NO, DESPITE THE NOMINATION FOR "DOG WITH A BLOG," WE DID NOT RECEIVE ONE: This year's Emmy nominees are heavy on the new, and mostly deserving, but there are a whole bunch of weird patterns--Kimmy Schmidt getting in for Best Comedy Series, Supporting Actor and Actress, and two guest roles, but not for Ellie Kemper or music?  The Kyle Chandler nomination for Bloodline?  Kerry Washington and Julianna Marguiles pushed aside in favor of Taraji P. Henson's high soap opera performance on Empire?

NO, IT CANNOT BE REVOKED BECAUSE OF JAR JAR:  Your winners of this year's Kennedy Center Honors: George Lucas, Cicely Tyson, Rita Moreno, Carole King, conductor Seiji Ozawa, and the Eagles.

THIS IS, LIT'RALLY, THE WEIRDEST THING YOU'LL SEE ALL DAY:  You'd have thought that of all people, Rob Lowe would understand the dangers of filming oneself.

HOW LONG TO SING THIS SONG?  Today is the 30th anniversary of Live Aid, so it's the 30th anniversary of my becoming a U2 fan. Rolling Stone has a nice tick-tock of their memorable performance of "Bad" and, of course, we don't remember this day without a few minutes from Teddy Pendergrass.

[Edge, playin' the blues: "I was totally thrown, and I'm looking at Adam and Larry to see if they know what's going on and they're looking back at me with complete panic across their faces." He concluded, "I'm just glad the cameras didn't show the rest of the band during the whole drama, because we must have looked like the Three Stooges up there."]

ACA-BOBBLE:  I'm all for Funko Pop's products (Baby Groot has a proud place on my bookcase, alongside several SCOTUS bobbleheads), but did we really need Pitch Perfect figures?

THIS SHOW IS A FLAT CIRCLE:  The second season of True Detective is mostly just making me wish for a good gritty cop drama with Rachel McAdams (if Prime Suspect hadn't recently gotten an American reboot, that'd be interesting, for instance), but at least it spawned this mashup.

MAGNUM OPUS:  Bloom County ... is back?

BOLLOCKS:  Longtime ALOTT5MA Fave Jay Rayner does not care for London's new Smith & Wollensky:

Our waitress, an escapee from Hawksmoor, is lovely – efficient, charming and utterly wasted here. She has been sent out on to the floor in a jacket she admits is about three sizes too large for her and is already stained. Either the management gives a damn about the dignity of its staff or it really doesn’t. Still, she speaks fluent Smith & Wollensky, intoning the oft-repeated figure that theirs are the best 2% of all USDA steaks. God help the other 98%. We try to love it, really we do, but we just can’t. Clearly the poor animal died twice: once in the slaughter house, once on the grill. We give up and hope she doesn’t look too distraught. Curiously, the menu announces in small print that items “may” be cooked to order. May? Only may? Don’t put yourself out, guys.