It's the end of the year, which means that at any given moment someone is being handed an award for something–because, you know, it's the end of the year, and there's all this airtime to fill, and people like awards shows, right?
Well, that's not exactly true. People don't like the actual awards shows nearly as much as they like criticizing and making fun of awards shows with a group of people. But while the big, significant awards shows (like the Oscars) or the big awards shows that think they're significant (The Golden Globes) are endlessly ridiculed and scrutinized, there are more than a few smaller, completely pointless, and totally insignificant awards shows that fall through the cracks of public ridicule and scorn each year.
Well, no more! Welcome once again to Awards Shows You Didn't Know (Or Care) Existed, a feature that seeks out the less significant awards shows (like The Billboard Awards, and, ugh, The American Music Awards) and holds them up for the public ridicule they so richly deserve.
First up, The American Music Awards, an awards show that seems to exist solely to make the Grammys seem bearable.
I'm not sure what the point of the American Music Awards is–to induce seizures, to remind everyone that Celine Dion still exists, to give Americans a soundtrack for their collective depression that prominently features Alicia Keys, a Fergie medley, and a bluegrass version of "Irreplaceable"–but the best part about it is that it's live! Anything can happen! Of course, nothing really does, except for the guy from Rascal Flatts saying something about "cockin'" that may or may not have been a song lyric.
The line-up for the show seemed to have been assembled in response to the question, "Well, who can we get?" When it comes to awards shows, the answer to this question is always, always: "Queen Latifah, Rhianna, a bunch of country stars, and Ryan Seacrest." When Beyoncé showing up is advertised as "a special appearance by Beyoncé," and the presence of both Blair Underwood and Solange Knowles is heavily touted, it is not a good sign.
Still, watching the American Music Awards was good for one thing: When I heard Rhianna sing "Umbrella" for what must be the millionth time this year, the song plunked down in my brain in just such a way that all the other times I've heard that song were pushed out, like that arcade game where the mechanical arms push the quarters off the ledge. Basically, my mind has been reset when it comes to "Umbrella." I can't even hear it anymore. It's like white noise to me now, which is a welcome change.
But the highlight of the show was Jimmy Kimmel's writer-free monologue, an exercise in awkwardness involving Soulja Boy, dead air, and 2 American Idol contestants. I'm sure that Kimmel was trying to make a point about how he's not funny without writers, but actually the difference is negligible. Boredom is boredom, scripted or not.