Oscar’s Latest Makeover: Still a V.I.P. or should he R.I.P.?

Sparkle, Oscar, sparkle!

This year’s Academy Awards were a qualified success. But the question still stands whether Oscar still has what it takes. So imagine, if you will, Oscar scrambling to re-invent himself for NEXT year…

Oscar having Grey Goose martinis at the Beverly Hills Polo Lounge with his agent, Ari.
Ari: So, did you think about some of the ideas I texted?
Oscar: Yeah, I liked some of them. Others, I don’t know…
Ari: Like what? You gotta get with the times, old man!
Oscar: Yeah, yeah. I realize that. I think I’m okay with Twittering being projected onstage…
Ari: Don’t worry about the actors’ reactions–
Oscar: Oh, I’m not. Most of them can’t even read their cue cards! And I’m sure some of the actresses will love Pixar versions of themselves handing out awards instead of their Botox versions…But do you really think Miley Cyrus is host material?
Ari: Are you kidding?! The timing is perfect. She’s the hottest, she’s got the demographics, and she hasn’t gone apeshit Britney yet…though that could be a plus, too.
Oscar: But she hasn’t done any films…
Ari: Uh, “Hannah Montana: One in A Million,” $30 mil first weekend, Golden Boy…Plus, “Hannah Montana: The Movie” is coming out… The only thing better would be “Hannah Montana Does the Jonas Brothers.”
Oscar: That doesn’t seem worthy of an Oscar. A promise ring, maybe…
Ari: You gotta step up, keep up with the times, or you’re gonna get walked over. Or worse, passed by.
Oscar: And do you really think people are gonna be cool with the performers in the musical numbers being blown up by Will Smith?
Ari: Trust me. The folks back home watching will love it.
Oscar: It would be a coup to bring the show in at 3 hours…
Ari: Think about it, will you? Hey, I gotta run. Having dinner with Grandma…I mean Grammy. She seems to be having the awards jitters, too… her numbers aren’t what they used to be, either.

(The next day, an increasingly agitated Oscar visits his plastic surgeon’s office.)
Doc Hollywood: So, tell me what you don’t like about yourself.
Oscar: Well, people are always telling me I’m over-the-hill. That I take too long…
Doc: Too long to WHAT, exactly?
Oscar: Everything! You name it! The monologue, speeches, production numbers… Whadda people want? My ass? Know what, folks? Kiss it, it’s gold-plated!
Doc: Well, still, for 81, you look fantastic …
Oscar: That’s just it. I’ve gone from looking good to looking good for my age.
Doc: That gold-plated spray-on DOES gives your skin a certain glow. Use any fillers?
Oscar: Not unless somebody drops me. Or throws me.
Doc: Throw you? Who in their right mind. . .
Oscar: Look, I’m not one to tell tales out of school but I’ll give you the initials: E.T. And I’m not talking about the extra-terrestial, baby!
Doc: So what do you think I can do for you?
Oscar: Make me different. New. Fresh. Relevant.
Doc: Perhaps what you need is counseling. . .
Oscar: Who do I look like? One of those starlets gone wild?
Doc: Perhaps a life coach?
Oscar: Maybe. I thought a new agency would help. For all the good it did, I might as well be hosted by Joan Rivers on the TV Guide channel!
Doc: I really caution against any drastic physical alterations. Remember what happened to Coca Cola?
Oscar: I suppose. I’m branded. But I wonder if anyone is still buying?
Doc: You’re an institution…
Oscar: If I don’t get my numbers up, I’m gonna be a museum. Here’s a wild thought: What if I became anatomically correct? Could you see the headlines? “Oscar finally gets some balls!”
Doc: Do you really see that as a long term solution?
Oscar: I think it could get a lot of play…so to speak.
Doc: Do you think the Academy members will cover this?
Oscar: Oh, they still want Oscar. Believe me, they’ll go for anything I say.
Doc: Why don’t we schedule a followup so you can see what your enhancement would entail?
Oscar: Fine. Listen I gotta run. I told Oprah I would talk to Doctor Phil. He seems to think he can help. What is he, fucking Superman? Anyway, gotta go…

(Later, at the Ivy, a swanky Hollywood eatery…)
Doctor Phil: SO, OSCAR…WHAT I’M HEARING is that you NEED ADULATION to BE HAPPY…To BE WATCHED is to BE VALIDATED. IS THAT RIGHT? BECAUSE IF IT IS…
Oscar: Would you keep it down, you schmuck?! Do you think I want everyone here to know my
business?! There’s more plants in here than FTD and I don’t need this on TMZ! We’re just having a social outing…
Doctor Phil: OSCAR, What I am SEEING is a MAN who has a GRANDIOSE SENSE OF HIMSELF. Do you REALLY THINK the WHOLE WORLD IS WATCHING YOU? Because IF YOU DO, I HAVE A NEWSFLASH…
Oscar: Hey, Foghorn Leghorn! That’s the whole point…I want the whole world to watch me. That’s how it used to be, baby!
Doctor Phil: Bullseye! You USED to be big…
Oscar: I’m still big! It’s the audiences that got small!
Doctor Phil: WELLLLL, GUESS WHAT, GOLD MAN? WELCOME TO THE NEW MILLENIUM! THE WORLD CHANGES AND IF YOU DON’T CHANGE AS WELL…
Oscar: I know! What the fuck do you think I’ve been trying to tell you, you beady-eyed blowhard?!
Doctor Phil: YOU KNOW, DOWN IN TEXAS, WE MELT TOOLS LIKE YOU DOWN TO CUFF LINKS!
Oscar: Yeah? And Texas is where Oprah should have left you. I’ve gotten better advice from fucking fortune cookies! Check!

(Later, in the dead of night, a desperate Oscar is ushered in at L.A.’s Church of Scientology …)
Oscar: I can’t fucking believe I’m doing this…
Tommy Boy: Heh, heh, heh… trust me, Wingman. This is gonna turn everything around–
Oscar: I’m not your fucking wingman, you wingnut. And don’t think you’re a slamdunk for an Oscar just because–
Tommy Boy: Hey, man. I’m just here to help. I’m doing this only to help save the industry that I’m so proud to be part of. Help me, help you…
Oscar: Jesus. Have you ever had an original thought? One that wasn’t scripted by Scientology or Hollywood?
Tommy Boy: Hey, I got a lot of mileage out of that line–
Oscar: Yeah, and you got a lot of mileage out of being married to Nicole, but nobody’s buying that line anymore, either…
Tommy Boy: I WILL SUE YOUR ASS IF YOU SAY THAT AGAIN!
Oscar: Yeah? And you can’t handle the truth!
Tommy Boy: THAT’S NOT FUNNY!
Oscar: Oh, settle down, Shorty. I was just kidding…
Tommy Boy: Do you know what an honor it is to have a audit with the great man himself?
Oscar: Why do I feel like I’m visiting the Wizard of Oz?
Tommy Boy: Seriously, to be granted a meeting with Hubbard himself–
Oscar: Well, I hope you guys took him out to thaw in time. What’s keeping him, anyway?
Tommy Boy: All in good time. We just want to make sure we’re on the same page–
Oscar: Of “Dianetics?” Listen, I am here for a serious career boost. Period. And if that means I have to sell my soul to Scientology, so be it…
Tommy Boy: You have no idea what this is going to do for you as a person.
Oscar: This isn’t personal, it’s business.
Tommy Boy: You may see things differently later…
Oscar: And what exactly can Scientology offer me in terms of viewership?
Tommy Boy: You. Have. No. Idea. (Tom throws back his head and laughs maniacally.)
Oscar: I know, you bonehead. That’s why I’m asking. And could you try using whole sentences?
Tommy Boy: Do you have any idea how many people are out there who are Scientologists? Who believe? Who need to believe? Who will DO anything they are told?
Oscar: If anything means watching the Academy Awards, let’s hear it.
Tommy Boy: I’m just going to write a number down…
(Tommy Boy writes down a number on a piece of paper and slides it across the table. Oscar looks at it.)
Oscar: Really? That many?! Are you sure you guys aren’t fucking Mormons?
Tommy Boy: Please. They’re pussies.
Oscar: I bet that word hasn’t come out of your mouth in a while.
Tommy Boy: THAT’S NOT FUNNY!
Oscar: Oh chill out, Rainman.
Tommy Boy: (Quietly) They can’t begin to compete.
Oscar: Fine. Let’s get the show on the road. Where is Brother Hubbard?
(Tom pulls out a briefcase from under the table and puts it in front of Oscar.)
Tommy Boy: Ron will be along shortly. First, I have something to show you.
Oscar: (Yawns) Is this your Scientology promo video? Because it probably won’t be as funny the second time…
(Tom opens the briefcase and an eerie light appears from within…)
Oscar: (Softly) Oh…
Tommy Boy: Exactly. So are you in, or out?
Oscar: In! Heil Hubbard!
Tommy Boy: THAT’S NOT FUNNY!
(Fadeout)

Dave does…

In writing class, we have been talking about interviewing.  And the buzz over the Joaquin Phoenix/David Letterman interview has been in the news.

What I have always noticed with Dave is he’ll often give guests just enough rope to hang themselves. But sometimes they put the own noose around their necks! Before there was Joaquin, there was Crispin Glover.  Or Farrah Fawcett. Interviews like this cause controversy. Real? A Put on? Either way, Dave runs with it!

And on a few occasions, Dave gets it right back.  Madonna’s snarky “F-Fest.” Or Cher’s calling him out as an asshole when he goads her into saying why she resisted being on his show.

Phoenix Rises?

Flustered Farrah?

Cher’s comeback quip

Extra-Crispy Crispin

“Lady” Madonna

Oh, I wish I was an Oscar movie winner…

My favorite two Oscar quotes of the night:

“…I want it to be very clear that I do know how hard I make it to appreciate me often.”– Sean Penn, on accepting his second Oscar for “Milk.”

A.R. Rahman, who won Oscars for both original soundtrack and original song from “Slumdog Millionaire.” –“All my life, I had a choice of hate and love. I chose love, and I’m here.”

The Oscars has been promising to be more entertaining for years now. This year, it came pretty close, with some welcome changes. There were a number of funny and touching moments, plus real speeches — not laundry lists of agents and lawyers.

In recent years, I have pretty much stopped watching award shows, which have become dinosaurs. When I was a kid, watching the Oscars was a big deal — popcorn, staying up late and seeing REAL movie stars.  Over the years, it seemed to keep the worst of the old days (lumbering pace and plodding production numbers) and kick out the best (star power, not just the latest flash-in-the-pans).

Will award shows like the Oscars improve or continue to stubbornly resist change like most other failing industries in the U.S. of A.? Only time will tell.

Here’s a glimpse of Oscars past:

Two of Hollywood's most fab females: Audrey and Grace.

Hollywood's hot couple circa '62: Natalie Wood & Warren Beatty.

All eyes on Queen Elizabeth Taylor, winning her first Oscar in '61 after nearly dying of pneumonia a month before.

Adams’ angel in a centerfold

Beau in uniform as an intern...

You knew it was gonna happen, didn’t you? Sam’s ex-beau will be rolling out his stimulus package for a men’s magazine.

Breedlove’s erotic photos will appear in the May 2009 issue of Unzipped magazine, which hits the streets in mid April.  The photos will be accompanied by an exclusive interview with Breedlove.

But in case you think Beau’s just cashing in, think again.  Breedlove’s spreadin’ his love for far loftier reasons.

“Beau Breedlove was extremely professional at his first erotic photo shoot in Los Angeles this past weekend,” Unzipped’s online editor, Sean Carnage, told Advocate.com. “He came to L.A. to prove that the Portland scandal does not define his sexuality. The photos portray the real Beau—a confident and extremely handsome young man who is openly sensual, openly sexual, and has nothing to hide.”

I wonder if he brought his pooch Lolita to the photoshoot as he did with his spread in The Oregonian!

Next up: Lifetime, the channel for women (and gays) presents “Love Hangover: The Sam Adams Story” starring Rob Lowe, in his most challenging role since “West Wing.”

Rob Lowe, will channel West Wing and his own sex videos for his most challenging role to date as Adams.

Thank you, God, for not letting that thoughtless little pig, Alec Baldwin, portray me!

NOLA still deserves LOVE…

Shotgun style porches create airflow for plantation slave quarters.

Since yesterday was Fat Tuesday, I thought I’d jaw about my recent trip to New Orleans. My 7th foray, actually, and still love NOLA. I am not blind to the downsides — just love the upsides more. And since it is now time to abstain, I’ll recall the indulgence of my jaunt down to ‘Nawlins.

Along with some pals of from my homestate Michigan, we visited friend and former Michigander Stevie S., who now makes his home in the Big Easy. Actually, he lives on Algiers, a cool little island just south of the French Quarter.

The pocket known as the French Quarter is like stepping back in time. Touristy? Of course. But if you can ignore the sugary drinks and gaudy art galleries, there are incredible shops where you can find virtually everything you ever wanted.

We ate. Alot. From local grub like crawfish, fried okra, deepfried soft shell crab to nouveau New Orleans cuisine. I passed on the raw oysters, though. After hacking up ongoing allergy/cold gunk since moving out to PDX, I didn’t feel the need for intentionally swallowing gray goo.

And drink? Yes, please! But not like the old days, when I would walk through the Garden District or Algier neighborhoods, admiring the architecture as the sun was rising. That’s the beauty of being able to take your drink in a to-go cup. But nowadays it’s: Sip. Sip. Sip. Beignets and chicory coffee for hangovers. The deep-fried pastry has enough powdered sugar on it to leave you looking like cokehead Al Pacino in “Scarface” after devouring one.

Courtesy of Steve, we took a daylong plantation tour. He is in construction, specializing in historic renovation, so he was a charming and informed guide. Aside from the grandeur of the plantations, the simple but ecologically ingenius ways people created airflow through the construction of their homes, naturally irrigated their land and thrifty ways they benefited from their work was something to behold. Of course, the sad side is that slaves were a big part of all this production. And to see the slave shacks and where they worked was humbling and slightly eerie, if you tried to put yourself in their shoes, which most didn’t have, by the way.

Not the slave quarters...

And apparently, there’s still strong socio-economic tension, worsened by the post-Katrina economy. But it’s always kinda been there, because the lines are so strongly drawn. Black/white. Poverty/money. And sometimes they collide, often taking shape in hold-ups or break-ins. But the intriguing mix of history, multi-culturalism, free-and-easy lifestyles continues to pull people to New Orleans.

Dear Facebook…

Dear Facebook:

This isn’t going to be easy, so I am just going to come right out and say it: I think we need to spend a little more time apart.

Don’t think for a minute that I don’t appreciate everything you have done for me.

FB – you don’t mind if I still call you that? – you have a wonderful way of bringing me together with my friends and family, who are far away. Of sharing my rapier wit with others. For seeing me in the best possible light. Literally, like showing off flattering photos of me and my exciting life. Not to mention enabling me to stalk people I once slept with. What more could anyone ask for in an online relationship?

I am sorry for not always being attentive to you, FB. When Burger King offered a free Whopper, or as they say in Amsterdam, a Royale with cheese, for the low price of defriending 10 pals, I was bereft. Because I would have gladly befriended 10 frenemies for a burger today and de-friended them tomorrow, with relish!

I didn’t mind being tagged by friends through you to share 25 Random Things About Me. Because you seem to enjoy those endless lists of trivia to pass on to my Internet pals. But really, my friends already know it’s ALL about me. Seriously, there is a part of me that feels compelled to scope other lister’s “25 things,” only to read something that makes me snort my coffee through my nose and sneer, “What the fuck were they thinking?”

I know you don’t consider this a virtue, FB, but my one saving grace is that  I am not infected with today’s viral oversharing bug. While I or family members may seem like perfect candidates for “The Jerry Springer Show,” we are actually quite reserved. We prefer to share emotions naturally, such as meltdowns at weddings and funerals. I may overshare in person if you are a reeeeaaallly good friend, or if I have a bit too much to drink, or if it might make you like me enough to want to have sex with me. What can I say, FB? I’m kinda old school that way. I just see no reason to list personal memories on the Internet that have been expunged from my legal record.

Here’s the thing, FB: You’re starting to interfere with my daily life. Oh, it was great at first, making new friends through you. Being reunited with old friends and long-lost family members, courtesy of your reuniting skills. But with all this befriending and sharing, I’m not getting anything done. Then it occurred to me: Human beings are not supposed to stay in touch with everyone they ever came in contact with! Otherwise we would be human glaciers, accumulating and dragging all sorts of human debris along for the bumpy ride we call life.

And I must say that I’ve never counted my friends before I met you. I guess 101 friends seemed like a lot to me, until I saw one friend had 499 “friends.” Does that make him a Facebook man-whore? I’m not judging, because I was feeling like a Face-hooker with 101 “friends” – but pushing 500? I think that calls for a free Whopper.

Honestly, those little things about you that I used to think were cute or just tried to ignore – often both, truth be told – now bug the shit out of me:

Thanks to you, FB, I  have 44 invites to places I never go, have time to go, or in some cases, would rather be set on fire with gasoline, than go.

I am offered to join causes that I don’t care about. Let newspapers die, already! The “Guess Jessica Simpson’s Weight” group is of more social significance, at this point.

I have had “friends” offer me Facebook “drinks” who have never bought me one in real life. “Champagne for my real friends, real pain for my sham friends” definitely applies here.

I hear everyday from a “friend” who neither I or any of my other friends can seem to place. I live in fear that said “friend” is my biggest fan and wields a mean sledgehammer.

People I can’t get on the phone are the most fervent Facebookers. They share…alot…at Internet’s length. Hookups, marriages, breakups, babies and funerals are all now shared at the online townsquare, thanks to Facebook and “friends.” Even Prince Harry isn’t immune to getting a public royal shaft: his girlfriend reportedly ended their five-year liaison by changing her Facebook status to: “Relationship: Not in One.” Someone send him a hug icon!

Honestly, FB, the same crap people used to send on MySpace is now being sent through you. Just like it used to be sent by e-mail. And before that, snail mail. They called them chain letters, back then. And all these tugs on my time is starting to make you feel like a ball and chain.

When I left MySpace for you, I thought I was moving on to something better, but I am afraid that I have just made a lateral move. I’m not saying I don’t want to see you anymore, but maybe just give each other some space – perhaps we could call it OurSpace. I’m sorry, that was meant to be funny.

I will check in with you, just maybe not so much. Tell you what. I’ll send you a rose icon tomorrow. Like everything online, they last forever.

Logging out,
Rico

That’s right, I’m talkin’ about you!

‘I DON’T know about strangers, but friends – yes!”

Oscar Levant, Hollywood pianist/scathing wit,  made this reply to his draft board during World War II when asked if he thought he could kill.

Sho does Sham, apparently

An unnamed instructor of mine thought I was getting a little “pun-chy” in an essay I wrote about a certain mayor regarding “the propriety of a 40-something politician “men-toring” a just-turned-18-year-old intern.”

I had considered “poll-ing.”  Rocking the vote?  Keeping in touch with the constituent’s base? Insert pun here…

Rico sez…

Friends have been flogging me about doing a blog for some time. Now I am required to do one for a class. Be careful what you wish for…  I promise not to equate blog with blather. A friend once described me as mean with a nice streak. He spoke in jest. And usually, so do I!

Oh Mickey, You’re So Fine!

In “The Wrestler,” Mickey Rourke is directed by Darren Aronofsky, who gave us that other feel-good flick, “Requiem for a Dream.” The consensus on Mickey’s comeback runs from “role of a lifetime” to “just playing himself.” Both are correct.

As for that latter back-handed comp, give the guy credit for going there. Cuz it’s not pretty. But it is compelling.
The sublime moment is when Rourke heads down the hall to what will probably be his last hurrah, to the strains of “Sweet Child of Mine.” Awesome, cuz Mickey and Axl are each other’s equivalent!

Marisa Tomei is appealingly natural as the struggling stripper. But I love how by Hollywood standards she is no longer desirable because she’s not 20 years old. By Middle America standards, she’s still rockin’.  Really, wasn’t Melanie Griffith available? Mickey and  Melanie together…oh, my. Now there’s a throwdown!