Scrub It Already: What’s the opposite of leaving you wanting more? The hour-long finale of Scrubs, that’s what, hugging it out with such sentimental ferocity even Ari Gold’s arms would have grown weary by the end. Self-aware, self-conscious, self-indulgent—and yet infused with the infectious sweetness and scrappy humor we’ve come to relish over eight seasons—J.D.’s long goodbye to Sacred Heart Hospital was tempered, and to a degree diminished, by reports that ABC is still exploring options to keep the lights on even after some (if not all) of the original stars have left.

What do they think this is, ER? Do we really need another never-say-die hospital series that refuses to pull the plug long after its vital signs have ebbed?

Still, for those who stuck it out with Scrubs this long, there were a number of pleasures to be had, mostly involving J.D. and Dr. Cox (the chemistry between Zach Braff and John C. McGinley was as enjoyable as ever). My favorite gag was the giant book of collected rants J.D. gave Cox on his final day. And who couldn’t appreciate J.D. setting up Cox to give him a compliment (“He was the best that ever came out of this dump”) when he thought J.D. had left. I also smiled through most of the J.D.-Turk hugs (“You smell like a weightlifter.” “You smell like it’s hot out.”) as this Peter Pan duo feared they’d peaked too early with their goodbyes. As J.D. freaked: “How can I ever not want to hug you? Has the world gone mad?” We also learned the Janitor’s real name—or did we? He tells J.D. it’s “Glenn Matthews,” but as J.D. walks away, an orderly calls him “Tommy.” (Could this orderly be the Janitor’s next victim?) He’ll always be Janitor to me, and Neil Flynn gave him delicious bite to the very end.

But like Izzie stalked by dead Denny, or House haunted by Amber, by this episode’s end I couldn’t wait to get out of J.D.’s head and get a rest from those incessantly cloying voice-overs. By the time J.D. mused, “I guess I thought there would be a lot of heartfelt goodbyes, that it would be like one of those great old sitcom finales,” I’d pretty much had it with all of the self-referential self-mythologizing. One of the great TV finales this wasn’t, because it spent so much time patting itself on the back we mostly felt like awkward onlookers.

I wish J.D. well, and hope all those future home movies he played on the movie screen in his head eventually come true, but I’m begging ABC and the show’s creator, Bill Lawrence (last seen, before the final blooper reel, in a cameo as another Sacred Heart janitor, tearing down the “Goodbye J.D.” sign and stuffing it in the trash), to let this one go while we still have something to remember fondly.

Clone Wars: If imitation is indeed the sincerest form of flattery, then Project Runway should feel like several million dollars these days, considering what an uninspired knock-off Bravo’s new The Fashion Show is. (It premieres tonight at 10/9c.) Not that Bravo had a choice, having lost its signature show Runway to Lifetime after a contentious court battle. (The authentic Runway will finally air its long-on-the-shelf next season in August.) I’m a big enough fan of these reality-competition shows to add this one to my plate, though at first glance it feels cut from an awfully familiar pattern.

Like my now-favorite Bravo series Top Chef, this show begins with an insta-challenge (in the first episode, fashioning a little black dress from a black T-shirt) and moves on to a larger elimination challenge, ending with a runway show in front of an invited audience of “insiders” and judges. (America will get to vote on the winner in the season finale. How democratic of Bravo.) In the premiere, the large contestant pool is divided into a classically awkward team challenge, the better for personalities and personality conflicts to emerge. The early breakout here is a flamboyant character-in-his-own-mind named Merlin, first seen sporting a ginormous feather in his cap and spoiling for a reaction, spoiling for a fight—“I’m very territorial. I’m like a wolf”—dying above all to be noticed and stand out from this crowd. He gets his wish as he turns on his instant nemesis, the uptight fashion-school grad Daniella, and taunts her: “Male domination, girl. Get it.” Her retort: “Male? Where?”

Isaac Mizhari is the bitchy-queen host, understandably dismayed at the first week’s train-wreck designs. Kelly Rowland adds little as his sidekick. Will The Fashion Show make it work? It’s possible, but it will have to work awfully hard to emerge from Runway’s shadow and be seen as anything but a desperate copy.