This column was originally printed on September 23, 2015 in the Opinions Section of the Independent Florida Alligator newspaper.
This weekend I embarked on a sweaty, bug-bite-infested journey to Camp Crystal Lake, which is a little north of Gainesville, in an attempt to educate Honors freshmen about all the different facets of UF they can take advantage of.
H-Camp, as it’s called, was a great experience. I give a hearty shoutout of appreciation to the Honors Program directors and advisers who made this possible, to the campers who stuck through the lack of air-conditioning in 90 degree weather in order to make some new friends, and to my fellow staff members, who I’ve now fondly seen in various stages of exhaustion, frustration and joy.
To anyone who has ever been to one (or more) H-Camps in their day: Y’all rock.
However, despite my dedication to and love for continuing this tradition of my college years, this time around H-Camp impeded me from watching the star-studded performance I was looking forward to: the 67th Annual Primetime Emmy Awards.
As anyone who has read my columns somewhat consistently might know — understandably, this group most likely consists mainly of my family members, who all receive email links from my dad — I love to write about award shows.
It started with the Golden Globes last spring, when I extolled the virtues of the combined force of greatness that is Tina Fey and Amy Poehler hosting the show together. Since then, I discussed the #fail of the Oscars and, more recently, the attention-grabbing Video Music Awards.
I’m sad to have missed the Emmys live this year, but I did make up for it by watching as many clips and summaries as possible.
From what I can gather, the Emmys had good and bad moments for everyone, which is pretty much the norm.
There are the main talking points of the night, the ones everyone loved. These include when Viola Davis became the first African-American woman to win an Emmy for Outstanding Actress In a Drama — what a killer speech, am I right? Then there was when Jon Hamm finally got his Emmy and fulfilled all my “Mad Men” dreams, and when former “30 Rock” star Tracy Morgan presented the Best Drama award and discussed his road to recovery from the horrible highway accident he was in last year, which made me happy and sad and nostalgic for his days as “Tracy Jordan” all at once. It’s good to have you back, Tracy.
Andy Samberg, the host of the night, predictably fulfilled the goals of an awards -night host. There were some good jokes, some awkward moments and a lot of interspersed digital shorts and comedy-sketch-style bantering. We also got a password to Samberg’s HBO Now account, which I wasn’t expecting.
Apparently, the password really worked, which was even more surprising. That was fun and all, but I couldn’t help thinking that HBO Now might be a wee-bit worried about its business.
Samberg also did what most award show hosts love to do recently: He jumped on the bandwagon of undermining awards, producers and Hollywood itself by slyly and comically slipping in references to social-justice issues like LGBTQ dramatism, racism in TV and film industries…