Oscar Ennui

I'm sure some of you have been wondering where my annual comment on the Academy Awards nominations has been. (OK, probably not, but I need to prop up my ego any way that I can in these dreary winter months.) Here it is, a week late.

I had planned to write about the awards last week. I watched as much of the live announcements as I could before I had to leave for work. I dutifully printed out the full list of nomimations and approached it with a yellow highlighter poised at the ready. And then...

Ambivalence. Apathy. For the first year that I can recall, I have very few opinions about the Oscars race. Even after thinking things over for a whole week, I honestly don't care who wins what this year for the most part. That's quite a change for someone who got drunk on cheap champagne and threw things at the television when Forrest Gump beat Pulp Fiction in pretty much every category back in 1994.

There are a few nominees that I'm rooting for. Charlie Kaufman is long overdue to win a screenplay award, so I'll be keeping my fingers crossed for the mostly-overlooked Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind in the Original Screenplay category. I'm also pulling for The Incredibles, stuck in the animation ghetto of the Best Animated Feature. (While it is nice to see non-live action movies get some recognition, adding the category of Best Animated Feature pretty much guarantees that there will never be an animated film in the running for Best Picture.) And I'd like to see Virginia Madsen win for Best Supporting Actress, sheerly for the fact that she seems to be down to earth and reportedly jumped up and down in her living room when she heard her name read. I'd probably react like that if I was nominted, too.

And then there are the "anyone but..." awards. I was so turned off by Annette Bening's acceptance at the Golden Globe Awards for Best Actress (Comedy or Musical) that I am avidly hoping that she loses. I'm pulling for Kate Winslet or Imelda Staunton here. Catalina Sandino Moreno was fabulous in Maria Full of Grace, but she doesn't have a chance. (So what about Hilary Swank, you ask? I'm getting to that...)

I think the main reason why I can't get excited about this year's awards is that most of the favorites seem to be movies that I'm sure are very good but I have no interest whatsoever in seeing. The Aviator? Meh. Being Julia? Double meh. Closer? I saw and enjoyed the stage production at Playhouse in the Park, and from what I've heard, the screen adaptation isn't all that different. (Plus there's that Julia Roberts thing. Ick.) I want to see Hotel Rwanda, and I've been meaning to see Sideways and Kinsey for weeks now, but I haven't been motivated enough to brave the crappy weather and venture forth to the Esquire for a matinee.

And speaking of Sideways, what's with the Paul Giamatti Best Actor snub for the second year in a row? Is it because he previously portrayed a character named Pig Vomit? Is it because his father banned Pete Rose from baseball? Not that anyone stands a chance against the Jamie Foxx juggernaut, but I certainly would have preferred to see Paul's name on the Best Actor roster rather than Clint Eastwood's.

Which brings me to Million Dollar Baby. Every year there seems to be a movie that I actively dislike for no reason at all. Usually it's a movie that receives a lot of critical praise and media hype. Last year, it was a dead heat between Mystic River and Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World. This year, it's Million Dollar Baby. In the last week, I've seen Hilary Swank on several talk shows. Morgan Freeman is making the rounds as well. Entertainment Tonight and other gossipy entertainment shows won't shut up about it. I'm sure it's a good movie, but I have no explanation why the mere mention of it causes my eyes to roll uncontrollably.

There's been a lot of talk about the "snubbing" of Fahrenheit 9/11 and The Passion of the Christ. Um, whatever. Michael Moore purposely pulled Fahrenheit 9/11 from the Documentary competition; he rolled the dice on the Best Picture nomination, and he lost. End of story. (I'll just be anxiously watching the Razzies results to see if George W. Bush wins for Worst Actor.) The Passion of the Christ got the nominations it deserved: Cinematography, Score, and Makeup. The fact that it did not receive a Best Picture nod is no more a snub against Christianity than saying Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle not getting nominated is a snub against fast food or Asian-Americans. It wasn't what the Academy deemed a Best Picture-quality movie. End of story. (I personally didn't care for The Passion, but it is very deserving of the Cinematography award.)

Given my indifference towards most of the nominations, I've been giving some thought to changing the annual Chez Myo Oscars soiree. Maybe we could start the party earlier and watch movies that were ignored or underrepresented by the Academy. All I need is a snappy name for it - the Should'ves? The Notscars? (Of course, for those that are still interested, I'll still be watching the awards, if only to ridicule the fashion faux pas and root for Charlie Kaufman.)

I'm also thinking about holding a "predict the winner" kind of contest for all of my readers (you know, all five of you), but I need to figure out the logistics and decide on what kinds of fabulous prizes to bestow upon the winner. I'll make that decision in the next day or so. Until then, watch this space....

So yeah, the nominations this year may be lackluster, but the party is still on. Films, fancy dress (optional but encouraged, as always), and fabulous hors d'oeuvres. (Two words: evil cheeseball.) Who cares who the winner is?

Bad Gas

I've said it many times before: I love my car.

Yes, it's an old car with over 100,000 miles on the odometer. Yes, it's a shade of blue that really shouldn't exist in this dimension. Yes, the lock on the driver's side door sometimes sticks and I have to climb in from the passenger side. But despite all of this, I enjoy driving it (now that I've finally become comfortable with the stick shift), it gets me where I want to go, and it runs better than any other car I've ever had.

Well, until earlier this week, that is. Both my car and I suffered from tummy troubles.

I had to bow out of a potluck at Rosenkrantz and Guildenstern's house on Sunday night. I wasn't feeling well; my stomach felt as though I had lunched on Brillo pads. Worried that I was contagious (or that I would spend most of the time monopolizing the bathroom), I chose to spend the evening watching the DVD of Before Sunrise that I had rented earlier that week. (I wanted to see Before Sunset, but I figured it would be best if I'd seen the first movie. Or finished it, rather. I'd started watching it many years ago on cable at 3:00 in the morning, only to fall asleep in the last 20 minutes. The video store had them both in stock, so I decided that a two-night Richard Linklater festival was called for during the new year's festivities.)

The next morning, I felt much better. The Brillo pads had apparently dissolved overnight, and I made my way down to the garage to set off for work.

The car stalled out pretty much as soon as I started it. It proceeded to stall several more times on my way to the Zoo. When it wasn't stalling, it was jerking and hesitating, like it was having a hard time maintaining power. After chugging and sputtering my way into the parking lot, I sighed, pocketed my keys, and called my parents.

We arranged to meet after work and have someone follow me to my mechanic's garage (on the other side of town, but so worth the drive - he's taken care of all of my misfit cars since the days when I first got my license). Around 2:30 or so, I went out to check and see if the car was still running funny. (I would hve hated to have my parents waste their time if it was just a slight hiccup that had worked itself out.)

The car wouldn't start. I called MyoMom back, and told her to send a tow truck instead. (The tow truck, called for at 4:00 pm on Monday, didn't actually arrive until 11:00 am on Tuesday. Sigh.)

At one time, there was a bus line that ran from my neighborhood to the Zoo, but (as I discovered during the latest incarnation of The Great White Death) the line was rerouted to serve the hospitals rather than the Zoo. I could have gotten a transfer, but it would have required me leaving the house at 7:45 to get to the office by 9:00. I could have walked to the Zoo in that time. Thankfully my parents offered to shuttle me to and from work. (Have I mentioned lately how cool my parents are?)

After being snowed in for the holidays, the idea of being stuck in my apartment again with no transporation wasn't a happy one. I didn't have anything planned and anywhere in particular to go, but I was still a little bummed.

I finally heard from my mechanic (via MyoDad) yesterday. Apparently there was water in the fuel line, probably from bad gas, and it had gummed up all of the plugs and filters in the engine. They'd flushed the line, replaced pretty much everything, and changed the oil and antifreeze. We picked up the car after work. I am happily mobile again.

So essentially, I got all of the work done that I'd been putting off anyway (tune up, oil change, winterizing) all in one fell swoop. It wasn't really the way I wanted to have it done, but at least it was something fixable. (And, in retrospect, kind of humorous. JohnnyB was quite amused when I told him that the bad gas had fouled up the fuel line. "That's what you get for stopping at Taco Bell," he remarked. I guess that the Speedway near my house is the automotive equivalent of chili-cheese burritos: cheap, but ultimately not good for you.)

I have a car again. Guess that means I should start working on those "get off the couch and out of the house" resolutions, huh?