Thursday, July 8, 2010
And the Emmy Goes To. . .
The primetime Emmy nominations came out this morning (you can see them all here) and, in my opinion, there is one shoo-in. Nominated for Outstanding Reality Program, Antiques Roadshow is a lock to take home an Emmy.
If you are unfamiliar with Antiques Roadshow, all that happens is people have their junk appraised (not a sexual euphemism, although I may start using that line.) Now, unlike most TV shows, which I enjoy for the simple pleasure of watching them, I love Antiques Roadshow on many levels.
1. The Build-Up - For a solid five minutes the appraiser describes the piece and it's history to the owner. This is great, because while informative, you know the only thing the owner is thinking is, "Right, right, right, just tell me how much." The stand and nod their head with dollar bill signs in their eyes. It's more of a tease than Ryan Seacrest's, "We'll find out . . . after the break."
2. The Calmness of Finding Out Your Item is Worthless - You know everyone goes in there thinking their painting, or coin, or whatever is worth millions, but only a few items they show ever are really, really valuable. Most are worth a moderate sum, but sometimes, when the stars align, someones item is absolutely, without-a-doubt - worthless. These are my favorite moments of the show. The people always try to play it off cool, like they knew it wasn't anything special, but inside you know they just crumbled. They had planned on quitting their job, but find their old and odd-looking nickel is worth exactly five cents.
3. It's On PBS - Simply putting on PBS in the background in your home makes you appear more intelligent. You could put Rock of Love on PBS and I'd feel smart watching it.
4. You Want It To Be You - I know I could never compete on American Idol or Dancing With The Stars, but I can dream, and anyone can dream, they are that person on Antiques Roadshow. Becoming richer than our wildest dreams from that old hutch Grandma left you (which you would in turn sell, despite what you say on the show about it's "sentimental value").
If you are unfamiliar with Antiques Roadshow, all that happens is people have their junk appraised (not a sexual euphemism, although I may start using that line.) Now, unlike most TV shows, which I enjoy for the simple pleasure of watching them, I love Antiques Roadshow on many levels.
1. The Build-Up - For a solid five minutes the appraiser describes the piece and it's history to the owner. This is great, because while informative, you know the only thing the owner is thinking is, "Right, right, right, just tell me how much." The stand and nod their head with dollar bill signs in their eyes. It's more of a tease than Ryan Seacrest's, "We'll find out . . . after the break."
2. The Calmness of Finding Out Your Item is Worthless - You know everyone goes in there thinking their painting, or coin, or whatever is worth millions, but only a few items they show ever are really, really valuable. Most are worth a moderate sum, but sometimes, when the stars align, someones item is absolutely, without-a-doubt - worthless. These are my favorite moments of the show. The people always try to play it off cool, like they knew it wasn't anything special, but inside you know they just crumbled. They had planned on quitting their job, but find their old and odd-looking nickel is worth exactly five cents.
3. It's On PBS - Simply putting on PBS in the background in your home makes you appear more intelligent. You could put Rock of Love on PBS and I'd feel smart watching it.
4. You Want It To Be You - I know I could never compete on American Idol or Dancing With The Stars, but I can dream, and anyone can dream, they are that person on Antiques Roadshow. Becoming richer than our wildest dreams from that old hutch Grandma left you (which you would in turn sell, despite what you say on the show about it's "sentimental value").
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1 comment:
I love Antiques Roadshow. There is no way I could ever go on that show though, as I have not mastered the art of disguising disappointment. If they were to tell me my wonderful Great Muppet Caper glasses from McDonalds were worthless-it would be a crushing blow.
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