A bunch of lesbians sitting around the living room on Oscar Night...
No, that's not the beginning of a joke. That's a description of my Oscar party yesterday. But before we get to that, I think some introductions are in order.
For those of you who don't know me, I'm Gabi, aka chickflick, aka your resident pop culture enthusiast. I'm obsessed with TV, I can kick anyone's ass at "Friends" trivia, and I know way too many things about Musical Theater.
Now, let's get to the pop culture event of the year, The Oscars.
Let me start by explaining that I spent my morning sitting around stiffly at a wedding reception/brunch for a cousin I rarely see. At this obligatory family simcha, I was seated with the daughters of my aunt's best friend. One of them asked me if I "notice a lot of gay people in West Hollywood."
So imagine my relief when I finally got to come home, order pizza, and uh, 'notice' the gay people in West Hollywood, by way of having half of them crammed into my apartment.
The Oscars and The Emmys are my favorite days of the year. I celebrate them the way most people celebrate New Years or the Super Bowl. And I have to admit, now that the Oscars are over, I feel slightly empty. I have that sense of withdrawal that inevitably occurs when you've spent a while looking forward to something, and then suddenly it's over.
But enough of that. Let's discuss the actual show. I recently had a job where whenever we wanted to get something done, our boss would tell us to write a memo about it. So here's my memo to Oscar.
To: Producers, Writers, Presenters, Nominees and Winners at the Oscars.
From: Chickflick, a concerned TV and movie watcher.
To Nicole Kidman: You're NICOLE KIDMAN, not Michael Jackson. You don't need plastic surgery.
To the producers of "Enchanted": Shut up. Even Kristin Chenoweth couldn't save your annoying song.
To the kids from "Once": You are both adorable, even if your movie was a little bit overrated and a lot boring.
To Marketa Irglova: Call me.
To invitation envelope stuffers: Be careful, there. You accidentally sent invitations to Miley Cyrus, Owen Wilson, Colin Farrell, The Rock and Jessica Alba. See those brightly colored pieces of paper? Those are for the Teen Choice Awards. They're down the street.
To the two women who produced and directed "Freeheld": Congratulations! I know nobody knows or cares about your category (Documentary Short), but I saw you at Outfest, and am still amazed that you now have an Oscar. Most of the movies at Outfest fall by the wayside due to their lack of originality or Blair Witch-like camera work. But you managed to claw your way out, and I now feel like one of the lucky elites, because I got to see your movie way back when.
To Keri Russell: Will you be my BFF? Check this box for yes, this one for no.
To Penelope Cruz, Anne Hathaway, Jessica Alba and anybody else wearing feathers: No. Just no.
To Jennifer Hudson: You need to wear a bra. You just do.
To everybody else, especially Cate Blanchett, Helen Mirren, Katie Heigl, and Jennifer Garner: Nice job with the dresses.
To Tilda Swinton: Next time, get dressed after you put your contacts in. Under the kitchen sink is not your closet, and a garbage bag can not substitute for a dress.
To Diablo Cody: Congratulations! We all knew you could do it. Have you ever thought about making a movie about yourself? "Former stripper gets saved by screenwriting." See, you already have a pitch.
To all of the old white men who won awards: This includes pretty much everyone except for the people from Juno. You bore me.
Please take these notes under consideration and get back to me next year with your changes.
And before I go, just a word or two about The L Word:
Tasha rocks. I knew she and Alice were going to make it somehow! Despite the rest of the sucky storylines this year, I have been rooting for them right from the beginning. Go, Tash!
Also, I loved when Cybill Shepherd's daughter said, re: Shane, "We're going to adopt Chinese babies and live in a trailer park."