a small, innately terrifying brown glass bottle with a rubber dropper cap. My strategy immediately became clear.

True story.

I morphed from a docile victim into a small feral animal intent upon escape. Leaping from the table, I ran from corner to corner eluding the doctor whose lower face was already obscured by a surgical mask but was soon caught and strapped down. 

The scary bottle was uncapped and a washcloth was placed over my face into which was squeezed dropperfuls of what I later learned was the “old-time anesthetic” that now fit into the five spaces of seven across in my crossword puzzle. I soon blacked out but later awoke to find that my tonsils had been stolen. My mother later tried to appease me with unlimited ice cream but, inexplicably, never apologized for either the abduction or subsequent tonsil-snatching.

Don't be curious, George. Run!

As we all know from watching Grey’s Anatomy, medicine is no longer Richard Widmark and a nurse wearing a pointy bra (clue 4). It’s high tech and magical and anesthetic is no longer administered by a deranged hobo in need of a few bucks for his next bottle of rot gut. 

The irony of my tonsil removal by sadists who, likely, had no medical degrees, is that as the only regenerative tissue in the body, if tonsils are not properly removed, they will grow back. And, guess what--mine did.

So, friends, when you come across that word in a crossword, think of a tiny Susan Says cowering in a corner and begging for mercy. You can send money for psychotherapy care of this newspaper.Thank  you in advance.

*Okay, I wasn’t blindfolded and thrown into the trunk. Everything else in this memory is accurate.
Hello, I'm Marcus Welby!

Friday, September 30, 2016

Pennies From Heaven (Or, in this case, New Fairfield)

Today's post is not going to be funny…or smart-assy…or nostalgic. This column is simply going to say thank you to a town full of friends and acquaintances and, in particular, a whole bunch of people I’ve never met. And it involves pennies…a lowly currency that has systematically been demoted by the government, dissed by the banks and relegated to little dishes next to the register in places of business.

I’ve always liked pennies.

Honest Abe has always been my favorite president and when I was first allowed to go the corner candy store for a treat, a Hershey Bar cost six cents. I’d usually slide six of my own pennies across the counter and feel like a vital part of the economy after the purchase. But, now, pennies are even more special to me.

Recently, during a disappointing visit to my local bank, I was told they could do nothing for me in my quest for the 2016 pennies I needed for the favor for Charlie’s wedding (Yes! My baby is getting married for those I haven’t yet buttonholed in Stop ‘n’ Chat and regaled with every possible detail).

I wanted 2016 pennies specifically because Charles and his lovely bride-to-be are getting hitched this year and I am hopelessly into “cute” right now: “Wouldn’t it be cute?” I thought. “Yes, it certainly would,” I answered myself, wondering how in the name of Pinterest, I might procure such a large number of 2016 pennies without the help of the US Mint?

Well, New Fairfield, as you always do – in big times and small -- you came through. Via Facebook and a page dedicated to all things local I have visited many times for advice, suggestions and the name of a good plumber (and other contractors), I put a request out into the universe and, New Fairfield, you answered with a veritable roar of enthusiasm and good nature. In other words, in a typical response for you.

I have seen you rally around the bereaved, displaced and ailing. I have seen you raise money and  awareness for those in need, fill their fridges, rebuild their homes, actively seek lost pets and hail hometown heroes. I’ve seen you go out of your way to help, console and comfort and now I’ve seen you get involved with a small, happy little project that will neither change the world nor affect the lives of its citizens but made my life easier.

Your actions and willingness to lend a hand to a wacky small town columnist in pursuit of “cuteness” made my life, and by extension, the lives of my family better…and is it not true that if you change one life, you change the entire world?! Didn’t Maimonides, Gandhi or Martha Stewart say something like that?

For a solid week after going public, I received a steady flow of pennies in my mailbox…in paper bags and zip-locs, in plastic containers with tight lids and envelopes of every color. Most had notes of congratulation on the upcoming nuptials and expressions of happiness for my family. In addition, I also visited many mailboxes on several “penny-runs” to retrieve more of the same in the manner a bee collects pollen in any of the lovely gardens I passed along my way.

George Bailey had nothing on me because I was the star of my own “It’s a Wonderful Life” here in New Fairfield, Connecticut with all of you saving me again and again, not only helping with wedding favors but reminding me how great people are one bag of pennies at a time. As each penny clinked its way into my bowl, I have no doubt somewhere an angel got a new set of wings…over 300 times.

So, in essence, you did change the world for the better, New Fairfield. There is no such thing as a small favor…all favors are big and that, my friends, is a reflection of my immense gratitude and appreciation of you and this town and all that your goodness represents.

My family thanks you for the bright, shiny 2016 pennies I received. The favors are assembled and, after the wedding, I will share photos of them. Please be assured that without your generous spirit, I would be nothing more than a little smear of protoplasm on the carpet. So rock on, New Fairfield, Susan Says is a big fan of yours. XOXOXO

                                                                    Have a listen....

Monday, September 19, 2016

Review of the 2016 Emmys: Breaking Up is Hard to Do

“It’s not you, it’s me,” I murmured quietly to the Emmys as I attempted to break up with them last night. But, as the opening began -- with a interminable parody featuring Jimmy Kimmel of O.J. fleeing in the white Bronco, I inwardly sighed.

I knew this parting wouldn’t go well….after all, the Emmys and I have been together for decades.

I tried to convince myself that it might work out…that despite years of missing the chemistry that makes a relationship sizzle, this year might be different.

It was, however, exactly as I feared: a total romp for Mr. Kimmel, inane patter between presenters and wide angles of an audience who appeared to be suffering from some sort of ill-timed anesthesia.

And Jimmy was nasty.

I love nasty…but only when it’s funny, and Jimmy’s attempts fell with a thud into the laps of a disinterested audience.

Even his attempt to skewer Donald Trump by pushing a bit with with Mark Burnett didn’t work as he blamed the smiling super-producer of shows like "Survivor" and "The Celebrity Apprentice" for unleashing The Donald upon an unsuspecting America. Thud.
Interesting hair choices for both.

As the cameras searched for an animated soul among the congealing audience, one could espy John Travolta, with yet another incarnation of hair sutured to his scalp and his beard, er, I mean wife Kelly Preston, both of whom looked bored as hell. Maybe they actually all were hungry as Jimmy later proposed, so he handed out peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to the crowd which received the biggest reaction of the evening: people chewing.

Soon after, it was announced that Bill Cosby was about to take the stage. That woke up Tina Fey (and me) who swiveled her cleavage about a bit in her seat, eyes fully open for the first time all evening until Jimmy popped out, minus sandwiches, to announc that it wasn’t true. He just wanted to see how the audience would react. Thud.

The Susan Says' pick for the Best Moment of the 8-8:30 segment of the show: A commercial for the movie “Storks.”
Why, Mandy?

There were Asian jokes, Black jokes, Jewish jokes, more Donald Trump references (yet no one expressed support for Hillary) and the annual transgender love fest started by the ever-appealing Jeffrey Tambor as he received another Emmy for his performance in “Transparent.”

I found myself paying more attention to the antics of Tito the Cat rather than focusing on all this but perked up when Mandy Moore took the stage wearing unfortunate make-up and a lampshade from Frederick’s of Hollywood instead of a dress.

Susan Says Pick for Best Moment of the 8:30-9:00 segment: Julia Louis Dreyfus’ genuine emotion as she acknowledged the recent passing of her father during her acceptance of an Emmy for her performance in “Veep.”
....just no.

Soon, the hilarious but slightly scary Leslie Jones missed the comedic mark with her usual brash shtick and Kerry Washington also missed something---the hair stylist’s chair as she presented an Emmy with Scandal’s President Fitzgerald Grant, who seems like a viable alternative for the oval office in view of our actual choices.

Sarah Paulson’s new eyebrows gave me a good fright but I pardoned her when she used the word “alchemy” in her acceptance speech.

Susan Says' Pick for Best Moment in the 9:00-9:30 segment: There is a four way tie between Regina King’s beautiful mother smiling at her daughter from the audience, Priyanka Chopra’s sensational matte-red pout,Tom Hiddleston just for being Tom Hiddleston and Terence Howard’s fabulous plaid tuxedo jacket.

and yes.

Tina Fey, still smarting after being faked out about Bill Cosby soon took the stage. with a newly brunette Amy Pohler, glued to her as always. Amy wore a green tablecloth from Home Goods while later, Keri Rustle appeared draped in several yards of paper she’d ripped from one of those rolls that covers the exam table in a doctor’s office.

Susan Says’ Pick for Best Moment of the 9:30-10:00 segment: Jon Snow. No need to say another word.

In the absence of substantial content, we now jump to…

Susan Says’ Pick for Best Moment of the 10:00-10:30 segment: There is another tie—Margo Martindale’s sensible shoes peeking out from the hem of her gown and Minnie Driver’s pronunciation of the word “bastards.”

Tito the Cat and I were getting a little excited now. He, because he knew that once the show was done, I’d haul myself into the kitchen to give him and his pals their evening treat of Nine Lives and an insulin shot and me, well, I was looking forward to watching the local weather which would be scads more fun than this.

Daenarys' is Seth's freebie.
As the 2016 Emmys wound down, there were some speeches from the “Game of Thrones” crowd during which a sleep-addled Seth stumbled down to mutter something about wishing he could take a ride on the back of a dragon…or was it a ride on Emily Clarke? I’m not sure. I just wondered why Peter Dinklage hadn’t  taken a shower for the occasion.

Susan Says’ Pick for Best Moment of the 10:30-11:00 Segment: Jimmy Kimmel, now in a white dinner jacket, saying goodnight.

In hindsight, it might not be “It’s me, not you.” It might be “Well, it kind of was you.” But award shows are like childbirth, you forget from one year to the next how painful they are…so, see you next year, I’m sure.
"Don't wake me until the Emmys are over, please."