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Guilty displeasures. I admit it: one of my baddest habits is watching the Grammys. Like smokers outside an office building who won't make eye contact with you, Grammy watchers know they're only hurting themselves.

Pop music celebrity is the dirty nicotine of entertainment, even without Britney. And this year was dirtier and stinkier than usual (I'm talking to you, Kanye), resulting in even heavier doses of empty and toxic smoke. I have nothing to add to Terry Sawyer's review, which is near-perfect in its articulation of disgust (along with a couple of strange and wonderful highlights that I also happen to agree with — Gershwin and Feist).

Sawyer: "These big top overkills prove to me conclusively that something can be both spectacular and unmoving." Far beyond the Grammys, this statement pretty much describes the awards and game and reality shows that comprise the bulk of network television.

Excuse me while I go to rehab.

{ 11:44 AM }

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