I went to visit my sister this weekend, and in the pacific northwest, mere days after the conclusion of the winter Olympics just a few miles and an international border north, spring is springing. Take a look:
These are just a few of the buckets and buckets and buckets of flowers at the Pike Place Market. (They sell fish there, too.) Add to that the crocuses (croci?) daffodils and cherry blossoms gracing my sister’s front yard, and you know spring is ridiculously impatient this year. (Of course, I’m sitting at the airport as I type this, and its snowing outside, so you have to appreciate the season’s mood swings.) But the true harbinger of spring in recent years has been the advent of the Oscars! We all anticipate and wonder and prepare and view obscure little films we would never see for any other reason than trying to accurately judge their chance of winning and therefore our chances of winning the office pool, and wonder most importantly what everyone is going to wear.
Now, I’m not going to critique what people were wearing: I’m too lazy to hunt down and upload pictures of stars, and besides, there are bloggers that snark on Oscar fashion professionally, far better than I ever could. (I’ll just say this: Charlize, Xena wants her lilac satin breastplate back. There, I’m done.) However, I am a huge film buff. Really. I’m sought after by pub quiz teams for my mad movie trivia skillz. Best picture 1970? Patton. First movie that Tupac Shakur was in? Nothing But Trouble, as a background dancer guy. Don’t doubt my interest in or encyclopedic knowledge of all things film and TV. I will see everything, remember it, and judge it accordingly.
So, having seen all ten (!) nominees, I was deeply gratified to see that the movie that won best picture was the one I thought should win, as well as the director I thought should win, and not the one that made all the money. Now, time to go collect on my office pool…
More writing this week, so until later, happy reading!