Edsel was just pawing at the door, rearing up on his hind legs like he’s Bonnie Blue Butler’s horse, so I let him out. For the second time this morning.
He TORE to the fence so he could bark endlessly at Jackie, the black-brindled, personality-free greyhound that belongs to my gaybors. Edsel bowed and he wagged, and yet his hackles were raised all the way to Kansas, and as per usual he bark bark bark bark barked at Jackie. Who stood on her side of the fence motionless, her sparkly collar glinting in the sunrise.
Look, Jackie the personality-free dog is adorable. I love her. I luff her long long neckeldy area. And her sparkly collar. But quirks and foibles? Poses and sounds? She has none.
And I can’t tell if Edsel wants to be friends or wants to eat her slim neck out. I can’t really read dog body language as fluently as I can cat body language. You show me a cat, and I know its every thought. For example…
…this is a cat who is sick of being Yoko’d every time a certain Hair Lady comes over.
Seeing as I don’t have TV channels, and Marty Martin never invited me over MARTY, I watched the Oscars at Ned’s, or I did till 11:00 when I had to give up and go to bed. Ned called me this morning to tell me who got Best Actress or whatever politically correct term we’re using now. Leading Actor Who Contains a Vagina. No, that wouldn’t fly anymore, either. Actor in a Leading Role, Who Identifies as Female.
Anyway, he also told me what won Best Picture, and I won!
At work, for the newsletter that I no longer edit (I was the longest-running editor. Gave it up this past spring), they interviewed people who went to a lot of movies to see what they thought would win Oscars this year. I not only said I wanted The Shape of Water to Win, I also got to pose for the movie poster! I have no idea who “Karen Sommerfeld” is in the credits, up there. Anyway, everyone who participated in the article got his or her picture made into a movie poster from the nominated films.
Especially touching was the presentation of all the posters Friday, when the editor who replaced me said, “We really wanted to make the newsletter something people actually wanted to read.”
June smiled wanly and tried not to think about the six years she worked sizable ass off to do just that.
As for the Oscars themselves, I was torn between thinking Nicole Kidman looked like a windup doll and thinking that color was stunning on her.
Why the red eyes, tho? Was she mourning the use of her forehead muscles? And why does her hair look like mine when I’ve worn a knit cap?
Despite the Ipana chipmunk face she’s making here, I adore her. I adore her like she’s Jackie the greyhound, except she also contains personality. She looked fabulous.
Look. I don’t want men harassing women, but something about Ashley Judd getting involved feels opportunistic. Is it just me? Is she just sticking her face in front of us right now while she can, like Julia Roberts’ date in 2000 or whenever it was? Do you remember that? Julia Roberts was nominated for something. Best Rearing on Hind Legs or whatever, and she brought the appropriately named Benjamin Bratt. NOT ONCE did he let the camera rest on her without leaning over to also get in the camera. Oh, how I wish I had a blog then. Twas irksome.
The point is, Ashley Judd the Opportunist looked very pretty.
Honey, no. I WANT to like you, really I do, but less is more. Has no one told you this? Dial it back, Selma.
[Nudges her] Wake up, go upstairs and fix your hair. The Oscars are on.
See. I would have loved this with Selma Hayek’s complexion, not Whitey England, here. Is she English? I guess I just assume. How is her broken toe not dying in those shoes? What do you mean, everyone doesn’t have a broken toe?
Made from the actual 1977 floor debris swept up from Studio 54.
My favorite. Ooo, she’s perfect. And Ima go out on a limb and guess she didn’t have barbecue and chocolate cheesecake as a certain nonblogger did yesterday.
I fekking LOVE this head glitter! Oh my god, love. You know how I am.
Oh, also, I loved that what’s-her-name wore pants. Wilma Flintstone. What the feck is her name? That actress everyone loves. Emma Keys. No, that’s a hamburger place here. Emma Watson. Sharon Stone.
Emma Stone. That’s it, thank god. Anyway, I like how everyone on the set of E! gasped when they saw it. And speaking of that brain trust, I pretty much just had to turn the sound down on those four Rhodes Scholars. If I had to hear “Gore. JUSS” one more time.
“That dress is gore
[OH FOR FUCK’S SAKE pause]
I also had to hear “Stunn. NING.” 28 times. Giolinna Rancic or whomever is just bones and vapidity, man.
Oh! There’s one more I forgot I hated.
I love Emily Blunt, but she wore my 9th-grade Gunny Sax prom dress and didn’t even ask if she could.
That wraps up Oscar 2018. Now I can stop with the pilates and eliminating carbs and go back to really living.
Trying to make a blog people would actually read,