The Oscars: Freestylin’

Starlings! Behold, my return, chagrined for my lax attitude, but determined to answer your pleas for updates to the best of my superior abilties. And what better way than with the pageantry, penguin suits and polyphonic, polyamorous, poly-GLAMOROUS Academy Awards (see what I did there?). Here are my thoughts as they occur.

8:00: Raisins are delicious. This has nothing to do with the Oscars, except for the mouthwatering accessory they are playing to my night.

8:02: George Clooney just schooled Regis Philbin. I hope it escalates.

8:03: No one is letting Marion Cotillard speak. And somehow she still seems smarter than everyone else.

8:04: Miley Cyrus. Why are you here? Does Regis scare you, my pet? He frightens me.

8:05: My computer freezes until 8:20. My illustrious life flashes before my eyes. God, I’m awesome. Wish my computer wasn’t frozen so I could send that message out into the void.

8:22: I know this isn’t supposed to be about the fashion. But someone get Juno an effing clue.

8:25: I love Bill Conti. I love Oscar Medleys. I love his bowtie. I’m wondering if when 3:6 Mafia won for that timeless jewel “It’s hard out there for a pimp” that bowtie spun uncontrollably with righteous anger.

8:26: IT’S HARD OUT THERE FOR A PIMP. dammit.

8:30: Fanfare!

8: Ok this little decoupage montage sucks. I’ve seen better photopshopping on my 6 year old sister’s Myspace. Except for the Greased Lightning clip. For ironic purposes.

8:32: Oh Jon Stewart. Thank God for you. And teen pregnancy.

8:35: Tommy Lee Jones is totally jealous of Javier Bardem. Look at that scowl as Stewart makes love to him.

8:37: Ok, Stewart, we get it. You love everyone. I like you better angry.

8:41: Marion Cotillard won’t throw Stewart a bone. How French.

8:43: What? Barbara Streisand? What is this? I mean I get it. Oscar’s 80; lets join hands across America. But warn me. I can’t take a Barbara interruption without some kind of forewarning, or at least a quick stretch.

8:46: Ooo I get it. Oscar’s geriatric, and probably senile at this point. We’re supposed to relate to him through random memories of our more fabulous years, memories that appear without warning, like our great-grandchildren looking for money at our bedside. And that brings us to Barbara.

8:47: HA. Celine Dion, thank you for getting your claws into something pure, and, once again, tearing its entrails out.

8:51 Anne Hathaway, I’m over you. And your ponytail. And your delicate little laugh. Stop making me feel insipid.

8:54: Katherine Heigl might stroke out. Funny or tragic? You decide.

8:58: I hit my Sour Patch Kids limit.

9:00: Amy Adams, I hope those are nerves.

9:01: Is this little trip down memory land supposed to make the age difference between Zeta-Jones and Michael Douglas any less creepy? Because they’re going to have to do a lot better than a 30 second interview to scrub the traumatic images that those two have burned into my grey matter with their unholy union. NB Douglas’ quip “Oh but you were already Born when I got my Oscar, honey.” Way to save that one, Mikey.

9:07: The Rock? Seriously?

9:10: Cate Blanchett. You astound me. I shout my love for you from the rooftops. Also, you deserve so much better than “Art Direction.” They should GIVE an Art Direction Oscar to God for carving your paramount awesomeness out of nothing. A big kudos to Jehovah for that one.

9:11: Stewart continues his ass-kissery, although since the object of his attention is Miss Cate, I’ll let it slide.

9: 16: Ok, Javier Bardem. You were a two hour-long heart attack in No Country. No doubt about that. But how long are we going to have to wait until Casey Affleck gets his? When will that sweet, sweet curly-head make its way to the stage and accept his due reward? When will he finally earn his father’s love? Casey, you’re wicked overdue.

9:25: Keri Russell, check your pulse, girlfriend.

9:29: “LEY MOOZAR DEY PICKPOCKET”, or “How Owen Wilson set us back another 50 years behind the Europeans in the category of “panache.”"

9:30: DAMN YOU TILDA! With your fiery hair and alabaster skin and choir robe. HOW could you take my lady Cate’s award from her and then give this dippy speech about your agent? Way to be cold and dead inside. I’m currently superimposing Cate over you. Her speech goes something like this:

“I’d like to thank the Acad–NO, you know what? I can’t hide this anymore. Deanna, this tiny naked golden man is for YOU, my sweet! I am only sorry they’ve given me this one. If I could I would smelt all the world’s gold into a giant naked golden man to stand for the raging passion that burns within my British bosom for you. Until we can be together, my sweet little breakfast scramble.”

Ah, dreams.

9:47: I enjoy the fact that the Coen Brothers’ acceptance speech reads like one of their scripts. Whole lotta awkward.

9:52: Thanks for calling out the Academy on their terrible Bill Nye-lookin’ voting documentary, Jon.

9:52: Miley Cyrus? Again? Seriously? Cute dress, though.
9:55: Kristen Chenoweth, my self-esteem was doing fine hovering right around my knees. Which is where I think you’d come up to on me, but that’s beside the point. Stop being perfect.

10:00: Jew-fros a go-go

10:04: The Oscar for best grilled cheese goes to my roommate, Sarah. She’d like to thank Kraft and my bottomless pit of a stomach.

10:09: It’s my favorite game! Find Forest Whitaker’s crazy eye!

10:13: Marion, though your victory means loss for my delicate Cate, I’ve been pulling for you since I saw your unbelievable performance last summer, and your little “rocked my life” quip and your sweet, stuttering speech make you very endearing. Thank you for bringing Edith Piaf a little closer to the recognition she deserves in our generation.

10:14: WHY ARE THEY ORCHESTRATING “FALLING SLOWLY?” This is a simple, tender, heart-rending song. Leave it alone, Hollywood. Also, the look that Glen Hansard gave to Marketa right before the song is the kind of look I hope to get from my beau on stage one day. Sweet.

10:23: Jack, I hope you’re drunk right now. Not because you seem so, but because you’ve earned the right to be bombed out of your gourd on this night.

10:25: Bill Conti is rocking the crap out of this movie montage. You go, sir.

10:27: Renee, how uncomfortable are you with your hair? You’ve been fiddling with that mop all damn night.

10:35: Daniel Day-Lewis, that’s a lot of look.

10:36: How many of you, when the Honorary Oscar recipient kept mentioning “Hitch” in his speech, went to an image of that old white guy shooting the breeze with Will Smith? Just me?

10:48: OH MY GOD. ABSOLUTELY, GLEN HANSARD! RIP THAT OSCAR FROM ENCHANTED. Ahem.

10:57 My face melts watching a commercial for ABC’s A Raisin in the Sun starring John Stamos and…Sean “P. Diddy” Combs.

10:56: Class act, bringing Marketa back out.

11:01: Memoriam montage time. Nothing I can really say.

11:12: Tom The Hanks! Let’s do a documentary on the evolution of your hair. Perhaps a mini-series. Episode 8 would be entitled “Coif of Terror: The Da Vinci Code Year.”

11:25: Diablo Cody, that’s an awful lot of tat for the Oscars, no? Pretty sweet skull earrings, though. Way to play to your demo.

11:30: Helen Mirren, how do I love thee? Way to transform a list of synonyms into the first 20 minutes of Saving Private Ryan.

11:35: Daniel Day Lewis. It’s nice to see that making an epic movie hasn’t saned you like I thought it might. Tell the wood-nymphs and unicorns you burrow with I said whatsup.

11:43: I’d see Henry Kissinger: Man on the Go. Provided there was a wood-chipper.

11:46: Someone get those pesky Coens out of here! They’re everywhere! That rocking stache on the taller one is gonna haunt me. In a good way.

There you have it, fledglings. Now make like a Daniel Day Lewis and get the hell out of your mind.