Farrah Fawcett, Kate Jackson and Jaclyn Smith—arranged in order from most to least kooky, from oldest- to youngest-looking, from biggest to littlest star at the time their signature show Charlie's Angels was first cast—were received at the Emmys tonight as if they were Bette Davis, Lillian Gish and Ann Sothern arisen from the dead. My first reaction was, like that of the audience, one of thoughtless elation. But you have to believe that 10 seconds later the audience must've been thinking, "Wait a sec—we hated that show. These broads were in a jiggle show, not Prime Suspect!" (Fair enough, but Kate Jackson was nominated for an Emmy as Outstanding Lead Actress in a...Drama...not once but twice for Charlie's Angels back in the day.)

The elation is not really because we have a passion for these particular women, though I did buy my first teen magazines solely for Farrah Fawcett pinups and still own my Charlie's Angels collectible stickers. It's more that they're some kind of nostalgia trip to a time we imagine was less complicated. I know the "less complicated" part of it is on the money because Kate Jackson said so herself, managing to work a 9/11 reference into an Aaron Spelling tribute. I know the "we imagine" part of it is on the money because while the ’70s might seem rosy to some people now, Vietnam, gas lines and plenty of other historical events argue otherwise.

I know this feeling of nostalgia is nothing new. When I was watching TV shows in the '80s that were lionizing the stars of the '50s, my parents were probably thinking what I'm thinking now, "Jeez...already?" The other slightly disturbing thing is that despite how "great" Farrah, Kate and Jaclyn look (in reverse order this time—though Farrah has done lots to reverse her tragic surgery mistakes of the past decade), seeing the results of so many nips and tucks and injections sort of creepily defeats the swell of nostalgia. It's like a dog who takes a dump and turns around to find no poop—a huge mystery thanks to a fast-acting, curb-conscious owner with a quick-draw, plastic-baggied hand.

But over-analysis aside, and as cynical as I am now (at the time, Charlie's Angels was fab, and now, I have to roll my eyes at the quasi-Republican vibe of a show about law enforcement that embraced an old-school take on chicks and went to the lesbian-panic well a few too many times), I got a serious kick out of seeing the three standing there side-by-side. It was, I think, particularly interesting considering their feuds over the years, maybe a lead-by-example from which Tori and Candy Spelling could learn. Poor Cheryl Ladd. She was on the show much longer than Farrah (hello! one season!), but she was not invited to appear onstage as the other three (according to Kate) "reclaimed the brand."

You know what? Regardless of their relative heft as thespians, at least all three of the original Charlie's Angels who earned the starstruck applause of the audience are primarily television actresses—the Emmys are so self-loathingly preoccupied with movie stars.

Just like all the rest of us.

Other, random thoughts on the Emmys: The West Wing was never that good, and it was not worthy of winning anything for anyone in its final season—nor was the guy who died more worthy of applause than Shelley Winters or Robert Wise. Who did Mariska Hargitay blow? Not only did she win for her cold-fish performance on a years-old potboiler of a series, but the mere mention of her name was cause for a huge cheer. 24? Tony Shalhoub for Monk again? Over Steve Carell or, well, anyone else? I can't decide if I have more contempt for the Emmys or the Oscars...it's a tie!