|Once upon a time.|
I awoke from my malaise today.
Having been sick for four days, it was wonderful to see the sunshine but not so to see a giant rutabaga peering back at me from above the bathroom sink this morning.
I was really out of it--head, chest, throat-- and, since Charlie is soon to arrive for spring break and I need to be in tip-top shape to clean, cook and spin gold from straw for his pleasure, I panicked and starting popping everything I've been hoarding in the medicine cabinet for the past fifteen years.
As a result, for the next few days, I tried to change channels on the TV with the portable phone as well as communicate with my Aunt Alice by pressing the remote control against my face and shouting into it.
Cloudy thinking (Do I hate Justin Bieber or love him?), poor judgement (How do you remove a Youtube video, anyway?) and inability to get a good night's sleep, hence the root vegetable resemblance this morning, were other results of my free hand (blue ones, pink ones, white ones!) with the pills.
Were the Oscars on?
Did I forget about them as I sat, for days, under the numbing weight of a 20 pound cat who believed it was his job to heal my ills by cutting off all blood circulation in my body above the kneecaps?
I must have missed them.
Or, at least, dozed off in front of them.
But I do have vague memories of certain things....
Was that the once dashing and handsome Kirk Douglas? He of the oft-imitated voice and chin cleft so dark and deep that you could scoop stem cells out of it with an ice-tea spoon, making a total fool of himself in front of millions? God, I hope not--he deserves better.
Was that Melissa Leo, accepting an award for best supporting actress and wearing a dress constructed from left-over Christmas wrap, immediately dropping the F-bomb and pretending it was an accident?
That was no accident. No one but Mickey Rourke drops the F-bomb so early in an acceptance speech. She wanted to pretend to be as tough as her character in the movie for which she won....and had to literally wrestle the award out of Kirk Douglas' chin. To be authentically profane, timing is crucial, Melissa...and you fell short. Please leave the F-bomb to the pros (That would be me--offering profanity consultation services on the side--both Pay Pal and Mastercard accepted).
|High as a Kite.|
Was I dreaming or did Anne Hathaway change dresses so many times that the obviously high James Franco (who apparently believed that delivering his every line with narrowed eyes made him seem intelligent) seemed to forget who she was halfway through the broadcast?
I demand to see his transcripts from NYU. And his SAT scores, thank you very much.
Why is Christian Bale so damn annoying--and what's with that Cockney accent? He grew up in a lovely resort town in England, not the seamy side of London. Why were Javier Bardem and Josh Brolin dressed as Good Humor men? Why did Cate Blanchett wear a dress with baby spit-up all over her shoulders?
Why did Scarlet Johanssen fight her way through a wind tunnel on the way to the theater and why would no one lend her a comb once she arrived? Why must Kevin Spacey insist on singing? More importantly why does Gwyneth Paltrow's family continue to allow her to sing? Don't they like her?
And, since I may have hallucinated all this due to my heavy handedness with the meds, who was that old guy pretending to be Billy Crystal? Am I the only one who thought the hologram of Bob Hope at the podium was creepy bordering on terrifying? What planet is Randy Newman really from? Why is Mark Wahlberg always so angry and Justin Timberlake always so relaxed?
Was Helen Mirren storing nuts for the winter or did she get those poppin' new cheeks from the same doctor as did the other wise perfect and luminous Halle Berry?
And, most importantly, when did Warren Beatty die? I must have missed that news entirely.
Those who know me can guess my favorite moment of the show.
It was, of course, when Tom Hooper, director of "The King's Speech," accepted the award for best movie and credited his mommy for discovering the story and suggesting it for his next project.
Leaning into the microphone, he advised the millions watching to "Always listen to your mother." Did you get that, Tom and Charlie? You total punks.
With that suggestion, Mr. Hooper may, indeed, have saved the world.
My second favorite moment was when Hilary Swank after being asked how many Oscars she's won to date, struck the floor twice with her left foot. Think about it.......ah, okay!
I can only hope I am feeling better for next year's Academy Awards so I can pay closer attention.