Ten minutes later, I turned off the TV and went upstairs to bed...

There were two reasons for that.

One, I knew Lady Gaga's opening performance, shrouded by all its hype and mystery, was something I should tune into, even though my heart (and my TiVo season pass) was over at HBO with True Blood. So I watched -- and witnessed Gaga, as her male alter ego Jo Calderone, smoking a cigarette at breakneck speed while delivering a Charlie Sheen-like monologue about Gaga herself.

Then, still as Jo, came the musical performance, of "You and I" -- starting slowly on piano, then quickly shifting to a full-out, up-tempo dance routine backed by a bevy of similarly greased-out dancers. The performance was high-concept, high-energy and, to the MTV celebrity audience, highly confusing.

Justin Bieber's priceless and clueless reaction, in particular, was one of utter incomprehension.

As soon as Gaga/Jo left the stage, the air left the room. And so did I.

I know there was more stuff to come. I was even looking forward to some of it, such as a live performance by Adele. And normally, Sunday night is my don't-bother-me treat, where I watch True Blood and AMC's Breaking Bad, back to back, and feel better about television, and life in general.

But Hurricane Irene drained a lot from me, and I'm not just talking about electricity.

Besides, one other hurricane memory I'd forgotten was how fresh and exhilarating the air is after the storm. I was anxious to go upstairs, throw open the windows and fall asleep to the smell of the cool breeze and the the sound of the whooshing branches.

So I did.

Goodnight, Irene...