"I didn’t know I was this geeky until I discovered the online world through my office’s 2400 baud modem back in ’93." And the Oscar goes to ME
Staying up all night to watch the Academy Awards to post the results to the job website before any other site in the world (I checked all the big ones, seriously, we had it first.) isn’t worth the incredible hungover feeling that dominated the day after.
Somewhere I lost time. In bed 6am. Woke up 3pm, struggled for 4 hours, went back to bed and didn’t wake until 7.30am the next day with a mild migraine and the lingering memories of a nasty nightmare.
In which several ex-friends and parents outdid each other trying to humiliate me. Thankfully, I don’t remember quite enough of the dream to know which sore point exactly they were putting pressure on. But the one friend wouldn’t look at me and said I talked too much. And the other parent laid bare my non-existent love life.
It felt bad. Probably not as bad as Bill Murray (wearing Helmut Lang) must have felt — having sat through 10 times of ‘… and the Oscar goes to… Return of the King’ (NOT the best film in the trilogy by miles) only to see his one chance of holding the golden statue pass on to that little upstart Sean Penn. And to have Billy Crystal rub it in in front of millions: “But we still love you, Bill.”
Unadventurous fashion, dull speeches. A very ugly mix of nervousness and greed.
And Renee bloody boring Zellweger.
