Never thought I'd find myself typing these words, but I was looking forward to last Sunday's Tony Awards.

All it took was Neil Patrick Harris delivering his "Top Ten Signs That You've Hired a Bad Tonys Host" for David Letterman on the Late Show. No. 2: "Plans to have a bare-assed Angela Lansbury lowered onto Eminem." Funny, she wrote.

Unfortunately, I got caught up in the Lakers-Magic game and missed the Tonys' slambang opening. Rancid rocker Bret Michaels, best-known for his insult-to-civilization VH1 series Rock of Love, opened the show with a rousing musical number.

Why? I have no idea. I'm guessing that until Sunday, the closest Michaels had gotten to Broadway was a massage parlor on Ninth Avenue.

After performing, Michaels stayed on stage to milk the applause a little too long. As he exited, he walked face-first into a solid piece of scenery that was being lowered from the eaves for the next number. Wham! Broke his nose and split his lip.

On YouTube, the incident looks like a Wile E. Coyote mishap.

By the time I tuned in to the Tonys, Liza Minnelli was performing. And she somehow escaped unscathed.

Sight unseen. The season opener of TNT's Raising the Bar set some dubious legal precedents. Like the defense attorney waving papers in the courtroom that she identifies as affidavits absolving her client. Case dismissed, says the judge (Philly native Jon Polito), slamming his gavel.

Umm, shouldn't he at least go through the formality of examining the documents? For all he knows, they could be fliers for a Chinese restaurant.

He loves me, he loves me not. So American Idol runner-up Adam Lambert came out as gay this week. Big shocker there. Kind of like Michael Phelps proclaiming that he's buoyant.

But in the process, Lambert also declared that he has a crush on Idol winner Kris Allen. "He's the one guy that I found attractive in the whole group on the show," said the eight-octave showboat.

Oh, come on, Adam. We all saw the way you were looking at Scott MacIntyre.

Judge not. Everything about So You Think You Can Dance is delightful - the music, the remarkable young talent on display.

OK, everything but the judges - especially the incomprehensibly smug Nigel Lythgoe.

Is there some kind of bylaw that all dancing shows must have at least one British judge? It's not like the United Kingdom is famous for its dancing prowess. (If you're a Riverdance fan, I apologize. Or maybe you should.)

Lythgoe's assessments are flat and beside the point. Plus, he looks like a cross between Wayne Gretzky and Donald Trump.

His co-jurist Mary Murphy is possibly worse - crazily, noxiously volatile. She sounds like Ruth Buzzi after six tequila shooters. Murphy makes Paula Abdul look like the Thurgood Marshall of TV talent shows.

That's hot. The new fashion accessory for TV entertainment anchors? The arm sling. Matt Lauer sported one for more than a month on Today. Lately, Mary Hart has been rocking one on Entertainment Tonight.

How long will it be before Sherri Shepherd turns up on The View adopting the chicken-wing look?