Ready for some Oscars

He's got critical acclaim, how 'bout you?

You may have noticed that I’m not a massive sports fan, by which I mean, you may remember several of my previous updates in which I explain that I’m not a massive sports fan. This would be no big problem if I lived in some incredibly nerd friendly country wherein acts of physical ability take a backseat to spelling bees and competitive video gaming. But no, I don’t live in South Korea – I live in America, where professional athletes make more than the president and you can scarcely turn on the TV without seeing burly men throwing balls or hitting balls or hitting each other or hitting each other with balls.

Every few months, a major sporting event comes up and everyone around me with the good sense to take an active interest in sports starts to talk about it, leaving me at something of a loss around watercoolers and other such dispensers of beverages. The World Series, the Super Bowl, the Stanley Cup, NBA playoffs, whatever the hell they call the tennis thing – try as I might, these events just really don’t interest me. Don’t take offense, now; the things I like don’t interest you either – why else would just about every TV show I like get cancelled?

Sports dominate our culture, and often the only time that all Americans are united, save for hatred of France or hatred of our own elected officials, is when one such big televised sporting event is on the horizon. However, there is one night - one night – when the thing that interests me is the thing that interests everyone else. That, dear readers, is the night of the Academy Awards, when the beautiful and (sometimes) talented all get together and rub smooth, lovingly moisturized elbows before passing around gold statuettes of a naked guy holding a sword dangerously close to his privates.

Why do I like the Academy Awards so much? I honestly can’t tell. It is, after all, basically prom, only this time around the people are twice as successful, three times as beautiful, and I’m not invited. When all is said and done, the whole affair is just one big handjob for Hollywood – the sons of bitches who greenlit Beverly Hills Chihuahua and have yet to give me Serenity 2 - and yet for some reason I eat it up with a spoon.

Some people watch high school football videos from around the country to identify the potential college players, who, in turn, will become potential professional players, who, in turn, will become potential beer and razor commercial stars. I, on the other hand, go spelunking in the bowels of IMDb in search of upcoming independent films with serious award potential. It’s not really hard; just look up Phillip Seymour Hoffman and pick any three of the movies he’s starring in for the coming year and you’ll probably have at least one nominee on your hands. Paul Giamatti and William H. Macy are also pretty good indicators, but not quite as reliable as the pudgy, bespectacled thespian who danced his way through Capote and Punch-Drunk Love. Basketball fans have Michael Jordan, I have Phillip Seymour Hoffman. I’m going to edit together a highlight reel of his greatest moments and put it on YouTube with the “Hey!” song in the background. I think he’s going to go all the way with Doubt this year.

Maybe it’s because I appreciate the celebration of creativity,* and even though it’s being celebrated by the sort of people who I traditionally distrust and ridicule, it’s the only game in town and I’ve got no choice. Oh, sure, there are other awards shows, but I’m really eager to know who gives a shit about the People’s fucking Choice Awards. The People’s Choice Awards is where everyone in America votes on what elements of pop culture they like best, hence why Kid Rock won an award this year for his "song" where he mashes up “Sweet Home Alabama” with “Werewolves of London” and calls it original. You know what, America? That kind of shit is why we have an electoral college. It’s because our founding fathers feared – and rightfully so, it seems – that the American public would be too stupid to handle the loaded gun that is democracy. That’s why these award shows need to be done by a committee of sorts, not just asking everyday Americans what kind of stuff they like, because when you ask Americans what they like every year, you’re going to keep getting the same answers: Family Guy, Will Smith, and Kid Rock.

*…Truman said, sounding gayer than he had ever sounded before.

Kid Rock has an award and I don’t have an award. Kid Rock sucks, every minute of every day, and they gave him a freakin’ trophy for it. He just took two other songs and mashed them together along with his essay about what he did on his summer vacation! You don’t see me mashing a couple of other people’s blogs together and calling it my own work, do you?

See, they don’t let that sort of shit happen at the Academy Awards. All the nominating and awarding is done by members of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. The very name implies prestige. Reading a name like that – a name that is commonly shortened to just The Academy, and how badass does that sound? – conjures in my mind images of men in suits and ties and women in evening gowns walking briskly through elegant corridors, drinking fine burbon and laying out in fine detail which movies will be known as “good” and which will be known as “great.” Also, there’s a rather warty intern who nobody likes in charge of picking the musical performances during which most of America heads to the kitchen in search of more hummus.

Soon, The Academy will release the names of the nominees, at which point I will go to work watching all of the Best Picture candidates, and as many of the Best Screenplay candidates as time allows. This could put something of a dent into my social life, but bear with me – Christmas in February comes but once a year. It’s during this orgy of filmdom that I feel that I understand sports better than ever. Sometimes, it’s just great to be fanatical about something.

Truman Capps also noticed that Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull was nominated for ‘Best Movie’ at this year’s People’s Choice Awards. Proof at last that a staggering number of Americans are dumb motherfuckers.