Why I Love The Oscars

Every year, I have the same sensation. I expect to be a bit bored, easily distracted, feeling like it could be the last time, just like last year.

Damn I love this show. 

It's the mix of the macabre, Glenn Close in a black gothic looking pointy boobs kinda outfit destined to rock the tweetosphere, an exaggeration of life introducing the annual montage of the Hollywood dead. James Gandolfini. Roger Ebert. Esther Williams. Harold Ramis. The list is endless.

Philip Seymour Hoffman.

And then it turns Hollywood, because it is. Shmaltz. Bette Midler. She's a show stopper, a bit Esther Williams, a tear jerker.

Damn I love this show.

There are those who demand reverence, command the stage, and surprise, in a rant that praises God, family, wholesome values out of the mouth of Matthew McConaughey, an edgy outlaw facing down AIDS on the big screen. I don't expect this. Cate Blanchett gracing praises on the other nominees, taking a slight dig into those who skew judgments against Woody Allen, reminding them of his brilliance, his place in Hollywood.

Pink is hot. She's a show stopper like Esther Williams. But she's no Judy Garland. She doesn't show vulnerable, not like Judy. Rufus Wainwright does Judy better than anyone else. Liza Minnelli would have been a tear jerker.

Damn I love this show.

It's got to end great, not just good. A tear jerker.

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