Wet Willies, Damp Divas

The award's name is Oscar, of course, but if they changed it to Willy, my headline would be very clever, wouldn't it? And I think it would humanize the affair: Imagine Meryl Streep or Michael Douglas opening the envelope and saying, "...and the Willy goes to..." I think it could work, don't you? I'm at work today, getting ready for the Oscar blitz. We've got three forms (48 pages) to move between noon and midnight today. That might not sound like much, but realize that every word, every photograph on those 48 pages has yet to be written or shot or edited. (Well, actually about eight of them have been, but that's not much, believe me.)

And it has been wet for the past couple of days. I was out on the roof of our building here at The Reporter, up on the 6th floor, looking north to Hollywood. The Goodyear blimp was hovering over Hollywood and Highland where the Kodak Theater is situated and, looking west, I could see another band of showers moving in from the sea, working their way east into the basin, about to douse the fabulousness below with yet another torrent of rain.

Getting to work today was a bit of a chore. Highland Boulevard, which I usually drive, is closed from Franklin on the north to Sunset Boulevard on the south. Hollywood Boulevard is closed from La Brea all the way to Cahuenga on the east. Yucca is closed. Hawthorn is closed. Orange is closed. Sunset is crammed with cars, as is Cahuenga. I had to head east, all the way to Gower (east of Vine on the map) before I found open travel.

Somebody just asked me how many of the nominated pictures I'd seen, and I had to admit it was none. I've seen a couple of the nominated performances in other films, but none of the big five. Even more reason to get on the screeners list here at work.

On the homefront, things are going well. We cleaned the fish tank yesterday, which is always a rather involved undertaking. The fish seem much happier, though. With the rain we've been having, we tend to stick around the house and watch DVDs a lot. Even with the tank cleaning yesterday, we went through all three of our Netflix rentals in one day. Today, I am at work and Steve will be going to his annual Oscar party at Steve and Roberto's. I've only met them at their annual Christmas party. They throw really good parties.

Beuford has migrated to beneath the greenery out on the patio. I think it takes him back to nature. Having been created on the Central Coast (in Halcyon, no less), I'm sure he misses the simple life. I considered taking him up north with me when I go to visit the moms and the cousins this coming week, but I think he'd put me over my weight limit, luggagewise.

And by the time you read this, the Oscars will be over and all the winners will be elated and everyone, winners and losers alike, will be partying until the wee hours of the morning. We will get the paper put to bed by midnight, and I'll be planning out my exit to the north.