FRESH YARN presents: Four-Time Emmy Nominee... by George McGrath

FRESH YARN presents:

Take It From Me, A Four-Time Emmy Nominee
By George McGrath

A show I co-wrote, Tracey Ullman's Trailer Tales received five nominations, but I'm not nominated for an Emmy this year. I was not surprised -- I am not due for another series of nods until 2007. No, I'm not Mrs. Nostradamus. It's pure mathematics.

I received my first nomination for writing Pee-wee's Playhouse in 1987. In 1988, I was nominated again in the same category. In 1997, I was nominated for producing Tracey Takes On. And in 1998, I was nominated again in the same category. Clearly the gods of numerology have created a mathematical path of nominations from which I may not waver.

I should be completely honest. That's what people expect from a 4X Nominee. The two Pee-wee's Playhouse nods were "Daytime" nominations. For those of you who have not "dabbled in the day," let me try to explain the difference between the two awards.

If the Primetime Emmy Awards is eating dinner in a fancy restaurant with the five people you'd most want to meet -- dead or alive -- (excluding Jesus -- that would just be weird) -- and everyone compliments you and hand-feeds you butterfly shrimp; the Daytime Emmys is a gang-related picnic at a park in North Hollywood where you're forced to eat burnt hot dogs because you accidentally walked your dog too close to their piece of cardboard that had the word "Party" and an arrow painted on it.

Anyway, I didn't win any of the possible Emmy's dangled before me. Don't get me wrong. I'm not bitter. I believe with the intensity of a young Faith Ford that the real honor is the nomination and bla bla bla. But when you're sitting there. And you're in a tuxedo. You want to win. You really do.

I will save my Daytime reminiscences for a much-less-likely-to-be-written essay. What follows are some Primetime memories and hopefully helpful hints for the first-time nominee. But first a tip for the never-won multiple-nominee.

I Always Get Nominated, But I Never Win. Do I Smell?

Possibly. But it is unlikely that your nauseating stink is the main factor in your losing streak.

I have served as a judge for the Primetime Emmy's for several years. I have judged writing categories, variety series, specials, and once (never again) mini-series. I am constantly surprised at the tapes that people submit. Every year there are tapes submitted by really great shows that show them at their worst. And the judges are specifically told to NOT judge anything but the submitted tape, and to not let their prior impressions of the show influence their vote.

Don't trust your memory to select your entry -- watch it -- the whole damn thing -- that's what the judges have to do. If it's for writing, is there a big giant improvised piece where writing might normally be? Does the host say something like "Well, that bombed" more than once in his monologue? If it's a variety show, is one of your guests Crispin Glover?

Every year I want to run to Conan O'Brien and cradle his pointy pink skull in my arms and say, "Hush baby, let mama pick a tape to submit for you this year. You just go home now and look pretty. Everything's gonna be fine, baby. Real fine."

Okay, Shut Up. I've Got the Nomination. What Do I Do Now?

Here are some tips for this year's first-time nominees:

I have a very important wardrobe tip for the men. Try on your tuxedo shirt prior to the day of the show with enough time to replace it should your neck have swollen since last year. You don't want to choke, and you might be on camera. I know you don't want a gullet. It barely worked for Charles Durning, it is certainly not going to work for you. If the shirt's sleeves are still perfect, you can go to a notions store and buy one of those neck button extender things. But please make sure your bowtie gives it coverage. Nobody wants to see your button extender.
For the ladies, I have seen nominees and their "lady friends" injured by heavily brocaded jacket and skirt sets. If you don't want to sit on it, it shouldn't be on your outfit around the ass. And, if you're wearing a new dress, have a loved one look at the back before you show up. Rule of thumb. Never make others look at parts of your body that you don't have to. I have seen women arrive in backless gowns revealing a hideous back that they clearly have never seen -- I'm talking moles. Scar tissue. Veins that have worked their way to the surface when they shouldn't have. Not to mention "dress induced crevices." You're not Jessica Alba. Cover that scary thing.

It's the Big Night, Please Give Me Some Life-Saving Tips!

Unless you are a recognizable celebrity, or an alcoholic, arrive in your own car. If you take a limo, you will arrive in the same lane as Doris Roberts and Jimmy Smits (god-willing) - and the fans are waiting to see who pops out of that back seat. They want to see Jennifer Garner. They don't want to see you. And their celebrity-induced hysteria quickly turns to an unhappy rumbling of "Who's that?" "Nobody." Rumble, rumble.
For the love of god, bring your paperwork. Keep all your tickets and passes in the envelope they came in, and let the appropriate temp employees sort through it as needed. You're not Jean Smart -- if you don't have your tickets for everything, you're not getting in.
Don't get drunk in the lobby before the show due to nervous insecurity. You're not Frankie Muniz -- nobody is going to think you're cuter drunk.
Here's a fun way to make four hours seem like three and a half. I like to keep the big program in my lap and play "psychic predictions" for each category as they come up. It is especially fun during the series of awards you have no interest in and no opinion about. (Like the sound editing awards category that "Horatio Hornblower" walked away with.) Of course, you need a fun date to play along, and please whisper -- Noah Wylie is a row away, he isn't playing and doesn't want to hear you playing.
Most importantly, don't be too big to Nominee-watch. Try to spot the actor and actress nominees when they come in and keep your eye on them. Watch them anticipate their category - watch them pretend to enjoy the other nominees' names being mentioned - watch them while the winner gives their speech. Trust me. You will come home with a bucket full of memories.

I will never forget Della Reese having her mind blown when she didn't win the Emmy she had told Joan Rivers "God wants me to have." I'm sure I don't have to tell you the year was 1998. And the winner in her category, Camryn Manheim, only made things worse by proclaiming "This is for the fat girls." Della did not hide her displeasure, and didn't work her scowl up into anything more attractive. You know she was thinking, "Fat girls? I could eat you and then eat a meatball hero. I walked through a plate glass window, bitch!"

The previously mentioned Doris Roberts was amazing to watch. Nobody ever wanted anything more than Doris wanted that statue. She was on the aisle. She wasn't chatting or waving. She wasn't browsing her program. She was sitting like she was in the front car of a roller coaster slowly approaching its first killer drop -- hands clenched, chin up, lips tight, squinting slightly and staring straight ahead. It was clear Miss Doris Roberts had been Megan Mullalley'd for the last time. She willed that win, and it was fun to watch.

One year I sat two rows behind Brett Butler as she enjoyed her last nomination. The waves of anger she emitted were visible. She was rows behind the other nominees, and on the side. Not a good sign. (Of course, I was two rows behind her.) She snorted and shifted in her seat. And, strangely, she had an empty seat on either side of her. I guess she stabbed and killed her seat fillers. I said "guess." But, I mean, where were they? The biggest night of the year for seat fillers and they're just gone?

Pre-show and during commercials, there are always celebrities elaborately mouthing conversation with another celebrity seated a row or two away. It's fun to read their lips. You see a lot of "Oh, I'll never get it" and "keep your fingers crossed."
Smoke 'em if you got 'em. Let the seat fillers scatter. You need your tar. And the smoking crowd that gathers on the plaza is, as you would probably guess, populated by the really cool people. And one or two really scary looking, leathery, tar-stained harbingers of death, of course. The most fun I ever had on the plaza was enjoying a delicious Parliament with Lisa Kudrow minutes after she won her Emmy.

Okay, The Show Is Over. Do I Just Go Home Now or What?

And miss the Governor's Ball? Who do you think you are? James Brolin?

Okay, hopefully you still have that envelope with all your stuff in it (don't get gravy on your ticket so you can make a bundle selling it on EBay).
You have an assigned table. Find it. If you are so far into the room that you are near the band, take a minute to figure out how you will get out of there if there's a fire. I don't give that advice a lot, but I know that it has taken me fifteen minutes to make my way back to the front door (tar!) with no one screaming "fire" and stampeding past me. I can only imagine what a nightmare it would be if the kids from That 70's Show panicked.
You will have your food served to you. It is pretty. Eat it. Hope your group is large enough to fill a table and preclude a combo table - you don't want to find yourself sitting next to somebody from VH1.

The Only Famous People Still Here are The Shield -- Now What?

What is wrong with you? For a nominee, you're so needy.

If there is a memento (some glass thing you will treasure in its original box in some drawer of mementos), sometimes they give it away on your way out. Look for some pretty Academy interns sitting at a long crappy table with stuff on it. For gods sake, take it. Courteney Cox got a million dollars worth of really good electronic and lotion-related crap, you should at least get your ornament.
Did I warn you to park in a lot if possible and avoid the valet? Oops. Get ready for a really insanely long wait for your car. I'm sorry. I should have warned you. But I was so worried you'd get drunk in the lobby I guess I forgot…

Okay, I've Read Enough. Please Shut the Fuck Up.

Now there's the winning spirit! Enjoy your nomination. Have fun! Be fancy! Save the Variety with your agency's full page "We Congratulate our Nominees" ad! I hope you win. I will join you in 2007 and 2008. And again in 2017 -- I will be the drunk old guy with the gullet riding my free Rascal Scooter down the red carpet pretending it's not whether you win or lose, bla bla bla.

One last comforting thought for the non-winners. No matter what happens the rest of your life, even if you are hit by a car tomorrow, your obituary in the Hollywood Reporter will begin with the phrase "Emmy-nominee Your Name Here…" Not bad. Not bad at all.