Little golden statues

The Oscars, you say? The Super Sunday of Hollywood? It’s being hosted by that Daily Show guy, whazizname, and Clooney might say something vaguely scandalous. Did I mention he’s really cute?

Well alright. Whatever you say. Here’s my take on the Oscars: I refuse to waste my time watching them. Everything important will be available to read in the blitzkrieg of rundown articles (sadly, none of which will mention the Rock-starring film of the same name), articles which will take 5 minutes—maybe 15 if they’re padded—to read. I don’t even share the red-state negativity toward Stewart, Clooney and the rest of the deep-blue Hollywood left; most are very fine artists with some very unfortunate political views. But the Oscars are little more than a multi-hour movie-industry glamorama love in which has only one real consequence: a little bit of effect on the box office. Until they’re honoring someone I know and like (or someone wants to pay me), I’ll read a synopsis or two in the paper the next day and respond to all Oscar based questions with a scowl and nothing more.