God, I love the Emmys.

No, really. I adore the Emmys. I loved watching Tracy Morgan dress in his penguin’s finest to take the stage with thousands upon thousands of coat-tailed television stars to celebrate the best in TV moments. I snorted with laughter as each category was reviewed, the fantastically caricature-like nature of Neil Patrick Harris’ face betraying his delight. And when Doctor Horrible hijacked the awards show — utter delight! I shed a proverbial tear when NPH lost to Jon Cryer’s grown Ducky character, but I clapped in triumph when both United States of Tara and 30 Rock received trophies.

Here’s what I think I love most about the Emmys — the complete ridiculousness of the show. From the way the stars give their heartfelt acceptance speeches to the manner in which the pithy jokes are performed, the Emmys are brimming with the hilarity of dramatized sincerity. I suppose this is characteristic of all entertainment award shows, but there is something so unique about the way the audience and participants act at the Emmys. The stars, the winners and the losers participate in this ceremonial decree of seriousness for their work on sitcoms, hospital dramas and “reality” television.

The comedy of the Emmy Award ceremony is intrinsically linked to the nature of primetime television. Long looked down upon by the masters of the entertainment craft, primetime television is like the bastard child of Hollywood cinema, bested only by the forced melodrama of the daytime soap operas. Television was previously occupied by shows with headlining actors who, rumor has it, couldn’t make it on the big screen (see: Jennifer Love Hewitt), but the network channels are being increasingly populated by legitimate stars. Tina Fey’s presence on Saturday Night Live, followed by her popularity on 30 Rock, has catapulted her to A-list status, and Alec Baldwin has certainly reinvigorated his career with his role as Jack Donaghy on the very same show.

On cable television, the showstoppers of decades past headline critically acclaimed shows, from Toni Collette’s performance on United States of Tara to Glenn Close in Damages — both winners — and television is growing in reputation. And, while half-hour sitcoms are dominating ratings and critics’ lists, the true standouts remain the hour-long drama format of so many cable television shows. Mad Men, a repeat winner for its second season in the Best Series, Drama category, is on AMC, and for years The Sopranos was nominated in the same category, becoming the first non-network television show to win the award.

Cable television has become a haven for stellar examples of television excellence, from the growth of FX drama to the fingernail-biting tears of watching reality competitions on Bravo. Television excellence is becoming something entirely possible as the confines of true cinema and television art expand to include the new era of television. Long gone are the laugh-tracked sitcoms and game shows which dominated television for decades. In current times, well-known directors and actors are populating the airwaves, and the Emmys are beginning to enjoy something both real and deserving of celebration.

I sat down at the television in my dorm’s lounge with the intention of watching something mindless, and what I found instead was a celebration of the increasingly-recognized talents of a degraded industry. It is, of course, an industry that takes itself far too seriously. From the tear-filled gratitude of the dramatic winners to the humorous antics of the good-spirited losers, it’s a silly game of dress-up and inane trophies.

For the shows nominated, however, the Emmys are not a time of bitter competition (like the Academy Awards) or self-righteous indignation regarding the proper winner (the VMAs) but a true celebration of an accomplished year. The creators of Family Guy won’t overhaul the character of their show because they didn’t garner a trophy at the ceremonies, but the Coen brothers might take it as a bitter offense if their film didn’t win at the Oscars. The Emmys are the team participation trophies for visual art, the younger sibling to an industry inundated by overwrought sentiments, CGI-ed car crashes and big budget catastrophes. The Emmys are about the hilarity behind the exploitation of emotion, about the quality plot lines and the empathetic characterization of legions of people “just like us.”

I laughed aloud and alone as Neil Patrick Harris quipped about Kanye West’s VMA flub (”Here’s hoping Kanye West likes 30 Rock“), and I was astounded by the humanity of the participants, despite the fact that television remains mere entertainment. I expressed my giddy delight when Big Edie was given her sixteenth minute of fame as Jessica Lange nabbed the Best Lead Actress in a Miniseries award for Grey Gardens.

The Emmys are self-aware and constantly willing to offer a self-deprecating joke. With the inclusion of my personal favorite talking head, John Hodgman, the PC in Apple’s Mac commercials, the Emmys again worked their way into my heart as the smarmiest and least pretentious of the awards shows. It was enjoyable and, moreover, it was a way in which to encourage my continued appreciation for the television industry.

I watched the smiles of the seated guests as they viewed the clips of the nominees, and I grinned to myself as I took note of the excerpts I’d loved and those I’d so sadly missed. Sure, I didn’t garner anything new and, I guess, neither did the participants. I did, however, give a hearty laugh as I watched and that, on a Sunday night, is plenty for me.