Awards are, we can all agree, stupid. Unless you win one. Then they are good. This past week was the Academy Awards AKA the Oscars AKA the only awards show this gal (me) watches. Like most awards shows, the people behind the Academy Awards AKA the Oscars market it as night of excitement—the reason we need live television! In truth it is a night of boredom—the reason we watch highlight clips online the next day! Occasionally (every three to five years) something good happens (Adele Dazeem, the Moonlight / La La Land mixup, the slap) but you have to sit through less entertaining cringe in the meantime.
My loyal viewership stems from a buried childhood conviction that one day I will win an Academy Award AKA an Oscar, a fantasy my brain will maintain until my dying day. I am now past the age I have won this award in my fantasy; because in my fantasy I have won it for Best Actress, an award usually given at the ripe age of twenty-four and a half. Now I’ll have to settle for a delightful cameo that garners a Best Supporting Actress nom, but unfortunately the delight of that cameo relies on my already having established a previous career as an ingénue, so I guess I’m still screwed.
Do people who were born without the particular mental illness that makes you pursue a career in entertainment also hope to win Academy Awards AKA Oscars? I hope not, even though it’s impossible for me to imagine living a life where you have never wanted to win an Academy Award AKA an Oscar. It’s like assuming you’ll never know love or breathe air.
This year, family that had presumably flown in to view our new baby found their attention drifting to the Academy Awards AKA the Oscars instead. As she dozed, blissfully unaware that she hadn’t yet been nominated for one, the assembled company released a running commentary on the show. This commentary often peaked at moments where I wanted to hear what was being said. It turns out that even celebrities, with all they’ve accomplished, aren’t immune to my mother’s criticism—it made me feel a little less alone. And though I’m rapidly aging out of the demographic that knows who celebrities are, I am still a little more in tune than my parents, which meant the chime of “Who’s that?!” issued forth approximately every five seconds, including in reference to people no one knows, like sound designers (sorry, guys). Those poor unknowns were thankfully unaware that their thirty seconds of glory in a lifetime of indignities were being punctuated with “Enough already! Wrap it up!” from the viewers at home.
Many years ago, we watched the Academy Awards AKA the Oscars at my aunt’s house. Jennifer Lopez sauntered on stage to present an award. My aunt, seeking the wrong council, chose to ask my mom, “Gail, who’s that?” My mom, speaking from the inhaled wisdom of skimming grocery store and dentist office People magazines, replied confidently, “Jessica Lopez. You know, Jo Lo.” It’s some comfort to think that with all that Jennifer Lopez has accomplished, even she’s reduced to Jo Lo in the minds of (members) of the general public, which brings me back to my original point, that awards (even the Academy Awards AKA the Oscars) are meaningless.
Until I inevitably win one. Should be any day now.
Jennifer who!?
Loved it! Felt like I was sitting around with all of you❣️