Vampires leave me cold. I guess that’s sort of supposed to be the idea, right? I mean, they’re dead, or undead, or deading.

But cold as they may be to the touch, you may have noticed that vampires have never been hotter. And I don’t get it. “Twilight.” “True Blood.” “The Vampire Diaries.” Enough already! Fangs, but no fangs.

So the girlfriend and I went to the movies the other night, and I could have sworn we sat for a sextuple feature. This was because five trailers preceded the main attraction.

At least, I think they were trailers. It’s was a little tough to tell given how they showed what appeared to be pretty much the entire movie on fast-forward.

I think you know what I’m talking about. There’s no such thing anymore as a mere tease. Every trailer now comes with its own spoilers minus any alerts.

So it’s started to occur to me that I’m spending way too much time on Facebook, and that there appears to be a correlation between my present workload and the propensity to justify the hours spent in the throes of Status Update Fixation and Commentary Mania.

It becomes a sort of social network-as-syringe, addiction through monitor-driven camaraderie.

The ongoing speculation over where Paula Abdul will manage to land in her post-“American Idol” life has little to do with the recent introduction at Wienerschnitzel of a (drum roll, please) Chili Cheese Fries Burrito. But bear with me for a few hundred words, and I promise to tie them together in a quasi-profound way.

Let’s start with Abdul, who inspires a fanatic level of dedication and loyalty that feels entirely baffling. Perhaps this is because I lack the “Idol” gene, which automatically labels me a sad outcast.

Don Mischer must be some kind of an evil genius.

Oh sure, plenty of people have proven proficient at inspiring anger in the TV industry rank-and-file, what with the Academy of Television Arts & Sciences’ long and colorful history of Emmy alienation.

But no one has been able to piss everyone off with such inclusive vigor and blinding rage as has this year’s Emmy executive producer. Had he set out to sabotage the ceremony on purpose, Mischer really could not have succeeded more resoundingly.

The Michael Jackson Saga has now reigned o'er the land for precisely 40 days and 40 nights. But it's already pretty clear that its freshness date has, alas, just about expired (according to my unofficial Tabloidy Overkill Buzz-O-Meter). And nothing can take its place.

I think I can speak for the rest of America in leading a collective exhale after reviewing this morning's Emmy nominations.

We're safe in the knowledge that the nation's TV critics will not be forced to walk off their jobs en masse (at least, the nine that remain).

Why? Because Jim Parsons got nominated as lead comedy actor for the CBS comedy "The Big Bang Theory," serving to restore something resembling sanity to a selection process perpetually steeped in new rules and fresh indignation .

Michael Jackson's death is the most globally devastating and consequential celebrity passing since that of Princess Diana nearly a dozen years ago and surely the most axis-altering entertainment story since at least the dawn of the Blog Age. Possibly even the Internet Age altogether.