Liveblogging the Oscars is a valiant activity, and truly I applaud anyone who undertakes it. And you know what else I love? Talking about movies. And, kind of, talking in general. But following a recent viewing of Transamerica, I offered a totally irony-free review of, “Wow, Felicity Huffman’s performance was really good, you guys!” and quickly came to realize that I had nothing original left to offer regarding this year’s awards. I don’t know anything you don’t know at this point, other than the fact that the funny, funny gay cowboy montage right after Jon’s monologue already kind of happened on last week’s Colbert Report. But they were right to bank on nobody knowing that but me, as I am the only person who watches The Colbert Report.
So, in the interest of not subjecting you to my latest brilliant thoughts about how I gassed up my car this morning with the fossil fuel that has become of Lauren Bacall’s face, I’m going to leave the liveblogging to everyone else, and instead liveblog…everything else that happened on my Oscar Sunday. Today, you may consider pamie.com your refuge of boringness in a world that has grown otherwise too exciting and glamorous.
And I’m not starting from the bottom like a real liveblog, because the jig is pretty much up about this being a real liveblogging experience, right? Hey, can I put “liveblog” on a plastic bracelet and have it be the symbol of internet awareness? It’s worked for other causes with “live” in them.
10:00AM – Awake to a phone call from my brother telling me he’s home from a trip to Florida. And though his flight left Ft. Lauderdale (official home of forgotten grandmothers, plastic-covered couches, and rote conversation about how humid it is AGAIN) at 4AM our time, he seriously rallies and makes it to Pamie and stee’s Oscar party. (Photos to come, since you asked.) He is rewarded for his tenacity by a) coming in next to last in the Oscar pool and b) accidentally being called an alcoholic. By me. Sorry about that.
10:35AM – Get in car to get the hell out of Hollywood before I accidentally end up on the red carpet as Robert Altman’s date (or candidate for his latest heart donor). Drive to Pam’s while listening to fabulous new music I bought at Amoeba with Darren‘s gift certificate. Call mom and have the following conversation:
Mom: So, Herb and I saw Mrs. Henderson Presents.
Dan: Is that a real movie? I thought the Weinsteins just made a trailer.
Mom: No, we saw it. And that Judi Dench…
Dan: Um, Dame Judi Dench.
Mom: Right. Sorry, England. Anyway, she was amazing. She’s nominated for something, right? She should totally win whatever it is. Is it Best Actress? Or Best Supporting?
Dan: She’s not going to win.
Mom: She’s not?
Dan: No. The only person with worse odds to win that award is me. I called Vegas.
Mom: But she was so good!
Dan: She’s not going to win. She has an equal chance of winning things she’s not even nominated for. She has a better chance of winning Best New Car Of The Year.
Mom: That’s sad.
Dan: She’ll sooner ascend to the American presidency.
Mom: Will she come in second?
Dan: She won’t even beat Keira Knightley.
11:00AM – Arrive at Pam’s. Customary weekend run. We’ve become the person I used to pretend I was in college, when we would drink until 4AM and then part with the tired quip, “So, see you for the 6AM jog?” Ha ha ha ha ha. We’ve become the joke college versions of ourselves. The irony loop has closed and we have fallen into the matrix.
12:00PM – Shower. Watch stee make shopping list that has three things on it and laugh as he notes, “Good thing I made that list.” We leave, bringing it with us anyway.
12:15PM – Pam dictates rest of the day: “Okay. We have four hours. We have to eat lunch, get a smog check, hit the Cingular store because my phone can’t seem to pull itself together, go shopping, and get home and start cooking before people start showing up.” I am sincerely intrigued by the ambitiousness of this plan.
12:30PM – “That smog check place is closed. That one, too. Aaaaaaand that one. Damn it. When did this country get so Christian-y?”
12:45PM – Delicious, delicious lunch at the last untried restaurant in Eagle Rock. The lack of a sign telling us, “Arbitrarily closed on Sunday from 12:45 to 2, because places in Eagle Rock are only closed at the exact moment you plan on eating at them” is only one of restaurant’s recommending qualities.
1:45PM – On my second cup of coffee (Oops! I lied!), I realize we’re not half as concerned about the time as we once thought we were. La la la lee loooooo.
2:00PM – “Okay, I’ll do the smog check tomorrow. We do have to go to the Cingular store, because my stupid phone isn’t working at all.” Oh, my god. This entry has totally just turned into “Lazy Sunday” without the funny rapping.
2:25PM – We’re lost in Glendale.
Pam: Where the hell are we?
Dan: We’re lost in the world’s most construction-heavy area of Glendale.
Pam: Did we pass it?
Dan: Maybe we should…
Pam: Oh, god. Listen to what’s on the radio.
Dan and Pam: “I’m all out of faith / This is how I feel / I’m cold and I’m ashamed / Lying naked on the floor.” And so on.
2:40PM – We are still lost in Glendale.
Dan: Are we still in California?
Pam: What should we do?
Dan: I’ll call information.
Pam: But we’re going to the Cingular store.
Dan: Right, so I’ll call information and find out the address.
Pam: Isn’t that what you have?
Dan: No, I also have Cingular. But that doesn’t matter, because I just need a business address.
Pam: But if you’re calling on your phone…
Dan: I need you to stop talking now.
3:00PM – We are marooned at the Cingular store. That might be its own entry. But if you’re ever in Northridge, do me a favor and tell Tyler that Dan and Pam sent you.
3:45PM – Arrive at Trader Joe’s. Gather ingredients for world’s most awesome guacamole recipe. Pam loses me in the checkout line and accidentally smiles at a girl she thinks is me. Girl confusedly smiles back and retreats home to write own blog entry about experience.
5:01PM – Some sort of awards show seems to be beginning.
8:37PM – Win $60 in Oscar pool for arbitrarily picking Memoirs of a Geisha about four more times than I should have. Do celebratory shot of Jack Daniels. Proclaim day rousing success.