The envelope please!
I can't tell you how disappointed I am that I have to work on Sunday at the exact time The Oscars are on. Normally I'd tape it, but this year I wanted to watch it live along with everyone else because...dude...JON-FREAKING-STEWART. This is truly on a previously unknown level of suck.
So as with everything else I obsess on for any length of time, I dreamt about it.
I was a presenter at the Oscars along with someone else. I don't quite recall who it was, but this other person was a man and he was tall with very dark hair. And because I'd like to think I dream about cool characters, we're just going to go ahead and believe it was Benicio Del Toro.
My gown was fabulous -- a mix of Grecian goddess and Marlene Dietrich in a luscious sea-foam green color. I remember how heavy my ears felt as they were weighted down with chandelier earrings roughly the price of a Cambodian orphan.
We were standing on the giant, slippery stage while klieg lights with the candle power of the sun blazed in our eyes as we tried to read the teleprompter. I could see into the first two rows, but everything beyond that was a dark blur. Curiously, I felt no stage fright.
And the categories we had to announce were bizarre and obscure. "Best Rumba Documentary"..."Best Slow-Motion Sequence"..."Best Somalian-to-English Translation", etc. Truly and deathly boring and it went on forever.
After what seemed like an hour, I noticed the audience were getting up and leaving. All of them. Rows and rows of glittering celebrities herding through the aisles, mumbling disgruntlements. I was tanking fast in front of millions of viewers and could already see the headlines: SEXION8 FAILS AT THE OSCARS.
I was desperate to get my audience back, so in a last ditch attempt to recover, I did the only thing I could do under the circumstances...
I shouted, "AND NOW FOR BEST ACTOR!"
(I totally wasn't supposed to do that as obviously other, more important people were slated to announce Best Actor and Actress.)
The crowd hesitated, then eagerly filed back to their seats. Benecio looked down at me with THE most wtf expression as only he could express; I had to hurry up and pick an actor as everyone was waiting with hushed excitement.
And I couldn't fucking remember who all were up for an Oscar because I haven't been regular in my movie-watching thanks to my goddamn work schedule, so I blurted out "Joaquin Phoenix!" because Pineapple and I just watched Walk The Line last week.
Then security came running up on stage hurriedly talking into their wrists at the producers backstage as they made ready to throw me out.
I turned to Benicio for help and saw one of those red dots on his forehead -- the kind that signifies someone's got him in the sights of a very big and devastating gun. They had good aim, too, as it was smack dab in the middle of his unibrow.
I was reminded of The Bodyguard with Whitney Houston.
So with a wondering reflection that yes, they really do take the Oscars that seriously, I left Benicio to his fate. I leapt off the front of the stage, past the orchestra and climbed over chairs to get the hell out of there.
I tore my painfully expensive dress and accidentally kicked a really cute lead actor in the face, although I forgot who it was. I want to say Tom Cruise in the name of snark and also because it's such a satisfying visual to picture him being kicked in his Invisilines but...the actor in my dream was really-really cute, not really-really batshit.
And as I was running through the lobby past the popcorn machines and refreshment stands -- which I thought was really weird, you'd think the Oscar ceremony would be classier -- I woke up with my heart pounding and a crushing guilt that I was the kind of person who would get someone as awesome as Benecio Del Toro killed all in the name of pride.
And this will all probably really happen, too, but I will miss it because I have to work on Sunday.
So as with everything else I obsess on for any length of time, I dreamt about it.
I was a presenter at the Oscars along with someone else. I don't quite recall who it was, but this other person was a man and he was tall with very dark hair. And because I'd like to think I dream about cool characters, we're just going to go ahead and believe it was Benicio Del Toro.
My gown was fabulous -- a mix of Grecian goddess and Marlene Dietrich in a luscious sea-foam green color. I remember how heavy my ears felt as they were weighted down with chandelier earrings roughly the price of a Cambodian orphan.
We were standing on the giant, slippery stage while klieg lights with the candle power of the sun blazed in our eyes as we tried to read the teleprompter. I could see into the first two rows, but everything beyond that was a dark blur. Curiously, I felt no stage fright.
And the categories we had to announce were bizarre and obscure. "Best Rumba Documentary"..."Best Slow-Motion Sequence"..."Best Somalian-to-English Translation", etc. Truly and deathly boring and it went on forever.
After what seemed like an hour, I noticed the audience were getting up and leaving. All of them. Rows and rows of glittering celebrities herding through the aisles, mumbling disgruntlements. I was tanking fast in front of millions of viewers and could already see the headlines: SEXION8 FAILS AT THE OSCARS.
I was desperate to get my audience back, so in a last ditch attempt to recover, I did the only thing I could do under the circumstances...
I shouted, "AND NOW FOR BEST ACTOR!"
(I totally wasn't supposed to do that as obviously other, more important people were slated to announce Best Actor and Actress.)
The crowd hesitated, then eagerly filed back to their seats. Benecio looked down at me with THE most wtf expression as only he could express; I had to hurry up and pick an actor as everyone was waiting with hushed excitement.
And I couldn't fucking remember who all were up for an Oscar because I haven't been regular in my movie-watching thanks to my goddamn work schedule, so I blurted out "Joaquin Phoenix!" because Pineapple and I just watched Walk The Line last week.
Then security came running up on stage hurriedly talking into their wrists at the producers backstage as they made ready to throw me out.
I turned to Benicio for help and saw one of those red dots on his forehead -- the kind that signifies someone's got him in the sights of a very big and devastating gun. They had good aim, too, as it was smack dab in the middle of his unibrow.
I was reminded of The Bodyguard with Whitney Houston.
So with a wondering reflection that yes, they really do take the Oscars that seriously, I left Benicio to his fate. I leapt off the front of the stage, past the orchestra and climbed over chairs to get the hell out of there.
I tore my painfully expensive dress and accidentally kicked a really cute lead actor in the face, although I forgot who it was. I want to say Tom Cruise in the name of snark and also because it's such a satisfying visual to picture him being kicked in his Invisilines but...the actor in my dream was really-really cute, not really-really batshit.
And as I was running through the lobby past the popcorn machines and refreshment stands -- which I thought was really weird, you'd think the Oscar ceremony would be classier -- I woke up with my heart pounding and a crushing guilt that I was the kind of person who would get someone as awesome as Benecio Del Toro killed all in the name of pride.
And this will all probably really happen, too, but I will miss it because I have to work on Sunday.