Do you smell that? No, it's not the steaming city sewers or the urine-soaked hallways of Harlem, it's prime-time TV! I know what you're thinking, "Who cares?" Well, I care. Would I have cared three months ago? Of course not. Do I care now? Yes. "Why?" you ask? Because that's my job. That's what i do. I watch lots and lots of TV.

I hate to say it, but I'm hooked. I can't get enough of Kid Nation and Kitchen Nightmares. Is it disturbing that all those kids are stranded in a desert without parents (and by stranded, I mean tons and tons of producers and PAs and techies giving the kids sandwiches when the cameras aren't rolling)? Absolutely. Do I love to see Gordon Ramsey screaming and cussing at a restaurant manager because the guy's establishment is going all to hell? Yes. Let's admit, we all hate being cussed at but can't stop watching when it happens to someone else. It's like when your football coach violently shakes your face mask while cursing at you because you missed your assignment. But you and he both know you are way too small to be playing linebacker, and you question his irrational logic (why on earth would you put a 135-pound high-school junior as linebacker? You wouldn't.). Sorry, I blacked out. What happened?

Anyway, you get my point. I watch a lot of TV. That's why I keep cranking out Reality Check. In case you missed it, here is last week's and this week's Reality Checks. If you don't know what I'm talking about, read the blog from a few weeks ago. Oh, you mean you accidentally stumbled across this website? You could care less? Well, guess what? I don't like you either. So there. Go back to your "Google" and continue to look up the second-rate Josh Lay. And by second-rate, I mean top-grade professional football player. Not that that's a big deal because I played football for the South Doyle Cherokees. What now, sucka?

As you may or may not know, the 59th Primetime Emmy Awards were last night. (If you don't know, you probably practice prehistoric survival methods or volunteer in civil war reenactments, not that there's anything wrong with that.) I mean, honestly, does it get any better? A TV show about TV shows. Woo hoo! You're probably thinking to yourself, "Self, I sure missed Joan and Melissa Rivers on the red carpet this year." Well my friends, I'm sure you did. That's because they were hanging at Joan's house, watching the Emmy's with me.

That's right, I watched the Emmy's with Joan Rivers. Okay, I wasn't exactly hanging out. I was a PA for the project we were doing with VH1 Eyecandy. Which means I was running a lot of tapes to and fro and doing anything they needed. However, when I wasn't running around, I was hanging out. (That's right, I said it, hanging out at Joan's.)

I was working on a live blog by Joan and Melissa at emmyswithjoan.com. If you look closely, in the last video (or the Emmy's recap), you can see my legs/khaki pants as Joan and Melissa circle the table. Basically, if my legs had gone out much farther, the women would have fallen over, and the show would have been over. That, my friends, is the power I possessed. Lots and lots of power! And by power, I mean no power. If they had fallen, I would have been fired.

So that's it. That was my Emmy's experience. Hanging at Joan's watching the Emmy's. It was a long day but a good one. My only regret? Not making mention of her cameo in The Muppets Take Manhattan. Single handedly the greatest movie of all time. Film making at it's finest. Now excuse me while I go hang out with my celebrity friends [insert snooty laugh and glass of champagne]. I'm kind of a big deal. Oh, what's that? You need a cup of coffee? I'm on it.

Everybody's workin' for the weekend.

Loverboy knew what they were talking about, but that's all over now. Now the words of Soul II Soul ring true: back to life, back to reality. Yup. Reality is heavily upon us. So heavy that i should stop making '90s pop song references, and you should start checking out Cory's and my new podcast. We had a vision. We pitched that vision. We produced that vision. And that vision can be seen on VH1's Best Week Ever blog. Written and hosted by Cory Cavin and myself, the podcast takes a look at reality television from the previous week and decides who needs a, um, reality check. Seriously, you need to check it out or else we will come for you and we will give you a reality check.

On a lighter note, this weekend was truly one of rest and relaxation. Went to the Met (the Metropolitan Museum of Art, that is) where i observed a modern painting with Flight of the Conchords's Jermaine Clement (and by observed, I mean stalked), ate at the Burger Joint, watched my football team lose, rode the carousel at Central Park, ate lots of Ben & Jerry's ice cream, and took a trip out to Jersey with my lady friend (a.k.a. girlfriend) to see her old stomping grounds (a.k.a. high school). Yup. It was great. Nice and relaxing. Not a care in the world. Except my bank account, of course, which is slowly depleting to nothing. But who needs money? I do. And so does NYC parking services. You guessed it. More parking tickets.

Sure I made some dated pop song references, but they speak the truth, my friends. Some things never fade, like disco balls and piercingly painful plastic Dracula teeth. You know, the kind you buy for five tickets at ShowBiz. To this day, I still don't understand why I refused to take those teeth out, even while they were making my gums swell and bleed. Oh, I know why. To look like Dracula. And to have years of cosmetic dental work. Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, hangin' tough! Last one, i promise.