Deadwood Finale

It's only fitting that the best show on television, Deadwood, should have its season finale on the same night that television, bereft of any aesthetic or literary conscience, celebrates (in such maudline fasion, too) the life's "work" of Aaron Spelling, the man responsible for such mindless fare as Charlie's Angels, Fantasy Island, and Dynasty, and who, as an actor in or writer for Gunsmoke, Wagon Train, and Zane Gray Theatre, had a hand in the very Western myth-making of the late 50's and early 60's that Deadwood has mercilessly deconstructed over the past three seasons.

I know I shouldn't be surprised how mediocrity triumphed over artistry, the pedestrian over originality, but really . . . just take a look at the winners. Putting aside (or at least trying to) the new Emmy "rules" that would snub Deadwood in all categories . . .

24 over The Sopranos for Best Drama? The Office over Curb Your Enthusiasm, or Arrested Development for Best Comedy seires? Tony Shaloub winning his third Emmy over Larry David?! That's just wrong . . .

Three bright bright spots: The Daily Show picking up two more statues, Jeremy Piven FINALLY winning for Entourage and the nod for best supporting actor to the inimitable Alan Alda who almost single-handedly resuscitated the last two seasons of The West Wing.

And is there anyone funnier than Conan O'Brien? If you haven't seen the opening sketch, it's absolutely hilarious. He spoofs those ubiquitous Dateline on-line pedophilia stings. Absolutely brilliant . . .