Mo (Or, The Local Train)

Well, Oscar season is finally over. And, as always, the build-up is more exciting than the actual thing. There were moments-of-the-highest-order (namely, Barbra Streisand in a very poorly chosen suit-with-a-doily-collar getting to present the first ever Best Director award to a woman. The kicker is that it wasn't Babs getting the award...and I'm hoping Kathryn Bigelow doesn't have a few red silicone-wrapped-nail tips stuck in her back this morning), but for the most part it was the same-ole-boring-shit-show. Whoever thinks that the American (or Global, for that matter) audience really wants to see interpretive dance routines at all is clearly at a loss.

When that Best-Score-Dance-A-Thon horseshit amped up - despite the presence of the feverishly handsome presenter Sam Worthington - I leapt out of the room. I had other more pressing matters...my sock drawer needed organizing and surely there couldn't be a better time to do it.

Anyway...mostly glad Precious won Best Supporting Actress and Best Adapted Screenplay. Both were well deserved.