Sunday was full of glitz and glamour, play-doh and spilt milk. The refrigerator was full of beer, the sippy cups littered the carpet, and we munched on chips and cheese dip. The television was barely audible over the screaming children, but we saw enough to know that the Oscar hosts were a lesson in what makes bad art. I also proved that I have skill (completely useless any other day of the year) when it comes to Oscar picks.
It used to be that the Oscar parties ran a bit late, there were often drinks followed by more drinks, and one year there were even a few costumes. Babies haven’t stopped us, and Mark and Jackie (our hosts) have yet to claim anything other than the booby prize. In five out of the last seven years, either Khary or I have won the Oscar pool. Yes, we expect that at some point we’ll be disinvited. Because it doesn’t matter that I only saw three movies, or that I (incorrectly) went for an upset in one of the major categories (Melissa Leo was amazing but I listened to Roger Ebert and picked the girl from True Grit, a movie that I haven’t seen). The smaller categories pushed me over the finish line, again.
I guess I’m kind of like Charlie Sheen: Winner. Except that I'm not a douchebag.