Oscar Upset

Right about now, my brother should be enjoying a CD or DVD because he picked the winning picture in his Oscar pool. Except he must feel like an idiot for picking Brokeback as the winner for Best Original Screenplay. Honey, Annie Proulx might have something to say about the "original" thing. She wrote the source material, which is why BBM won Best Adapted screeplay.

Hindsight being blessed with 20/20 and this being (technically) Monday Morning, I'm set to do a wee bit of quarterbacking.

Crash won. Proving yet again that Hollywood's love affair with itself outranks all other dalliances it has. Gay shepherds are quaint in that same way as crazy farm wives and paralyzed Irish poets. They're interesting to sit next to at parties but haven't we all had racial tensions with our gardeners, our butlers, our poolboys and maids? Haven't our chauffers had close calls in gridlock?

Yes, I'm being undeservedly snide. Fully 90% of the Academy voters are probably those guys who do the "Don't Steal Movies" commercials where they talk about living on $8,000 a year by curing plywood for backlot scenes. You know, the paint-splattered Everymen who are the lifeblood of the industry. Until they get their own show on TLC redecorating dorm rooms in Davidson, North Carolina or they move back to Terre Haute to teach shop and build the sets for the Junior Class production of The Music Man.

Oh well. Congratulations, Tommy, on picking the winner. Now you can put your Lesbian Flannel away until next year.

In other news, I am officially old. I used to never miss an Oscar(R) ceremony. When I had my first kidney stone I was more distraught about missing the Oscars than the $3000 hospital bill. But last night I didn't care. Not only that, I spent a good chunk of the evening at church, where Tim and I lowered the mean age of the participants by a good deal. Yes, while the rest of the world was watching sparkly people, I was sitting in Fellowship Hall amongst the aged, analysing five-point Calvinism. I suppose I was predestined to be there, but still. Part of me feels as though I skipped right over the "I shall wear purple" phase and landed headfirst into a purse filled with kleenex and peppermints.