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I Have Something to Say about the Streamy Awards Too!

Yes, everyone’s written a lot about the Streamy Awards and what a nightmare they were.  What am I going to add here?  “I agree’?  Well, yes, I suppose I do.  The show itself seemed to fall apart and, even for me, was in bad taste at times.  (That said, the things that offend me are different than what offends everyone else.  Being an animal lover, I was most offended by the “In memory of” video with all the animals from YouTube, many or which hadn’t died at all, or who died a long time ago.  A dead cat is supposed to be funny? It just seemed sick to me. But, you know me, I’m a prude.)

With my dates, Mikaela Hoover and Pete Alton.

I took my dates Mikaela Hooer and Pete Alton.  We were ready for a great time. And, at first, there seemed like a lot of great people there – people I know and like such as Nick Holmes, Rileah Vanderbilt, Larry Fitzgibbon, Taryn Southern, David Wain, Jace Hall, Tay Zonday, and Samm Levine,  and folks I had never met in person like Casey McKinnon, Felicia Day, Cricket Lee, Zadi Diaz, Phil LaMarr, and Michele Boyd, who were all super nice!

Pete gets sexy on the red carpet.

I presented with Marina Orlova from Hot for Words.  She was a cool and gorgeous chick and joking around with her backstage was one of the highlights of my night (unfortunately, being a highlight on this night is kind of like being a herpes sore on a woman with leprosy – but I’m not comparing Marina to herpes – she’s much, much better than herpes, obviously!)

With Marina Orlova.

Our presentation was a little difficult.  While we were backstage, there were some huge technical gaffes (it came out later that the show had no tech rehearsal), some streakers, and then some dude who was going on about pussy and putting implants in his six-year-old daughter.  By the time Marina and I got to the stage, over two-thirds of the audience – and I’m not exaggerating – had LEFT the theater.  Since I hadn’t seen what was going on before that, it was baffling to me.  Our presentation, which was a PG version of the different ways I could have sex with  Marina before announcing the nominees, wasn’t that funny – but it was also ill-timed as it came on the heels of the one dude’s NC-17 rant.  As one blogger, World of Higlet, said:  “When James Gunn is light relief from swearing and lewdness then something is very wrong.”  Ah, yes. I suppose this is true.

I tweeted through much of the rest of the show, making jokes about how I was going to slit my wrists if I didn’t win my category.

I didn’t win. I’m still here. I lied. Sorry.

All that said, the show has gotten a lot of grief for mocking the industry we were supposed to be applauding.  But I didn’t have a lot of problems with that.   I mean, really, it’s Internet content. Can’t we applaud it and make fun of it at the same time?  To me, by far the best part of the show was Paul Scheer, the host, who was funny as hell, mocking the industry or not, and was able to keep his composure as the world fell down around him.  A lot of people were also railing on the opening dance and song number.  Admittedly, this was probably not a good move.  But, simultaneous to that, I can’t put it down because I couldn’t hear a Goddamn thing they sang because of the technical glitches.

Award Shows are bad.  They’re almost always bad.  Even the Oscars, with all that money poured into them, with the best TV directors and joke writers in the business, is virtually unwatchable.  I think you’re expecting too much if you want the Streamys to be good.  But at least they could be competently run.  At least – at the very least – there could be a technical rehearsal.  (And, while we’re at it, please lay off joking about people’s pets being dead). It seemed like someone somewhere was just expecting this show to run itself.

After the horror show ended, I took my dates to the after party and I released all my frustrations on the dance floor. As I danced, I started to lose my depression and any guilt I had about any of you folks who sat through that shit because of me.

Honest to God, it truly helped!

I was feeling pretty good and laughing with Mikaela as we left the after party early (we were both hungry, as there hadn’t been any type of food provided for us, or even offered for sale, for the over six hours we had to be there).  It was raining so we took a cab from the after-party back to the parking lot where I left my car with the “VIP” parking attendants.

Ah, hell, I thought, as Mikaela and I chuckled over the craziness of the night.  Maybe it wasn’t so bad after all.

And then we got to the parking lot, and discovered my car wasn’t there.  Neither were any parking attendants.  To add insult to injury, the Streamy Awards had either lost or stolen my car.  Mikaela and I were walking from parking lot to parking lot in the pouring rain looking for my car, and hoping to God it wasn’t stolen.  I finally went back to the Orpheum, where the show was, and snuck inside.  One of the guys there said the cars were moved to another lot a block down.  How the Hell was I supposed to know that?

We found a parking lot attendant who was wandering the sidewalks.  I asked him if he knew where my car was.

“Follow me,” he said.

“I know it’s not your fault,” I said, “But this night has been a total clusterfuck.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ve heard that word about forty times tonight.  But everyone’s been really nice.”

“At least that’s something,” I told him.

Soaking and shivering (I gave my suit coat to Mikaela, so my nipples were showing through my white shirt – that was a special treat for her), we finally found the car and drove home.  The imperfect ending to an imperfect night.

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