The Telecast itself seemed more like a circus than a concert or awards ceremony. The broadcast aspect made it more than a little surreal, with everything grinding to a halt for three minutes out of every nine. There'd be a blackout, we'd all sit around chatting in the semi-dark, pointing out the stray celebrity on his/her way to/from the bar/john, and then the stage director would yell over the PA, "Rosie, 60 seconds to air," and Rosie O'Donnell would start telling raunchy jokes, smoothly cutting back to the script just as we rolled back into

America's Living Rooms. Being there wasn't very enriching, culturally. The sound was not very good and was also way too loud, at an estimated sustained 100-105 dB SPL where we were sitting, with peaks to 115. We wore ear-plugs. And keep in mind we were probably more than 200 feet from

(Continues p.4)