Michael Clayton, can you get mama a glass of red while you're up? Juno you want to.

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 hay!

Yeah. Next year it might be best to skip the Oscars and instead watch old people put in their teeth. Am I wrong?

Oscar Wild

Hmmm. My girl buns asked if I'd be live blogging the Oscars tomorrow night. Thinking about it. Anyone going to be around?

Samantha . . . who?

I intended to live blog the Golden Globes tonight, but then those writer types whah whah whah-ed all the way home and it wasn’t to be. I’m left watching the Access Hollywood talent fill time with excessively-Lubridermed legs that may or may not glow in the dark and really, really wide ties. Three hours of this and I might cry or break down and agree to have your babies.

It’s sad, but as much as I’m a whore for awards shows, there really wasn’t anyone I was excited to see this year. I need a new star. The starlets of my youth have gone the way of the Honda Odyssey: Julia Roberts seems to be jonesing to squeeze out a full litter and even Halle Berry bought herself a one-way ticket on the soccer mom train. I ache that the days of screwing bad boys like Keifer have been replaced with Costco packs of Sunny D. Nor do I want to make out with the Indie chicks, mostly because of a fear of patchouli well earned in college, so Keira Knightly and most anything British and twentysomething are out of the question. As is anything that’s touched the genitals of Tom Cruise.

The really young ones are just really irritating, as is their collective appetite for destruction. Britney is more than a train wreck, and instead is a woman approaching that Sioux City, Iowa plane crash I should never have read about in Time. If she stays on her current path, in but a few short months there will be absolutely no venti Starbucks foam for her cleaning crew to suction from the sidewalk. All that will remain are some ill-advised West Hollywood extensions and her sister’s 12 minutes of boiled peanuts fame. Hardly a legacy. Ms. Lohan? No different. Nor is the newly-delinquent Ms. Barton. Each of these girls is in a race to meet her demise a la Mama Cass, albeit at the hands of a Taco Bell chalupa rather than a ham sandwich. No sour cream, of course.

I’ve got my eyes on the even younger ones, the Raven Simones and the saccharine Hannah Montanas. One of you has got to have what it takes for engaging stardom, the stuff Madonna was made of when she wiped 80% of her bare skin on that 1984 MTV Music Awards stage. There must be a bona fide bad ass out there, a Russell Crowe or a Johnny Depp who is just greasy enough, but just expensively product'd enough that you’d think of allowing him into your bed.

And I’ve already loved the belles of the ball. Reese, we almost had something special, something lovely, before everyone else thought you had talent. You were Dido’s “Thank You” to me, a beautiful melody that was mine and only mine in the days of Marky Mark and Fear, before the mainstream found you and tainted everything by paying you what you were worth. We are so over.

But maybe just as it was with leggings, but ridiculously more successful and attractive on more than the anorectic, old will be new again. Hello, David Duchovny. Congrats on your big, shiny golden globe. How ‘bout I show you something from my X Files?

It might just be best to go to bed. Maybe until the Oscars.

the Awards

Due to circumstances beyond my control - mostly this - I will not be doing what I had intended to do tonight, and will instead be live blogging the 79th Annual Academy Awards. Kick ass.

I bought this statuette for my Oscar party that was ne'er to be. Bug loves it. Because it has boobs.

Notice that it is still in its casing. As I will be returning it tomorrow.

PRE-GAME

Ok, Maggie Gylenhaaaaaaaaahl. Apparently you aren't the troll I thought you were. But don't think I don't want him back under the bed by midnight. Per our joint custody agreement.

Jennifer Hudson: Solid Gold called . . . Nah, too easy. I'll think of something else in the next five hours.

Kelly Preston: We ALL love Target. But it's not really cool to buy your Oscar dress there.

I've never liked Penelope Cruz. I'm not sure what it is. But now that I see she has a huge pimple next to her eye, I adore her. Eye adore her.

Why doesn't anyone show up to these things tanked anymore? So disappointing.

OMG. Ryan Seacrest actually just said there was "lotsa Wang" on the red carpet. Tell me you got that on TiVo.

OMG! Ryan Seacrest just said "I can barely make it over the bush" while leaning in to kiss Forrest Whitaker's wife. PLEASE tell me you got that one on TiVo.

Best dressed thus far: Kate Winslet and Beyonce. Cate. Helen Mirren. Classy ladies. Classy. REESE! Your pieces are indeed good.

*crickets*

Ok, because children cannot make decisions for themselves, parents and stylists and priests need to make decisions for them. Who dressed the little girl from Miss Sunshine like the basket on the front of a kid's pink Huffy? Seriously.

Lisa Ling may have gotten her dress at Au Coton. (Does ANYONE understand that old skool reference?)

Seriously. Marky? Mr. Mark? Mama feels the vibration.

Ok, let's get on with this.

IT'S ON! IT'S REALLY ON!

Leo. You make the loins hurt.

Ellen. Liberace called . . . even he wouldn't wear the velvet suit.

Nicole Kidman is wearing Hallmark. And even that looks great on her. But when did they start doing Best Art Direction first? WHERE ARE MY BEST SUPPORTING AWARDS? Probably in a locker with Hudson's lame jacket.

I don't know how to feel about the Jack Black et al. thing. But I do know that Will Ferrell completes the Jackson 6.

I have no idea what that adorable Norweigan winner just said. But I'm pretty sure it had something to do with Ikea.

SERIOUSLY, THIS IS SO FREAKING BORING. WHERE ARE THE GOOD AWARDS?

First shocker! Eddie Murphy eats it. Wow. This is Karma for the Scary Spice/baby's mama thing. Honestly.

Sweet Jebus. Music belongs on the Grammy's people. DO YOU NOT GET YOUR OWN DAMN AWARDS?!?

Excuse me while I lick the tv glass enjoy Leo in spectacular Tivo'd slow motion. And Cameron, while I'm at it.

Meryl Streep's ridiculous talent makes up for that awful Princess Diaries dress.

Oh my God. Has Maria Shriver/Skeletor won the Lifetime Achievement Award?

I'm pretty sure Robert Downey, Jr. just left Britney in rehab. Promises, promises.

Jennifer Hudson winning = yawn. This was more of a sure thing than Heidi Fleiss. Quelle surprise. And pullease, if you know you're going to win, PREPARE US A PRETTY SPEECH FOR WATCHING FOR THE PAST FIVE HOURS, WOULDYA?

SERIOUSLY. SO BORING I LONG FOR THE DEATH MONTAGE.

"For the English-speaking awards, press 1."

Welcome to the American Stage, Frau Dunst.

Thank you, Dreamgirls cast, for finally putting some zest into this show. Now THAT is what performing is all about. Makes the last six hours worth it.

Please someone save me. Like Rose tried to save Jack. From our collective demise.

4/5 viewers agree. We have no effing idea what that 11:41 pm montage was. No idea.

During the 11:48 death montage, when Scotty from Star Trek came on screen, my neighbor asked, "Well now who's going to beam me up?" Kick ass.

I'm saddened to say there was no Anna Nicole in the death montage. (WE NEED A MONTAGE!)

PHILLIP SEYMOUR HOFFMAN LOOKS LIKE NICK NOLTE'S MUG SHOT.

Helen Mirren, I wish I could be as beautiful as you at your age. And I bet you have amazing sex.

Reese + Leo + Gosling within two minute span = soft core, party people.

OMG! Yay! Scorcese is the Susan Lucci of the Oscars!

OMG Number 2! Diane Keaton is indeed a woman!

Seriously. The MOST BORING OSCARS EVER. Even I couldn't find enough crap to fill one night of live blogging. And what was with the cirque de soleil stuff? Very borg-ish, and we all know how I feel about the borgs. Anyhoo, at least I TiVod much Leo, the still shots of which shall get me through many a night until the next awards show . . .

and I bid thee adieu.

The Almost-Live Simulblogging of Tonight's Golden Globes

Note to awards purists, there will be no coverage of those awards given to minor stars or major people unknown to me. Or any lifetime achievement of anything award. Or anything with which Roberto Benigni may even REMOTELY be associated.

Let's get started.

Most Inappropriate Pre-Game Comment
Seacrest Out to an unflappable Meredith Grey: Something about it being "cold" and her wearing a "white" dress, referring to her breasts as a 7th-grade boy might with the (thankful and) notable absence of any Tune In Tokyo action.

Is it Me or Does Sharon Stone Look Like
she should now speak with Phyllis Diller's voice?

Beyonce, I Seriously Love You, but What's With
the Body Vaseline?

Jeremy, Mama Is Here to Comfort You
I can't wait to become Mrs. Jeremy Piven. Kris Piven. Although it sounds like a new Lays product . . . "Now, NEW tangier and even MORE UNBEARABLE Salt and Vinegar Krispivens! Coming to a Lunchables near you!"

Note to Warren Beatty
Dick Clark called. Even he thinks you're looking a tad waxy.

To Most of the Women Nominated for the Best Supporting Performance in a) a TV Movie or b) the Completion of a People Crossword
Thanks for listening to your mothers and NOT clapping when your own names are called. Tres gauche.

I Should Dispose of the Lot of You Right Now
Given that Bill Paxton has been nominated for something, which in my opinion (which I'm pretty sure isn't libel according to Penal Code 867-5309) now demotes this to the level of the Nickelodeon Awards, but I won't. Because Hugh Laurie is speaking and sex dreams with an Englishman are now assured for at least another fortnight.

I Should Dispose of the Lot of You Right Now Part II
Some obscure acceptance speech reference was just made to Randy Newman, which usually means a painful snippet WITH INEXPLICABLE ARCHAIC VIDEO of "Short People", which makes the baby Jesus and this blogger weep openly.

Someone just played Vogue as screen legend Meryl Streep accepted her award.
Clearly an intern. Serrrrrrrriously boys. What's next? The Divinyls for Dwight Schrute?

My plan to drink every time someone mentions cruelly-named Tommy Schlamme isn't going all that well this year. Poor planning.

Within 10 seconds I saw a shot of one-hit wonders/nominees Marky Mark, Eddie Murphy, and Bananarama.
That may or may not be libel.

STYLE ALERT and WHOORL WEST COAST SPOILER!
DEWEY DEFEATS TRUMAN! or . . . Cameron Diaz clearly stole Suri Cruise's birth toupee for the event. I prefer it on Cameron, despite her Bjork dress sans swan, so at least that's good news.

This just in . . .
Zach Braff will be playing the role of the American farmer in aforementioned Englishman sex dream.

I'm pretty sure we can say one thing this evening about the generally amazing Mr. Clint Eastwood:
He got it at Ross.

You Go, America.
But why are all the waify, naturally-beautiful and incessantly perky women crying about a show based on this ugly duckling premise? This one's for us, Desperate Housewives. Back. off.

Warren Beatty is up for that loooong award + speech + fogie cryfest.
Bathroom break + cigarette. Hold please.

Off topic:
Kudos to my friend Kimmay for an extraordinary performance in her job talk this week in a state that likely serves roadside bawwwled peanuts. Atta girl.

Scorcese.
It's one way or the other. Die the hair black or these babies white. I'm just saying.

Randomness
-- I'm loving that Salma wore a toga. How very Belushi.
-- Are we sure these awards weren't sponsored by the BBC?
-- Brava to SJP for showing up to an awards ceremony held long after her most recent 15 minutes had passed.
-- Pllllleeeeeeeeeeease tell me someone else thought they meant the Science Guy everytime Bill Nighy was mentioned . . .
-- Tim Allen = possible stand-in presenter for an ill Edward James Olmos? Sinbad? Bananarama?
-- Brad Pitt has perfected the Paula Abdul clap. Nice, MC Skat Cat.

Arnold, Thank You for That.
Because Babble was exactly what I was thinking. With the exception of a few stumbles, and Angelina caressing Brad's neckline, and Borat actually stepping out of character for 2.4 seconds, NOTHING was exciting tonight. Gone is the true glamour and anticipation and realization of these awards shows. This is nothing new, so I'm not exactly sure why I continue to watch. I persist just as I'm hopeful for a month of continually clear skin and the return of the jello mold, I guess.

Until next time, honorably yours and on painkillers after that "We'll be bahhhk" comment,
Mrs. Krispiven

Bored at the Awards

Meh. These awards shows are getting more and more sterile, more and more formulaic as the years go by. Why must everything be done by the book? We get it, already. There's a pre-show, there are ugly and there are pretty dresses, there is a tribute to a dead man, one to a live man, people are played off stage by the same producer with the same cheesy instrumental . . . it's a wonder people still watch television when these essentially promotional shows are so routine and turned out with only slight updates to the prior year's script.

But there is always something to say. My comments:

THE OPENING

We Need A Montage! Few things are funnier than any award show opening montage. That To Catch A Predator spoof had me in stitches, I say. Producers should make every awards show opening montage 45 minutes long and make up the time by completely cutting all lame presenter jokes. Notta one. is ever. funny.

Conan O'Brien is going to show up as one of those corpses on CSI pretty soon. Jennifer Love Hewitt seems to have an abundance of tanning gel; maybe she can help a brother out.

Musical numbers should be kept to a minimum in most environments. Didn't we learn anything from Drew Carrey? Ugh.

Jim from the Office is next candidate for being kept in that box under my bed.

THE AWARDS

Wait, is Desperate Housewives still on the air? Last I checked there was more buzz about According to Jim.

Julia Louis-Dreyfus is the new Dick Clark. I'm convinced that she will never die, and will end up cast in wax by age 50. Or maybe she's the new Cloris Leachman? Jesus, Mary.

I miss you, Huff. And I miss Oliver Platt's coked out ranting and raving. Sunday nights just aren't the same, even with the condolences provided by my Entourage boys.

Um, Simon Cowell, this is a dress-up party. That means wearing one of your best ties, not your finest chest hair.

Piven will now be kept in the box under the bed next to Jim's. A man who can improvise, shares a B Fri charm with one Mr. John Cusack, and is not afraid to tear up in front of millions while wearing an ascot is certainly a keeper. And I bet he is downright amazing in the sack.

Any intro that involves "special tribute" is a TV viewer's cue to use the restroom or pluck wily chin hairs.

MY PROPOSAL FOR NEW AWARDS CATEGORIES:

Most Likely to Pass Out Because She Ate Only Air for the Week Before the Awards: Ellen Pompeo

Most Likely to Pass Out Because She Ate Only Air for the Thirty Years Prior to the Awards: Farrah Fawcett

Most Suprising Candidate to End Up in Box Under Kris' Bed: Hugh Laurie

Never, Ever, Going to End Up in a Box Under Kris' Bed, Even with the Assistance of a Lead Muzzle and in the Absence of Air Holes: Howie Mandel

Most Irritating Been There, Done That: Anyone who says "We're Running Long" at one of these things. I've heard this one more times than Tara Reid's been called a whore. Ugh.

Most Desirable Moment that of Course Will Never Happen: A gorgeous Heather Locklear jumping off stage and mounting the crazy but hot Charlie Sheen for an impromptu makeout session, while their dirty bird exes are forced to watch.

Least Discreet, But Most Envied Early Departure of the Evening: Cricket, who passed out on my laundry after the second award, realizing that if the actual ceremony was this boring that the afterparties were definitely going to blow.

Best Editing of Costume Design in a Live Animated French Feature about Edward R. Murrow (or, Stuff and Things About the Oscars)

Hair and Hygiene
Tim Burton, I think it’s considered cool to shower prior to attending awards shows, particularly one in which your beautiful wife is walking in on your arm. I don’t want to speak for every woman, but last I checked my gender preferred when beaus didn’t smell of Gorgonzola and guinea pig cage.

Come Again?
“Please welcome Keanu Reeves, star of Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure, Speed, several Matrices, and more recently, ABC’s In Need of Extreme Makeover: Career Edition!”

General Technical Notes
Best Song Awards and accompanying painful performances should be done in conjunction with the exceedingly lame technical honors, rumored to be awarded at 6 am at the Burbank Sleep Inn breakfast buffet. (Although I very much enjoyed Dolly Parton’s rendition of “It’s Hard Out Here For a Pimp.”)

FTLOG, does it not say clearly on page 42 of the Oscar Nominee Handbook that ONE SHALL NOT CLAP FOR ONESELF WHEN ONE’S NAME IS BEING READ FOR ONE’S AWARD?

I read everyone on my blogroll, made a tuna noodle casserole, and lost two pounds during the Honorary Oscar presentation.

Where was I?
Was William Hurt just nominated at like 4:30 today?

Was there a seat filler strike I didn’t know about?

When did J. Lo and John Leguizamo start dating?

On Giving Thanks
Appreciative Mentions Made During Acceptance Speeches: the Academy (78%); Dr. 90210 (49%); Jessica Alba (33%); Peyote (12%); God (1.3%).

I find few things more wonderful on Oscar night than the enthusiasm of true industry geeks who have likely given fewer speeches than I. They come clad in sequins and get blow outs and bring their kids as dates and when they win, some part of them just can’t believe this is happening and Nicholson is in the front row! And with complete grace, they compose themselves and excitedly thank all the people in their grade schools and the world who have made it possible for them to follow their passions. How. Incredibly. Cool.

On Jon Stewart
I have now purchased a new box just for you. It is waiting patiently under my bed. Next to Clooney’s.