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Helping You Get the Most Out of Your Misery
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HAIRSHIRT Helping You Get the Most Out of Your Misery |
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Sunday, February 27, 2005Notes on Oscar Day
It's Oscar Day. As my Oscar Pie bakes in the oven and I avoid working on important, meaningful things, there's a couple of things I wanted to put out there.
First, I just have to say that Halle Berry shot up ten notches in my esteem when I read that she actually showed up to receive her Razzie Award for Worst Actress. Now, if this was Pauly Shore or Pia Zadora, I wouldn't be the least bit surprised that they were present to soak up every tiny bit of media gravy they could. These're people who'd probably rob a liquor store just to get their name on the metro section Crime Watch page. But Ms. Berry certainly isn't lacking for publicity, so her showing to publicly call Catwoman a "piece of shit" is just indescribably cool. Second, I just wanted to whine for a moment. My wife's out of town again. For ten days. She's visiting with her family, which is fantastic, because she doesn't get to see them enough and they're great folks. But she's gone for nine days. I'm pretty much lost when she's gone for a weekend, as I've stated before. Nine days? Seriously, she's going to come back to discover me crouched in a corner naked waving a five-day-old waffle around at invisible bats. What makes this so rough for me is that it's Oscar day. Ten years ago, my now-wife, then-girlfriend and I were on the road. After being together eight months, I had somehow talked her into moving with me from Phoenix to Seattle. I don't know how I did that. Maybe she was drunk that month. Anyway, we loaded up most everything we had (which wasn't a whole hell of a lot in my case) into her tiny car and headed up the West Coast. We drove from Phoenix to San Francisco on the first day. That's a long-ass drive. After staying with a friend of hers for a couple days, we took off and reached the Oregon border in the early afternoon on the day of the Oscar ceremony. We pulled off and found a nice little hotel on the coast. We treated ourselves to a (for us) expensive dinner, then got some beer and retired to the room, where we lounged around in our pajamas and watched David Letterman deliver his now-infamous "Oprah-Uma" shpiel. We were drunk and together and in love and launching a life together and it was one of the best nights I've ever had. We've watched every Oscar broadcast since together. Whether we invited other people over and made a party of it or whether it was just me and her and some pizza, we've sat side-by-side as the little shiny guy got handed out. Now, I don't really care at all what people are wearing. I certainly don't want to hear the acceptance speeches or the musical numbers. But I love the Oscars themselves, largely because they remind me of my wife. So this year is rough. It's going to be me and Chris Rock and my dogs and cat. I'm thinking, then, that it might be a good idea add something new to the equation, to take my mind off things. Which is why I've decided that, every time there's an award given out that I disagree with, I'm going to strip naked and run around my block, yelling "The Academy can kiss my ass!" I think that should liven things up. Wife, I miss you.
Comments:
That's the sweetest thing I've ever heard. Not the naked running around the block part, the part about your wife.
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