My favorite bit of the Oscars, aside from what she wore, is who died and hearing how loud the applause gets for each face of Hollywood. It must say something about me, something morbid, maybe. I’m not sure how the in memoriam works. Is it like a tax year, where come time, all that matters is what happened in a finite year? Is that why Don Knotts wasn’t in the who-died-and-done-it montage? I’m assuming so because you don’t just forget Don Knotts.
Not exactly HBO Comedy Jam, the Oscars last night from my crowded apartment sofa were more than I’d asked for. We watched them in high-definition, so you could see when their faces didn’t match their necks. Jennifer Lopez looked dirty. Not spank-me dirty. In-need-of-soap dirty. I wanted to wash her forehead. Salma Hayek could read this year (and she looked like what a woman should look like), and I was pissed for Lauren Bacall. They could have made the font bigger. Salma’s breasts were where they belonged; too many of the stars had their breasts seemingly in the wrong spot (Charlize Theron). Yes, I liked the addition of pockets in formal gowns, liked the smokey eye on Keira, loved her vintage Bulgari necklace. Yes, yes. We know. Most importantly, I realized an alarming similarity between Jon Stewart and Zack Braff. I’m not sure if it’s their delivery or resemblance in appearance, but they look like brothers. And, I bet neither of them wear falsies.
You’d think with the crisper view, I’d glean more emotion. Was it just me, or was there a lack of emotion this year? Aside from the Mafia boys, George Cloony was the only one to make a heartfelt, moving, speech. Reese Witherspoon, while very much a lady whom I adore, seemed too together. I guess I just wanted to see someone lose it, to see someone unglued. "Someone" meaning an actor, not the one who won for best art direction or sound mixing. I wanted to cry for someone, the way I had when Halle took it as a bigger moment than herself; she took it for Dorothy Dandridge. Or when Roberto Benigni climbed over the chairs in delight. I wanted to see someone shocked and moved to tears, someone blown away by the gesture and recognition. I didn’t see it, and it wasn’t for lack of screen. I wanted to see God push through. Not in a religious freak way, just in a, this moment is bigger than me, way.
As for the menu, my menu, I pulled together a last-minute gathering. We hit Costco, and I raided it for ready-pac mango slices. I hoarded them for myself, though. Here’s what we ended up serving:
New Zealand rack of lamb with organic mint jelly, Baby back ribs, Jumbo tiger shrimp with cocktail sauce, Spanikopita triangles (I am Greek and have grown up making these my whole life), Crab Slammers with jalapeno, Fresh warm garlic bread, Organic baby carrots with Greek Tzatziki, Meyer lemon hummus, Potato latkes with apple sauce, Smoked Nova salmon with crème fraiche, dill, and salmon roe over mini waffles, Egg salad with smoked paprika over cucumber discs, Lobster salad stuffed grape tomatoes, Chicken pineapple meatballs, and of course, Pigs in a blanket with Dijon mustard. As for dessert, an assortment of French pastries, decadent peanut butter walnut brownies, and white chocolate chip macadamia nut cookies.
Then, of course, there was swag. No one leaves without a goodie bag, filled with personalized swag including books, slang flash cards, nu-bras, girdles, essie nail polish, manicure kits, am/fm radios, kabbalah bracelets, and a bit o’ bling. Then we sang along to “It’s Hard Out Here for a Pimp.” No, we didn’t. View some of our quick photos >>
