Yo, so it’s 1:15 in the morning. I’m still on the 29th floor at The MTV. The Grammy Awards are over, though we’re still working on all our wrap ups. Tim Russert’s interview with George Bush is encoring on MSNBC, and I gotta’ say, it’s funnier than SNL. Still, I can’t stand to watch any more of it. Click.

So our big Grammy Instant Fashion Profile was a smashing success. Diddy canceled on us, which was fine. We got three photographers to four artists — all of whom wanted to photographed less than an hour before hitting the red carpet — and still managed to get great looking cropped, adjusted, and optimized images to our teammates in the on air production truck in time to use on our pre-show. Which may not sound like much. But it was hella’ complicated to work out. Hence my being here all all weekend. We were vindicated, and demonstrated capability. We hit four for four.

“Helloooooooo? Executive Director Benjamin Wagner’s line, may I help you?”

So yeah, it’s been quite the long day. I had some funky crick in my neck that six Advil couldn’t squash. But Tylenol knocked that sucker right out. I could work all night. That said, with 14+ hours under my belt and a bit more to go… I think I’ll not work all night.

Typically, the MTV News team goes out and parties after these big awards shows. But I put the kibosh on that in suggesting that we should get all of our hangover pieces — Kurt Loder’s reax, the after-part piece, etc. — up as early as possible on Monday. So everyone’s home in bed. Except me and two faithful producers. And once I do get home, 2am if I’m lucky, I’ll have until about 7am to sleep. But why am I trying to get you to cry me a river? We all work long days some time. Poor us.

What’d I think of the show? Well, most of my comments during the telecast (what I saw of it while working) were far more cynical than I’d have expected of myself. I’m not a big fan of medleys (Beatles), or all-star collabos (Parliament Funkadelic), or over-the-top histrionics (X-tina). But I did think that Prince’s performance was off the chain (as the kids say), and that Sting’s voice sounded as fine as I’ve heard it, and Andre 3000 killed it with his whole marching band run though ‘Hey Ya!’ And hopefully the whole night’ll wipe that awful Super Bowl Halftime taste from my mouth.

Overall, though, my early thirties finds me pretty unimpressed and uninterested in these sorts of awards shows. I don’t really care what anyone’s wearing, or saying. Except maybe Chris Martin, who I don’t agree with specifically, but appreciate the sentiment.

Ok, I’m rambling, and it’s hot and sticky in my office, and Goldner’s gonna’ read this tomorrow, er, today, and be like, “You were updating your Daily Journal while we were working?” Aaaaaah, seniority.

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