Ok, so I'm watching the pre-show on ABC.
Didn't it look like Clooney's girlfriend totally didn't get his joke about Cary Grant? I also suspect she might be wearing the pastel bedspread from their room at the Sleep Inn.
Javier Bardem. Sweet Jebus. Somebody cleans up real nice, mutton chops and all. I don't have any Spanish in me, but I wouldn't mind some.
I wonder sometimes who these people are who cheer on the red carpet walkers. I'm pretty sure they're the same folks who get Christmas pictures of their cats taken at PetSmart.
I want to eat Nutella out of Jennifer Garner's dimples. She looks stunning. As does Helen Mirren.
SCORE! Truthitude or falsehood? Did Daniel Day Lewis buy his wife a Bedazzler for Christmas? I'd bet another of Bug's legs on it.
Seriously, how slow is the red carpet this year if Regis is in the bowels of the Kodak talking to third string performers? Brad? Angelina? I'd even take Meg Ryan. Tom Green?Ok, the main attraction.
What is this BS? No opening montage, a skillfully-constructed three-minute orgasm of funny? Our host will eventually redeem himself with the Gaydolf Titler line. Inappropriate, but funny because he's smart and probably does the Sunday crossword in his nudeness.
I love Jon Stewart so much. I want to make out with him hard core and then lie in bed eating separate XL pizzas.
This has been 15 minutes of boring. Even Cricket has resorted to licking herself for stimulation. Ah, here comes the delicacy that is George Clooney. I would go to a Tobey Keith concert if this guy asked me to, which for me is a request just short of having children.
Did they just couple a pic of Christopher Reeve with Celine's My Heart Will Go On
? Seriously? The writer's strike may be dead but apparently cheap tears are not. Cripes.
Nothing, my friends, NOTHING says comedy like a Steve Carell/Anne Hathaway pairing. GENIUS.
Normal people (read: those who are not stars or folk from the Island of Pretty) should be given five seconds each to speak when accepting their awards. They should then retire to their Normal People afterparty at Denny's.
Katherine Heigl is adorable.
Am I just sober or is this a really boring broadcast? Maybe things will pick up after the collection of "Best Hot Dog on a Craft Services Cart" awards have been handed out.
Johnny Depp just blew a kiss at an award winner and I almost dove for the television to intercept it. Don't judge.
Ah yes. First acting award - AMEN! And a shot of Christopher Walken with feathered hair! Ah, and Cuba's big moment. No, not the one that ditched Castro.
Jennifer Hudson is adorable. Off topic, sometimes I wonder if there's a Locks of Love-type program for women who have more than their share of breasts. Back to the topic at hand, Jennifer is a talented, amply-busted woman. Who could be helping at least two A-wearing women in LA achieve their dreams. Just sayin'.
Javier might be the newest man to be kept in inappropriately small Tupperware under my bed. Just so you know, his Spanish tribute to his "mother"? It was actually for me. Javi, I can't wait for us to eat Eggo waffles off of each other's chins either, baby. Come home soon. Mi casa? Well, you know.
Keri Russell is a little bit of sunshine, even if she can't break out of indies. I love me some Felicity, not like a normal WB fan might, but more like a freak that bought her ex-boyfriend the first season DVD under the guise of it actually being for HIM. Yep. I really did.
Gratuitous choral interlude. Cigarette.
Yeah Owen Wilson! Hello, mate! (I hope they remembered to pull him out of the death montage in time.)
Best live action short film followed by Seinfeld's voiceover as an animated bee. Time to bathe the cats and go for my annual exam. In Argentina.
Ok, this redhead from Michael Clayton. A number 1) thank you for bringing some spirit to these here awards. B number 2) a stop at the Clinique counter would have taken 10 MINUTES.
Did they just say stay tuned for Miley Cyrus? Seriously? Is she the only one not in rehab?
Jessica Alba! I'd pee my pants if she presented Juno with an award. Nothing says wholesome like fianceed pregnancy!
Jack Nicholson, your cool 1980s self called, and he wants his sunglasses back.
I've never understood why they sing all the nominated songs. It isn't that fun, is it? I'd much rather see them have the nominated thespians re-enact one of their scenes. Also, did construction workers just pick up Kristin Chenowith and rest her on their manly shoulders? Lucky bitch. I really should start inhaling helium again.
I'm not sure if you guys know this, but one actually can die of boredom. I knew I'd make it into Wikipedia somehow. Wait! Achievement in Sound Mixing! I'm saved!
Forrest Whitaker signals the arrival of a real award. And . . . someone I've never heard of wins it. I wish so much I'd picked up a bag of Baked Doritos to fill the void that now exists in my Oscar soul.
Colin Farrell. Mama likey when you take a shower. I bet you smell like English professor smoking a pipe. While wearing an apron and making huevos rancheros. In my kitchen.
Renee! She looks fabu, but don't you wish someone in the front row would yell out, "Hey, yeah you, Renee! Just what does it mean to divorce someone for FRAUD, anyway?"
Wardrobe malfunction spoiler! Nicole Kidman, YOUR HARRY WINSTONS ARE STUCK ON YOUR BOOB! NO REALLY! YOU HAVE A GAZILLION DOLLARS OF ICICLE DIAMONDS HANGING FOR DEAR LIFE TO YOUR RIGHT BREAST! *camera 1, reduce to head shot stat*
Bwahahahaha! Did they just introduce him as the "versatile and handsome
Patrick Dempsey!" Seriously? Versatile? Like a reversible children's jacket? "And when she vomits carrots on it, just turn it inside out, and PRESTO CHANGE-O! It's an adult bib! No need to stop home before hitting the liquor store for mommy juice and takeout dignity!"
John Travolta has no eyes.
Oh no . . . here we go . . . the death montage. Cue excessive Heath Ledger applause. Does anyone else have the experience of finding out five years after you thought a star was dead and buried that he lived several years past your expectation? I've gotta be honest; I thought Bob Hope died in like '43. Apparently not.
Original Score? Wait, I thought that was Kimmay's
Senior Superlative! Holla!
Um, does Tom Hanks have somewhere better to be? Like home shining his Oscars? I'm not sure he's even reading the cue cards in their entirety.
You know those commercials in which the tired adventurers with the broken legs and little love for their families tell their companions to go on without them? That they don't mind dying in the snow alone while coyotes chew at their soft tissue? That's how I feel right about now.
Kick ass for the Juno pole dancer/writer winning the screenplay award. Even better she showed up in Bam-Bam wear. Good stuff. A fantastic moment of authenticity, and it's about freaking time.
I want to take Helen Mirren home and make tea. Finally . . . Best Actor! No surprises here. Although I did think for a brief moment DDL and Clooney might miss while going for the consolation hug and full-on kiss. Which would make for a most beautiful You Tube day in the office tomorrow.
Direction . . . and it's the Coens! The new Weinbergs of the City of Angels! Clever, clever boys these two. Somewhere in America, the cute girls who turned these meh looking guys down are wondering if they can Google their phone numbers in the morning.
BEST PICTURE! It's almost time to hit the
7-11 for a bag of Doritos busted open with nacho cheese pumped into its innards
Yeah. Next year it might be best to skip the Oscars and instead watch old people put in their teeth. Am I wrong?
Labels: Tipsy Blogging an Awards Show