I’d Hit It
Maybe it’s that darn book, but I have to confess, I spent less time than usual this year thinking about the relative merits of the Oscar fashions, and way more energy than usual assessing the relative spongeworthiness of the various attendees.
It all started on the red carpet. Sure, I noticed the weirdly origamesque jacket Jennifer Hudson was wearing, and yes, I cringed every time she shoved her hands in the pockets of her formal gown because, much though I understand the allure of the concept, formal gowns should not have pockets. The very nature of the gown precludes the presence of pockets! But, mostly I was obsessed with Leo, and how creepy he looked with his hair all slicked down like that. He looked Creepy Neighbour Guy creepy. Which is sad, because he’s the guy from Titanic, and nobody should be thinking of him as Creepy Neighbour Guy and I realize supermodels clamour to be the object of his attentions, but seriously? There is not enough vodka in the world for me to take that home with me.
Things weren’t really looking up once the show got started, either. If not for the customary shades and the seat right up front, I would have never known that the sinister looking cancer patient was Jack Nicholson. I don’t know if the bloated bald look is for a role, or if good old Jack is suffering some health problems, but I have to say, I could completely understand why his date appeared to have been born in his decade, instead of the usual, young enough to be his daughter starlet. Again, not enough vodka in the world. And possibly not enough money, either.
Then they cut to Mark Wahlberg, and can I just say, that boy cleans up nice! And I bet he still looks hot in his Calvins. That thought nearly distracted me from the Addams Familyesque pairing of Eva Green and whoever that guy was with her; was I the only one put in mind of Wednesday and Pugsley at the prom while they were on stage?
The real zing of the night came when they cut to Clint Eastwood, though. Clint Eastwood is aging well. Very, very well. In fact, Clint is downright hot. There, I said it. Clint Eastwood is old enough to be my grandfather, and I find him lustworthy.
And I know most women choose Sean Connery for their…ahem…senior moment, but I’m convinced that that is just because they haven’t taken a look a Clint. But back off, ladies, because I saw him first.