This household has been socked with a one-two punch of chest colds and winter ennui, so last night, the kids watched “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty” eating carry-out Thai, and after they went to bed, my ever-lovin’ wife and I watched the Oscars. We were aided by the TIVO, of course, which let us fast-forward through all the musical numbers and the long walks to the microphone (which surprisingly add 19 minutes to the whole broadcast).
Why we’d bother to watch, I don’t know. We just don’t go out to the movies anymore unless a supervillain is endangering the earth somehow. I think the last best picture I saw in the theater might have been “Annie Hall.” And the faces and names get more obscure every year. But it pays to keep up with the pop culture, if only to be able to talk in short-hand about things.
Something I noticed last night, besides how absolutely fabulous a life in Hollywood must be (note to self: time to head west and sleep on an acquaintance’s couch for a year or two), was how many winners described their experience as “amazing.”
“This has just been an amazing experience.” At first I thought, how amazing have the past 15 seconds been since your name was announced? Were your legs asleep and you are glad to stretch them? But I quickly realized that the person was likely talking about the past few weeks since the nominations were announced. In light of that, the word “amazing” must mean:
It’s great you people have finally recognized me for the mega-talent I’ve been telling you I am.
It’s fun to get phone calls from people who want to hire me, and agents who want to steal me.
It’s enjoyable to get calls from old boyfriends who are looking for tickets to the red carpet, so I can tell them to eat shit and die.
It’s nice to get baskets and baskets of free swag from companies dumb enough to send it to me.
It certainly beats pretending to be glad that someone else won.
It’s amazing while the attention lasts, because most assuredly, it won’t.