This post has absolutely nothing to do with the 81st Academy Award show that aired this past Sunday. If you’re looking for an intelligent discussion on what the stars were wearing, or a thoughtful analysis of the various acceptance speeches, you’d better look elsewhere. Oh, and good luck to you; intelligence and thoughtfulness are not two words that come to mind when considering the Oscars. No, this post is devoted to my walk home along Highland Avenue (where the Kodak Theatre is located) late Sunday afternoon. It was during this walk that I learned several new things about the Academy Awards; things I was never taught in film school or my various industry jobs; things that you have to see for yourself.
1) Los Angeles imports New York crazies
While LA has its fair share of bums and nutjobs, each with his own pungent charm, the Oscars is way too big an event for them alone. Their fragile, warped sensibilities simply cannot handle the immense hoopla surrounding the show. Therefore, crazies are brought in from Manhattan for the weekend. These people are experts in crowd control, as they deal with such enormous events such as New Year’s Eve and the Thanksgiving Day Parade among others. These NY transplants wear sandwich boards illustrating the golden Oscar statue as an evil idol, condemning the Hollywood elite for his worship. Still reeking of stale hot dogs, peanuts and urine, these people shout conflicting protests and walking directions across the street via bullhorn. Most importantly, these folks selflessly ignore hunger and jetlag to let you know that Jesus does not want you to win that award, regardless of the incredible performance you gave this past year.
By the time that the Best Picture award is announced, the New Yorkers are well on their way back to the East Coast, traveling in their minivans/portable apartments. After all, if they’re here, who’s minding the Big Apple?
2) Starfuckers are dumb
As the convoy of limousines drove up Highland, I witnessed a small group of people standing on the sidewalk, attempting to catch a glimpse of the potential stars within. No one seemed to notice that all of the limos’ windows are completely tinted, precisely to prevent assholes from peering inside. No matter though as the crowd continued to guess which celebrity that limo is carrying. The one occasion that a non-limousine appeared in the fleet, I overheard one woman excitedly shout “Oh. My. God. He’s wearing a tuxedo!” How perceptive. I wish I could get so energized about something so pointlessly obvious. Of course he’s wearing a tux you dingbat; it’s the fucking Oscars. Every male is wearing a tuxedo, whether he is George Clooney, a security guard or a seat filler.
3) Seeing a celebrity is worth more than your child’s life
Along with the people unnecessarily shouting at the passing cars, I witnessed one woman not only risking her own life, but her four year old daughter’s life as well by running into the path of oncoming limousines. And not just regular limousines; we’re talking stretch Hummers and Escalades. Why not just play pat-a-cake on train tracks? Apparently catching a glimpse of one’s favorite actor (again, through tinted windows) is infinitely more worthwhile than keeping your kid safe. Besides, what made this woman think that her toddler would be remotely interested in star gazing, unless Wall-E or Po, the Kung Fu Panda is en route? On second thought, perhaps this woman was making a last minute attempt to pawn her spawn off on Brad and Angelina. Her kid is clearly better off joining the Pitt/Jolie mini-United Nations anyway.
That’s right; The Reader is yet another example of the liberal Jewish media trying to convince you that the Holocaust did indeed happen. After all, the movie producer, Harvey Weinstein is Jewish. As a Jew, the mere concept of denying the Holocaust is offensive and completely absurd. I refuse to even get into this discussion as it may be the most retarded argument EVER. Let me just say this: if a war ever arose between Holocaust deniers and real human beings, I’d much rather have a naked Kate Winslet on my side than that drunken buffoon Mel Gibson.
Unfortunately, the Oscar telecast was nowhere near as enthralling as the goings-on outside. Perhaps next year, the producers can include the people on the street in the festivities, a la Dick Clark's Rockin' New Years Eve. The citizens of Los Angeles are, after all, far more interesting than the overexposed celebrities inside (Mickey Rourke notwithstanding). Besides, I'm curious to know which Best Picture nominee the religious zealots have their money on.
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