Hooray for Hollywood

Tonight is the Oscars. I'm all giddy; it feels like a holiday. Better, even. Most holidays don't have their own TV show.

Once upon a time, David and knew a crowd of people who saw lots of movies and were really into the Oscars. One year, we dressed up like characters from Chicago. One year, we ordered Oscar-shaped candy molds on Ebay, to create solid chocolate Oscars, which we then burnish in edible gold. They are so beautiful. We "award" these Oscars to whomever has pulled a winning actor out of a hat. David's mum gave us the idea to pause the broadcast just as the name is announced, so the at-home "winner" can give the projected speech. You'd be amazed how close we get to the real thing.

We have cocktails, and fancy finger foods, and special desserts. We have ballots, and whoever gets the most categories correct goes home with a lovely prize (often a DVD of a previous Oscar winner.) We've had a red carpet. Last year, courtesy of Jessica and Jason, we had actual film equipment and reels for decor.

Even without all the trappings, I'm all a-flutter in anticipation. I love the big entrance walk, the "what were they thinking?" dresses, the host's opening speech when we find out if they've got the right stuff, the awkward faux-repartee between the presenters, the montage of "we'll miss yous," the speech where someone cries, the speech where someone says something really sweet or surprising or boorish or all three, the interpretative dances, the jokes that don't go over, the one really shocking win, the dozen totally predictable wins, the opportunity for kvetching that the show is going too long, the afterglow when they announce Best Picture and the host waves goodnight. Just thinking about it makes me feel all warm inside.

In the past few years, Oscar night has been tough. Even when she was one, Jarrah really didn't want to go to bed before 7:30 or 8:00, and the show starts at 5:00 on the west coast. She certainly isn't interested in watching it (we'll have to brainwash her at some point.) Friends have their own babies and toddlers who don't want to watch, either. The broadcast is on a Sunday night. Factors conspire against us having a really raging party.

And maybe that's okay. It's not an occasion for a raging party. The fact is, I'm serious about watching it, and I don't like people talking over the good parts, or having to greet or say good-bye over and over as people drift in and out. I get exhausted from the hoopla, when I could be curled up on the couch, shouting at the screen. Maybe it's for the best that we're having one rabid Oscar fan over tonight, and that's it.

Oh, we've made some plans, though. For the first time, Jarrah will be going out for the evening--taking our place on date night. She and her babysitter will spend a lovely couple of hours at Chuck E. Cheese while we kick back with take-out and vodka and Red Vines.

The chocolate is melting, waiting to be poured. Somewhere, Jon Stewart is sweating. Outside, the rain falls quietly. Tonight, though, they're predicting clear skies--and lots and lots of stars.

Addendum: So, if you switch out Nicole Kidman for Denzel Washington, I was totally right back in November about how No Country for Old Men would take Best Picture. Harumph. At least Javier Bardem showed his dimples and brought his mother.