Will & Grace jumps right into the waiting jaws of the shark

Will & Grace hasn't been any good since maybe its second season. What started out as a cleverly written show quickly degenerated into third-tier slapstick, with timid plotlines that went nowhere and took forever to get there. But last night's episode, the premiere of the eighth season, marked a new low.

The premiere was live. You know a show is desperate when they do a live episode. Debra Messing lost her composure and got the giggles repeatedly. She fired off a half-witted anti-Bush line and did a little gig. The audience didn't seem to find it nearly as clever as she did. Sean Hayes lost it a couple of times too. Guest star Alec Baldwin had a DeLay reference, presumably to demonstrate the wonderful up-to-dateness of live TV. The big plot point was that Karen's late husband is not in fact dead, but has been hiding out from the mob. I didn't know sitcoms could get away with that tired old soap opera cliche. And the big humor gag was a singed-off eyebrow. Juvenile.

The whole thing felt like a hastily assembled talent show skit. It was insulting. Debra Messing in particular ought to be banned from television for life for her grossly unprofessional "performance," and the writers ought to be sent somewhere to learn how to write mature and witty dialogue. A seventh-grade creative writing class would be a good start.

How you know you're a dork

Yesterday I was in the car and remembered that the vote on the Roberts nomination was about to happen. I found C-SPAN on my XM radio and tuned in. That's pretty dorky right there, but what really alarmed me was that I could name the state and party affiliation for all but a half-dozen of the mediocrities and blowhards whose names I heard being read. I would hear "Murray" and immediately think, "Ah yes, Patty Murray, Democrat of Washington, noted for her Osama-built-daycare comments."

I am far gone, my friends.

Michaelmas

Today is the Feast of Saint Michael and All Angels -- Michaelmas for short. I will mark it with the usual observances: Morning and Evening Prayer on my own (which I do every day, at least in theory) and Eucharist at my old parish tonight. I also need to go over to Saint Paul's, Silverbridge, to practice the organ, since I somehow got talked into substituting there occasionally while their organist is on leave. So it will be a very churchy day.

But when I can spare a moment from contemplating the glories of angels and archangels and all the company of heaven, I will be thinking about the job application I sent off yesterday. Yes, I asked around, and even friends with very sensitive consciences and no inclincation at all to cut ethical corners thought I would be a fool not to apply for those two chairs. Accordingly, I sent off the first application yesterday. I expect the formal invitation for the other chair to arrive in the mail today, so I'll put that application in tomorrow.

Applying for a senior position is easy in one way, since one doesn't have to arrange for letters of recommendation to be updated and sent. I just listed names and phone numbers on my CV. The hard part was writing the cover letter. Philosophers are not in general very good at personal narrative or salesmanship, so a letter of application for an academic job is a tough assignment. It's not merely a matter of summarizing my past and future research in a way that makes it sound interesting; I also had to show how it just happens to fit perfectly with the program to which I'm applying and the specific chair to which I hope to be appointed. This first job is in an interdisciplinary program, so I also needed to emphasize the connections my work has with other areas. I also tried to choose writing samples that would appeal to more than just philosophers -- not a straightforward task for someone who has been writing almost exclusively for philosophers for over a decade.

So I lost nearly a day's research time trying to craft that letter. Let's hope the results are good. It doesn't actually have to convince them that I'm the perfect person for the job, merely that I'm, say, one of the top four or five.

That chair is at an institution with which I have no personal connections. The leading light who nominated me for the position was someone in whom they were interested for the job, not someone at the institution. The other chair is trickier. I know three people in that department, including a leading light. What I'd very much like to know is whether the leading light is the one who nominated me for the job. If so, that tells me a couple of things. One, LL thinks more highly of me than I thought she did. And two, I have a pretty good shot at the job, because LL has extraordinary influence. On the other hand, if she's not the one who nominated me, I would want to know whether she supports me or not. If she doesn't, the application is a waste of time. I've thought about e-mailing LL for the inside scoop, but I'd rather just not get the job and merely wonder whether she opposed me than hear directly from her that she was backing someone else.

What on earth is God up to?

More travel last week. I was at a conference with a lot of the leading and lesser lights of my field (I'm a lesser light, at best). Sometimes at affairs like these I think I just don't have the intense focus on my work, the unshakeable conviction that what I write matters so much that there needs to be as much of it as possible, that seems to animate a lot of folks. I try to tell myself that it's because I have a more balanced life than other people, but some of the most productive scholars have kids and play musical gigs and are active in their churches and what not. So maybe it's just that I'm lazy. And yet I'm more productive than the average person in a research job. Who knows? I can so easily fall into a vague sense of professional and personal insufficiency at these things.

I didn't fall prey to such unease this time, though, because I've had the most extraordinary reasons of late to feel good about my professional standing. Just before I left for the conference, I got a call from the head of a decent department telling me that I had been nominated for an endowed chair and asking whether I would be interested in pursuing it. An endowed chair? And while I was at the conference one of the leading lights said that he was asked to make suggestions for another endowed chair at an even better department. He would give them my name if I had any interest.

Now I don't think I'm endowed chair material, but it's enormously flattering to be mentioned in such a context. Ordinarily I would say of course I'm interested. But I just took a new job, and it seems like a dirty trick to pull on my new employer. I'm not sure what the professional ethics of this case are. Does the prospect of an endowed chair, with its attendant increase in money and prestige, justify an abrupt departure, given how few opportunities for significant advancement most academics have? I'll have to ask around.

But it's certainly interesting that both jobs are in the same city, which happens to be located in a diocese where there would be no obstacle to my functioning as a priest. This is a salient fact, but it cuts both ways. After all, if what I really want is to be a parish priest, why does it matter where my next academic job is, since that job will be short-term at best? The old picture of the priest-academic has risen again in my thinking. Is that a temptation to get off-track, or is it some kind of sign? I have some thinking and praying to do.

Planning the Ember Day letter

This is an Ember Week, so I need to write the canonically required letter to my Bishop. There's not much in the way of outward activity to report, since I haven't been set up with any official field education or what have you. I can talk about what's going on in my spiritual life, but I think maybe it would be more useful to talk about what I've learned in the last few months from observing various priests doing their jobs. A priest friend of mine said that the most useful thing about field education would be getting to watch the clergy screw up, but you can actually do that pretty effectively even when you're not doing anything official -- and then the clergy don't know they're being watched. Well, any mildly reflective priest knows that he or she is constantly under the microscope, but not necessarily as a role model. (And by 'role model' I really do mean someone modeling a role.) I'm looking at priests thinking, "How are they doing the job that I hope to be doing myself some day?" That's rather different from the way I've paid attention to them hitherto.

So, let's see. What particularly noteworthy priests have I observed in the last three months? There's the curate of three years' standing who speaks as though he has acquired infallibility and a lifetime's experience. There's the well-paid rector who pouted about the limitations on his travel budget while his parish is running a huge deficit. There's the conscientious pastor who helped revive a dwindling parish by giving them a heart for outreach. There's the unexceptionable liturgist and preacher whose flock regards him as a bit lazy. Oh yes: there's plenty to talk about there.

Come to think of it, I read about a new Dean at my alma mater who's an Episcopal priest. I wonder if he would be at all willing to chat with me about being a priest in academic life. I should see about making an appointment.

"Tom Shales gave this a good review, and *I'm* the one in prison?!"

In his review of the Emmy telecast (registration required), Tom Shales describes it as "one of the more nearly entertaining and least irritating Emmycasts in memory." Maybe so: I can't say I've really watched the show much. But the standards must be awfully low. Shales actually liked "Emmy Idol," about which the less said, the better.

It was by reading Shales that I found out that the lame, overhyped, tired, and never-very-good-to-begin-with Everybody Loves Raymond beat the sparklingly witty and devilishly clever Desperate Housewives for best comedy, proving that it's not only the acting categories where the voters make insane decisions. Shales agrees that the choice of Doris Roberts and Brad Garrett -- year after year after year -- is inexplicable. He liked Jeremy Piven for best supporting actor in a comedy. I haven't seen Entourage because I don't have HBO, but I'm in favor of awards for Jeremy Piven just on principle.

The Emmys, woo-hoo: Part the Second

(By the way, I'm just winging it on spelling these people's names. Forgive me.)

Oh Lord, the cast of Everybody Loves Raymond. Why did people like that show? It was so not funny. And this bit is going on a really long time. Just get to the nominees. Now it's best variety show. It's The Daily Show. Big surprise. Jon Stewart speaks very graciously about David Letterman.

Back to Emmy Idol. It's the theme song from The Jeffersons, sung by an actor and Macie Gray. Not bad, but not Ja'net DuBois either.

Patricia Arquette comes out with a hairdo that suggests she lost a bet. She does best guest actor and guest actress in a drama, which went to Ray Liotta and Amanda Plummer. Poor Cloris Leachman got guest nomination for both comedy and drama. I didn't see her in the drama, but she was marvelous in Malcom in the Middle.

Ray Liotta introduces the nominations for best directing in a drama series. The director of the pilot for Lost won. Excellent. Great show, ought to win all sorts of things. Back to Ray Liotta, this time for writing for a drama series. I'd like to see House win this one. And it does! That's a marvelously written show, and the episode that won, "Three Stories," was exceptionally well-done.

Halle Berry does best actor in a miniseries. I haven't seen any of these. Geoffrey Rush wins for a performance as Peter Sellers that Tom Shales called "strangely lame."

These bits with Ellen DeGeneres are just not entertaining.

It's so odd that they do guest acting awards off-show, but they spend lots of time on directing and writing awards for miniseries that nobody saw. It appears that the Australians are taking over tonight.

This has all the drama of the Roberts confirmation hearings. And you know, I couldn't stay with those either. I'm going to read some P. G. Wodehouse and go to bed.

The Emmys, woo-hoo

I'm only watching the Emmys because I'm by myself and have nothing else to do. But I might as well blog about them, right?

"Emmy Idol" is one of the dumbest ideas ever. Donald Trump and Megan Mulally singing the Green Acres theme?

Who voted for Brad Garrett for best supporting actor? Talking funny and mugging for the camera does not constitute acting.

I can't believe Hugh Jackman beat Jon Stewart for best performance in a variety whatchamacallit. So there is justice in the world. I of course didn't watch the Tony Awards. No one actually watched the Tony Awards. But the clip of Jackman they showed was quite effective, and no, it's not because he was pelvic thrusting. Well, not just because of that.

Yay, Paul Newman wasn't there, so no speech. He can't call the troops home from Iraq, like Blythe Danner.

OK, now it's Fame, sung by the "famously charming" someone I've never heard of, star of a show I've never seen. I give her a B- for the singing, a C- for the dancing. Shouldn't we have had some legitimately Debbie Allen choreography?

And now the categories they don't even see fit to do live. Bobby Cannavale won for yet another lamely ill-fated boyfriend of Will on Will & Grace, and Katherine Joosten won for Desperate Housewives. They at least get to give an award, but it's one that no one cares about. How cruel. And what do you know? Bobby Cannavale's deadpan voice wasn't his character's. He actually talks that way. He can barely read. He's like Shepard Smith on barbiturates. And while Katherine Joosten certainly was good, Harriet Sansom Harris was brilliant, and she wasn't even nominated.

And now they get to do another award no one cares about, except that The Daily Show team won, and Jon Stewart was gracious and funny and (why does no one ever point this out) handsome?

Please, anyone but Doris Roberts for Best Supporting Actress in a Comedy Series. And the Emmy goes to . . . Doris Freakin' Roberts. Lisa Kudrow never won, but Doris Roberts has won four. Go figure. And her competition was spectular. I mean, Holland Taylor! Conchata Ferrell! Those are some seriously good actresses. Doris Roberts is not fit to be in the same room with them.

David Letterman reads, badly, a fine tribute to the late Johnny Carson. This is one of the reasons award shows are so unwatchable. Mr Letterman is a talented man, but he is not a good reader. Morgan Freeman would have made this an affecting memorial. But we have to have Mr Letterman read it, because he's in the same line of work. Terri Hatcher is a marvelous comic actress, but her one-liner fell flat, because she's not a comic. But we had to have her, because she's in the same line of work as the people getting the awards. If we had the witty banter delivered by witty banterers and the affecting tributes delivered by affecting tributers, there would at least be some integrity to the show. As it is, these things are like bad high school revues.

Service notes: Saint Ewold's, Barchester

Not bad. Not bad at all. Considering that I drove in from four hours away (I was at a conference over the weekend) and plopped myself down in the pew still trying to catch my breath, I had a good, worshipful experience at Saint Ewold's.

There was the usual pale, balding, skinny gay guy at the "organ." (I'm a pale, balding, fat gay guy, so I'm allowed to say that.) He had apparently given up legato for last Lent and never took it up again. He played too loud -- if I can't hear myself sing, the organ is too loud, because I sing way too loud -- and added passing notes and curlicues of the sort that you would expect from a Baroque composer on crack playing a theatre organ. Still, the hymns were well-chosen and the tempos were good.

The opening words of the liturgy -- you should be sitting down for this -- were "Blessed be God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit." Not "Good morning," not "Please stand for the opening hymn," but an actual acclamation of praise to the Blessed Trinity. And we proceeded to do the liturgy as it is in the Book. The celebrant didn't even feel the need to introduce the Creed. He just stood up and, in defiance of all laws of physics, people started saying it.

Plus, this congregation can chant. (It may be that they can sing too, but I couldn't hear them over the organ. But the singing of the Sursum Corda, Great Amen, and Lord's Prayer was unaccompanied, and it was quite good.) They should sing more of the service, because they're good at it.

The lessons were read very well, which completely went to waste because everyone but me had his head in the lesson leaflet. Those leaflets are an abomination before the Lord.

And the sermon was good. I mean, it wasn't Lancelot Andrewes or anything, but it was theologically sound, it commented on the Scriptures, it was well-delivered, and I really meant the "Amen" I gave at the end. Standards of preaching actually seem to be quite high in the Diocese of Barchester. Plus, the Rector is a Texan, and the voice of God is more discernible when it takes on a Southern accent.

Alas, after the blessing, they had the announcements and so forth, which really tends to undo whatever the liturgy itself just did. But in general, Saint Ewold's does a good service. We might want to rethink the vestments, though. They look like something Bob Mackie would have designed for a Carol Burnett Show Eucharist skit.

A public service announcement

May I have your attention, please. Sufferers from acid reflux are strongly advised not to eat a large cappuccino Heath Blizzard two hours before bedtime. Thank you.

Service notes: Saint John of the Cross, Bristol, Indiana

So put me down as being a fan of the Bishop of Northern Indiana.

The Rector (or rather, if I understood correctly, the interim Rector) was out sick, but the Bishop was there, presumably for his regular visitation. Maybe it was the restraining effect of Rite One, or maybe -- as I hope -- he's just a good celebrant, but he led us in a worshipful, rubrical, prayerful service. He preached a very fine sermon on forgiveness, without notes, but obviously not without preparation. There were some personal anecdotes, used to illustrate the Gospel and not to replace it. And he ended the sermon with as moving a reminder of the cost of our redemption as I have heard in years. What more could I want?

Well, I could want music and incense and general liturgical outlandishness. I'm going to be in DC tomorrow. Maybe I can make it to Solemn Evensong and (hang on to your mitre) Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament at Saint Paul's, K Street.

Saturday night in South Bend

Here's something I didn't know. You can't get into a restaurant in South Bend on a Saturday night after a Notre Dame game, even when it's not a home game. I drove around for a bit and finally gave up and had a Blizzard at Dairy Queen.

Which, honestly, is what I wanted anyway.

I'm doing quite a lot of traveling this month, and today I found myself in South Bend. Presumably there was great rejoicing after the victory over the Wolverines, but I was tucked away in the embrace of Touchdown Jesus, so I didn't get to experience it.

But that reminds me of one of my favorite Dave Barry exchanges:

Attorney: "I object! Counsel is badgering the witness."
Opposing attorney: "Your honor, the record clearly shows that Rex here is a wolverine."
Judge (examining papers): "I'll allow it."

I have to travel tomorrow during prime church-going hours, so I had to find a Saturday evening Eucharist, which is not easy around here. Fortunately, Saint John of the Cross in Bristol has one, so service notes are up next!