Lobotomies & The Oscars
Holy Hell's Bells, Batman! I applied for a new J-O-B tonight, courtesy of celluloid_jam, who rawks this world like a tiny white mofo. It's much easier on the soul to get excited about prospective employment when you are already employed. AND!-->My spineless girlfriend who deserves to be lobotomized may have saved her frontal lobe after all--she claims to have seen the light and FOR NOW all plans to move in with the aforementioned loser ex-boyfriend are OFF. HOO-fucking-RAY. Now if I could just get government funding for her spine implant...ah well, I'll sleep easy tonight. And do you know why? That's right you self-righteous independent movie-watching snobs! THE OSCARS!!!
OSCAR...A Whole Lotta Man in Just One Night (or, Why I'm Watching the Oscars with Girlish Glee):
1. Jon Stewart, host. That deadpan Jewish motherfucker is going to entertain me in ways that I can only dream of; he'd better bring it. Previous hosts include Billy Crystal, who regaled us with song-and-dance medleys that celebrated each cinematic triumph of the human spirit; during these slapstick numbers, I usually died a little on the inside. One can only hope for a choreographed tap dance number, complete with showgirls and snow leopards, where we are dazzled by all of the senseless deaths in 'The Constant Gardener' and 'Munich'. Nothing says "musical entertainment" quite like two gay cowboys and Johnny Cash.
2. The Lifetime Achievement Award. Finally, this award is going to someone over the age of 60. Robert Altman will probably be remembered for the TV series M*A*S*H, but I will remember him for being on the advisory board of NORML (the National Organization for the Reform of Marijuana Laws), being voted the 17th Best Director of All Time by Entertainment Weekly (oooh, the honors!), and for spawning a son who wrote the lyrics to the M*A*S*H theme song "Suicide is Painless" when he was just 14 years old. No issues in that household.
3. Goodbye to the Deceased Unknowns. Every year, people die. But more importantly, celebrities die. And when a celebrity passes, the whole world must watch in sorrow as the famously deceased get their last 2.5 seconds of recognition...and we insignificant subhumans are allowed one last tearful goodbye. Unfortunately, this section of the program includes not only actors, actresses, directors and producers, but a whole slew of non-essential peeps from the movie set as well. So as your tears well up over Don Knotts' heavenly departure, you will be robbed of your grief by another photo, this one of Barry Felcher, Second Grip Assistant. R.I.P., Barry.
4. Fashion, and how! Red carpet moments make my life worth living. Not only will Star Jones be there in all her newly-gastric-bypassed glory, she'll also show up with her amusing gay entourage--or as she likes to call him, "my husband Al". One onscreen moment with her equals enough material to headline a comedy show in Vegas. The gowns, the couture, the vastly expensive and cheap-looking bling, the beautifully plasticized women and their equally overtanned men...it's to die for. Fashion is pure eye candy, but fashion faux pas are a free-for-all Willie Wonka factory, Augustus Gloop and all. I'm hungry.
5. Seacrest out! For those of you who love Ryan Seacrest, do me a favor and kill yourself now. When he says "Seacrest out!", he means that he's a super-poof trying desperately to stay locked in the closet with Tom Cruise. The newly-minted host of E! Entertainment News starts his post on March 13th, which means we have 8 days of glorious silence to prepare ourselves for his arrival from the Mothership to Planet Earth. While he may be on the red carpet tomorrow night, I'm hoping he comes down with a serious case of hickory-smoked butthole. If he happens to be absent from Oscar's big shmoozeroo, then my life will become more meaningful in a nanosecond. He's a massive tool of retardation.
6. Oscar speeches, the ugly ones. Nothing is better than when a big-name celebrity wins the award, graciously walks to the podium, and makes an Oscar speech equivalent to doing a bellyflop at the Olympics. The speeches that are painfully funny to watch are when unprepared celebrities: trip, fall, cry, shake, breathe into the mic too hard, run over their time, thank four million people, drone on in a monotone, forget their loved ones, say thank you and walk off, come prepared with a politically-charged rant about Indians or weapons-of-mass-destruction, say "Wow! I never thought this would happen!", or prattle off a long and windy religious piece of bullhonky to God and Jesus Christ, their personal Lord and Savior. I'm cool with God, but He's probably not watching the Oscars; hopefully He's saving the children or something, not checking out your ass in a ten thousand dollar dress made by nimble 6-year old fingers in Thailand.
7. Seat-fillers. I like to try and ferret them out, like an upscale reality version of Where's Waldo. I can usually tell with the women. The female seat-fillers look like cheap and shiny advertisements for the surface benefits of L.A. Blond highlights, big fake tits, and a low-cut beaded sparkly gown to attract the single celebrity males as if they were deep in the Amazon jungle. They wave those flashy beaded funbags around and momentarily stun the single male into confusion, stalking him like wounded prey--by the time he comes to, they're already divorced and she's taken half his loot. Ah, the sanctity of California marriage laws.
8. Animated Feature and Documentary Feature. This year, these categories are hot, hot, hot! Usually no one has even heard of these films or there is just one standout in a crowd of nobodies. This year--oh, the possibilities! I've seen every one of these films and not just because I'm a broke and boring homebody. They. Are. All. Good. It's a battle of wits, raw emotion, street smarts and handicrappers. Plus Wallace and Gromit. If you haven't seen any of the films nominated, consider yourself a Loo-HOO-ser.
9. Soundtracks from the motion picture. There are always performances of songs made especially--usually poorly--for an Oscar-nominated movie. The performances are few and far between, and for some reason, always involve Sting. It seems almost sad to have an entire category consist of two, maybe three, songs. It's a lose-lose situation. If you win, you only won over 2 other yahoos. If you lose, you feel like a first-class idiot for losing in such a barren category. The songs are always cheesy and usually made for an "EPIC" film (Hello, Lord of the Rings!) or a kid movie (Monsters, Inc. ring a bell?). It's annoying to see the kid movie song performed by some sweaty, overweight, middle-aged man who needs a haircut; this 'everyman' is usually playing his choppy tune with all the eagerness and gusto that I imagine Beethoven employed during his 9th symphony. Que serra.
10. "It's just an honor to be nominated!" It's tired cliches like these that keep me coming back for more. Every nominee says it and about one percent of them mean it. "Do you want to win tonight?"--Joan Rivers will ask through her surgically implanted mouth. "OOOH, it's just an honor to be nominated!" Sometimes, if they've already won an Oscar (and can afford to be generous) or they're brand new to the scene (and can't afford to be ungrateful), they'll add to that sentence, "...to be nominated among such talented and amazing women that I totally look up to!" Like I'm supposed to believe in the newfound humility of a starlet filled to the brim with tranquilizers and leftover coke from the limo. Piss off.
Well that's it, folks. Tune in tomorrow night to see if I make it through the show without having an aneurysm c/o Star Jones. It's pj's, junk food, facial masks and bonding over J.Lo's curvaceous curvature with the girlies. Seacrest out!
OSCAR...A Whole Lotta Man in Just One Night (or, Why I'm Watching the Oscars with Girlish Glee):
1. Jon Stewart, host. That deadpan Jewish motherfucker is going to entertain me in ways that I can only dream of; he'd better bring it. Previous hosts include Billy Crystal, who regaled us with song-and-dance medleys that celebrated each cinematic triumph of the human spirit; during these slapstick numbers, I usually died a little on the inside. One can only hope for a choreographed tap dance number, complete with showgirls and snow leopards, where we are dazzled by all of the senseless deaths in 'The Constant Gardener' and 'Munich'. Nothing says "musical entertainment" quite like two gay cowboys and Johnny Cash.
2. The Lifetime Achievement Award. Finally, this award is going to someone over the age of 60. Robert Altman will probably be remembered for the TV series M*A*S*H, but I will remember him for being on the advisory board of NORML (the National Organization for the Reform of Marijuana Laws), being voted the 17th Best Director of All Time by Entertainment Weekly (oooh, the honors!), and for spawning a son who wrote the lyrics to the M*A*S*H theme song "Suicide is Painless" when he was just 14 years old. No issues in that household.
3. Goodbye to the Deceased Unknowns. Every year, people die. But more importantly, celebrities die. And when a celebrity passes, the whole world must watch in sorrow as the famously deceased get their last 2.5 seconds of recognition...and we insignificant subhumans are allowed one last tearful goodbye. Unfortunately, this section of the program includes not only actors, actresses, directors and producers, but a whole slew of non-essential peeps from the movie set as well. So as your tears well up over Don Knotts' heavenly departure, you will be robbed of your grief by another photo, this one of Barry Felcher, Second Grip Assistant. R.I.P., Barry.
4. Fashion, and how! Red carpet moments make my life worth living. Not only will Star Jones be there in all her newly-gastric-bypassed glory, she'll also show up with her amusing gay entourage--or as she likes to call him, "my husband Al". One onscreen moment with her equals enough material to headline a comedy show in Vegas. The gowns, the couture, the vastly expensive and cheap-looking bling, the beautifully plasticized women and their equally overtanned men...it's to die for. Fashion is pure eye candy, but fashion faux pas are a free-for-all Willie Wonka factory, Augustus Gloop and all. I'm hungry.
5. Seacrest out! For those of you who love Ryan Seacrest, do me a favor and kill yourself now. When he says "Seacrest out!", he means that he's a super-poof trying desperately to stay locked in the closet with Tom Cruise. The newly-minted host of E! Entertainment News starts his post on March 13th, which means we have 8 days of glorious silence to prepare ourselves for his arrival from the Mothership to Planet Earth. While he may be on the red carpet tomorrow night, I'm hoping he comes down with a serious case of hickory-smoked butthole. If he happens to be absent from Oscar's big shmoozeroo, then my life will become more meaningful in a nanosecond. He's a massive tool of retardation.
6. Oscar speeches, the ugly ones. Nothing is better than when a big-name celebrity wins the award, graciously walks to the podium, and makes an Oscar speech equivalent to doing a bellyflop at the Olympics. The speeches that are painfully funny to watch are when unprepared celebrities: trip, fall, cry, shake, breathe into the mic too hard, run over their time, thank four million people, drone on in a monotone, forget their loved ones, say thank you and walk off, come prepared with a politically-charged rant about Indians or weapons-of-mass-destruction, say "Wow! I never thought this would happen!", or prattle off a long and windy religious piece of bullhonky to God and Jesus Christ, their personal Lord and Savior. I'm cool with God, but He's probably not watching the Oscars; hopefully He's saving the children or something, not checking out your ass in a ten thousand dollar dress made by nimble 6-year old fingers in Thailand.
7. Seat-fillers. I like to try and ferret them out, like an upscale reality version of Where's Waldo. I can usually tell with the women. The female seat-fillers look like cheap and shiny advertisements for the surface benefits of L.A. Blond highlights, big fake tits, and a low-cut beaded sparkly gown to attract the single celebrity males as if they were deep in the Amazon jungle. They wave those flashy beaded funbags around and momentarily stun the single male into confusion, stalking him like wounded prey--by the time he comes to, they're already divorced and she's taken half his loot. Ah, the sanctity of California marriage laws.
8. Animated Feature and Documentary Feature. This year, these categories are hot, hot, hot! Usually no one has even heard of these films or there is just one standout in a crowd of nobodies. This year--oh, the possibilities! I've seen every one of these films and not just because I'm a broke and boring homebody. They. Are. All. Good. It's a battle of wits, raw emotion, street smarts and handicrappers. Plus Wallace and Gromit. If you haven't seen any of the films nominated, consider yourself a Loo-HOO-ser.
9. Soundtracks from the motion picture. There are always performances of songs made especially--usually poorly--for an Oscar-nominated movie. The performances are few and far between, and for some reason, always involve Sting. It seems almost sad to have an entire category consist of two, maybe three, songs. It's a lose-lose situation. If you win, you only won over 2 other yahoos. If you lose, you feel like a first-class idiot for losing in such a barren category. The songs are always cheesy and usually made for an "EPIC" film (Hello, Lord of the Rings!) or a kid movie (Monsters, Inc. ring a bell?). It's annoying to see the kid movie song performed by some sweaty, overweight, middle-aged man who needs a haircut; this 'everyman' is usually playing his choppy tune with all the eagerness and gusto that I imagine Beethoven employed during his 9th symphony. Que serra.
10. "It's just an honor to be nominated!" It's tired cliches like these that keep me coming back for more. Every nominee says it and about one percent of them mean it. "Do you want to win tonight?"--Joan Rivers will ask through her surgically implanted mouth. "OOOH, it's just an honor to be nominated!" Sometimes, if they've already won an Oscar (and can afford to be generous) or they're brand new to the scene (and can't afford to be ungrateful), they'll add to that sentence, "...to be nominated among such talented and amazing women that I totally look up to!" Like I'm supposed to believe in the newfound humility of a starlet filled to the brim with tranquilizers and leftover coke from the limo. Piss off.
Well that's it, folks. Tune in tomorrow night to see if I make it through the show without having an aneurysm c/o Star Jones. It's pj's, junk food, facial masks and bonding over J.Lo's curvaceous curvature with the girlies. Seacrest out!