Emmy Schmemmy, I Want My 'CSI: Miami'

Tonight's cuppa: decaf organic free trade black tea

Since I'm in Pacific time, the Emmys have just started on TV here, even though, in reality, the awards show is either over or about to be over (depending how long it runs over).

I'm not there, and I'm not planing to watch the "live" broadcast on TV either. It's going on the DVR, and after I fast-forward through the boring bits, not-funny bits, really painfully not-funny bits and the pointless bits, along with the clip montages, musical interludes, self-congratulatory tributes and political infomercials, I'll probably zip through it later in a half-hour or less.

Or, I'll just read about it in the morning.

Instead, I'm turning my attention to liveblogging "Resurrection," the season premiere of my favorite guilty TV pleasure, CBS' "CSI: Miami," which airs Monday, Sept. 22.

WARNING: If you're super-mega-clever or just a very good guesser, this could possibly be considered spoiler-ish. So, if you fancy yourself either of the above, run, do not walk, in the opposite direction.

Previouslys, glasses come off, wet tarmac, Horatio goes down. Glasses shattered.

Sad faces. Zip. Bye-bye. Rolling away.

Lights, sirens, forensics! Ryan's in gray and lavender, Calleigh's in black and purple, Eric is in that unbelievably garish red-and-white flowered shirt from last season. I had hoped and prayed I'd never see it again, but, oh, well.

Angry Ryan pooches the forensics. It's those bad bullets again. Eric has doubts. Horatio has enemies (in a black-and-white montage). Cue the Who!

Ding-dong...Eric wants a peek. Don't do it, Eric. Oops.

Very mysterious...but he had the right credentials. All that remains, doesn't remain, apparently.

Sad Frank. Ah, THAT's who was on board.

Oh, Natalia, this is a crime scene, not a first date in a dimly lit bar. Put those things away.

Oh, brother, you are the luckiest forensics guys EVER.

The Unbelievably Advanced Computer Equipment That No Real Lab Could Ever Afford (a k a the UACETNRLCEA) comes through.

Bad guy in a lavender T-shirt with a black-and-white splash-graphic pattern? Really? Your gang buddies would murder you, if only for your bad fashion sense. I won't even mention the wussy goatee.

Oh, snap! Take a look, Orange Jumpsuit. Yeah, send him back to the lockup. In that T-shirt, he'll be real popular.

Getting perchy with it. Calleigh finds the good stuff.

Hi, Agent David Keith (a k a the nose-bleedy guy from "Firestarter").

Don't you be talking to Calleigh like that. Now who's shuttin' up? Don't get smirky with me.

The UACETNRLCEA strikes again. Ring, ring. Ryan?

Really? What? Who? What, you say? Exposition, exposition, flashback, flashback, montage, flashback, fused alloys, and a little movie magic.

Glasses, nod, squib!

"He could be anywhere." And there he is.

Like father, like son.

I see somebody got the purple/lavender memo.

Goin' underground. Swamp, croc, standin' in the road. Old friends are good friends, especially when they bring THAT.

Time to go for a little ride, Orange Jumpsuit.

Swamp ... now that's a red dress. Nice to have you back, Red Dress. He's always close by.

Prisoner transport, always dangerous. See, I told you. My only hope is Eric's shirt will be bloodied or catch on fire, and he'll have to change.

Bang bang, boom boom, Eric saves a girl who looks a lot like Calleigh, his secret love.

No-Longer-Orange-Jumpsuit's on the move. Duck, Frank! The shirt survives, but the truck, not so much. Bad bullets again.

Hello, Manhattan Beach Studios Parking Garage. How you been?

It's reunion time. Why not mmmeeeee? Because I love you too much! *sniff*

Frank explains it all to us, but Calleigh finds the good stuff.

Back to the UACETNRLCEA, with big snazzy music and meaningful looks. The Crypt Keeper? What? That can't be right.

Oh, crikey, now a bad guy is wearing a white tee with a delicate Asian-inspired floral design. Let him keep that on in prison and see what happens.

White Suit, meet Red Dress, in front of buff-colored building. How primary. Oh, honey, did  you wear those shoes to the swamp too? They're really not made for sand either.

White Suit tries to man up. Red Dress blathers, and he buys it.

Oh, White Suit, you think you're all that and a side of dirty rice, doncha? Red Dress gets all fakey flirty. Text me, baby. Come down to the water, that's where I'll be. Glasses...

Blue blue water, green green trees, green-white-and-orange cop cars. Either they saturated this color in post or my tea was stronger than I thought.

Non sequitur beach shot, then more UACETNRLCEA and sweet "Speed"-y graphics.

Off the grid -- you could just say you weren't that into her, Scruffy Fed Boy. You made our Calleigh sad. And BTW, the '80s wants its hair back. Calleigh implies exactly what you think she's implying.

San Pedro docks? Could be.

White Suit, blue van, bad guys that look like an '80s hair band. Is this a trend? Red Dress calls it in.

The boys meet once again in the middle of the hall. Jeepers, get a room already. But, Ryan has an idea -- it's UACETNRLCEA time once again.

The plane! The plane!

White Shirt, you're going down. Oops. Look who's here. Don't get those yellow bags too close to that shirt, Eric. I may have a seizure.

Looks like Agent David Keith and Ryan shop at the same men's suit outlet.

Scruffy can't help making our Calleigh sad, but he did bring her something she'd like better than chocolate or roses.

White Suit, you're a fool for the ladies. Or maybe you're just a fool.

Bang bang, BOOM! Good boom. Smoke on the water...

"You and me, Eric." *sniff*