All Access Cattiness

5th row center at the AMA awards. That’s where I was last night, bitch. Where the fuck were you?

Yes, I had a better seat than Paris fucking Hilton at the American Music Awards last night, and what’s more, because I didn’t spend the whole night yawning and texting into a pink bedazzled Sidekick, I am able to run it down for you.

Spooney and I were the guests of one of the presenters, the very gracious and talented James Denton, and his very gracious and talented wife, Erin. BTW, neither one of them endorses any of my dumbass opinions about anything, okay?

If you’ve never sat in the audience for one of these things, you might not know that there is an animal unique to the award show medium, and that animal is the seat filler. These are people that are paid to sit in your seat while you go to the bathroom or step into the lobby to throw back another pain-numbing cocktail or two. Some seat fillers take their jobs very seriously. They dress formally and conduct themselves with absolute professionalism. You wouldn’t believe how fast a woman in a formal and heels can sprint down an aisle and hop into a mid-row seat, really. Considering what they must be paid, it’s quite impressive.

The other kind of seat filler is the sullen fan filler. These people…okay, teenage girls, dress like Forever 21 just threw up on them, and they are doused so liberally in body glitter that the very air is thick with it, and when one of them vacates your seat, they leave a body glitter outline behind them. A little reminder of their sullen, limp-clapping presence, if you will.

Seconds before the show went live, Mariah Carey and her dresser could be seen running across the stage to get her into place to emerge from the big silver disco ball. (Theme for the night – women emerging from big spinning/flying ball-shaped things) Her dresser cleared the stage at the last possible microsecond. Then Mariah spent the first third of the song making it clear that something was wrong with her ear piece. I spent the first third of the song adjusting to the squeaky-dog-toy pitch of her voice. Also, I couldn’t stop wincing at the sight of such a, ah, “meaty” girl in such a flimsy dress, and I was afraid of being hit with bugle bead shrapnel if she exploded out of it. Mimi, honey, I know you’re crazy, and clearly you’re getting bad advice on a range of topics, but curvy women need to wear curvy women dresses. Not stick-figure no-boob-having dresses. It’s cringey. Stop it.

After winning the award for Best Comeback by a Crazy Person, Mariah admitted how flustered she was during her song, because her ear piece wasn’t working, and she “wasn’t sewn into her dress.” Well, coming from the women who single-handed delayed the taping of the last World Music Awards show for over an hour, I wonder whose fucking fault that was.

Crazy-ass bitch.

Oh, I forgot. Cedric the Entertainer hosted the show, but honestly I don’t remember a thing he said. Maybe he should change his name to Cedric the Middling Award Show Host.

Lindsay Lohan performed her number wearing what I can only describe as a white paper sack as envisioned by Bob Mackie, and then right in the midst of her soul-crushingly bad teen-pop song, she suddenly switched to singing Fleetwood Mac’s “White Winged Dove.” It was as if, at least to the extent that the bad teen-pop song ended, she had heard the silent prayers of the audience, although, frankly, it’s a sad state of affairs when the sight of her thrashing about in that baggy sequin sack can make one long for the sartorial elegance of Stevie Nicks.

Kenny Chesney’s song went well. He seems to be getting along fine without that creepy Renee. Good for him.

Have you ever noticed that every country artist shows the same video of waving wheat fields and daisies growing in front of red barns behind them whenever they play? I wonder if that’s some kind of rule, or something.

When I had seen Cyndi Lauper on the red carpet outside, I was saddened, thinking that poor has-been Cyndi had become an AMA carpet whore, but no, she was there to perform a cut from her new album of old hits, so technically speaking she’s really only a recycled hit whore. She played the dulcimer (I’m pretty sure it was a dulcimer) and sang a sort of even-more-unplugged “Time After Time” with Sarah McLachlan, and it was sad and beautiful and one of the best performances of the night, if you ask me.

The other best performance of the night was fucking Eurythmics, man. Annie Lennox still fucking rules, and Dave Stewart still fucking does whatever he does. You know what I love about Annie Lennox? SHE SINGS BETTER THAN HER BACKUP SINGERS. Name me one other female pop artist, one, that you can say that about.

Speaking of talent-free pop stars, Gwen Stefani picked up the “Favorite Female Artist” award in Pop/Rock right on the heels of her exceeding stupid duet with Pharell, and the first words out of her mouth were “What did I win? Well, whatever this is, thank you,” or some shit like that.

Look bitch, if this lame-ass awards show decides to get you a pointy piece of glass with your name on it, the least you can do it act grateful. Because you suck, and you should be happy to get any lame-ass award.

I used to like Gwen Stefani, because she dressed cool, and she seemed to know that she was just a fucking pop star. But now she seems to think she has some kinda artistic relevance or something, and she’s intolerable. And every other time I see her these days, she’s doing some ridiculous “duet” with a hip hop artist, although she never seems to do anything in these “duets” but gesture in a hip-hoppy way and say “Yeah, you like it like that.”

At least she wasn’t toting around those damn Harajuku girls. That whole thing is starting to get creepy and kinda vaguely racist, although I’m not quite sure how.

Just kidding, Gwen. Me love you long time.

By the way, Keith Urban wears a LOT of makeup. But he’s still awful cute. And he’s nice to the guy who holds his guitars for him, so that’s cool. And if you saw the show on tv, you might have noticed me during his song, sitting about 5 feet away, staring up at him with my mouth open, thinking about…oh…uh, my boyfriend, of course.

(My big ole' moon face, just right of his boot. Thnx Krispy.)

So, Will Smith beat out 50 Cent and rumored Cruise pony boy Rob Thomas for Pop/Rock favorite male artist.

Huh?

Yeah, you know, maybe next year they’ll throw a pop/rock artist into that category. Just fuck all and throw like, maybe a Ben Folds in there. Or a Beck, or a fucking Neil Finn or something.

And Kelly Clarkson beat out Maroon 5 and John Mayer for Favorite Artist in the Adult Contemporary category, which is fine, because I think “Adult Contemporary” means “really fucking boring.”

But really, what kind of bizzarro world are we living in, when they throw an award show and Kelly Clarkson can’t be bothered to show up? Seriously. And the Black Eyed Peas, who won Best Media Saturation by a Group, didn’t show up either! The Black Eyed Peas! Didn’t show up! Not even Fergie!

I’m just shocked. I really had no idea that there was anything beneath them, that’s all.

I mean, they played at my neighbor’s quinceanera just last week.

But of the hottest competitions of the night was between Jesus and God, aka The Lord, aka Our Heavenly Father. Jesus was thanked a total of 12 times, which is just huge for him, really, I mean, it’s almost a sweep, but then God came in and racked up a big 15 thanks near the end when Destiny’s Child’s Kelly Rowland made her second podium appearance. That chick can thank some fucking God, man. She is seriously second to none in God-thanking. Just stellar. Really.

The AMAs were, I guess, saving what they thought were their big guns for last: The Rolling Stones. We were all jazzed about seeing the Stones, because, well, I never have, and it’s just kinda one of those things you wanna be able to say, right? Mostly so you can refute people who go on about how they’re still good live, I guess. Anyway, we were all excited, and then we were all really bummed when the producer told the audience over the PA during the commercial break that the Stones were going to be a live feed from Salt Lake City but we were to act like they were live in front of us. I was a little peeved, and there was some unrest in the audience, but I thought, what the hell, I’ll play along.

And then the next announcement: “Let’s get to your seats, folks. We’ll be back in five. And don’t forget, big reaction to the Rolling Stones. Just like they were live.”

And then, “Two minutes, folks. Don’t forget. Big, live reaction for the Stones.”

And then, “We’re at 30 seconds and we’re about to start our countdown, but I just want to remind you one more time that we want a big, live response for the Rolling Stones.”

So by that point, we were not only pissed they weren’t live, we were pissed that the producer wouldn’t shut up about it.

At then the big screens came on, and Mick was there, live from Mormonland, and he says, “Thank you!” and walks off the stage.
And the stage is empty. And empty, and empty, and empty. Finally, after about 30 seconds of dead air, the Stones come on and start playing some fucking new song from their “No one gives a shit anymore, do they?” album. And the camera is WAY, WAY TOO FUCKING CLOSE to Mick's face. And there is an audible gasp from the audience. And then they cut to a close-up of Keith, and we all lower our eyes. Out of respect for the dead.

In other words, it’s about the perfect ending for the AMAs.

So thanks to James and Erin, for an awesomely heinous time. I loved every minute of it.

Seriously. You know it’s true. And now I gotta go wash the glitter off of my ass.