Thursday, March 01, 2007

late but short

Again, this is late but just a short one.

I’m still overwhelmed of the euphoria over Marty’s win. I mean, he even thanked (I believe from the bottom of his heart) the common people, i.e. the lady he meets in the elevator or sidewalks, who’d wish he’d finally win. And what was George Lucas doing in the midst of Steven Spielberg and Francis Ford Coppola?

Except for Allan Arkin, I got 7 of the 8 major categories. I was almost certain Eddie’s Oscar-whoring would amount to something but the Arkin’s upset was almost inevitable. Others are really impossible to gauge. Think Live Action Short or Documentary Short. Not even all of the Academy members get the chance to cast their votes on these categories.

Ellen DeGeneres should host next time. She made a real whopper when she joked that “look at Jennifer Hudson in American Idol, America did not vote for her but look she has an Oscar nomination. Al Gore… Well, America did vote for him… So complicated…” Imagine the look on my George W. Bush-sucks face, I almost spilled my glass of water. And that “Hey Clint Eastwood, can we take a picture for my MySpace, and oh Steven Spielberg can you hold the camera while we pose?”

Agonizing montages. I only like the one with Ennio Morriccone and the one ‘celebrating’ the nominees. And Tom Cruise presenting humanitarian award for Sherry Lansing, empress of Paramount Studios who booted him out for tardiness? What’s up with that? Most gorgeous: Penelope Cruz, Eva Green, Kate Winslet, Anne Hathaway, hell even Leo I must say is dashing. Gwyneth is wrapped in fish-like gown.


photocredit: oscarwatch.com

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Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family, Choose a f—king big television. Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose a three piece suit on hire purchased in a range of f—king fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the f—k you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing f—king junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, f—ked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose a future. Choose life . . . But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin’ else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you’ve got heroin?

Renton, Trainspotting