Countdown to Oscar!

I remember television that I watched 28 years ago.

I thank my mother for her many virtues among them her dedication, rock solid work ethic, and for passing on her love of the Awards of Merit for the Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences. Been doing the Oscar marathon since I was a wee 6 year-old. My earliest Oscar memory remains watching my mom applaud Dustin Hoffman's win for Best Performance by an Actor in a Leading Role for Kramer vs. Kramer in 1979! (It won 3 more times that year for Best Picture, Best Supporting Actress (Meryl Streep) and Direction (Robert Benton). The legacy of the single-parent-divorce-tear jerker is long. Hoffman remains her favourite celebrity of all time and Kramer is the only film to date that she can tolerate seeing more than once and she wails every single time! She nearly lost her sh*t when I shook his hand and he complimented me on my hair at last year's TIFF.

This Sunday my kin and I will recreate the scene from my 1970's childhood with a few small alterations. We'll get our jammies on later and swap the take-out Chinese for spicy tuna rolls. We'll ditch Barbara Walters' Oscar Night Special in favour of the gowns of the garish on the red carpet. Confirmed presenters include Hugh Jackman, Cameron Diaz, Reese Witherspoon, and be-still-my-beating-heart George Clooney. (Can't WAIT for Ocean's 13. George doesn't know this yet but he's lending us his digs on Lago di Como this summer).

Tensions will be high as newly minted studio head Tom Cruise attends with Robo-bride Katie Holmes with not one, but TWO exes in tow. Kidman is presenting and Penelope Cruz is nominated and although I'm holding out for a miracle, I doubt my Italo evil-eye hex will reach Helen Mirren in time. We'll praise the stunning and normal-bodied (my Penelope) in the California sun and boo the emaciated and over the top (read Celine Dion's garish diamond and backwards Galliano tux). We'll don our maple leaves and cheer on Torril Kove for The Danish Poet and Deepa Mehta for Water and Ryan Gosling for Half Nelson but will graciously accede defeat when Forrest Whitaker takes it all for The Last King of Scotland.

We'll covet the live via satellite dis' that comes every year,(looks like Bush is a likely candidate) and we'll consume the tabloid trash the next day only to forget within 48 hours what 2 days earlier had moved us so much.