The last few episodes saw the relationship between Brennan and Booth take a sad, shitty turn. Booth’s sudsy 100th episode admission of love was received with about as harsh of a rejection as fans could have feared. And what made it so bad was that Brennan knows that she wants the same thing he does. But his influence on her has slowly chipped away the clinical, standoffish character she’d been most of her life. So before fully giving in and arriving at the inevitable—god, please make it inevitable—conclusion that the feeling is mutual, she has to go off on a journey of self-evaluation and, in a term Booth knew she would understand best, evolution.

For the TV landscape of the last decade, the end of fifth seasons above all others are marked by the game changer. Character departures, flash forwards and devastating interpersonal schisms are commonplace. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that one of the two leads would head off in some story-shifting plot development last night. But it wasn’t just Booth or Brennan. With the exception of Doctors Saroyan and Sweets, the entire Jeffersonian team disbanded… for a year.

They gathered one last time in the very unrealistic venue of an airport terminal. (Past the security checkpoint? I couldn’t tell.) Brennan headed off with Daisy on some anthropological goldmine of an expedition, Angela and Hodgins were going to drive Billy Gibbons’ magical car across the Atlantic and, in a moment I’ll freely admit made me weep, a surprisingly old-looking Booth, heartbroken and out of place in his army fatigues, headed back to Afghanistan. [Sidenote: this series' biggest misstep thus far has been its treatment of post-war trauma, so lets hope it remembers Booth is as thick-skinned as they come and won't return in season six with any social disorders or homicidal inclinations.]

It’s not a total bummer though. Five years in and our duo have still managed to successfully stave off a hookup by many different but believable turns. Fans can  gripe, but a fully realized romance between Booth and Brennan will be the death knell for Bones. So as long as the show runners can keep thinking of realistic ways to postpone their fated union, I’m glad to watch.

So this year marked my first in-person upfront experience, and I have to say, they’re kind of gross. A bunch of sloppy ad folks boozing to the point of public embarrassment and blatant starfucking does not a good time make. It was an education though. My deep love of So You Think You Can Dance (returning in one week!) was slightly challenged by the throng of contestants from seasons two and three that could literally not stop dancing at any point during the night. Brazilian BBQ buffet? Dance! Line at the porta-potty? Dance! Creepy ‘80s cover band? Um… dance!

They have their charms though. And about a month from now I’ll be so thoroughly into their successors, this transgression will be long forgotten. What won’t be forgotten is the fact those two beautiful creatures pictured above and Eliza Dushku all bolted before I got there. Perhaps it’s best that they stay on their respective pedestals, but I sure would have love to see TV actors not on Gossip Girl every once in a while.

Enough of that. Let’s get down to business. This time last year I was an unhappy camper. Veronica Mars was done, I was mostly unimpressed with the pick-ups, and Eliza Dushku’s pilot was passed over by FOX. Things could not be more different in 2008. Friday Night Lights and How I Met Your Mother, the two bubble shows that I desperately needed to see renewed, will both be back with a vengeance. I’m genuinely excited by some of the new offerings. And this year’s Dushku pilot, a little show called Dollhouse by some writer/auteur/genius named Joss Whedon, is a sure bet for midseason. If you can catch the trailer (they keep pulling them), you will see how very drool inducing it is. Full fall schedules for all the networks, if you haven’t already seen them, can be found right here: ABC, CBS, FOX, the CW. (NBC’s is oooooold news.)

There weren’t any surprises this week. News of renewals and pickups, save a few exceptions, all came weeks ago. The only real shock was that after all the hullabaloo over the upfronts being “soooo different” this year, they were more or less the same. No complaints on my part, as I can think of far worse things than tradition. Attention-starved dance competition veterans for one.

Earlier this week, NBC announced that it was officially killing the regular TV season. They will be running a 52-week schedule starting this fall. It isn’t far off from what we’ve gotten used to in the past decade, with the upswing of original and admirable content during the summer season, but this official nail in the coffin doesn’t come without stirring up a bit of wistfulness in my TV-loving heart. You see, the tube, as it was when I was growing up, is gone. The writing has been on the wall for years… and most recently in The New York Times. Their Fall 2007 TV preview included a piece about the way people are defined by the shows they love. It’s the medium’s golden age, and people are taking advantage of this on their own terms. This is not a bad thing. As a TV fan, obsessive and aspiring scholar, nothing is more intriguing to me than the notion of seeing yourself reflected in your set. But with this new lack of structure and focus on independence, the once communal culture of TV barely extends beyond small factions of rabid fans. Nielson can talk ratings all he wants, but as I see it, the collective TV experience is on its way out.

So this is why I watch American Idol. For me, it offers something that none of my scripted favorites can. It is event television in a time when event television (save award shows, sporting events and national disasters) is gone. Sure, Lost, Entourage and Weeds are all good for the water cooler, but do your parents know what’s happening on them? Are their moments dissected or mocked on every talk show and local news broadcast? When something even remotely unexpected takes place, can you not get away with watching them a few days late and remain spoiler free? The answer to all of these questions is “no.” American Idol owns this type of attention (in my opinion, Dancing With The Stars still isn’t there), and offers me my only means to bond with TV-watching America. It’s the only thing we do together.

Just a couple weeks ago I was lamenting with a friend over the state of music videos – how they hold no interest to me any longer and how I’m not even sure if any of my favorite bands actually produce them. We talked about how their premieres used to be events. Everyone wanted to see who would make cameos in Michael Jackson’s clips and how he’d stretch 3:48 of song into a ten-minute feature. They’d air them on network TV – an idea that seems so foreign now it’s hard to reconcile that it was ever real. I was reminded of this tonight during the filler-heavy Idol results show when they premiered Paula Abdul’s attempt to reignite her music career. It’s beyond bizarre that their screening of “Dance Like There’s No Tomorrow” was the first music video I’ve seen outside of YouTube in well over a year. If someone as immersed in television as myself can claim this, I can’t imagine how many other (less fervent) viewers shared my experience. However many there were, no show but American Idol could have sparked the question.

When someone asks me what television shows I like, which someone inevitably does on an almost daily basis, I skew my answer for the person asking. In most instances, I pick the most popular or recognizable series in my roster – like Idol. If I were to tell one of my parents’ friends, for example, that I love Battlestar Galactica, they would be confused and possibly uncomfortable. I, in turn, would be angry that my declaration was met with glassy eyes and an ignorance to the fact that it is one of the smartest and most relevant programs of the last decade. But by holding my favorites close to my heart, and only discussing them in my writing and among like-minded friends, I realize I am a part of the diaspora.

In the end, my nostalgia for family time in front of a tube free of DVR, DVDs and divisive or elitist programming is a moot point. I wouldn’t trade my TV lifestyle or my favorite dramas for the widest flat screen you could dream of. If connecting with my countrymen means only watching shows as agreeable American Idol, I’d prefer to be on my own. But I’ll enjoy the happy medium I have right now while I still can. The TV experience isn’t what it used to be, and what’s left of it is fading fast.

But summer passes, the leaves change, snow (or at least the threat of it) blankets the better part of our fair country and I find myself curious as to what different brand of crazy will be showcased during another round of auditions. It’s already too late. I’ve already latched on to a few pretty faces and once again sought comfort in Simon’s predictably snide remarks. It’s like trying to smoke socially after a few months on the wagon. I know it’s a bad idea, but it feels so good and familiar.

I’m hardly saying that I was suckered into watching last night’s premiere. I’ve known for over a month that I’d be walking into this trap willingly. As my ensuing coverage will likely prove, I’ll be nothing short of obsessed with American Idol for the duration of its seventh season. And I’m beginning to think it may always be that way. As long as the show more or less stays the same and the original players are on board, you will probably find me tuning in with eyes fixed in horror and wonder and my phone ready to go to bat for someone I’ll have discarded by the premiere of So You Think You Can Dance.

As you all are well aware, the series is a continuation of the film franchise. The story of robots sent from the future to kill or protect a boy, John Connor, who will grow up to save mankind from an evil robotic uprising. Robots do a lot of the fighting and skin-melting-offing, but the real hero is John’s mother Sarah – a woman whose only task in life is to see her son reach maturity. She’s the bad-ass literal interpretation of every mother’s struggle. In this installment, the two are visited by a kind, lady-robot, Cameron, who takes them to present day (2007) from where the story picked up (1999). It’s supposed to be safe in 2007, but clearly it is not.

John is played by Heroes-alum Thomas Dekker, who left/was written off the show after they made him gay, un-made him gay and then just ran out of story for him. He does a nice enough job playing an angsty teen fighting his fate, but he’s really just there for his middle-part to remind you they’re from the 90s. Summer Glau plays Cameron to the delight of lonely, basement-dwelling Firefly fans everywhere. Her formal ballerina training makes for some exceptional fight sequences, but it’s the fish out of water humor that makes her such an asset to the show. Portraying human-esque robots as wide-eyed, emotionless automatons only capable of literal interpretation will honestly never get old.

As the title would lend one to believe, the real star here is Sarah Connor, played with remarkable sincerity by 300‘s Lena Headey. Sarah seems like a character too complex for a venue like “robots killing humanity,” but we’re all well aware that this has worked in the past. She has the weight of the world on her shoulders, and you can see it in every glance, movement and bullet she takes. In addition to constantly fearing for her son’s safety (and the world’s because of it), Sarah also is faced with her own mortality: the realization that she is destined to die of breast cancer before the apocalypse and ensuing rebellion ever occur. The fact that the actress is not remotely old enough to have mothered this child doesn’t even matter past the first scene. You just want to give the girl a break. Her narration is also not the least bit jarring – a triumph indeed.

Terminator is not without its faults. In the umpteen conversations I’ve had about the show in the last 24-hours, I don’t believe I’ve said “The Sarah Connor Chronicles” once without referring to it as “The Sarah Chronicor…Chronicles.” It doesn’t exactly slide off the tongue. But this is a superficial gripe. My real beef is that familiarity with the franchise is something of a prerequisite. Call me inhuman for not really remembering the Terminator movies (I swear, I watched the first two… when I was two and nine respectively), but you can never ever expect a TV audience to be so keen. References to other characters, terms and companies are flying clear over my head, and I’m genuinely paying attention. A click of the Netflix and a rainy Sunday afternoon will quickly solve the problem, but it’s a silly thing to expect of less dedicated viewers. The intensity, subtle humor and Lena Headey’s heartfelt and sobering take on motherhood should more than make up for any confusion though. Had its predecessors felt this relevant, I probably would have remembered better.

The term “geek” used to refer to a discernible group of characters, and they clung to each other under that word like it was one giant Enterprise-shaped umbrella. But things changed, and time, the Internet and the growth of niche fandom drove them apart – the pop culture equivalent to Darwin’s finches. Now the geek’s tastes widely vary and often conflict with those of other geeks. Authenticity belongs to nobody and everybody. As a Buffy geek, my monthly trip to Midtown Comics is met with scoffs when I approach the register with nothing but the latest issue of the show’s comic continuation. I, in turn, scowl at the unattractive, middle-aged men pawing at sexually explicit copies of manga. It’s hard to believe we have any common ground, but the 21st century brought a cultural flypaper that seemed to appeal to those from all walks of geekdom: Futurama.

Though it was canceled a few years back, their reward for an estimated $100+ million in DVD sales and nailing key demographics on Cartoon Network is four films to be released on DVD and then broken up into 16 episodes that will air on Comedy Central. The initial fruits of their labor, Bender’s Big Score, came out two weeks ago, and though I’ve always been more of a passive fan, the idea of new Futurama was enough to make me shell out $24.99.

So here’s the thing that I didn’t actually know about Futurama: the people who write it are smart – crazy smart. They have PhDs in Chemistry and Math and MAs in Computer Science and Philosophy. What they’ve created in the past, and in this film in particular, is a comedic look at science and the future – but with correctly placed four dollar words and legitimate scientific principals. This was one of their biggest successes in developing a cult following, but for me, it is the biggest problem with this new offering. The time travel theme that the story hinges on gets so repetitive, convoluted and confusing it made me not want to pay attention. I probably missed a lot of funny in the process. Bender’s Big Score isn’t bad. As a stand-alone episode of the series, it might actually be great, but as a long-anticipated 88-minute film, it’s just kind of a disappointment.  So if you’re considering picking up a copy or making it a last minute addition to your Christmas list, I have to advise against it.  Futurama is best enjoyed on the medium it’s most familiar with.

I hate to be a sucker for the old forensics show x serial killer + conspiracy theory = third season routine, but Bones is playing out this “Gormagon” storyline with an almost Hitchcockian deftness at maintaining suspense. Last night’s episode, “The Knight on the Grid,” picked up the only uncaptured villain in the world of Bones for the first time since the season premiere. He’d been mentioned, and suspected in other murders, but last night we finally saw him. He’s incredibly spry on a motorcycle, and he makes dirty bombs packed with human teeth! He’ll pin a child to the bottom of a pool just to get you off his back! He’s a villainous dynamo the likes of which you’ve never seen before! And considering he’s also two or three different people working together, you’re going to see a lot more of him this season (you know, if there is more). The episode sidetracked a little with Brennan’s ongoing familial issues of crime and parole. It doesn’t make for the most compelling viewing, but it furthers a greater plot and makes our awkward heroine that much more human. I like that Bones is really playing with the formula this season. I’ve always thought they did a good job distinguishing themselves from other procedurals, but they apparently aren’t content with just that.

The episode finished off with a thoroughly annoying montage set to angsty lady rock. I was angry and hurt that this glorious car-bombing, cannibal-chasing, baby-drowning night of Bones would conclude with a slide show of soap opera caliber facial expressions, but then they threw in one last scene: a shot of a spiky-toothed serial killer jumping from a coat closet and onto a lobbyist he no doubt proceeded to eat! It was enough to make me feel emasculated to anyone within earshot and dub “The Knight on the Grid” the scariest hour of TV this season.

TV Week has this to say about the show: “Dollhouse stars Dushku as Echo, one of a group of secret agents living in a futuristic dorm. Each has the ability to be imprinted with custom personalities and abilities for special assignments. When they return, their newly acquired memories are wiped. The show follows Echo as she takes on a variety of assignments—some romantic, some adventurous, some uplifting, some illegal—and gains awareness of her role and confinement.”

Has the battle between serial and non-serial drama ever been clearer on a single show? Dollhouse screams for rich, elaborate, drawn-out storytelling, but the main characters’ mental conditions almost forbid it. It’s brilliant and dirty exciting for any fans of Whedon, Dushku or good television in general. Even more exciting: the show could be debuting as soon as spring 2008 with FOX committing to at least seven episodes. That means that endless speculation and worrying about the show actually coming to fruition isn’t necessary. I always get confused when shows are given an episode commitment before the network ever sees a finished pilot or even a script, but as a friend pointed out to me, “It is Joss. He don’t do pilots.”

The majority of the bands we’ve seen in the commercials are ridiculous clichés or generic whiny-rock – I’d say they’re good for a laugh, but I’m pretty sure we’re expected to take a lot of them seriously. And seeing as how Goo Goo Dolls frontman John Rzeznik is apparently our barometer of taste, I can’t expect I’ll share the opinions of the judges (unless obligatory surly Brit keeps Rzeznik and Sheila E in check). If you’re into Daughtry, you’re in luck. American Band will likely give us a similarly douchey troop as a winner. It’s the last thing we need, but I can’t imagine getting anything else.

The Next Great American Band will probably have more than a few legitimately funny moments. God only knows how wonderfully awkward and horrible most of the auditions will be, but I can in no way endorse you watching it. Anything in direct competition with Friday Night Lights is the enemy… and the enemy must be stopped.

Editor’s note: Here endeth the week of hate. I promise to like things again starting Monday.

Between forced science-speak and annoying FOX programming plugs (even you can’t make me watch Jeff Foxworthy, Boreanaz!), last night’s episode maintained the third season’s surprising increase in awesomeness and offered more than the usual allotment of laughs with gratuitous scenes of horse/jockey role-playing and the thinking man’s Deschanel at her comedic peak (in a hesitant monotone: “Stop! Or I’ll kick you in the testicles!”). Also my assessment/profession of guilt a couple weeks back is looking less unfounded by the episode. Season three of Bones is chock full o’ serial storylines! The search for Angela’s mystery husband continues, we still don’t what the hell happened to Zack in Iraq and Bones and Booth’s broken chemistry has made us completely forget about wanting them to throw down. We just want them to be buddies again!

As you might imagine, this week’s taboo case brought to light yet another subject matter that Booth and Bones do not see eye to eye on. Old-fashioned, romantic Booth thinks fetishes are a dirty way to avoid true intimacy. Rational, woman-of-science Bones thinks some people are wired for kink and doesn’t see a problem with a little role-playing. Did they agree to disagree like every other week? Nope! When faced with Booth’s sweet confessions about relationships and cliché statements about “making love,” even Bones is helpless. Another round to you, Seeley.

“I will not feel guilty for loving a procedural drama. I will not feel guilty for loving a procedural drama…” Oh, hello, you caught me in the middle of a little self-flagellation. After two seasons of religiously watching Bones (FOX; 8PM), I still feel a little shame for adoring a show with such a conventional premise. There’s something about Emily Deschanel and David Boreanaz though – they are a whimsical juggernaut of chemistry. Just look at them!

Continuity abounds in tonight’s season premiere with the search for Angela’s estranged husband, mounting sexual tension between our two leads and the inevitable reference to Brennan’s seriously dysfunctional family. Bones is good, occasionally gory fun and is always worth a watch if you’re in the mood to detox from all of those serials you’re obsessed with.

Tonight is also the premiere of Reaper (CW; 9PM) – one of the few new shows this season that seriously deserves to be required viewing. I had so wanted to leave CW behind with their anticlimactic execution of Veronica Mars, but there’s no denying the appeal of a hilarious cast and well-executed, lighthearted science fiction. Check out my original review of the pilot here; the only noticeable difference in tonight’s episode will be the swapping of Nikki Reed for the much more interesting Missy Peregrym in the role of Andi. Here’s hoping Reaper is the first new CW show to actually garner an audience. Gossip Girl certainly wasn’t.

Midway through the soft-open week of the new season, tonight we get the premiere of two of the fall’s most hyped shows: The CW’s Josh Schwartz-helmed teen-soap Gossip Girl and FOX’s juggernaut of middle-aged star power, Back to You. Reviews of both pilots can still be read here and here.

My thoughts on Gossip Girl (9PM, CW) haven’t really changed since I watched it earlier in the summer – mostly because I haven’t thought about it again. If you’re at all inclined to watch a show like this, you’re not going to be disappointed by what you get. You’re also not going to be surprised, which is a shame.

As for Back to You (8PM, FOX), watching the first episode is much like finding yourself on a blind date with someone who is both unattractive and obnoxious. You stare at them blankly, waiting to be let in on the joke, but the punchline never comes. You were duped into wasting precious moments of your interesting life on a terrible mistake, and when it’s over, you’re angry and confused. Though I couldn’t care less about the two TV dynasties that stars Grammar and Heaton come from, I still can’t believe no effort went into making this show remotely dynamic. It’s total bunk.

If you’re going to take a chance on a new series tonight, you should probably avoid the aforementioned completely. Instead, check out the premiere of CBS’s scandal-soaked Kid Nation (8PM) – a show that puts 40 children in a ghost town and forces them to fend for themselves for a month and a half! I’ve only seen the ten minute promo that ran during the upfronts – so I can’t say that it’s actually any good – but it certainly could be the greatest thing to ever happen to reality television. CBS certainly thinks so. They’re already casting the second season. Find out if it’s worth it tonight, and come back tomorrow for my reaction.

Since live-blogging would have required my watching the show in its painful entirety (and the onslaught of FOX plugs), I hope you’ll settle for my slightly delayed reactions to the big winners…

Supporting Actor in a Comedy – Jeremy Piven – Is it fair to award the same actor two years in a row for playing the same stagnant, stereotypical character that isn’t remotely different from who he is in real life? Apparently so. Piven, you may have Emmy, but you’ll never be half the bro Neil Patrick Harris is.

Supporting Actor in a Drama – Terry O’Quinn – As big of a Heroes fan as I might be… their Drama nod seems a little undeserved. Not so for Masi Oka though. He should have had this. Terry O’Quinn is all well and good in Lost, but if you’re going to award the supporting cast of the island, you could at least have given it to Ben Linus. Nice speech, though, Terry. Can’t say the same for the shirt…

Supporting Actress in a Comedy – Jamie Pressly – In all honesty, I’ve never watched more than five minutes of My Name is Earl, but I’m having a seriously hard time believing that a glorified extra from Not Another Teen Movie is more deserving of this award than Jenna Fischer or Vanessa Williams.

Supporting Actress in a Drama – Katherine Heigl – The reach of America’s love of Denny Duckett goes on long after he’s in the ground! “Outstanding Supporting Actress in a Drama” is now officially the “Lengthiest and Most Annoying Mourning Period” award. Not that I don’t adore you, Izzie.

Lead Actor in a Comedy – Ricky Gervais – I love Gervais. I love him for his work on Extras, and I love him for not being there to speak.

Lead Actress in a Drama – Sally Field – Have people seen Brothers & Sisters? I watch it religiously, but it’s all kinds of sucky. Unless this Emmy is for the episode when Sally got stoned with Margot Kidder, I don’t buy it. Also… nice editing, Emmy guys! A full hour after Tell Me You Loved Me showed real-life vagina and prosthetic wieners, FOX still can’t let America hear a middle-aged woman say “god-damned.”

Lead Actress in a Comedy – America Ferrera – Wow, the first award of the night I actually called. And one of the few I don’t object to.

Lead Actor in a Drama – James Spader – Can I say “wow” again? Boston Legal is not something I’ve ever watched, or ever intend to, but it can’t be all that bad. Somewhere in Los Angeles, Gandolfini is watching Mannequin and getting trashed.

Outstanding Comedy – 30 Rock – I hate to throw it out there so soon, but 30 Rock is flirting with Arrested Development-type prophetic doom.

Outstanding Drama – The Sopranos – Despite the acting snubs, the Emmys’ love for The Sopranos could not have been more obvious. That Jersey Boys homage? They might as well have just paid someone to felate a bunch of HBO execs live on stage for three minutes. Whatever, it’s not like they don’t deserve it.

… Oh, and Tony Bennett won everything else.

For every awesome comedy we get, there are almost too many stinkers to bear.  This autumn’s sitcom offerings may be sparse, but they are particularly craptastic to compensate.  If you’ll pardon my venom and lack of brevity, here’s a quick look at the worst of the worst…

Back to You (Fox; 9/19; 8:00PM). Where to start?  Well, right here we have a combination of two of my least favorite things in the world: people who don’t know when to call it a day and Patricia Heaton.  Though Kelsey Grammar’s insistence on playing the same character for thirty years in a row may be frustrating, it pales in comparison to the unfortunate perseverance of the one who loved Raymond most.  Throwing them together in one of the more formula driven pilots of the new season might possibly be the work of the devil himself.  Their chemistry is as forced as Grammar’s paternal curveball is annoying, and seeing them both portray characters aging ungracefully would be kind of funny if it weren’t so pathetic.  The only people likely to find any humor in this one won’t even be able to watch because they’re too old to justify watching Fox.  Next!

Big Bang Theory (CBS; 9/24; 8:30PM).  I did mention that Back to You wasn’t the most formula driven newbie, right?  Oh, good, because that honor is reserved for Big Bang Theory.  It’s as if the folks behind the hackneyed, early-90s, TGIF-style sitcoms made a show about vestigial nerd stereotypes, included more sexual references than were appropriate at the time and saved it in a time capsule for a day when the humor might float.  That day will never come.  The story of two physics grad students who are taken under the wing of a hot, blonde neighbor, there are no surprises here – other than the audacity to include a laugh track in a show lacking any funny.  Stars Johnny Galecki (Rosanne) and Jim Parsons do have an engaging buddy-comedy repartee, but the ghosts of Jack Lemmon and Walter Matthau couldn’t save this writing.  Stick through the first 15 minutes of the pilot and you’ll honestly be expecting them to break into “The Urkel“.

Cavemen (ABC; 10/2; 8:00PM).  Cavemen may be the only one of these shows that I haven’t actually seen yet, but I’m going to go out on a short, sturdy limb and assume it’s as bad as we’re all imagining.  The idea did intrigue me at first.  Those charming Geico Neanderthals on telly, you say? Brilliant!  Comedic allegory for American intolerance?  Just what the doctor ordered!  Maybe if someone like David Wain or Will Ferrell was behind it, but not this time.  All of the clips are pretty cringe-worthy and few who’ve reported on the first episode have had much positive feedback.  Sink slowly or sink fast, as long as it doesn’t stick around long enough to soil my fond memories of moving walkway frustration set to Röyksopp, I promise not to hold this buffoonery against anyone.

The Return of Jezebel James (FOX, Spring).  Though not exactly a fall pilot, this one is enough of a knife in the heart to bring up a few months early.  Amy Sherman-Palladino’s first post-Gilmore venture sounds like a great idea on paper: Lauren Ambrose, whip-smart writing and a glorious excuse to finally bring Parker Posey into American homes on a weekly basis.  The Return of Jezebel James tells the story of single, infertile book editor (Posey) who seeks the help of her estranged sister (Ambrose) to carry a child for her.  If that dreary premise isn’t enough to darken your mood, it’s also not funny, and the execution is unforgivably lame.  All is not lost though!  That lame pilot will probably never make it to the air, and all of that negative feedback gives Sherman-Palladino more than enough time to get her act together before Jezebel’s midseason premiere.

My advice, friends: Don’t count on any laughs from the new season’s comedic hopefuls.  Enjoy your last night with Flight of the Conchords and Entourage on Sunday, get ready for NBC’s pitch-perfect Thursday night to return in October and, if you haven’t already, jump on board with How I Met Your Mother and It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia next month.  After all, one commonality of sitcoms, good or bad, is that it’s never too late to start watching.

As sure of a sign as shorter days or the return of corduroy, the season finale of So You Think You Can Dance signals the imminent death of summer. It’s sad on all counts, but think of how much we’ve grown. Let’s take a look at some lessons learned from the third season of SYTYCD…

1. All dance is better when choreographed to Fatboy Slim – whether you’re Christopher Walken or not.

2. Hammy accent and arbitrary Toy Story quotes aside, Cat Deely is still significantly less annoying than Ryan Seacrest.

3. “Contemporary” is a vague term typically applied to dances about unrequited love, dead parents and/or woodland creatures.

4. If you’re laughing with a midget, it’s OK!

5. Nothing garners sympathy votes like being forced to motorboat a Bette Midler doppelganger’s breasts.

On a serious note, one thing SYTYCD really does need to improve on is their stable of choreographers. For each moment of brilliance this season, there were two or more complete stinkers – especially the hip hop routines. It’s hard to judge these kids when they’re being forced to dress like gypsies and work with material that can’t possibly entertain anyone apart from their parents. Unlike any other competition, off-nights on SYTYCD aren’t often the contestants’ faults, but they suffer for them all the same.

That’s not to say season three didn’t go down exactly how it should have. The final four could not have been stronger, and the order they were dismissed last night (as much as it pains me to say, Neil) was spot on. It was still exciting though, because it could have gone any way. Lacey’s family ties, Neil’s chiseled looks or Danny’s unparalleled precision could easily have taken them to the end, but it was Sabra’s consistency and magnetic personality that ensured her win. If anyone had any doubts, they were probably quelled at the show’s rushed conclusion when her giddy shock supplied one of the most charmingly honest reactions ever caught on tape. As the rest of the top 20 hurried on stage and a blizzard of confetti obstructed the camera, Sabra’s hysterical screams were heard up until the last credit.

Despite declining ratings and what felt like a particularly rushed season, the gods of reality TV and dance have been so kind to ensure another glorious summer of So You Think You Can Dance. The show will be back for its fourth season in nine achingly long months.

Last night saw the coupling I’d been waiting for all season: my two favorites from the start, Lacey and Neil. Lacey has seemed sure to win since day one, but there were doubts with Neil, so getting to this point was not a given. Sparing us the bizarre, repetitive solo routines, this week returned to the two dances/random partnering format that has seen us through every previous top ten. Lacey and Neil were given Latin Jazz and Contemporary. I know absolutely nothing about dance, but I’ll tell you that both numbers earned my most coveted of adjectives, “fun” and “pretty.”

Apart from Neil and Lauren’s jaunt from early in the season, this year’s hip hop routines have really failed to impress me. It’s a shame because they’re usually the most exciting and accessible. B-Girl Sara, the competition’s dark horse, did her best to save a flat attempt at old school with Salt ‘n’ Pepa rocking in the background, but it was severely lacking. Danny may be talented, but he’s kind of a one trick pony.

So who’s getting the boot tonight? My money is on Dominic, Pasha, Sara and Lauren in the bottom three and Lauren and Dominic hitting the road – that smooching was off-putting. They’ve both ridden this about as far as it’ll take them, and I’m not ready to lose Pasha or Sara.

As far as highlights go… it was no “Park Bench,” but Lacey and Neil’s contemporary piece made most of the audience/judges a little moist in the eyes. Out of respect to the seriousness of the dance, nobody pointed out that Neil’s bunchy blazer made him distractingly hunchbacked, which you can see for yourself in the following clip…

As if pairing her with the chiseled 27-year-old Russian wasn’t odd enough, the producers chose to skirt the topic by completely avoiding putting her on camera and making her run off stage the moment their dance was done. Our brief glimpses of Lapatin came when Pasha was lifting her in the air and burying his face in her bosom. Had her bottom half not been completely exposed, or if the camerawork hadn’t so blatantly reflected their embarrassment, it might not have been the awkward train wreck that it was.

Pasha may move like a lady and sport a permanently dopey grin, but I broke my “don’t vote until the top 10″ rule for him last night. Nobody deserves that shit.

Attempting to deal with SYTYCD in a serious manner rates pretty high on the pathetic-ometer, but how else can I begin to justify this sick obsession? It took such a strong hold of me last summer, I actually know someone, who has a friend, whose cousin went to see the live show on tour. He even said it was the best night ever… I heard.

It’s hard to have favorites this early in the game (tonight sees the competitors reduced to a still whopping 16), because it’s almost impossible to distinguish individuals from the random couples they’ve been assigned to. That’s not to say I haven’t. Lauren & Neil* and Lacey & Kameron are most definitely my front runners. All four have been the most consistently fun to watch, and they’re all pretty easy on the eyes as well. Top 10, all the way – even Lacey, who everyone seems a little skeptical over because her cousin was in last year’s top four and her brother was the winner. I was leery because I couldn’t stand him, but it doesn’t look like she’s going to repeat any of his hysterics. There’s also something incredibly funny about a Mormon dancing dynasty playing out on national television, so here’s hoping she’s in it for the long haul.

*Cheers to tapeworthy for the clip of last night’s highlight:

American Idol finale songs suck. Though Sandals Resorts would have you think differently, even Kelly Clarkson’s iconic “A Moment Like This” really, really sucks. The magnitude of this suckage is never a surprise, and despite recent efforts to reinvigorate the showdown by opening a song-writing contest to the public, season six’s gem “This is my Now” proved no exception. What was an exception was that one of this year’s contestants didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of coming across as anything short of a complete dufus.

With only his argyle and a swatch of platinum to help him maintain some semblance of his identity, Blake Lewis moped across the stage, with his tail between his legs, like a newly castrated dog. That was not his now. It was his nightmare. Last night’s loss was largely a relief, if only for the fact that we know the poor guy will never have to sing that song again.

But for Jordin, “This is my Now” seemed to be a tailor-made fit. I wouldn’t be surprised if her sheet music actually instructed her when to start the crocodile tears and beauty pageant wave. She probably isn’t all that thrilled with the prospect of the song being her first official recording, but at least she didn’t look like a complete ass.

I’m not going to pretend that I’m even considering giving up on American Idol. As stale and tired as it is, it still manages to entertain me each year. The next couple of weeks will probably find me succumbing to sporadic panic attacks, unable to fathom another seven months without my weekly dose of Simon Cowell. But American Idol needs to find a way to stay exciting through the very end. Having the winner release an original song the week after their victory was a nice thought, but it just doesn’t work. Just because they’ve gone this long without changing the formula, doesn’t mean we should continue to resign to anticlimactic finish to what should be the most exciting night of the season. Other countries have fully embraced the commercial release of cover songs from new artists, and given Idol’s audience, I doubt there’d be much objection to the same thing here at home.

Well, looks like that’s it for the upfronts, folks. And with only one casualty to speak of (albeit the most tragic one imaginable), I think we made out just fine. There’s a comprehensive guide and grid to the next year of TV over at Metacritic – check it out and start programming your DVRs accordingly.

Fox’s full schedule for fall/winter 2007/2008 is as follows…

Monday
8-9pm: Prison Break
9-10 pm: K-Ville

Tuesday
8-9 pm: New Amsterdam
9-10 pm: House

Wednesday
8-8:30pm: Back To You
8:30-9 pm: ‘Til Death
9-10 pm: Bones

Thursday
8-9 pm: Are You Smarter Than a 5^th Grader?
9-10 pm: Kitchen Nightmares

Friday
8-9 pm: The Search For The Next Great American Band (working title)
9-10pm: Nashville (working title)

Saturday
8-9 pm: Cops
9-10 pm: America’s Most Wanted

Sunday
7-8 pm: The OT
8-8:30 pm: The Simpsons
8:30-9 pm: King of the Hill
9-9:30 pm: Family Guy
9:30-10 pm: American Dad