Miss Pop Rocks realizes some of you didn’t even notice that the Golden Globes didn’t air last night; perhaps you were too busy watching the premiere of “Rock of Love 2: Now Even Skankier If That’s Possible.” But for a pop culture writer such as myself, I live for that awards shit! And due to the writers’ strike, the Globes didn’t happen. True, people still won Best Actress in a Drama or whatever, but what good is giving out awards without an awards show to do it at?
Awards shows are to me what football is to my husband. A chance to sit on the couch, eat snacks, and talk shit about the people on television. While Mr. Pop Rocks tends to whine about the abilities of the little men in their helmets and spandex pants, the award show season gives me the chance to vocalize about, among other things, the hideous and fabulous outfits worn by the celebrity ladies. (I don’t care what E! says, no one gives a shit where George Clooney or any of the other guys got his outfit. You put a man in a tux and they all look the same. Yawnfest.)
The Globes are good because the celebs typically drink alcohol at the table and the events tend to be more laid-back and fun (Jack Nicholson mooning the audience, the time Christine Lahti was in the bathroom when they announced she’d won, etc.) Plus, you’ve got your television stars mixing with your movie stars, which always makes me wonder if the television stars feel like sophomores at the senior prom.
Anyway, this year, no Globes. I can handle that although it hurts.
But if they take away my Oscars, I am going to lose my mind.
Every year, my little Oscar ritual is to head over to my friend Tamarie’s house with the largest supply of bad-for-you snacks that I can possibly wrangle, prop my feet up on her coffee table, and get to eatin’ and bitchin’, cryin’ and laughin’. Whether it’s the best editing of a short film winner thanking his wife and tearing up or the Gawd-awful song and dance numbers (of course, it never got worse that the infamous Rob Lowe/Snow White debacle back in `89), the Oscars are full of moments that make me want to keep on watching. I love the outfits, the crappy Bruce Vilanch penned chit chat between presenters, and betting on the Celebrity Death Reel Montage (which dead celeb will get the loudest applause?). For every critic who complains the show is too long, I say the show is too short. Bring it all on, every last little bit, so that I and every other pop culture whore can have oodles to dish over, dissect, despise, and delight in.
In closing, I beg all those involved to please, please, please, resolve this strike situation before the Academy Awards. I need my Oscar ceremony. It’s like my oxygen! (P.S. And you have to promise to bring back Snow White.) – Jennifer Mathieu
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