Though I'm not necessarily proud of this, I am here today to admit to you that I watched the telecast of the Oscars Sunday night. It's been several years since I indulged my secret fantasy of someday mounting the steps of the Kodak Theatre and thanking all the little people who made the moment possible.
Honestly, I used to implant the winner for Best Actor in my head so that I would be able to say, "I remember when I was 15 years old, watching Jack Lemmon accept his award for Save the Tiger, and thinking, 'Save the Tiger? Has anybody even heard of Save the Tiger'?"
Having finally given up any thought about ever needing an acceptance speech, my interest in the Oscars has waned in recent years, until this year when the planets aligned in such a way that resulted in a movie that I saw actually being nominated for Picture of the Year. (Juno)
So, I popped a bowl of popcorn, poured a glass of orange juice, and settled in with our attempt to have a dog (Edgar, the epileptic chihuahua) to watch the festivities.
There wasn't a whole lot that was very memorable, but there was one bit of irony that wasn't lost on me. Actually two bits of irony off the same mother ship.
The parade floats on the red carpet all looked fairly decent: no feathery swans wrapped around willowy limbs; no huge bows threatening to untie themselves before our very eyes. The first bit of irony was that the only truly ugly dress seen at the Oscars this year was being worn by the first televised honoree: the winner for achievement in costume design.
That was interesting enough, but it got kind of spooky when the lady who won for make-up took the stage...barely visible behind her eyeshadow.
I half expected the winner for visual effects to be wearing dark glasses and carrying a red-tipped cane.
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