Ordinary Joe Fantasy: Attending the Oscars Ceremony
Donald Trump was acquitted in the impeachment
fiasco trial, the Kansas City Team With a Somewhat Politically Incorrect Nickname won the Super Bowl, the Iowa caucus was a disaster, radio gasbag Rush Limbaugh has been diagnosed with cancer and won the Presidential Medal of Freedom, the State of the Union speech occurred, there is a new pro league in the gridiron sport (the XFL), and legendary Indiana University basketball coach Bob Knight returned to Assembly Hall in Bloomington for the first time in 20 years.
And tonight is Oscars night. And it’s my annual post about Tinseltown’s biggest showing shopping, cast of thousands extravaganza.
I am glad I have never been afflicted by the acting bug. I am one of those people who has a face “made for writing blogs”. Plus I sing like a frog undergoing a castration, I stutter worse than Porky Pig, and I dance like a wild bull from the pampas in a Tiffany china shop.
In junior high school, I did “act” in a comedy by Sophocles plus a scene from George Bernard Shaw’s St. Joan. While my drama teacher gave me a few laudatory words about my thespian skills, I knew I wasn’t the next Marlon Brando or Marlin Perkins (the genial host on Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom). I was a ham, and I was a fortunate I didn’t end up in a theatrical pig sty.
But even though I am not cut out for the bright lights of Hollywood, every now and then I have a fleeting fantasy about being a movie star and attending the Oscars ceremony.
If I go to this foofaraw, I wouldn’t wear a tuxedo or some outfit that makes me look like a Mardi Gras float or one of those
weirdos guests on Jerry Springer. Instead, I would wear jeans and a casual shirt. I will probably make a bigger fashion impression than modeling Versace’s latest duds.
I wouldn’t mind being chauffeured around Hollywood in the Batmobile rather than a limo. I want to give a BAM!POW!WHAM! appearance to impress the cinematic glitterati.
And if I somehow win an Oscar, I would probably say “Thank you” and head back to my seat as quickly as possible. I will not do one of those orations in which I thank everyone from directors to stage hands to makeup artists to the folks who clean the loos. Nor I will spend my time pontificating about climate change, race relations, unemployment, the homeless, and the Electoral College. An award show is not the place for me to act like a political scold.
After the Oscars, I have no desire to hobnob with celebrities while drinking enough adult beverages to stagger Jim Beam, Jack Daniels, Johnnie Walker, Captain Morgan, Samuel Adams, and Bud Weiser. I am at the age in which “party hearty” means “getting caught up on my less-than-beauty sleep”.
I probably won’t be saying hurray for Hollywood if I got to the Oscar ceremony. Instead, I probably would be fantasizing about attending another extravaganza that I would really like to see–the Nobel Prize for literature ceremony in Stockholm, Sweden. Not only will I be consorting with famous scribes and real-life royalty rather than movie stars, I want to spend some time after the ceremony to see the natural beauties of Sweden, especially at saunas and at those beaches in which you can get the ultimate suntan.
Joe’s Maybe Memorable Quote of the Day
The greatest actors are the greatest pretenders.