I’ve had an Oscar party every year since I graduated college but the last one I threw was when Primo was about three months old. I was back to my pre-baby weight by then, and I served h'or d'oeuvres to a packed apartment with the baby in the sling. I thought to myself, “See? This baby won’t stop me from having a life. I can have it ALL!”
That was my last Oscar party. A year later, Primo was walking and my life was basically over. A year after that I had a three week-old baby and my life was definitely over. There would be no more passing h'or d'oeuvres, I tell you that muck.
But this year, as part of my Say Yes! Year I decided it was time to get back on the horse so to speak, back into the business of entertaining. So I negotiated a deal with my grandmother and by “deal” I mean she gave and I took, which is usually the way it goes with my grandmother. Even when you try to make it more equitable because you’re racked with guilt at what a martyr she is, she finds a way to give back what you’ve given, like the blue cashmere sweater my sister and I painstakingly picked out for her one Christmas which ended up returned, and the money slipped into our pockets. So I’ve learned just to take and let her give which is really how she likes it.
She gave us her apartment for the party so we could watch the awards show at an audible volume and not have severe indigestion from hearing the children scream for an hour at bedtime. So she went downstairs to our place and put the kids to bed. She also cooked baked ziti and meatballs for everyone. Before I had even started to get the ingredients together, she had the whole thing done. That’s what happens when you wake at 4:30am to start cooking. So we had a party with prosecco and passion fruit cocktails some of David’s homebrew beer, and if not h'or d'oeuvres, then at least some fancy cheese from Faiway and almond-stuffed olives.
Of the Oscars themselves I will offer the following observations:
How flipping great was it that Jeff Bridges won? I love Jeff Bridges but his performances in Crazy Heart took our one-way relationship to the next level. Last night I shouted, “I am going to marry him!” and my friend Claire remarked, “I thin you already did.” She’s right. David is my Bad Blake post-reformation, and a writer instead of musician. Even better, he is able to buckle his pants when he drives in the car.
Go Catherine Bigelow!! And kudos for not yelling, “James Cameron you can suck it!” in your acceptance speech.
Why was George Clooney wearing such a sour expression on his face all night? Was it because someone had forgotten to fix his hair so he looked like an oldster?
Stand up straight Miley Cyrus! I know your boobs are about to pop out of that gown but – and I don’t mean to sound like you mother but -- perhaps you should have considered that before you stepped on the red carpet.
What the hell happened to Anthony Michael Hall? Did he have some kind of elective reconstructive facial surgery? He doesn’t resemble his former self at all.
I was very un-impressed by the fashion in general. Demi Moore’s gown was stunning though I was totally distracted by the fact that she is 90 lbs sopping wet with a rock in her pocket. Vera Farmiga’s was an abomination and I felt like all the other pones were just . . . whatever.
But the highlight was when I told Primo I wouldn’t be there to tuck him in because I was having an Oscar party, he thought about it for a sec and then he asked, puzzled:
"Why are you having a party for Oscar the Grouch?”
Posts
