Oscar bunk

I'm ready for my close up Mr. DeMill. Why all the hype? I don't get it. Why would I sacrifice 3 hours of my life I will never get back, in front of my TV, watching people weep and blather and run off to a drunken Bacchanal which I'm not invited to. Nobody sending me a limo, or lending me finery or giving me free swag, which is another word for expensive junk that 99.9% of the world's population is doing without, some just fine. Isn't it enough I'm shelling out $10. of my blood sweat and tears, earned income to keep these guys in designer duds and luxury homes? Truth be told I was one of the slaves of Oscar night back in the day when my friend and movie buff, Marlene, lived a couple of doors down. She'd brew a pot of coffee and we'd smoke cigarettes and sup java, commenting on the speeches; clothes movies good and bad we've seen. That was fun. My favorite Oscar show when Ben Aflick and Mat Damon won for best original screenplay. Writers everywhere rose up and cheered from their couches. Plus they took their mom's to the after parties. Love them then still an fan now. But since Marlene's decamped for Toronto, and we've moved to a bungalow, I don't have time to watch. Unless there's laundry to fold. Now my son, on the other hand will be glued to the set. He's an actor and someday, perhaps maybe there, in the audiance holding his breath while the ballot is being read. I hope I'm in the seat next to him. I'll even buy my own dress.