gold dust woman

Another Oscars is fast approaching, and I am having a grand ole time, dah-lings, diving into all the cinematic morsels that have been so graciously thrown my way by who I like to call my Movie Angel. As I have said before, it is my favorite time of the year and although I don't get to participate in my all-out-noms movie marathon as I did when I was a footloose and fancy-free actor back in the day, it's not too darn bad hunkering down on the sofa under a Winnie-the-Pooh throw, in my Toasties with the curtains drawn. And sometimes I get lucky and find a couple of watermelon Nerds that have fallen in between the cushions! Yesiree, a stay-at-home-mama has gotta go with the flow and although my 24 inch Sony isn't the proper way to view a good letterbox or some high-paced action..it will have to do. The kids are both in school now, so I have my mornings to gym it as it were and then reward my aching abs with a good flick. Sort of a Hurt Locker type of thing all the way around, I suppose.

I am still in the middle of catching many of them but I must say, Carey Mulligan's finely nuanced performance in An Education is my pick so far (a lovely movie by the way). Don't even get me going on Ben Foster in The Messenger. A deeply moving performance from this young man. It's a shame the lunkhead Academy voters didn't think so and instead gave the nom to Woody Harrelson. That was just too easy..the kind of role I like to call actor-proof. Oy. I don't get it. But then I never did get Hollywood. And my chunky rump is sitting here in the Ozarks on honorary SAG withdrawal..so what do I know, right?

Mr. Foster's love scene with the wonderful Samantha Morton was as soft as smoke and didn't even involve a kiss. I just love these young actors who take the job seriously and un'affected'ly and really do the work because so many out there waste our time. And, I'm sorry, I don't mean to sound all ornery with my gold lamé panties in a bunch but.....well, now, you folks know I joke about alot of things but when it comes to the craft of acting and the power of cinema, Mama is heart-attack serious. No, it isn't a cure for cancer but it does have the power to change people, I think. Movies have meant and still mean so much to me. When I was a wee lass, they helped to inspire me to do more, do better, to feel deeply...comforted me when things got scary and opened this small-town girls eyes to all the promise and possibility out there on this big beautiful ball of rock. As old as I am, I'll never forget the sync of my finger taps on that smelly Malco armrest with the click of Tony's boots as he bopped his way down the sidewalk with the polyester dancing around his ankles. Almost spilled my Tab. Or the Vangelis synthesizer pulsing over the ocean-sprayed chest of Ben Cross in a slo-mo Chariot beach run. Well, I guess Mama is dating herself a little bit here. But, hey, we are still making a lot of good films today...and there's color now! ;-)

Yes, I've enjoyed quite a few of this years nominations. Gearing myself up for Precious. I am sure it will be amazingly powerful, but especially now that I'm a mom, the child-abuse stuff is almost too hard for my heart to bear. I'm still freaked out over that Eastwood/Jolie film last year. Today came extremely early as I set the alarm for Inglourious Bastards. Nothing like Tarantino at 5 in the morning. Great flick though. Cristoph Waltz- brilliant. Up is the only one "mom-approved" this year, so I have to squeeze in my viewing whenever I can. Delightful movie that Up. I'm certain it will nail the Animated Feature o' the year.

I still have to venture out into the wild blue yonder and catch Avatar. I'm not a huge Cameron fan. I'm still hurling from that King of the World schmaltz. I'm sure it will be an eye-popper though with that stereoscopic 3-D thingy majigger cam he's developed. I just can't for the life of me figure out why these film makers have to take three hours to tell a story! Good Lord. I'm with Hitchcock and feel 'the length of a film should be directly related to the endurance of the human bladder'. And yes, unfortunately, it could very well destroy the underdog and possibly sweep it all this year. Again, though- what do I know? The only award I have is for the lead in my senior high musical. And the plastic arm is broke off it. Aw, hell, Mama likes her movies with real people in them, what can I say? Speaking of Hell, on to hotter and hornier things- Bridges was great..best hair in Hollywood, that guy. I'm a sucka for that melancholy, smoky, boozy bar room kinda stuff. The song should snag the award. T-Bone usually has a golden touch. Clooney was a real charmer in Up in the Air. Terrific screenplay..hope it wins. My hubby's correct in saying he's the Cary Grant of our day. Smart as a whip, funny and dang...looking fine in a well-made Italian suit, isn't he ladies? The sexy actress opposite him was very good, too. Good old-fashioned chemistry, those two. And what a great way to earn a paycheck! You know, I'd like to see Bigelow blow the roof off and win it for Hurt Locker. Besides being the flick of the year..how cool would it be for a lady to bring home that golden boy for once and shake it all up...make a little history? Better yet, she'd get to have a major one-up on the old ex-husband! You go girl!

Oh, I could just go on ad nauseum about Academy Award season. Baldwin and Martin are going to rock the joint. I just hope Alec doesn't pull out the cell and get into a fight with the kid midway through. I miss my Billy Crystal but what are ya gonna do? Maybe he'll come out of that Bogart shadow one day to host again and bless us with those ab fab Best Picture montages of his. Speaking of hosting, the Mags aren't having their annual Oscars in the Ozarks this year. Boo hoo. No glycerin needed for me. I'm at the crest of a hormone tsunami and am simply not up to it. Bummer..but over the last four years we've sure had some laughs & good times in our red-carpeted double-wide.

I think it is quite fitting that the Maglets and I have chosen to do a "Snuggie Oscars" for this 82nd Academy Award extravaganza. My tired old butt is actually looking forward to a feet up on the coffee table, store bought dessert type of evening. And hey, how cool is this- if I get hammered, I can just fall over on the sofa as I will be all ready for bed. No covers needed. Check the gate and moving on! The girls are anxiously awaiting their virgin strawberry daiquiris. Feathered and baubled-up lucite cocktail glasses have been assembled and are good to go. Of course, Mama Bear and Papa Bear will be having something just a wee bit stronger to go down their two goozles. Uh-oh, better call in the focus puller. Yep, the red carpet is going to be laid alright but the couture is going to be understated to say the least. And that is okey-dokey by me. Listen, if Bjork can where a swan sticking out of her ass and Celine..with that fedora on steroids, then I can wear a damn robe. Besides, I'll have on my zirconium studs. I'm not completely white trash.

As if this month couldn't get more eventful, I just had the clapboard snap shut on another birthday this week. Jeesh. The "big 50" is looming ever so close as I inch my way slowly down those perverbial stairs toward that close-up. Nose hair and all. You can call me Norma, but I am surely not ready for it by a long shot, Mr. D. Yes, yes, in theory I should just step up on that apple box with pride and courage and spit middle-age right in the eye but...I am simply too disgusted to do anything else other than cuddle up in a glittery Size XL schmatte that wears like a blanket and stuff myself with chocolate volcano cake. Self pity aside, I did manage to have a nice little celebration with the fam this week to ease all the pain. After two loads of laundry, a sinkful of dishes & some minimal surface cleaning, that is. A mother's work is never done. Even on her birthday. That evening, we noshed on pulled pork & warm ciabatta and jammed two hours straight on Michael Jackson tunes with the girls. I threw my shoulder out dipping T-Mag on Beat It. It hurts like hell but I could still manage to hold a gold, eight pound, sword-wielding bald guy if given the chance. I was served Cheerios & strawberries in bed, fit for the Leading Lady I am, and given a humongous birthday card with my age fully emblazoned upon it for all to see. In bright purple, size 72 font, no less. Good times. Thanks, girls.

So here's to movies, ladies and gents. Let's raise our glasses, even if they aren't Waterford, to the gift of good film making and good acting! Its starry klieg has served to inspire hope, fuel the dreams and feed the heart of this old girl through many a year, no doubt about it. And that's a wrap.