And the Award Goes To....

It's Oscar-time, Sweeties, and I can't think of anything more glamorous or self-congratulatory, can you?

Come on.  How many other professions take an entire season, culminated in a 15-hour televised broadcast, in order to pat themselves on the back? Think about it.  There are no trophies for Best Supporting Nurse.  No one gets a Lifetime Achievement Award for Outstanding Bathtub Scrubbing.  And Best Score by Your Cranky Band Director?  Not going to happen.  But just suppose....

Ladies and gentleman, welcome to the 45th Annual Proctologists Awards!  Tonight, we honor Dr. Harvey Finkelstein for his gripping work in How Did That Get in There?

It's all just so silly, but be that as it may, I'd like to offer my (not so) much researched insights as to who should win.  Have I seen every movie nominated?  No; in fact, I've only seen one of them, but that certainly won't keep me from chiming in.  Do I want to see every movie nominated?  No.  Do I care anymore what anyone is wearing now that I no longer have Joan Rivers and her fabulous running commentary? Absolutely not. Nonetheless, here it goes:

American Sniper - Clint Eastwood is a brilliant filmmaker, but I probably won't see this.  It has absolutely nothing to do with politics and everything to do with 'too much realness'.  When I plop down in front of a screen with a tray full of snacks, the last thing I want is reality, which is highly overrated.

Birdman -  I watched it last night (better late than never, right?).  Good. Interesting.  Creative.   Was it the best movie I've ever seen?  No, but I enjoyed it nonetheless, and I've adored Michael Keaton ever since Night Shift  and he will remain the only Batman I shall ever want or need, so I'm hopeful he'll get a nod in the Best Actor category - his performance, just like everything else he's ever done, was stellar.  Same goes for his co-star, Edward Norton.  Two fine actors who deserve all the success and recognition they can get.

Boyhood - Twelve years in the life of a boy. Something tells me it might take twelve years for me just to get through it.

Grand Budapest Hotel - The title alone suggests I should check into a hotel and nap through this one.  Next.

Imitation Game - 'A group of English mathematicians'....and I'm done.

Selma - I have nothing but the utmost respect for Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., and I will most likely see this at some point.  The one thing holding me back from doing so now:  Oprah.  I'm sorry.  Let's move on.

The Theory of Everything - I'm a bit resistant when it comes to biographical movies. I'd prefer to read a well-researched book about someone's life or hit up Wikipedia in a pinch.  If Stephen Hawking ever gets a cover story in Star Magazine, I'll gladly check it out.

Whiplash - A young musical prodigy and his tough-as-nails teacher.  I saw this in '80's.  It was called Fame.

In a nutshell, based on my own viewing experience and powerful process of elimination, Birdman should win them all. 

Now, let's talk about the ceremony itself.  It's too long, and there's always one yahoo who takes the stage, receives his trophy and then proclaims, 'This is a movie that had to be made."  Give me a break. We have diseases to eradicate and hungry children to feed, and your little 3 1/2 hour piece of warped propaganda gets the green light?  Pu-lease.

Today's Oscars ceremony also lacks the elegance of days gone by, when you could count on Bob Hope to keep it light, bright, and moving along.  You could count on the winners to keep their speeches brief and sincere.  Everyone dressed appropriately and behaved appropriately, too.

Perhaps our never-ceasing thirst for entertainment has contributed to the outlandishness of awards these days. Whatever. Good work is good work, whether you're an actor, a teacher, or a carpet salesmen.  It's nice to receive recognition, but it's not as nice as knowing deep down that at the end of the day, you did the best you could.

That's Entertainment

Mesmerized by 'Old Hollywood', I simply can't get enough information about the stars of yesteryear. One recurring theme that runs throughout many of the books I've read centers on private parties, hosted by everyone from Bogie to Bing, Judy to Joan.  How glamorous it all seemed....

Think about it:  everyone shows up gussied up, and once the drinks and dinner have been served and somewhat digested, it's time for a little entertainment, usually provided by the guests.

I love that idea - exploiting people in the name of a good time.  

On the rare occasion that Mr. Newman and I host a 'do, I mention how fabulous it would be to insist that our guests perform something.  It could be a song, a dramatic reading, fire-juggling - heck, I don't care.  I'm easily entertained.  He entertains for a living, as do many of our friends, so they always put the kibosh on my big idea.  Pretty rotten, don't you think?  

I mean, come on - with the amount of talented people we know, we have all the makings of A SHOW.  Sadly, though, it will never come to pass. We'll continue to just stand around my living room like a bunch of a-holes eating cheese balls and sipping cheap wine.

I've even threatened family with 'performance pieces'.  Rather than gift-giving, why not give us a 'number'?  I think it's brilliant, and just imagine the money we'd all save.

Well, Sweeties, I made good on the threat yesterday, in honor of my sister's birthday.  

In two parts, because you simply can't contain this amount of talent into one video...

As I watch this, I now understand why my family and friends are hesitant about entertaining just for grins.  A Duran Duran tribute performed by a middle-aged woman, her cat, and her ukulele might look good on paper, but when the rubber hits the road, it falls short.  Way short....

But at least I tried, and knowing me, I'll try it again.  You have been warned.