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Despite trying to throw off listeners this week with asides about his wedding “in a few weeks,” the inimitable Howard Stern married his longtime girlfriend, model and friend to the animals, Beth Ostrosky, Friday night in New York. (http://www.nypost.com/seven/10032008/news/regionalnews/howard_stern_wedding_at_hand_132013.htm)

Anyone who has ever heard Howard gush over Beth O. – and, conversely, become aware of Beth’s definite sweetness – should be almost convinced that this is about love, and not Stern’s bulging bank account. I’d be totally convinced if she had decided to keep her own name professionally, rather than latch onto Stern’s.

But hey, mazel tov, kids.

Even though a grouchy Howard is the most fun to listen to, a happy Howard still trumps anyone else on any form of radio.

P.S. Bonus of the wedding had to be Billy Joel serenading the couple with the sweet “You’re My Home.“

Rare is the talent show when I wish both finalists could win.

But that’s how I felt about the last twosome standing on “America’s Got Talent” – both wonderful singers, both sensitive and humble guys.

Alas, there could only be one million dollar victor, so a hearty congrats to Neal E. Boyd, the opera singer from Missouri who loves his mother and really does possess some gilded pipes.

Runner-up Eli Mattson, an emotional singer who would fit perfectly in the dueling piano bar at Las Vegas’ New York New York casino, handled the loss with typical lack of pretension, almost looking relieved that the burden of the title wasn’t given to him.

Ever-excitable host Jerry Springer (WHY DOES HE HAVE TO YELL EVERYTHING?!!) said the result was the closest the show ever had, with less than one half of one percent of votes separating the two.

Yeah, well, that half of a percent makes a huge difference when the prize for one (Boyd) is the million bucks and a one-night headlining gig at the MGM Grand in Vegas, and the prize for the other is a handshake.

But hopefully, the visibility afforded Mattson on the show will help him land somewhere – after all, one of his idols, Marc Cohn, even appeared on videotape (prior to the results) to wish him luck and say that he’d love to write a song for Mattson.

As for Boyd, he gamely wiped the streaming tears from his face long enough to unleash another pitch-perfect version of “Nessun Dorma.” If the adrenaline from winning wasn’t enough, surely Boyd was in some form of shock at his congratulatory video-gram from Placido Domingo.

There is no doubt that “America’s Got Talent” is one of the biggest cheesefests on TV, but I’m sure I wasn’t the only one who got a little teary-eyed over the whole gloppy production.

Except, of course, when I wasn’t laughing at the audacity of Simon Cowell (who executive produces the show) to turn it into a showcase for his handpicked talent – singer Leona Lewis, who won Britain’s “The X-Factor,” and Il Divo, the boy band for adults also blessed by Cowell’s wand.

Well, what’s a reality show without an overload of self-promotion?

Oasis’ “Dig Out Your Soul” won’t be in stores until Tuesday, but if you want a preview listen, head to http://www.myspace.com/oasis, where the band has posted the entire album.

This is my first experience with the new MySpace player, which the company debuted about a week ago (when I was busy being tortured by little children at Disney World).

The player’s design is certainly sleeker than the old model, but I’m already irritated by one feature. Maybe it’s my own blindness, but when listening to the Oasis album, it took me about halfway through the list of songs to realize which one I was listening to.

Nothing is highlighted, and the song’s names don’t appear near the “play” bar, but you CAN tell which is playing if you squint and notice the teeny speaker icon next to the song’s name.

Annoyance number two: after four songs, the music stopped and a box (featuring a pic of the Jonas Brothers!) popped up, asking if I was still listening. Well, I was, Mr. MySpace, until you made me stop what I was doing, go back to the MySpace page, click “yes I’m still listening” and then hit the play button again.

Anyway, this seventh album from the band should appease those who thought the boys lost their magic after “Standing on the Shoulder of Giants.”

The guitars are giant and crunchy – first single “The Shock of Lightning” is tailor made for arena singalongs, while the ballad “I’m Outta Time,” with subtle strings in the background, is the prettiest song the band has written since “Don’t Go Away.”

Of course, the Beatles influences are still blatant. “Get Off Your High Horse Lady” utilizes a nasally, sung-through-a-megaphone vocal effect that wouldn’t have been out of place on “Sgt. Pepper,” and “Soldier On” employs a marching beat reminiscent of “Come Together.”

Good stuff that should sound even better live.

Oasis plays the Patriot Center Dec. 20. Tickets are on sale at 10 a.m. Friday, but a pre-sale starts Thursday at 10 a.m. (password: wonderwall). There’s an 8-ticket limit.

It’s a shame, really, that not enough people appreciate Joan Osborne’s talent.

She hasn’t had any significant commercial success since her first hit, “One of Us,” in 1995.

And Tuesday night at Toad’s Place, fewer than 200 people turned out to hear her ravishing voice.

Osborne acknowledged the mostly-seated, mostly-middle-aged crowd by thanking them for coming out on a Tuesday night “in the middle of an economic disaster,” but spent most of her 90-minute set speaking through her potent music.

Backed by an impeccable four-piece band, Osborne kicked off the show with The Band’s “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down,” a song that appeared to be chosen expressly for her Richmond date, as it wasn’t even noted on the set list taped to the stage floor.

Even though it was disheartening to see the venue so empty, that open space just provided Osborne’s voice with more room to soar.

“St. Teresa” showcased her formidable range, which seemed to effortlessly segue from bluesy rawness to melodic sweetness, while the searing roots rocker, “Who Divided,” underscored how well the undemonstrative Osborne does the sultry thing.

During most songs, Osborne used the heels of her black sandals to slide in little steps across the stage, fully devoured by the rhythm of the music.

But on her stunning, attitude-soaked version of Sonny Boy Williamson’s “Help Me,” Osborne turned a little more physical, strutting around her band guys and swinging her hips to the song’s funky blues.

As muscular as her voice sounded all night, Williamson’s oft-covered classic provided the perfect outlet for her unstoppable instrument.

The bulk of Osborne’s set focused on her excellent new album, “Little Wild One,” and songs such as “Sweeter Than the Rest” (which sounded a bit like a grittier Stevie Nicks) and the title track breathed a little deeper live.

The most moving moments, though, were when Osborne presented her love songs to her adopted hometown of New York. “Hallelujah in the City” is simply a wonderfully warm anthem, while “Cathedrals” was intensely moving, despite the audience member who chose that moment to traipse in with a 3-foot-high birthday balloon that both interrupted the pensive atmosphere and blocked any views of the stage for anyone standing behind her.

But even if you couldn’t see her, fortunately, Osborne’s clear, potent voice can overpower any obstacle.

Let’s start with this: what sadist scheduled the Emmys against the last-ever game at Yankee Stadium and a powerhouse contest between the Green Bay Packers and Dallas Cowboys?

Am I the only person out there who loves football, the Yankees AND “30 Rock”? I think not.

Thank you, left-brain engineering types, for the double-tuner TiVo.

Although, despite a promising opening with that sweet tribute by the “Everybody Loves Raymond” cast to Peter Boyle (“Holy crap!”), I almost stopped watching immediately upon the painfully awkward arrival of the evenings five “hosts” – reality ringleaders Ryan Seacrest, Howie Mandel, Jeff Probst, Heidi Klum and Tom Bergeron.

These clowns proved that while everyone always said “Seinfeld” was a show about nothing, oh, how it was a lot about something.

And where was Probst’s tie? Just because he’s usually working in some jungle, he can’t dress appropriately for the evening? For God’s sake, even Heidi Klum wore a tie! Maybe Probst already knew he’d later win in the new category of Outstanding Reality Host and didn’t care (BTW, where is the Seacrest love? That man is so underappreciated).

Thankfully, the quintet was quickly replaced by actual funny people – double winner Tina Fey (triple if you count “30 Rock’s Outstanding Comedy award—yay!) and her former “SNL” wing(wo)man, Amy Poehler.

But right now, I am officially daring the Television Academy to enlist Ricky Gervais thissecond to host next year’s awards. His hilarious stare-off with Steve Carell, whom he did, technically, “make” thanks to “The Office” – was the highlight of the three-hour show.

“I sat through ‘Evan Almighty,’ now give me my Emmy,” was the funniest one-liner of the night until <<

Don Rickles, upon seeing his standing ovation, cracked to co-presenter Kathy Griffin, “Why are they standing? Is it a Jewish holiday?”

(Note to Television Academy people – if you can’t get Gervais, please, please, PLEASE try for this rapier-witted, ad-libbing duo).

Even though I was a bit annoyed at Jeremy Piven winning his third consecutive Emmy for his one-note – albeit amusing in its apoplectic bluster – performance on “Entourage” (you wanna reward the show? Give Kevin Dillon some love. And Seacrest. Just because) – it in no way matched my teeth-gritting over “Lost”’s Michael Emerson getting the frosty brush off.

“Damages” is one of the few shows my friends rave about that I don’t watch – and I just can’t get into “Mad Men,” but more on that later – but I’m sure Zeljko Ivanek deserved the Supporting Actor in a Drama trophy for his work on “Damages.” I mean, the show stars Glenn Close (who also won), so it’s got to be sound.

But have none of these voters witnessed a minute of Emerson’s work as steely, creepy, manipulative Benjamin Linus? The guy deserves a truckload of Emmys if only because his character is the only one that seems to know anything that’s going on in that show.

** Interjecting here with some Virginia-related news: this was posted as a separate entry Sunday night, but in case you didn’t see it, the HBO miniseries, “John Adams,” which was filmed largely in Colonial Williamsburg, won five awards Sunday night, including Outstanding Miniseries and nods for lead actor/actress, Paul Giamatti and Laura Linney.

On stage, Cranston called Gilligan, “an amazing writer and an even more amazing human being.“ ** (END OF INTERJECTION)

Some other observations from the show:

— The un-nominated “Desperate Housewives” cast <<

made a group appearance to present an award. First thoughts: Felicity Huffman’s new bob is rather becoming, and wow, maybe Eva Longoria IS pregnant! Second thoughts: Who dressed Marcia Cross in a lampshade? And wow, Teri Hatcher looks stunning in that shapely yellow number. It even appears as if she’s eaten more than celery sticks and parsley since the last season ended.

— There was lots of political needling throughout the show – some of it subtle (Martin Sheen and Jay Roach, director of the excellent “Recount,” encouraging people to vote in the upcoming presidential election) and much of it not-so-subtle (Tommy Smothers, who peppered his speech for his commemorative Emmy with zingers such as, “There’s nothing more scary than watching ignorance in action” and “Truth is.. what you get other people to believe.”

— As excited as I was about Josh Groban’s tribute to TV theme songs >>>> when I heard about the plan a couple of weeks ago was as tepid my reaction to the actual performance.

Groban was a hoot, singing themes from “Happy Days,” “The Love Boat” and “The Brady Bunch” in the cheesy styles associated with the songs. He also proved his Good Sportsmanship by summoning the nerve to rap in front of gazillions of people (“The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air”), and his “South Park” voices were uncanny.

But maybe they tried to cram so many songs into the medley that none of them ever really sank in. Even our beloved “Cheers” only got two seconds of piano to end the segment.

Eh.

— “The Amazing Race” won for Reality Competition Program for the sixth consecutive time. No love for Seacrest. No love for Simon Cowell. Is it really that interesting to watch teams of people racing around the world, arguing with each other? Isn’t that called a family vacation?

— How I love and admire thee, Tina Fey <<

. Not only could she make plugs for the brilliant, but under-watched “30 Rock” funny (you can view it on iTunes, on Hulu.com, on Verizon phones, even on NBC!), but her speech upon winning for writing in a comedy series was a nod-and-smile moment for writers of any kind: “It’s great to be a writer because if you’re at a wedding or something and you tell people that you’re a writer, they’re less interested in talking to you than if you tell them you’re an actor – which is great.”

— Oh, almost forgot “Mad Men,” which would have been bad. Yeah, just can’t get into it. But, whatever. The show is doing just fine without me as a viewer, exemplified by Sunday’s win for Outstanding Drama Series, beating such faves as “Dexter,” “House” and my beloved “Lost.”

It’s also the first time a basic cable show has nabbed a major award. Glenn Close and Zeljko Ivanek are already salivating. And yes, I know that Ivanek’s character is dead. There are always flashbacks, you know.

ALL PHOTOS COURTESY OF ABC

CHARLOTTESVILLE

In the 13 years since Alanis Morissette became a superstar, catalyzed by an acidic kiss-off to an ex, she’s won seven Grammy awards and sold more than 55 million records worldwide.

Instead of coasting, as she easily could, she’s continually churned out insightful, soul-baring work – even if much of it isn’t quite as memorable as her catalog from the late-‘90s.

But despite her success, Morissette, who has publicly matured into the 34-year-old of today, approaches her music – both recorded and live – with an admirable rawness.

That isn’t to say that Thursday’s night’s Charlottesville Pavilion show – the kickoff of her two-month North American tour and a benefit for the Charlottesville Free Clinic—was devoid of flaws.

Her voice dissipated into the air before ever reaching the lawn area on the opening “Versions of Violence,” from her current album, “Flavors of Entanglement.” And, while the somber piano notes of “Uninvited” rang clearly, as soon as Morissette’s five-piece band slammed into the heavy goth-rock that pushes the rest of the song, her vocals were unintelligible.

The saddest casualty of this frustrating mix was “All I Really Want,” an unheralded gem from 1995’s “Jagged Little Pill” breakthrough. It wasn’t that Morissette’s voice wasn’t up to nailing the see-sawing range of the song – the band was simply overpowered her, particularly the funky scratching from her guitarist.

But about 20 minutes into the just-under-two-hour show, the sonic cobwebs were mostly cleared, allowing fans to absorb the emotion in “Not As We,” one of the most unguarded post-breakup songs on “Entanglement.”

Morissette’s voice isn’t the prettiest, but it’s stuffed with character. Her vocal style tends toward warbles and bleats, but on stage, you feel her words, as well as watch her present them.

When blitzing through a charging rocker, such as the also-new “Moratorium,” Morissette, clad in dark clothes, fully unleashed herself on stage. Her mane, which bumps against her tailbone when she’s upright, was utilized as a manic prop, whirled in classic head-banger style as she whipped around the stage like a pony ready to bust through the paddock.

But when the tempo paused for “Not As We” – and any other ballad throughout the night – Morissette stood in front of the mic stand, hands clasped at the wrist, as if ready to recite a poem. Makes sense, since many of her songs are basically intelligent diary entries set to music.

Prior to the highlight of the show – a five-song unplugged set – a rolling cadence ushered in an almost unrecognizable “You Oughta Know.” Rather than furiously pound through the song and fume like a bitter spurned lover, Morissette slowed it down a touch, making her snarling words sting even harder.

With 13 years of history behind “Oughta,” it’s still a bracing anthem of empowerment that has already been cemented in the rock history canon.

But as well as Morissette rages, she’s also quite intriguing in the simplest of setups. With her band scattered around her with acoustic guitars, a piano keyboard and skeleton drum set, she sat on a tall wooden stool with her legs crossed and strolled through some hits and welcome album cuts.

“Hand in My Pocket,” that song of reasonable contradictions, resulted in a majority sing-along from the crowd of a couple thousand. Meanwhile, 1998’s “Unsent,” which she called the “scariest” song she’s had to share, and “So Unsexy,” from 2002’s “Under Rug Swept,” exposed Morissette at her most vulnerable – and relatable.

Plugging back in for “Ironic,” which sounded like the biggest crowd favorite of the night (guess we’ve forgiven her for all of those not-exactly-ironies in the song?), and the appropriate closer of “Thank U,” Morissette looked happy as she flashed peace signs and stalked the stage in her black knee-high boots.

If her crew can rectify those sound issues for the rest of the tour, she – and her fans – will have plenty to smile about.

With its ninth studio album, “Death Magnetic,” Metallica has become the first band to have five consecutive albums debut at number one on the Billboard Top 200 Albums chart. That breaks a tie with the Beatles, U2 and the Dave Matthews Band, which all had four number ones.

“Death” was released on Friday, and in only five days, has sold almost 500,000 copies.

The guys, profiled in a recent Rolling Stone interview (http://www.rollingstone.com/news/coverstory/23089135), are also heading on tour this fall – with Richmond’s Lamb of God one of the chosen support acts. They’ll hit the Verizon Center in D.C. in January.
More info: http://www.verizoncenter.com/events/calendar.php?opts=detail&eid=2738&evtype=special

By Special Correspondent Hays Davis

    It may have been over 20 years since The Cult got their foot in the door of an international audience with the single “She Sells Sanctuary,” but a big crowd at The National made it clear that singer Ian Astbury, guitarist Billy Duffy and their crew had not been forgotten.

   
After a well-received set from Richmond’s Ki:Theory, who are joining the headliners for a few dates, smoke began filling the room for what was getting close to being a what-the-heck-are-they-doing-back-there wait.  Finally the band appeared, with Astbury bundled in a long-sleeved jacket and scarf (maybe the hot tub backstage wasn’t on its game). 

    The National crowd was way up for everything the band brought out, both new and old.  A second guitarist rounded out a five-piece lineup, freeing Duffy to break into more lead work while keeping the sound full.  Astbury was in good voice; while he seemed careful not to attempt to hit every protracted high note from their earlier recordings, it’s doubtful that anyone present would have taken him to task over not meeting expectations. 

    For anyone who felt that The Cult’s latest album, 2007’s “Born Into This,” didn’t quite hit the peaks of their glory days, hearing them play songs like “I Assassin” live may have prodded more than a few to consider giving that album a fresh spin.  And if the new stuff sounded better from the stage, old favorites like “Wild Flower” and “Edie (Ciao Baby)” went over doubly well. 

    When his between-song chatting was intelligible, Astbury took some time to get friendly with the crowd while Duffy switched guitars, at one point gauging their musical interests:  “Do you like Black Kids?  How about the German band Neu from Stuttgart?”  He barely had a chance to catch their response before Duffy struck some new chords and the band moved on.   

    The audience was twisted tight by the night’s end, with some of the best tunes saved for last, and when “Love Removal Machine” cranked up just before the encores the room blew apart.  Here, Duffy stepped out as the guitar hero an earlier generation remembered him to be, and he seemed to genuinely enjoy tearing into the solo that was a highlight of 1987’s “Electric” album.

    Practically everyone in attendance held their places for the encores.  While “Fire Woman” went over well as expected, all were waiting for the big finish of “She Sells Sanctuary,” and The Cult gave them no less than they’d given 20-plus years before. 

    Astbury and Duffy would be the first to tell you that their time together over the past couple of decades hasn’t exactly been a long, warm ride into the sunset, but Friday’s show was startling evidence that The Cult may be sparking as much fire on theater stages these days as they ever did in arenas.

Of all the new shows this season, none has as much buzz as “Fringe,” the latest from the mind of “Lost”/ “Alias” guru JJ Abrams.

The show, which debuts tonight at 8 on Fox (an encore airs at 8 p.m. Sunday), is a gooey blend of “The X-Files” and “CSI” – with a little bit of “Lost”’s paranoia and unexplainable sci-fi touches.

You might wonder during the show’s opening sequence why Abrams apparently has some weird fascination with bad things happening on airplanes (see: “Lost” pilot).

But so far, the show’s strongest points are the ones that make all of Abrams shows more than riveting plot twists – it’s the people.

Newcomer Anna Torv is FBI agent Olivia Dunham. Her partner – who is a little more than a work pal – John Scott (Mark Valley), encounters some unfortunate repercussions while investigating the aforementioned plane issue (cue the icky CGI effects).

Olivia – an appealing mixture of steely, Scully-like determination and a wussy romantic – frantically tries to find someone to help John. Her discovery is Walter Bishop, a genius with a few flaws: he’s been institutionalized for 17 years and isn’t the easiest person to work with.

Bishop’s son, Peter, (Joshua Jackson) is recruited as a translator of sorts, and during their investigation, the discovery that a big, evil, multi-billion dollar company might have had something to do with the bizarre events that occurred on the plane.

Last week, Abrams, who is the show’s co-creator, executive producer and writer, along with former “Dawson’s Creek” star Jackson, talked to reporters about what “Fringe” represents and where it might be going.

Jackson said he wasn’t necessarily looking to return to TV, but…

“This project drew me back specifically. The quality of the script, which is now our pilot, and the density of it. And while it was a totally satisfying story unto itself, you could see it was laid in there with potential for a whole world, a whole universe of other stories. And JJ’s ability with the group of people surrounding him to tell these stories well over a long period of time, that was my hope if I ever came back to TV—to be with a group of people who had a track record of being able to keep shows at a high level over a long period of time. I think JJ is the best on TV with that right now…

I try not to live my life as much as possible defining myself against something. I didn’t worry about coming back as that guy from ‘Dawson’s Creek’ – I wasn’t purposely running from that, but I wasn’t looking for television work.”

Where have all the cool stars gone? Are Lil Wayne, with his hand attached to his crotch, and Miley Cyrus butchering a Bon Jovi song during what was essentially a plug for Rockband 2, what music stardom has come to?

When Pink and Christina Aguilera, stars of five years ago, provide the performance highlights of the night, it doesn’t say much for the magnetism of any newbies.

There was so much to hate during the interminable two-ish hours of the MTV Video Music Awards, starting with Britney Spears’ much-hyped opening of the show.

After a lame pre-taped bit with the unfunnier-by-the-second Jonah Hill, where his many attempts to kiss her were passed off as relaxation techniques, the show cut to a live Britney exiting her dressing room and heading to the stage.

She looked great, to be sure – shapely and healthy. But her visibly nervous rush through her TelePrompTer lines to basically say, “Here we are at the VMAs,” was a waste of everyone’s time.
Of course, when she inexplicably won Best Female Video minutes later for her (luke)warmly received “Gimme More” – and later for Best Pop Video and the, ahem, prestigious Video of the Year (for “Piece of Me”)—her last-minute decision to appear on the show suddenly made sense. Feeling bad after destroying her morale last year, MTV?

<<< Photo: Scott Kirkland <<<

(And for anyone who cares, she thanked pretty much the same people during her first two trips to the podium: God, whom she has apparently found, her “beautiful” family and her “two beautiful boys.”)

While many who watched this 25th installment of the award show probably found host Russell Brand extremely polarizing, I actually give the guy credit for daring to inject political commentary into his breathless and restless bits between presenters. Whether or not that belongs in the goofiest of all music award shows is another story.

But at least the little-known Brit, with his crazy eyes and coif, seemed more excited than most of the gum-chewing, glazed-over Barbie dolls in the crowd (were they passing out packs of Stride at the entrance?).

Some decent moments from this year’s show:

—Hometown guy Chris Brown picked up one Moonman for Best Male Video (“With You”). Accepting in a white dinner jacket with electric blue tie, the always-smiley Chris Breezy noted from the podium, “Personally, I didn’t think I deserve this award. I thought Weezy was gonna get it.”

<<< Photo: Scott Kirkland <<<

It’s OK, Chris. The less we see of Lil Wayne, the better. But why no performance, when we got two from your girlfriend, Rihanna?

—The Jonas Brothers made their first VMA appearance on a studio backlot (the show took place at Paramount Studios in Hollywood) that looked an awful lot like “Sesame Street.” Then their dreamy acoustic version of “Love Bug” broke into a full rock spectacle, with the floodgates on the lot being opened for a stampede of fans.

Brand called it a “career-defining” performance. I’ll go with, it was good.

—Brilliant idea to put Pink on a set where she could throw extras down subway stairs and blow up stuff. Her ferocious take on “So What” was one of two genuinely exciting moments in the show.

—Ms. Aguilera >>> gets the other nod, not just for squeezing her post-pregnancy bod into black spandex and unleashing a slick, electro-dance “Genie in a Bottle,” but for pretty much saying to last year’s Britney, “THIS is what a well-rehearsed performance looks like, honey.”

Christina’s new song, an ambitious cabaret synth-rocker, sounded great…but why so much lip-synching? She and Pink are the only two people on this bill who can actually belt. What a waste.

                                                        Photo: Scott Kirkland >>>

And some forgettable/embarrassing moments:

—What was up with those VMA “alerts” during commercials? I’d rather watch that painful Jerry Seinfeld/Bill Gates spot than be distracted by quizzes and updates and all kinds of other nonsense cramming the TV screen. We are officially an ADD nation – we have no patience and can’t stand any suspense. It’s actually rather sad.

— <<< Katy Perry, LL Cool J, Lupe Fiasco and the Ting Tings sure got the big middle finger from MTV.

Perry singing “Like a Virgin” into a commercial break was a cute novelty moment, but then MTV proved how little they care about any of these artists (and most of these were some of the more viable ones on the performance roster) by giving them the unenviable 20-second slot on returns from commercials.

Perry has the biggest chick song of the summer with “I Kissed a Girl,” but you only heard the last verse. Same deal for all of the others. The only slight upside was watching Travis Barker pound his drum kit behind them, especially for LL Cool J.

—Michael Phelps: Love ya, dude, and those eight medals are an awesome accomplishment. But I am SO not looking forward to “SNL” this week, given that you’re completely devoid of any natural talent for timing or TelePrompTer reading.

—What was that weird ongoing dialogue about promise rings?

Brand made a crude joke about the Jonas Brothers wearing them, then Jordin Sparks, while introducing T.I., basically said that anyone who DOESN’T wear a promise ring is a “slut,” then Brand apologized for his earlier crack about the Jonas Brothers and THEN, on the post-show, gossip maven Perez Hilton stated that he didn’t think it was cool of Brand to make fun of the JBs, especially since Brand has been a tabloid target in the U.K. for his own sex addiction.

Oy. Where’s David Duchovny to clear all of this up?

Anyway, since this show was ostensibly about honoring videos, here is the list of this year’s winners:
http://www.mtv.com/ontv/vma/2008/winners.jhtml