low culture asked Matt Haber’s dog to blog the 76th Academy Awards (“The Oscars®,” to those in the industry) in real time. Here’s her report from the biggest night in show biz:
8:30: I wonder if there’s anything left in my bowl. Sometimes I go back into the kitchen and there’s still a couple of pieces of food in my bowl for me. Maybe I should check.
8:32: Nothing in the bowl. Do I want water? Okay, a little sip.
8:33: Uch, I’m so itchy.
8:33: Ahhhhhhh… Scratching feels so good.
8:35: I wonder if there’s anything left in my bowl.
8:35: Damnit. Do I want water?
9:00: I’m not sleeping, just resting my eyes. I’m not even tired—
9:52: Itchy ear, itchy ear! Okay, that’s better. Maybe I should rest my eyes some more…
10:10: This chair is so uncomfortable. Maybe I should just turn around a bit. Damn, I moved the cushion a little. Let me just paw at it to get it right.
10:11: Still not right. Let me push it this way.
10:12: Fuckin’ hell. It’s still not right. Oh, wait. It’s perfect.
10:46: I wonder if there’s anything left in my bowl. Eh, forget it.
11:00: Why the hell is that guy still on the couch? What is he watching on TV? We’re usually walking by now. I gotta take a leak. Maybe I should get his attention by stretching a bit.
11:01: Do I want some water?
11:01: I shouldn’t have had all that water. Oh god, I have to pee so bad now.
11:10: What the fuck? He hasn’t moved in three fucking hours.
11:15: What happened to my life? When I was a kid, I used to have fun all the time. There were always tennis balls and squeaky things everywhere. I’d grab onto one of those things and just shake it all around with my head. Then my tail would start waving and I’d chase it for, like, hours. Now look at me. I just sit here all the time, staring at the floor. Nothing’s fun at all. Even going outside sucks. I wonder if I could kill myself using that leash thing. If I could just loop it over something, I might be able to hang myself.
11:16: I wonder if there’s anything left in my bowl.
11:16: Damnit. And there isn’t even any water.
11:20: The floor’s nice and cool. That idiot hasn’t moved from the couch for hours. I don’t know whose life is more depressing, mine or his. At least I’m getting old at a quicker pace. I’ll be dead sooner. Unless he’s dead already. He’s not laughing or anything.
11:25: Squirrels are weird.
11:30: Oh, right. My crotch. I haven’t licked it in, like, two hours.
11:40: Man, this feels good. If god hadn’t intended for me to lick my own vagina, he wouldn’t have given me this soft, flat tongue. Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah.
11;41: This is almost a distraction from how much I hate my life. I still have to pee so bad.
11:50: Okay, he fucking died. The guy’s been on that couch since 8:30. Do you realize that’s like 24 hours in dog years?
11:51 If he did die, I’m gonna eat his face.
12:01: Finally, he moves. Look at him stretching like that. He’s so stupid. Why couldn’t that family with the farm have adopted me? I’d be so much happier right now. I fucking hate New York and I hate this guy.
12:02: I wonder if there’s anything left in my bowl. Oh—walk time!
12:05: Ahhhhhhhhhh…. Pissing is so great. Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah. I could piss forever. Seriously: forever and ever.
Related: Hucksters Forbidden, Sameness Welcome, by A.O. Scott, The New York Times, March 1, 2004.