Do You Like to Boogie Woogie?

! NOT EDITED. PLS DO NOT JUDGE GRAMMAR, SPELLING OR CONTENT !

I am not, nor have I ever been, a braggart. I am a gracious in victory and defeat.

My friends and family are pissing themselves laughing at that one. I am the all-time, most obnoxious, annoying, competetive shit-eater. And if I lose, which never happens, I sulk, low and deep and long. Sadly, though, witnessing a Shannon victory is worse. For example, I do an inspired, celebratory dance everytime I win. Could be darts, could be Trivial Pursuit, could be beating children--there's a different dance for all all winning moments. Ah, the thrill of victory. I have the skill to make the simple declaration, "I win!" sound like, "I am prime evil. You want to shoot me in the face. Do it. Make me stop. Shoot me now. You know you want to."

During the Emmy telecast last night I added two more dances to my repertiore. One for Felicity Huffman's win as Best Actress in a Comedy Series, and the other for Blythe Danner's win in the Supporting Actress Drama catergory. I felt like a winner, too. Hence, an ocassion for creating new dances.

Felicity Huffman has long been a fave of mine. We go back to Sport's Night, circa Fall 1998. I was a vocal supporter even then, when no one was watching the damn show. For my money, she played one of the most interesting, complicated, bright and vulnerable female characters on TV since the incarnation of Murphy Brown, exactly 10 years before the idiot box blessed me with Dana Whitaker. On Desperate Housewives, she's the one with the chops. The other gals are good, but are nowhere near achieving the nuance and ouright hystertia (in every sense) of Huffman's Lynette. Hats of to Felicity. I predicted an eventual Emmy for her and prayed that if Sport's Night wasn't the vehicle for her win, than a role that'd be something equally as deserving would roll her way. Brag. Brag. Brag.

Felicity and my victory dance looks very much like Raphael Nadal's psyched up, clenched fist, elbow back toward hip, "Yeah!" motion. But I did it really fast, repeatedly, shouting, "Yessssssssss!"

Next up is Blythe's "surprise" crowning as Supporting Actress in a Drama Series. Dude, I predicted that shit during the 3rd or 4th episode of HUFF. As Huff's semi-alcoholic, racist, brutally honest Mom, Izzy, she slays me. I cry tears of joy when she's meanspirited and curt. She would be so easy to hate, but Danner refuses to let us go there. Like Murphy Brown, she's irascible and abrasive one minute and before we can blink, we get to see the part of Izzy that no one else does, the part that draws on our sympathy. She's as dead on nagging her daughter in law as she is confessing the overwhelming pain of reconciling with her youngest son's mental illness. So, not halfway into HUFF'S season, I declared Emmy, and shared this prediction with anyone with ears. And wouldn't you know it, there's Blythe on stage, Emmy in hand, forgetting to mention her poorly named grandchild, Apple? Haha. Poor fruit baby.

The dance of Blythe's victory is explosive, because I was all crouched with my fingers cross as the envelope was being torn. The moment her name was read I jumped up and Whooo Hoo'd until I realized that she and I deserved a song. Admittedly, the jingle I came up with last night doesn't even compare to my "I have cashmere socks" ditty, but oh well. So to no particular tune, without concern for melodly, I improvised, "Uh huh. That's riiiiiiiight. I said it. I said that she would wiiiiiin, she would wiiiiiiin. Oh yeah, she won. I said it, oh yeah. Reward me oh God of award ceremoniiiiieeeeees. I said it. I did. Fire me up a piece of Mariska Hargitay (grunt)because that's riiiiiight, I said it. Yeeeeeaaaaaahhhh."

Funny, isn't it, that I always watch these shows alone?

While typing this, JAK FM played "Super Freak." I actually teared up for Rick James, bitch. So, ghetto style (b/c I know all about the ghetto), I tipped some lukewarm coffee on the floor as a sign of r'spect. Since the only thing Rick and I share is addiction, I snorted the coffee off the floor in an intensely more personal remembrance.