And, spoiler alert, but Daniel Day-Lewis might be up for something, too:

Poehler: I haven't been keeping up with pop culture, is it "Avatar" this year?
Fey: Yes, yes.
Poehler: We've been practicing: And the winner for best actor in a drama is ...
Fey: Daniel Day-Lewis.
In unison: For "Avatar."

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The series' hour-long final episode will on Jan. 31, 2013.

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Jack’s assessment was actually a bit soft. Compared to the series’ future loopy heights, “30 Rock’s” pilot was a grounded affair. A few episodes in and Jack might have added that Liz was not just undersexed, she didn’t like sex. Tina Fey's character wasn’t just a third-wave feminist, but a third-wave feminist with no meaningful relationships with other women except her narcissistic frenemy Jenna Maroney. Liz wasn’t just single and pretending to be happy about it, she was single and willing to settle for a string of duds — and the occasional Carroll Carroll – that would strike fear in the heart of even a prolific and unlucky Internet dater.

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Todd Akin claims that women can't really get pregnant from a legitimate rape because the body secretes hormones. Now I can't even finish this sentence without getting dumber; it's making me dumber when I say it—but it's something about the body not being able to get pregnant when it's under physical stress. Mr. Akin, I think you are confusing the phrase 'legitimate rape' with the phrase 'competitive gymnastics.'"

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In the season's first episode, Jack Donaghy introduced his plan to “tank” NBC, just the latest gag about the incompetence of “30 Rock’s” real corporate overlord. (Though, for the first time since “30 Rock” started, NBC’s fortunes are actually looking up, a turnaround the "30 Rock" writers couldn't have predicted.) Last week, in an absurdly bold episode that aired just before the vice-presidential debate, Fey “30 Rock”-ed her crazy experience imitating Sarah Palin. In the episode Paul Ryan dropped out of the debate, and was replaced by a doddering, sexist, gaffe- and vomit-prone politician who looked identical to Tracy Jordan. This week, Fey and company took on another doozie: The women aren’t funny debate.

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It was just last summer that the possibility that yet another series of presidential debates would go by without a female moderator for any of them was looking mighty real. Things were so bleak a group of Montclair High School students had taken to petitioning the Commission on Presidential Debates to bring in the first female moderator in two decades. When teenagers are asking on the Internet for something that should at this point be a no-brainer, we are living in grim times. So it came as refreshing news in August when CNN's Candy Crowley was named as moderator for this Tuesday's event.

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Say it with me: Are women funny? Since this question was first answered in the negative in the pages of Vanity Fair by the late, redoubtable Christopher Hitchens, it seems to have been designated by the chattering classes as one of the great unanswerables of the universe, destined to be dredged up every time someone’s looking for page hits by pissing off the wrong person at some heavily trafficked and influential ladyblog (#sorryfeminists!). To everyone else, this may seem like a settled a matter of simple logic: Women are human beings (no matter what some Republican members of Congress might believe); some human beings are endowed with an innate talent to make others laugh; ergo, some women are funny. The end.

And yet, it is with this specious query (if there is a God, then surely the fact that this piece of lazily reasoned hackwork seems destined to be the most quoted of all the Quotable Hitchens is His karmic revenge) that Yael Kohen chooses to open “We Killed: The Rise of Women in American Comedy,” forcing from the beginning what could have been a transcendent and inspiring work of oral history into an oddly defensive crouch. What was almost certainly meant as a topical gambit — the book was born out of an article the author wrote for Marie Claire — feels a bit like reading a novel with a prologue like: “I know you’re probably wondering why you should care about anything I’m about to tell you since I just made it all up in my head, but please let me spend the next 300-plus pages trying to convince you!”

Also strange is Kohen’s emphasis of focusing on her subjects’ relative shortcomings. Under this surely unconscious lens, a fanatically hardworking trailblazer like Joan Rivers is a frustrated actress who failed to take over the desk at “The Tonight Show” and curdled into a bitter insult comic; Carol Burnett, an unchallenging sketch comic; Lily Tomlin, an underground weirdo that nobody knew what to do with. Talents like Sandra Bernhard and Whoopi Goldberg are mostly heard complaining about getting stuck performing in the Belly Room, the all-female performance venue inside L.A’s former Comedy Store (which, in their descriptions of the narrow space and rickety staircase you had to take to get there, sounds like the world’s most hilarious mechitza), but little attention is paid to Goldberg’s subsequent blockbuster film career apart from her briefly noting a sleazy studio executive commenting distastefully on her inherent “unfuckability.” The hilarious Rachel Dratch is encouraged to talk about how affinity for playing unglamorous characters may have hurt her career. Others pontificate — not uncattily, may I add — on how a young Sarah Silverman got stage time because everyone wanted to sleep with her. Why talk to these extraordinary, successful, brilliant women, only to dwell disproportionately on their disappointments? Why treat them as a race apart, or explore their stories mainly relation to men? As Tina Fey, whose voice is notably absent here, said in her memoir “Bossypants” on what she says to young women who come looking to her for advice: “Remember: Don’t be fooled. You’re not in competition with other women. You’re in competition with everyone.”

That’s not to say there’s not some great stuff here. “We Killed” is a well-meaning effort, at times even a noble one. Kohen clearly has a gift for drawing her subjects out: Merrill Markoe’s four-page, stunningly clear-eyed testimony on the rise and fall of her relationship with David Letterman is like a three-act play. Considering how she wound up making her fortune, all the snide comments about the young Kathy Griffin are good for cackle. And the ambitious chronology of the chapters deftly illustrate how the rise of women in comedy mirrored the rise of the women itself, from frustrated housewives to ambitious power-suited baby boomers to sexually frank post-feminists in heels and Spanx. The recurring theme of Johnny Carson’s appalling treatment of female comedians who broke his stringent rules of acceptability speaks a cathartic truth to power, even when the power in question is moldering in the grave.

But for all the dazzling breadth of Kohen’s sources, “We Killed” remains notable for what it leaves out. In her telling, the story of women in American comedy began with Phyllis Diller and Elaine May sometime in the early 1960s. There’s no Fanny Brice or Sophie Tucker; no Dorothy Parker or Frances Marion or Anita Loos; no 1930s screwball heroines that put paid to the former Apatovian notion of the female as eternal straight man. Hollywood scarcely exists at all; the realms of theater and print are totally absent. The name “Nora Ephron” is not mentioned once. Lena Dunham, like robot maids or clothes that change color with your mood, is merely a shadow of a faraway and unknowable future.

Of course, that’s the difficulty of the oral history: You can only talk to people who are alive, or about people who are in living memory, or are willing to talk to you. But if you’re trying to make a definitive case on the potential for hilarity of the double X chromosome, that seems like an awful lot to leave out.

Which brings us to the second problem of writing only about what people want to tell you: It doesn’t leave a lot of room for outside analysis. We hear that Johnny Carson hated female comics and John Belushi refused to perform in anything he knew a woman had written. But neither Kohen nor anybody else tries very hard to explain why. Because ultimately, the question to ask isn’t whether women are funny; the question is why it’s so important to some men that they not be.

Interestingly enough, it’s Christopher Hitchens himself who gives the game away in his essay that started a cottage industry, saying: “Men have to pretend, to themselves as well as to women, that they are not the servants and supplicants. Women, cunning minxes that they are, have to affect not to be the potentates … People in this precarious position do not enjoy being laughed at, and it would not have taken women long to work out that female humor would be the most upsetting of all.” Humor is power. We kill, and something inside them dies.

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The Hollywood Foreign Press Association, Dick Clark Productions and NBC announced Monday that the pair of "30 Rock" and "Parks and Recreation" stars have signed on to host the 70th annual Golden Globes ceremony after British comedian Ricky Gervais' three-year reign as the show's acerbic emcee.

"The unparalleled comedic timing of Tina and Amy will surely have viewers wanting to tune-in to see them in action," said Takla-O'Reilly, president of the Hollywood Foreign Press Association, which honors film and TV at the Beverly Hills Hilton ceremony. "The HFPA is thrilled to have the magnetic duo be a part of the show's 70th anniversary!"

The funny lady duo previously starred together in the films "Mean Girls" and "Baby Mama" and on "Saturday Night Live." They co-hosted the NBC sketch comedy series' "Weekend Update" segment from 2004 to 2006.

"Having both Tina Fey and Amy Poehler on board to host this year's festivities is a major coup," said Paul Telegdy, president of alternative and late night programming at NBC. "Tina and Amy have a proven chemistry and comedic timing from their many years together on 'SNL' to their successful co-starring roles in 'Baby Mama.'"

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My first publishing job, in 1987, was at Random House. Bennett Cerf’s publishing company, the home of Faulkner, Capote and Dr. Seuss, is now only one of a handful of “major” publishers, by which I mean publishers who are corporate, bottom-line-driven, freighted with massive overhead and generally reactionary. The Dunham deal smacks of a search for the "Barton Fink" touch -- as in, "get me the next 'Bossypants,' stat." I realize that Dunham is an easy target — she's only 26, from an artsy New York family and the creator, star and director of her own HBO show. And there is an element of sexism in the backlash — a young, strong, independent female scores a big deal — but I have no problem with her agent, Kim Witherspoon, shaking down the dinosaurs on her client’s behalf. It's what the market will bear. I imagine Dunham’s book will kick ass, yet it will also get its critical ass handed to itself because of the advance. If Random House is already hucking it as the next Tina Fey meets Nora Ephron meets David Sedaris (no pressure, Lena), then the critics will be expecting Fey meets Ephron meets Sedaris.

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"Liz Lemon is Kermit," I said to Dustin. "The Muppet Show" is "30 Rock"!

I tested my theory on a Facebook thread: Jenna is Miss Piggy. Kenneth is Scooter. Tracy is … possibly Gonzo? That was a tougher one to cast. On the thread, a friend led me to a blog post by comic-book writer Brian Lynch, from 2009. It turns out I was not the first person to have this revelation. Brian had some tough words for "30 Rock" — perhaps in jest (tone on the Internet can be hard to parse). He wrote, “Tina Fey's ‘30 Rock’ is currently the most acclaimed comedy series on television. It's won numerous Emmys and Golden Globes and I think Pulitzers. Critics and audiences alike love the show and its lovable zany characters, and consider it one of the most original comedies in years. And I guess it is original … if you've never seen ‘The Muppet Show.’ Because, my ‘friends’ (in quotes because I don't know or trust you, please don't be offended), Tina Fey's ‘30 Rock’ is quite obviously ripping off Jim Henson's beloved TV show.”

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2. Cancellation of the day: Sorry, Kate Gosselin, your money train is at an end, as TLC has just canceled " Kate Plus 8."  Don't worry, I'm sure you will find other ways to exploit your children for cash ... maybe have the younger ones try out for "Toddlers & Tiaras"?

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At a gala for the National Dance Institute Tuesday night, Alec Baldwin told Vulture, "I will tell you one thing. And that is our show next year is our last year of the show." Baldwin has repeatedly maintained his intention to jump ship when his contract expires next year, but this was the first public mention of the entire works going belly up. "Our contracts are expired [in 2012], and Tina is gonna have a big career directing films and writing. She's going to be the next Elaine May. She'll be great," Baldwin said.

Fey, who's got enough Emmys, Golden Globes and Mark Twain awards to suggest that she doesn't need to aspire to anybody else's career, certainly has plenty she can do outside of the Liz Lemon domain. The New York Times this week called her new book, "Bossypants," "dagger-sharp" and "extremely funny." She was in two movies last year, as a beleaguered bridge-and-tunnel type in "Date Night" and as the voice of Roxanne Ritchie in "Megamind." She's an accomplished screenwriter and producer. Baldwin's right, even if absolutely nothing else she's ever done -- and I'm including "Mean Girls" here -- touches the genius of "30 Rock," she'll still be great.

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"If you want to make an audience laugh, you dress a man up like an old lady and push her down the stairs. If you want to make comedy writers laugh, you push an actual old lady down the stairs."

That was Tina Fey in 2004, talking to Virginia Heffernan in the New Yorker about how mean the writers of "Saturday Night Live" could be. At the time, how could readers have known what we know now -- thanks to the multiple glowing reviews of her new book "Bossypants" (excerpts of which appeared in the New Yorker) -- that the joke isn't about the mean-spirited humor of pushing the elderly, but the compunction of women to push each other down flights of stairs (or, even worse, to fall down on purpose) to prove that they can make it in the boys' club of comedy.

But let's back up to 2001: Tina was already head writer at "Saturday Night Live," the first woman Lorne Michaels had ever hired for that position. So, you know, score one for the ladies. This was also the year that Tina's crew won a Writer's Guild Award for their 25th Anniversary Special. Behind the scenes, Tina was killing it.

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That said, I was pleasantly surprised a few times with the 2010 Emmy nominations, and was, per usual, irritated just as often. Tony Shalhoub, again, for real? (eye roll) "Two and a Half Men" taking up valuable space in any category? (bigger eye roll) And why Aaron Paul of "Breaking Bad" didn't submit his reel in the lead actor category is confounding and shameful -- Bryan Cranston is, arguably, the star of that show but this was Paul's year. His performance as the now-sober meth cooker Jesse Pinkman was, in a word, eviscerating.

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Liz Lemon is recession America's Carrie Bradshaw.

The frazzled "30 Rock" star, played by series writer and creator Tina Fey, is a heroine for the moment when an entire country feels like it just dumped a gallon of water on the floor while trying to change the office cooler tank (which Lemon did, in Season 4).

The parallels between Lemon and Carrie aren't subtle: Single career women married to Manhattan, forever orbiting a suave, older executive type while searching for love in all the wrong places and remaining the incisive, sarcastic voice of reason among a wacky circle of friends. Fey herself described Liz Lemon as a bumbling version of Carrie in an interview with People magazine last fall.

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Fey has recently come under critical assault. What's surprising about the form it's taking is that the mob gathering to pull Fey from her pedestal is not made up of withered cynics irritated by her ubiquity, but by a group of once-enthusiastic female fans who helped hoist Fey to great heights and are now mutinying. The ardor and (occasionally personal) ferocity with which these critics are tearing down their former muse may say more about the intensity of longing for a perfect feminist idol, and about the degree of idealization many of us young feminists have projected at Fey, than it does about any change in the star herself.

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So when their friends (Mark Ruffalo and Kristen Wiig) drop the bombshell that they're splitting up because they no longer wish to be merely "excellent roommates," the Fosters venture to shake up their own rut with a big night in Manhattan. And when a case of mistaken identity spirals out of control, they soon find themselves on an adventure that is part "Out of Towners" and part "After Hours," with a soupçon of "The Warriors'" urban odyssey. Can they rekindle their love, avoid getting killed, and get home in time to take the kids to school?

There isn't much in the deeply formulaic "Date Night" that's innovative in its execution. Will everyone in New York City be a wacky, scenery-noshing character? Will there be scenes of screaming people in speeding, screeching cars? Will "Night at the Museum" director Shawn Levy keep the action humming along at a light, superficial pace? As Tina Fey's best-known alter ego might say, you betcha!

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