Posted on

oscars 2008

Live-blog. No particular rhyme or reason here, just what strikes me. Might make sense; might not; don’t care. I write off the top of my head. Or it could all be my old nemesis Jack Daniels talking again.

So here we go.

— Well, not crazy about Jennifer Garner’s black dress. Mourning being married to Ben Affleck, one can only assume.

— Ooh, Anne Hathaway is just a lovely little fawn. I love her red chiffony dress with roses draping across the front. Very Greek goddess.

— Katherine Heigel. Oh. Sweet. Mammy. She is so nervous presenting, but she’s just that much more endearing to me because of it. Also: The gorgeousness, the sheer gorgeousness, of that red dress on her. Look at her teeny tiny waist! And her face, all flush with nerves! Okay, Katherine Heigel. Please exit stage left now so the rest of us schlubs can go on living. Also: call me!

— Amy Adams (Enchanted) is fraykin’ adorable. She has to sing a song from that movie without all her little animated critters to help her. (It’s a song from the beginning, where the movie is animated.) I don’t envy her, because out of that very specific context, it’s a bit … odd, but she’s making it work because she’s unself-consciously committed to the out-of-context moment. Also: I like your nose, Amy Adams, so call me!

— Someone comb Cate Blanchett’s hair! Please, I beg you – someone deliver her crowning baby! I’m momentarily uncomfortable and that simply won’t do!

— Sweeney wins Art Direction. Duh.

— Jennifer Hudson to present Best Supporting Actor. Her swollen bosom is swaddled in yards of white draping, is the nicest way I can say it. Javier Bardem is my guess here. Waaaiting …. oh, does anyone else think he — Javier Bardem, with his normal hair — looks like dead Denny Duquette from Grey’s Anatomy? …. just a thought …. ooh, but Tom Wilkinson was so SO good in Michael Clayton. Waiting ….here we go ….. it’s Javier Bardem. Oh, consarnit! Habla ingles, por favor.

— Jon Stewart offers a translation after the commercial. “I believe he told his mother where the library is.”

— Now an “Oscar Salute to Binoculars and Periscopes.” Hahahahahaha!

— Oh, what? A song from that piece of crap August Rush is nominated for Best Song? Did you know Robin Williams played some weird Redbeard Bono in that movie? He did. True dat. Awful true.

— Owen Wilson presenting. You go, dude! I love your nose! Call me! What? No …. no, not for drugs; coffee, sheesh.

— I am zee Frawnch veener of zee Best Live Action Short Feelm. I do not speak zee Eengleesh, so vut Javier Bardem said ony in Frawnch, hokay? Merci beaucoup. Mwa et mwa, mon amies.

— Best Supporting Actress presented by Alan Arkin. Cate Blanchett, I think? She may be busy backstage having her baby. Although I’m crossing my fingers for her getting her priorities straight and combing her damn hair. Ooh, but wait. Amy Ryan in Gone, Baby, Gone. Damn, she was good. Wait again! Changing my mind. Going with Tilda Swinton, actually. Michael Clayton. HA! She got it! Here she comes! Okay. Uhm, she looks exactly like Alfred E. Newman right now. Seriously. But I’m loving her speech. She’s talking about how her agent is the spitting image of the Oscar statuette. “He has the exact shaped head and it must be said … the buttocks.” Hahaha. Now she’s on about George Clooney getting into his batsuit every morning on set, hanging from the ceiling, etc., he’s laughing. Great speech, Alfred E. Newman!

— Jessica Alba’s breasts are molting.

— James McEvoy from Atonement. I could listen to him talk forever. Maybe he’ll call me and we can arrange this posthaste. You know, I have lots of change in a big glass jar, James McEvoy; you could have that, if you just talk. Well, not the quarters. I need those. The dimes and nickels, though, for sure. And pennies. That’s a good deal, James McEvoy, because pennies before 1982 are heavier than they are now and so if you scuff up the sides, the parking meter reads them as quarters. True dat.

Best Adapted Screenplay … hm … I’m saying There Will Be Blood …. wrongo, Peaches. No Country For Old Men.

— Oh, no. Not the president of the American Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. Good. Bathroom break. Cheerio.

— Oh, it’s that whiskey-voiced floosie Miley Cyrus. KA-POW!

— Is there anyone shorter than Kristen Chenoweth? Seriously. She’s a widdle tid. And then that huge singing voice. Oh, she’s singing something from “Enchanted.” Because … why? How? She kicked Amy Adams in the shins backstage and hobbled her?

— Oh, dear. These two people who just won Best Sound Editing – working together, now – cannot come up with a coherent speech. The chick keeps saying, “Oh, I’m blanking” and then the ponytailed dude keeps rescuing her with, “Oh, man, I’m blanking too!” Then they look at each other in horror and you can literally feel the tightening of every butt, everywhere, across the world, even as they speak. It’s a symphony of dreadfulness. You guys rock!

— Wow. Best Actress already. BTW, it’s gonna be Julie Christie, I’ll bet, and I haven’t even seen Away From Her. Just heard everyone rave about it. You know, that movie she’s in about the ‘heimer’s? Can’t quite bring myself to see it. But now … right now … I’m thinking it really could be that chick who played Edith Piaf as a spoiler here. Going with Christie, though. Wow. Spoiler wins. See how my gut wanted to dump Julie Christie like a hot potato just a second ago? Shoulda stuck with that. On the upside for Julie Christie — does she not look scrumptiously beautiful? Day-um.

— Colin Farrell (KA-POW!) introducing a song from Once. Ooh. It’s not substitute singers; it’s the actual people from the actual movie — which you really all must see. Beautiful. Haunting. Okay. I want this song to win. Gossip: These two are – or were – or are – a real life couple. Kind of an age difference here. Not really May-December, but maybe, oh, July-November. He’s 37; she’s 20, pick your own months for it.

— Heeeere’s Jack. You gotta have Jack, dontcha know. The cinematic patriarch of bad boys. A montage of best picture winners here which does nothing but unearth my buried animus for The English Patient. KA-POW!

— Renee Zellweger — with a saucy short haircut and a glittery silver gown — presenting Best Film Editing. Goes to The Bourne Ultimatum.

— Nicole Kidman, all statuesque in black, dripping — quite literally — ropes of diamonds over her ever-swelling pregnancy boobins. You go, girl! Have a country music baby. Much better than a Xenu baby. Oh, she’s presenting an Honorary Oscar to Robert Boyle, who is 98 years old and is sitting at the podium for his speech — which, frankly, is better and more coherent than those two earlier, the composers of the symphony of dreadfulness. See this man, doctors everywhere? He’s a potent argument against DNR, he is. You GO, Father Time!

— Penelope Cruz is here now. Wow. Was she exposed to Jessica Alba backstage? Her bosom is molting too. It’s like some horrible MRSA of molting is going around. These women must be quarantined immediately. I think this is Best Foreign Language Film. Yep. And, look — I dunno who just won. Some foreigner.

— John Travolta. Hairline by Sharpie.

— Okay. Best Song. It’s the song from Once, just as I hoped. Eeeee! Here come our lovers to accept their awards. Oh, his accent. Love him. He just keeps saying “Tanks, tanks, tanks.” You are just precious. Where’s my bag of Werther’s?

— Oh, here’s Cameron Diaz presenting Best “Cinemography,” she says. Sweet Lord. Bring Father Time back out. Please. He speaks better and looks fresher, frankly. There Will Be Blood wins. Eeeee!

— In Memoriam. Always poignant. More so this year. Heath Ledger is shown last. Ugh, still too sad.

— Amy Adams presenting Best Score. There’s just an openness and warmth to her face, a joy to her. I thought the music in There Will Be Blood was weird and wonderful, but it’s not nominated, so why am I talking about it? God only knows why I’m talking about anything at this point. Can Father Time blog the rest of this for me? I am worn to a nub. Oh, Atonement wins here.

— Harrison Ford, Best Original Screenplay. What, none of your famous banter, Harrison Ford? Jeez, what a gyp. Juno wins.

There’s gotta be only two or three left, right? Please God.

— Here’s Helen Mirren presenting Best Actor. Daniel Day-Lewis has to be a shoo-in, doesn’t he? He must. Damn, he was freakin’ amazing. (Oh, but there’s Johnny Depp as Sweeney. ACK! Sentimental attachment there, obviously.) By the way, Helen Mirren looks absolutely smashing. Look at her teeny tiny waist, too! A deep burgundy dress with shimmery lacey silvery sleeves, gorgeous on her. Call me, Queen Elizabeth! Damn. Viggo’s nominated, too. I forgot! Eastern Promises. Oh, he was SO good, scary good. Sorry. I’m all over the map here, remembering how fabulous and rich all these performances were. George Clooney, too. Saw them all except Tommy Lee Jones. But DD-L wins, as predicted. He’s wearing hoop earrings that scream “old church lady,” but I forgive him everything. Now he’s thanking Rebecca Miller — Arthur Miller’s daughter, his wife — and she’s teary and smiling. It’s a sweet moment. Lovely, gracious, short speech. Okay. He just smiles that smile he has and, that’s it, I’m toast — sending him a nice pair of dangly earrings TO-morrow!

— Best Director goes to Joel and Ethan Coen for No Country For Old Men.

— Denzel presenting …. finally …. Best Picture. It goes to No Country For Old Men.

Are we done? I think we’re done!

PHEW. Clocking in — by my watch — at 3 hours, 21 minutes. My nubs are even nubbier.

Congratulations to all the winners!

Posted on

for sarahk

‘Member in the breakfast survey post where I admitted I took non-dairy creamer in my coffee because it keeps the coffee hot longer? Teeny clarification: I use powdered creamer. ‘S true, sarahk! It’s totally unglamorous, but it does keep the coffee hot longer.

FAScinating, no??

Tell us more, Mrs. Coffee!

Posted on

high school horrors, junior year

So I stumbled across my junior year yearbook today.

Well, that is, if stumbling involves saying to your beloved out of the blue, “Hm. Wonder where my junior yearbook is?” and schlumping up the stairs, then rummaging in a closet and dragging out box after dusty box of mortifying personal ephemera, then yes, I totally stumbled across my junior year yearbook today.

Right off the bat, I feel I must confess that I was on this yearbook staff and I don’t say that to brag. Au contraire, pippa. I say that only because it means in some part, I share culpability for the cover, which will forever and always look like this:

sc004843d7.jpg

You’d think such a brazen hussy orange might have faded a bit over time, but, nope. Still the same shade as the day I got it 173 years ago.

Now our yearbook was called “Ragnarok,” which means “Hark ye, Norsemen! Yonder approaches giant orange flame ball to engulf our plastic Viking ship and lead us to an initially fiery — then increasingly watery — grave!” I also heard it meant “the end of the beginning” or “the beginning of the end” or some such blather. Both of which seem right somehow, no matter where you went to high school. So we were the Norsemen. The mighty-mighty, black-and-orange Norsemen. Please picture, if you will, our despised and despicable football team in this precise shade of orange. Then picture, if you please, our water polo team — our county-wide championship water polo team — in their choking orange Speedos. Just the color I want to see cradling all that is manly.

sc004aaa0b.jpg
Here I am, on the right, posing for the yearbook staff page with some other chicks whose names escape me, so let’s just call them Becky and Bonnie. What doesn’t escape me now, and didn’t then, is the fact that it was clearly striped-turtleneck-and-tight-vest day and those beyotches, Becky and Bonnie, did not bother to mention that to moi. Sadly, since I was not informed of STATV Day, I was left to my own feeble sartorial devices. Which is not a good thing. Because — and I certainly can’t deny it in the face of photograhic proof — I obviously got up that morning, the morning of secret STATV Day, went to my closet, channeled my inner Armani, and said, “Hmm. I’m feeling a sort of preppy ski bunny vibe with a twist of Gene Simmons today!!”

Oh. Yeah.

And here’s an artist rendering of my Gene Simmons superboots with the man-eating heel, in case you can’t really see them:

sc00732cab.jpg

Believe me. The man-eating, chew-you-up nature of my boot heels cannot be overstated. Totally practical for preppy ski bunny man-eaters like me. Good, too, for scraping paint.

So let’s review. Becky and Bonnie had called each other the night before and squealed, “Eeeeee! Striped turtlenecks! Tight vests! Don’t tell that other chick, ‘kay? ‘Kay! Eeeeee!” Or maybe it wasn’t “Eeeeee”; maybe it was “oooooh” or “wooooo” or “hahahahaha.” Well, it’s a theory, anyway. Whatevs. It all boils down to this: Those beyotches, Becky and Bonnie, were good to go with their secret sartorial scheme. I, on the other hand, on the outs and clueless, strutted from my house that morning, ready to, you know, rock ‘n’ roll all nite and party ev-er-y day.

That is, if you replace “rock ‘n’ roll” with “ski ‘n’ ski” and “party” with “study.”

At school, when I discovered Becky and Bonnie’s secret sartorial scheme, I felt a lot less strutty about pretty much everything in general. When the moment came to take the photo, Becky and Bonnie pushed their way front and center in their coordinated STATVs. I fell back, put on a game smile, and tried to hide my Gene Simmons superboots behind the bike.

But I still secretly loved them.

I wish I still had them.

My Gene Simmons superboots with the man-eating heel.

Eeeeeee!

Posted on

tracey’s breakfast survey

Just a wee nosy survey I worked up because I like breakfast. The whole ritual of it. The robotic routine of it. Or sometimes just vulnerability of being barely awake and eating with others. In some ways, I think it’s the most no-holds-barred meal of the day.

Anyhoo.

Copy and paste the questions into the comments. That way everyone can follow your answers better.

1) Do you usually eat breakfast?

2) If yes, what do you eat?

3) Choose one: Coffee or tea?

4) If you drink coffee, how do you drink it? Black, cream, sugar?

5) If you drink tea, how do you drink it?

6) Choose one: Oatmeal or Cream of Wheat?

7) Do you like to go out to breakfast?

8) If yes, do you have a place you really like to go?

9) What’s your favorite thing to order when you’re there?

10) How do you like your eggs?

11) What do you put on your pancakes?

12) If you eat oatmeal, what do put on that?

13) Do you like breakfast pastries — danish, bear claws, etc.?

14) What about muffins? Good or bad? Like or dislike?

15) Choose one: bacon or sausage?

16) How do you like your bacon?

17) On sausage: Link or patty?

18) Choose one: Quisp or Quake? **

19) For anyone who likes raisin bran, who makes a better one: Kellogg’s or Post?

20) Does ketchup belong on the breakfast table?

21) What about salsa? Same question.

22) Name a movie breakfast scene you particularly like or remember.

23) When you were a kid — or even now: What about that colored milk you get after you eat Trix or Fruit Loops or something; to drink or not to drink?

24) Did you and your siblings fight over the prizes in boxes of cereal?

25) We all know The Breakfast Club. So confess. Were you ever part of a “breakfast club”?

Stayed tuned for more versions of Tracey’s Breakfast Survey. I think I’ve only begun to scratch the surface. Yes. Of breakfast.

SO AS.

** I’m realizing this may be obscure. Okay. Quisp and Quake were Cap’n Crunch-like cereals. Quisp had flying saucer-shaped crunchies; Quake had rubble-shaped crunchies. Here’s a picture of the boxes:
quispquake.jpg
Now they were identical in taste to Cap’n Crunch — identical — but they created a polarizing frenzy in my neck of the woods. You were either a Quisp kid or a Quake kid. There was no middle ground. You could not equivocate. You HAD to choose a side. And the Quispers hated the Quakers (which sounds wrong; forgive me, O Lord) and the Quakers hated the Quispers. Rabid, sugar-high bunch of cerealists. It was all very primal and dangerous and could very well have led to a hideous Lord of the Flies scenario on my school playground. (Some of the young-uns won’t know this one.) I am the only one who remembers them, though?? ACK.

Posted on

the feng shui lady

She came rushing in on the second to last day of Boheme. This tiny little lady with Peter Pan hair, raspberry lips, and a bandana tied in a jaunty knot around her neck. I’d seen her around before, once or twice. She’d talk a lot; never buy a lot.

“Oooh! You’ve rearranged in here — gimme a small coffee, hon — really, wow! Oooh! It’s so much more feng shui!”

She smiled a raspberry smile. Very feng shui.

“Oh,” I looked around, “yeah.”

“Yeaaah. Nice.” Then she got down to business. “Okay. So now what you need to do for prosperity energy is hang a big –”

A small giggle escaped me. I couldn’t help it. It wasn’t so much what she was saying as it was the timing. I was closing tomorrow.

“No — I’m being totally serious here.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. It’s just that we’re closing tomorrow.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“I mean, tomorrow is our last day here.”

“No.”

“Yeah, it’s true. Just not really working out here.”

“Oh, no. Well, you know … I know things. I see things. And you know what I see? You’re going to be very successful. I just see it.”

She stared at me, eyes bright with conviction. It was an uncomfortable stare. For me, not her, obviously.

“Oh. Okay. Uh, well, good.”

“Yes.”

I didn’t know what to say to her.

“Well, thank you.”

“Yes. Oh, you’re welcome.”

She took her small coffee and practically floated to the back patio, overjoyed with her searing psychic moment. I — the sure-to-be-successful one — watched her for a second, sighed, and started another brew of coffee.

Posted on

a sucking hole of need

This has been going around for a long time — and I actually did it a long time ago — but forgot to post it. So here ’tis now!

Basically, you Google your name with the word “needs” after it and see what comes up. Then you post the most …. uh, interesting ones, I guess.

So.

Tracey needs to keep her little yellow mouth shut.

Tracey needs to get her dates right and let the coward speak for himself.

Tracey needs professional help herself!

Tracey needs to adhere to a strict Code of Ethics.

Tracey needs to busy herself with something else.

Tracey needs a knitting needle roll.

Tracey needs to spend less time daydreaming and more time working.

Tracey needs to be given some boxing gloves at the very least so as to kick some ass.

Tracey really needs to come over and help me match my CDs with their cases so I can sell them to that giant blob of music stores, Amoeba.

Tracey needs to be committed along with her supporting cast.

Tracey needs help but she is a very hard person to work with or work for.

Tracey needs some rest.

Wow. I had no idea Google knew me so well. I mean, these are all so so true. And mostly sad. Except that one about the knitting needle roll. I mean, really, how can this be something I need when I don’t know what in tarnation a knitting needle roll is? And what’s this whole matching-CDs-with-their-cases rigmarole? I really don’t think I need to do that either, because, well, it sounds horrible and tedious and why isn’t that person doing it herself? Why should I, Tracey, help you, stranger, match your CDs and cases? What’s in it for me? Do I get a cut of your sales to this giant blob of music stores? And how much could that actually be for a bunch of crappy CDs without their cases? Frankly, this all sounds very fishy and dicey to me, like maybe you need money because you’re jonesing for a fix and I don’t know nothin’ about jonesing or fixes so don’t get me all mired in your chemical imbroglio, okay? May I remind you, too, that I’m now adhering to a strict Code of Ethics, so it really doesn’t sound like something I, Tracey, need or even should do. Plus, it’s not like you’re asking nicely. There’s no polite request here. Listen to you — telling me I “need” to do this. You know what?? You need to step off, Slappy. Seriously. Step. Off. Because I just got me some new boxing gloves “so as to kick some ass.” Or didn’t you hear?

Thaaaat’s right.

So as.

Posted on

i am acquiring lovees exponentially

Now add Mike Richardson-Bryan to my list of lovees. I can’t get the link to work but it was originally posted on Yankee Pot Roast(great stuff over there):

Best American Names of Horses Expected to Have Undistinguished Careers

Average at Best
Ayn Rand’s Condescending Sigh
Buyer’s Remorse
Cloud of Suspicion
Colic the Wonder Horse
Daddy Drinks Because I’m Slow
Exit Strategy
Fond of Long Naps
For the Love of God Run Faster
Glued Lightning
Hell is Other Horses
I Have No Son
Limp to Victory
Low Expectations
Luck o’the Amish
Pride of Two Guys with No Business Owning a Horse
Shoulda Bought a Monkey
Slim to None
Some Budding Young Actress’s Fit of Pique
Squeak of Defiance
Stupid Gypsy Curse
This is Your Horse on Drugs
Tripsy McStumble
Undisguised Contempt for All Things French
War Criminal

There’s no way to pick a favorite — too many are just killing me!

Posted on

two games for v-day

Happy Valentine’s Day. Or not. Whatevs, basically. Too much pressure, right??

Let’s play games instead.

GAME 1:

I saw this personal ad in the London Review of Books:

Nihilist seeks nothing.

Love that. It’s perfect. It’s witty. So it got me thinking and started a game at breakfast that I now invite you to join in.

The way it’s played: Take the name of a career, job, whatever (although one could argue that “nihilist” isn’t really a career; more of a hobby, maybe) — okay, hobby, too — and write a personal ad following the formula above.

Some examples we came up with at breakfast:

Actress seeks drama.

Stylist seeks groom.

Baker seeks cream puff.

Fireman seeks hottie.

Hairdresser seeks tease.

Get it? Of course you do! Lemme hear yours!! Ready? GO!

Posted on

v-day game #2

Just giving everyone something to do other than contemplate the pressure that comes with the day. Play me games instead, lassies and laddies! And speak with a brogue for no apparent reason!

GAME #2:

I’ve picked 10 famous couples from 10 famous movies. Happy couples. Tragic couples. Star-crossed couples. Mismatched couples. Warring couples. I tried to mix it up. They’re listed below. Your job now is to mix and match them. Rematch them. (I know. It may seem like a sacrilege in some cases.) Too BAD!! Rhett is no longer with Scarlett. Pair him with someone else. Explain why, if you’d like. AND also, with your new couple, create a new title for the movie they’re in.

Again, MB and I did this at breakfast. One of us came up with this one:

Mr. Darcy and Rhett /Gone with the Pride

Uhm, okay! We’ll just move along here.

Here’s the list of couples:

Harry and Sally — When Harry Met Sally

Rick and Ilsa — Casablanca

Rhett and Scarlett — Gone with the Wind

C.K. Dexter Haven and Tracy — The Philadelphia Story

Jack and Rose — Titanic

Henry and Eleanor (the happy couple!) — The Lion in Winter

Hubbell and Katie — The Way We Were

Alvy and Annie — Annie Hall

Sean and Mary Kate — The Quiet Man

Elizabeth and Darcy — Pride and Prejudice

Westley and Buttercup — The Princess Bride

Okay, there’s 11. Me + math = ?!#%?!! Do as many as you like here. I have absolute confidence that you can all come up with something better than Rhett and Darcy in Gone with the Pride. Okay?

GO!!