The Oscars – from the cheap seats

I watched the Oscars last night because there was nothing else better to watch. And I wanted to see Hugh Jackman. I thought he was brilliant and funny. And totally hot. That’s beside the point.

Here are my observations on the good, the bad and the ugly from last night’s telecast:

Hugh Jackman is a very talented person. And far funnier than any other previous Oscar host, except for Billy Crystal and Whoopi Goldberg. Now if they really want to be daring, they need Robin Williams up there. There would need to be a 40-second delay.

I liked the former winners of Oscars in the acting categories coming out and giving tribute to the nominees. The women seemed genuinely touched by (what seemed to be) heartfelt remarks. And then being inducted into “the club” was a great idea.

Segue: Speaking of Whoopi, what the *$()@ was she wearing? Did she just run over to Joann Fabrics and grab something out of the clearance bin and wrap it around herself? She’d have been better coming in jeans or a nice pantsuit. I’ve seen Whoopi dress much better. That was just sad.

Sarah Jessica Parker is auditioning for the Samantha role in the next “SITC” movie. She has to be. Her boobs haven’t been that big since she was breastfeeding. And if she coughed, the Oscars would have had it’s own “wardrobe malfunction.”

Will Smith is a funny guy. But even he couldn’t make those presentations work for something or other.

That little movie in the middle: maybe it’s me, but I don’t get the humor of Seth Rogen and Judd Apatow. Maybe because I’m over the age of 12.

The dance number in the middle: Seriously. Beyonce? GROAN… May it be the last time I hear her sing “At Last.” A friend commented on Facebook that musicals are back as long as Beyonce is in them. Yeah, and no acting is required. And Zach Efron has a great career ahead of him in musical theater and films. His HSM/real-life girlfriend Vanessa Hudgens? Not so much. And that couple from “Mamma Mia” couldn’t even keep up with the track. Pitiful. The weird drumline/hip-hop movies in the middle didn’t work. They were good, but were very strange with everyone dressed from something out of the 1940s. Should have had the HSM cast come out in uniforms. If they really wanted to liven up the Oscars, they should have had Kenny Ortega choreograph that number. That would have been fun.

Cuba Gooding Jr.’s line to Robert Downey Jr. was hilarious. “Quit takin’ the work from the brothas!” Here! Here! “His next role is prinicipal of photography on ‘Shaft.’” RDJ got the joke. Everyone else didn’t.

Those 2008 movie montages? There were about 2.5 seconds of African-Americans in film. Yeah, cuz we weren’t in any of the movies made in 2008 except for say 2.5 seconds from the one Tyler Perry movie that no one saw.

Reese Witherspoon: It’s not nice to imitate the Queen. She wore that dress and she wore it better. Deal with that.

Speaking of the Queen: Ms. Dana Owens made my night. I love the “In Memoriam” section. Her beautiful solo of “I’ll Be Seeing You” masked the awkward instrumental music/awkward applause sections of those who are less known in the community. Whoever put together this montage got it right. By the time the song had reached its final crescendo, the applause had been building right up until Paul Newman’s face graced the stage one last time. It ended on a high note of celebration, even as his words were the last spoken and the spotlight on the stage showed us that someone was missing among us.

Maybe it was me, but I honestly was not moved by Heath Ledger’s family’s acceptance. It was a foregone conclusion. If he’d won last year and they’d have come to accept it, it would have been much more emotional for me. But by now, with all the talk of his estate and who gets the statue, it just was overdone.

On the other hand, Kate Winslet’s speech was so great and full of emotion. Let’s hear it for Dad who whistled so she could find him in the darkened theater to thank him (and the rest of the family) properly!

The guy who balanced the Oscar on his chin? Priceless!

“Domo Origato, Mr. Roboto.” Best acceptance speech. Because I couldn’t understand a word you were saying up to that point.

Sofia Loren may have looked good, but her speech was so boring. For someone who won an acting Oscar, she couldn’t have pulled that speech off if she had a gun to her head. Julia Roberts would have made it work. Shirley Maclaine’s speech to Anne Hathaway nearly had me in tears. Halle looked fabulous (in an almost repeat of her Oscar win dress) but will someone tell Nicole that she needs more color in her face or in her dress?

I’m glad Peter Gabriel didn’t come. John Legend is much more worthy of my time. And he’s gorgeous. I’ve never heard any of the best song nominees, but Legend and the guy singing Jai Ho together was beautiful. And so were the dancers and background singers. I think it was an African Gospel Choir. (I could have sworn a couple of the HSM songs were nominated. They should have been.)

There have been 4 black men who have won the Best Actor Oscars. You mean to tell me that Denzel Washington, Jamie Foxx, Forest Whitaker and Sidney Poitier were all busy that night? None of them could have graced the stage with DeNiro, Hopkins & Michael Douglas? Adrian Brody? Other than kissing Halle Berry, what else has he done? Would you even remember him if it were not for that kiss? You managed to get Whoopi, Cuba and Halle up there, but not one of them could make it. That was insulting.

Slumdog Millionaire. The first and last time I will ever say those two words. Ever. Again.

Drunk with the wine of the world

I went with my hubby to the store to pick up a prescription and a few groceries. Imagine my disgust when at the door there was a poster: “Celebrate Black History Month!” followed by a tasting for a certain beer brand’s new flavor.  (I won’t call out the brand or the store, though part of me thinks I should.)

I’m not against advertising. (I used to work at an ad agency and I loved it.) I’m not against companies using their advertising  campaigns to tie with a significant event on the calendar.

What disgusts – no, angers -  me is the use of this brand to exploit what Black History Month is supposed to mean for it’s profit. Black History Month was created to celebrate the achievements and history of Black Americans. Alcohol does nothing but bring Black Americans down, creating our own little slavery. This beer company wasn’t trying to use this campaign to promote black achievement or even provide scholarship or business opportunities. No, this campaign was designed to say, “Hey black people! Get yo drank on! Get down and party with us, ‘cuz this is YO month! Nevermind that alcoholism in your community is a predominant force behind homelessness, abuse, and criminal activity. You should be celebratin’!”

Sadly, no one has spoken out about this. Not even me, except for now. It’s just business as usual in our community.

Yeah, this was a month-long campaign. Next month we celebrate St. Patrick’s Day, which is known for all its alcoholic imbibing. I can’t wait to see if this same store and same beer company do a month-long celebration in our community.

RIP: Clint & Asa

Yesterday, I learned that actor Clint Ritchie, the original (and best) Clint on “One Life to Live” died on January 29. Today I learned that Phil Carey, the one and only Asa,  also passed away.

Besides being two fine actors, they played the most unique characters on soap operas: they were cowboys. And despite the fact that they were business moguls and titans, when it came down to it, they never stopped being cowboys.

So RIP Clint and Phil. Ride on into the sunset. We’ll miss ya.

What I Love About Writing

I’m a procrastinator – not the best trait for someone who aspires to write full-time. I often put off writing until the very last minute. I did it all through college. As it happened, some of my best papers were done under deadline. It’s as though the fear of missing the deadline freed me from all the constraints of my inner critic/editor and the words just came pouring out.

The same thing happened this weekend.

For some reason, I had been stalling on the short story that I had to create for an anthology that I’m contributing to. I kept saying I was working on it, but I always found other more interesting things to do, such as reading blogs or writing on my own blog (yeah, right) or hanging out on Facebook. (That’s an entirely different post for another time.)

Finally I couldn’t put it off any longer. I had a week before my deadline, so I hunkered down to the computer and began typing the story that had been causing me to lose sleep.

Then a funny thing happened.

Without any notes, the story began pouring out of me. But the more I wrote, the story began moving in an entirely different direction. You see, just before I sat down, I prayed and asked the Lord to give me the words and to allow someone to be touched by the story for his glory.

And he did just that.

I’m about halfway done but I’m not worried anymore. I know where the story is going and I’m confident I’ll make my deadline.

But just as important, my inner critic has been silenced and the voice that gives me the words to write is loud and clear.

I remembered what I love about writing – writing.

Five Years Ago

Five years ago, I awoke early – earlier than usual. I couldn’t sleep in anticipation, like a kid waiting for Christmas.

Five years ago, I rode along in the car in silence, anxious for your arrival. You, as it turns out, were in absolutely no hurry.

Five years ago, I lay in a strange bed, more uncomfortable than usual. But in retrospect, it was pretty okay.

Five years ago, I experienced pain that only a woman was built to endure – and appreciate.

Five years ago, I dreamed of what you would look like, whether you would be healthy, would I do the right thing.

Five years ago, you made your debut. One cry, then silence. As if to say, “I’m here, what’s the big deal?”

Five years ago, I looked at you in awe and wonder. After so much doubt, so many efforts, you were finally here, exactly as you should be.

Five years ago, you rested in my arms, content. How could someone so busy just hours before be so still?

Five years ago, as tears poured down my face, I couldn’t help but thank God for you, my little miracle.

Five years ago, I had no idea of the ride I was about to embark on. And at that moment, I really didn’t care.

Five years ago, my life changed forever.

Happy birthday my little angel.