My Night at the American Music Awards/RIP ODB
Los Angeles – Do you ever have such a rancid taste in your mouth that it wakes up with that “What did I do last night” feeling? Well I do. Or at least I did after Sunday night.
| Some fat guy, me, and Clay Aiken. This picture explains the twenty dollar bill I found in my pocket Monday morning with “Call me – Clay” written in lip liner. |
Apparently I presented at the American Music Awards this weekend. The last thing I remember was ordering a pizza during halftime of the Bengals / Redskins’ game. I guess the cheese on the pie had turned bad, because I can only piece together what took place Sunday night through pictures I took on my camera phone.
In a photo with a time stamp of 7pm (5pm local time) it appears that I was headed out of my apartment. Who knows what my original intentions were, but from there I somehow managed to end up at the American Music Awards (the AMA’s). Here’s the bizarre thing though; I live nowhere near Los Angeles. The details of who, where, when, and how are minute, I write this narrative as more of an apology to myself, and a sticky-note reminder never to do that again.
As award shows have proliferated to an absurd proportion over the last ten years I made it a point to carry a list of several that I would not, under any circumstances, make an appearance at. The AMA’s were at the top, the very top of that list.
Sure, I could handle hobnobbing at the Academy Awards, or even something cool like a film festival, but the AMA’s. Christ, I might as well work on my monologue for the Nickelodeon Kid’s Choice Awards.
But I digress…
At 7:48 I had my picture taken with Marc Anthony, winner of “Best Latin Artist”. What a crock, everyone knows Anthony hasn’t come out with a significant album since he locked on to Ricky Martin’s coattails in the “Latin Explosion” of ’98. (On a side note: Seriously, J-Lo, get some self-esteem).
At some point between the 8:15 group picture with Bon Jovi, and the 8:32 picture with one of Usher’s crew I got locked into presenting an award. The look of total disdain was evident in my 8:44 picture with Sheryl Crow. She evidently gave me one of Lance Armstrong’s “Live Strong” bracelets which I ate with a side of something that contained corn.
But the coup d’etat was my presenting debacle. As I prepared to go onstage, one of the production assistants (see the picture from 9:01) informed me that my presenting partner for the evening, Ol’ Dirty Bastard had just died, but that I shouldn’t worry as they would provide me with someone “just as good”. Typical AMA’s.
As a stand-in, the chuckleheads sent me out on stage with Toby Keith (the guy from the Ford truck ads). Well, apparently Toby can’t read, and on top of that he was stinking drunk. The award from “Best Pop Single” quickly turned into “Breast Poop Shingle”. Amazingly I held my own and presented Alicia Keys her award while Toby rolled on the floor in hysterics over his “poop” gaffe.
I did extract a measure of revenge though. My 10:25 picture in the men’s restroom shows that the liquid capacity of Toby’s cowboy hat is no where near 10 gallons. Toby Keith, you and I aren’t done by a long shot jackass.
By the time Usher danced his way onstage to accept hi
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