Sunday, February 24, 2008
Saturday, February 23, 2008
the quiet storm
Wow. Castro resigns, Mama’s Obama is on the rise and Brit gets visitation....lots of stuff is happening in our world, but none of it matters because it’s all about the gold. Oscar gold, that is. My household is gearing up this weekend for what we call the Holiday of the Year. The foam core and props are a flying and the bubbly is chilled. My poor hubby. I can’t draw a stickman, so Mama comes up with the ideas but G. has to bring them to life. You’d think I’d be going a little easier on him since everything but no. I’ve got Big Daddy cutting, pasting and revving up what will proudly be our third annual Oscars in The Ozarks. Hey, I do something besides being the brains behind this gold dust operation…I mop, I drink, I make the dessert and trollup the girls up in their festive award wear.
2008 is the Year of the Rat for a lot of reasons. Five, actually, as Pixar is dancing a rodent jig over Remy’s five noms. W. thinks “he’s a good actor, mom, and he should win.” Who knows? If Crash can nab Best Picture two years ago, then anything can happen. I have to say, the Coen Bros have done it again for me with their warped brand of cinematic excellence and Stewart will give us a laugh or two as he heads up this grand 80th year. Mama misses her Billy, but what are gonna do? Yes, 2007 was a time for heightened drama, violence out the wah-zoo..one of epic and bloody proportion. But when it all came down to it, it was the quiet ones that did it for me this year. Oh, sure, I’m a big ole drama queen from way back. I’ll cop to that. I’ve always loved my Daniel Day’s squalling, my Piaf tragedies...my Silkwoods and Norma Raes, but this year it was all about the cornflower eyes of Ms. Christie, snow-angeled against the pure white snow...lost in her tangled thoughts and fading memories. Her soft, exquisite beauty is electric and it was an honor to see her grace the screen again...perfectly paired with a lovely performance by Gordon Pinsett. As of late, I am reminded of Ledger’s solitary, restless character in Brokeback...such promise and a Steve McQueen magic in that young man. Very sad…to lose a budding artist, at the beginning of his voyage.
Tommy Lee (as in Jones, not Motley) was powerful and is another vote for Mama this year. That weathered everyday face simmers with its usual quiet intensity and just brings me to my knees. There was a scene where he listens to someone describe the manner in which his boy has been murdered and that still, close-up of a moment taught me more about my craft than any pricey Master Class. You know, good acting is never easy but it is more of a challenge, I think, to play the characters that are holding a bit of something back...from us..from themselve..struggling to make sense of the chaos and not quite sure just how to do it...drawing us into their whisper, taking a small part of our heart to make it all complete. Speaking of heart...Mr. Holbrook and Amy Ryan- you both should walk into Vanity Fair's gala tomorrow night, holding the gold, or the world just isn't right.
Oh, I know, when it comes down to it, it’s all about the campaigning and money..like Hollywood’s never been about anything else but that. But for this old softie, Oscar Sunday is about the magic, the art, the mystery, and yes, absolutely about the couture. I realize that Art of any kind is abstract and when it comes down to it, tomorrow isn’t about being the best actor, the best movie-maker...but a wonderful opportunity to celebrate the power and beauty of the cinema, the art of performance and the mind-blowing amount of talented peeps it takes to put together all those cinematic jewels. For a young girl, growing up on a farm in the South, an hour bus ride to school...the movies were my salvation in a sense- my impetus for shaking the dust of a small town off my shoes...an escape from the hard times of watching my brother slowly crash and burn...the answer to who I was and the path to where I thought all of my dreams laid like a big pot of gold. That precious journey has molded me, unfolding many layers and yielding much treasure along the way. But enough with all that. I just can’t wait to see what Kirkland wears.
2008 is the Year of the Rat for a lot of reasons. Five, actually, as Pixar is dancing a rodent jig over Remy’s five noms. W. thinks “he’s a good actor, mom, and he should win.” Who knows? If Crash can nab Best Picture two years ago, then anything can happen. I have to say, the Coen Bros have done it again for me with their warped brand of cinematic excellence and Stewart will give us a laugh or two as he heads up this grand 80th year. Mama misses her Billy, but what are gonna do? Yes, 2007 was a time for heightened drama, violence out the wah-zoo..one of epic and bloody proportion. But when it all came down to it, it was the quiet ones that did it for me this year. Oh, sure, I’m a big ole drama queen from way back. I’ll cop to that. I’ve always loved my Daniel Day’s squalling, my Piaf tragedies...my Silkwoods and Norma Raes, but this year it was all about the cornflower eyes of Ms. Christie, snow-angeled against the pure white snow...lost in her tangled thoughts and fading memories. Her soft, exquisite beauty is electric and it was an honor to see her grace the screen again...perfectly paired with a lovely performance by Gordon Pinsett. As of late, I am reminded of Ledger’s solitary, restless character in Brokeback...such promise and a Steve McQueen magic in that young man. Very sad…to lose a budding artist, at the beginning of his voyage.
Tommy Lee (as in Jones, not Motley) was powerful and is another vote for Mama this year. That weathered everyday face simmers with its usual quiet intensity and just brings me to my knees. There was a scene where he listens to someone describe the manner in which his boy has been murdered and that still, close-up of a moment taught me more about my craft than any pricey Master Class. You know, good acting is never easy but it is more of a challenge, I think, to play the characters that are holding a bit of something back...from us..from themselve..struggling to make sense of the chaos and not quite sure just how to do it...drawing us into their whisper, taking a small part of our heart to make it all complete. Speaking of heart...Mr. Holbrook and Amy Ryan- you both should walk into Vanity Fair's gala tomorrow night, holding the gold, or the world just isn't right.
Oh, I know, when it comes down to it, it’s all about the campaigning and money..like Hollywood’s never been about anything else but that. But for this old softie, Oscar Sunday is about the magic, the art, the mystery, and yes, absolutely about the couture. I realize that Art of any kind is abstract and when it comes down to it, tomorrow isn’t about being the best actor, the best movie-maker...but a wonderful opportunity to celebrate the power and beauty of the cinema, the art of performance and the mind-blowing amount of talented peeps it takes to put together all those cinematic jewels. For a young girl, growing up on a farm in the South, an hour bus ride to school...the movies were my salvation in a sense- my impetus for shaking the dust of a small town off my shoes...an escape from the hard times of watching my brother slowly crash and burn...the answer to who I was and the path to where I thought all of my dreams laid like a big pot of gold. That precious journey has molded me, unfolding many layers and yielding much treasure along the way. But enough with all that. I just can’t wait to see what Kirkland wears.
Friday, February 8, 2008
sleighbells and superbowl
Who says ya can't recreate a holiday? Who says Santa won't catch the red-eye down from the North and visit two little girls who missed out on all that magic and mistletoe while their daddy was away? And then when you're lucky enough to get three inches of the white stuff and school is cancelled and all four peas in your pod are stranded inside with hot chocolate, popcorn and movies...well, it just doesn't get much better than that, folks. Christmas in February. Pretty darn cool. A red hot month with just a splash of gold added to the mix for good measure...our first Valentine's Day together in 8 years, plus Oscars in the Ozarks, and Mama's even going to be celebrating another year of mid-life at the end of all this month long madness!
But back to last weekend's belated Yule extravaganza....do not ask me why a mother would purposely subject herself to a Barbie cell phone that plays a very loud, maniacal version of Beethoven's Ninth. Or why she'd tart up her own two year old with a three dollar pair of hot pink plastic high heels to teeter around the house in. And I can not even go there with myself...for all the purple feathers floating about the living room from the matching saloon-ey boa purchase and the goopy glittery lip gloss that the girls insist they need to reapply every ten minutes. I don't get it. I visualized an Opie, but got a couple of frilly, pageant types. And Mama's Christmas gift? Well, I was hoping for a Tiffany-wrapped box of Prozac, economy sized, but had to settle for the sweet smile on my man's face and the vocal performance from the two hams I gave birth to while holding their battery operated microphones that feed into the stereo for Dolby surround sound. Oh, yeah.
So here we were, awash in a sea of giggles and holiday wrapping. Big Daddy out of the sick bay- finally...some Christmas cheer, a present or two..and the biggest football day of the year, no less. A man's dream- minus the Doublemint Twins and the keg. Me? I didn't even know what teams were playing, per usual, as the ESPN thing just never did it for me. I like my guys naked, bald, holding a crusader's sword, standing on a roll of film and golden, baby! It really just goes to show ya though, that you don't need a calendar..or a clock for that matter..to make it any kind of day you want it to be. It felt special to have something that was all ours and the world didn't even have a clue. Yep, it's pretty darn good to have all the Mags together again after what seemed like an eternity. My, my..how life can change on a dime, my friends. All the more reason to make it just the way we want it, when we want it..paying no mind to how silly or out of sorts it seems, and to go on and hang those stockings from the mantle with care and keep the fireplace clean no matter what time of year it may be to make way for all the magical ho-ho and wonder that surely comes our way.
But back to last weekend's belated Yule extravaganza....do not ask me why a mother would purposely subject herself to a Barbie cell phone that plays a very loud, maniacal version of Beethoven's Ninth. Or why she'd tart up her own two year old with a three dollar pair of hot pink plastic high heels to teeter around the house in. And I can not even go there with myself...for all the purple feathers floating about the living room from the matching saloon-ey boa purchase and the goopy glittery lip gloss that the girls insist they need to reapply every ten minutes. I don't get it. I visualized an Opie, but got a couple of frilly, pageant types. And Mama's Christmas gift? Well, I was hoping for a Tiffany-wrapped box of Prozac, economy sized, but had to settle for the sweet smile on my man's face and the vocal performance from the two hams I gave birth to while holding their battery operated microphones that feed into the stereo for Dolby surround sound. Oh, yeah.
So here we were, awash in a sea of giggles and holiday wrapping. Big Daddy out of the sick bay- finally...some Christmas cheer, a present or two..and the biggest football day of the year, no less. A man's dream- minus the Doublemint Twins and the keg. Me? I didn't even know what teams were playing, per usual, as the ESPN thing just never did it for me. I like my guys naked, bald, holding a crusader's sword, standing on a roll of film and golden, baby! It really just goes to show ya though, that you don't need a calendar..or a clock for that matter..to make it any kind of day you want it to be. It felt special to have something that was all ours and the world didn't even have a clue. Yep, it's pretty darn good to have all the Mags together again after what seemed like an eternity. My, my..how life can change on a dime, my friends. All the more reason to make it just the way we want it, when we want it..paying no mind to how silly or out of sorts it seems, and to go on and hang those stockings from the mantle with care and keep the fireplace clean no matter what time of year it may be to make way for all the magical ho-ho and wonder that surely comes our way.
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