April Winchell

Speechless

The excitement is mounting.

A scant four and a half hours from now, a limo will be arriving to whisk my fella John and I off to the Emmys, where we will most likely be shunned by everyone in Hollywood. It's not that much different than my career actually, except that today, I'll be showered.

I have very modest hopes for this evening, which is already so bulging with glamour and possibility that it's grunting.

First, I hope to actually see Star Jones with my bare eyes. It's important for me to know once and for all that she truly exists, and is not some animatronic latex creation foisted upon us by Wes Craven. Or as John posits, a Thanksgiving day float in the Macy's parade.

Second, I would like John to see Jane Kaczmarek in person, because he has a slight crush on her. I'm not being benevolent, she's just the only woman alive who is older than I am, and I think I'll look fresher by comparison. And if not, we're going to have an old-school, Dynasty-style catfight in the fountain. I just hope she's wearing pearls so I can rip them off her neck.

Third, I will get to see Hugh Jackman, who will be presenting something to someone for something. My suspicion is that he will actually be slight and girly in person, and I can just move on.

Fourth, I will get to see Brad Garret, who is flying in from New York, where he is in rehearsals for The Odd Couple (starring Nathan Lane and Matthw Broderick). I haven't seen Brad in almost a year, and this is the last time he'll be nominated for Everybody Loves Raymond. While I would like to see him win, I think it may go to Peter Boyle, who is nominated in the same category, on the same show. My hope is that it turns a little ugly, and an innocent bystander - preferably someone who works on Seventh Heaven - gets badly hurt.

Fifth, I hope to get pictures. Lots and lots of pictures. I doubt I'll have the balls to ask celebs to pose with me, though it's easy enough to do at functions like this. You approach them with arms outstretched and say their name warmly. This is usually enough, as people hate to be thought of as assholes who don't remember the little people. If you get any resistance, flatter them, drop the name of a project they were in a while ago, wedge in a charitable connection and you're in.

Example: You see Eva Longoria.

YOU: (with arms outstretched) Eva!
EVA: Um . . .
YOU: Oh, you don't remember me.
EVA: No, I –
YOU: It's okay. It was a while ago, and so many good things have happened for you since then. Congratulations, by the way.
EVA: Thank you.
YOU: God that show we worked on seems like a lifetime ago, doesn't it? When we were doing that Dragnet series, did you ever think this would happen for you?
EVA: Oh! No, I never imagined.
YOU: Well, we all knew it would. You're so gifted. Say, can I take a quick picture with you for the Make A Wish Foundation?

Wish me luck. I'll be back with a full report tomorrow, after I'm released on my own recognizance.