Is it just me or did the Golden Globes feel like a little bit of an afterthought this year?
Coming so quickly after the holidays, as most of America is still spending its evenings waddling around the living room, trying to work up the will to finally take down the wilting Christmas decorations, and combined with the various horrific things that seem to be happening around the world (observe the “Je suis Charlie” button affixed last night to the white satin clutch of the terrifyingly gorgeous Amal Clooney), an event which normally is a highlight of the pop cultural year (Tina and Amy! Drunk celebrities! The first red carpet of the season!) seemed to slip just under our collective radar. I normally watch these things with the kind of attention one might reserve for, say, one’s own trial for first-degree murder, but even I nodded off somewhere around the point where Kevin Spacey was inexplicably name-dropping Stanley Kramer for the eleventh time, waking up just in time to see my DVR cut off as soon as Meryl Streep was announced to present the award for Best Drama.
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