8:43pm: Fuck, I am so, so late. Supposedly this shit started at 8pm, right? But then there were all these issues with the express A-train lingering between stops in the tunnels under Manhattan for what seemed like forever. So I finally show up, and the hostess is all, “Hi, you’re early…only a few people are here yet.” I totally should have taken the C-train. It makes local stops.
8:44pm: The handful of attendees who have shown up thus far are dressed, shall we say, excessively well. Like, ties, and coats and shit like that. Apparently, there was a dress code of sorts? My t-shirt neglected to actually read the invite. Or rather, Evite. That’s probably related to the fact that I fucking hate Evites.
The hostess, meanwhile, looks great in a sleeveless knit top and dark pleated skirt, and her boyfriend is wearing a magnificent outfit by D&G. I ask her who she’s wearing, and it’s clear she’s already drunk as fuck, because her response is something along the lines of turning to the boyfriend and saying, “By the end of the night, him.” Not so funny, and slightly dated, but, damn, the boyfriend’s shoes really do work well with the slacks.
8:57pm: People have begun arriving in disparate groups of ones and twos and threes. We watch them as they stroll down the hallway into the living room, and pepper each new arrival with questions: Your name? Did you find the place OK? Did you fill out your Oscar ballot? You already missed the best original screenplay award, did you know that?
9:25pm: Everyone is talking about how great Cate Blanchett looks, you know, for a Brit. One guest makes a joke about British people’s teeth that’s met first with a chorus of laughs then several examples of British people with good teeth. Everyone agrees that Jude Law is very good looking and was robbed this year, maybe twice. Also, the pretzels bowl is getting dangerously empty.
9:54pm No one can name a single Sidney Lumet film before the montage begins. Man, the hostess’ cat is so cute. He rubs his head into my ankle and even lets me pick him up.
10:20pm Cat’s still in my lap! I can’t believe it. Everyone is cooing at him, saying he’s so cute. I sense some jealousy over how quickly the cat has taken to me. “I’m just a cat magnet,” I say. “Like Jack Nicholson!” one of the guests says. When no one laughs, he explains that he meant “‘Pussy magnet’—Nicholson’s a pussy magnet.” Groans all around. Penelope Cruz is on stage for some reason.
10:35pm People start taking photos of themselves. Someone says that Natalie Portman looks good, but I’m busy looking for the cat, who ran away a little while ago. It was my fault for shifting my weight in my chair.
11:03pm One of the guests makes fun of Sean Penn for his trip to Iraq. Another thinks he’s brave. I go to the fridge and get another drink. How many has this been? I lost count around the second Beyoncé song. Damn, only hard ciders. ‘Whatever,’ I think, and twist the cap off.
11:05pm There’s that cat. He’s crapping in the litter box. Best not to bother him now, I guess.
11:07pm Still shitting.
11:10pm What the fuck did this cat eat?
11:20pm He’s sitting on someone else’s lap now. There’s an opening next to her, so I go sit down. Cat seems to like me petting him better, but doesn’t move to my lap. Oh, so that’s what Charlie Kauffman looks like.
11:30pm Everyone chants along with Jamie Foxx. The cat runs from the room in fear. I’m getting a bit dizzy. Maybe the shrimp was bad.
11:36pm Maybe Dustin Hoffman had the shrimp, too. He looks bad. What? The room is practically spinning. Pretzel bowl empty.
11:40pm Everyone applauds and the girl next to me kisses me. Then I black out.
Monday, Feb. 28, 1:00pm What time is it? Where am I? Where are my pants? Who won what? And who is this next to me in the bed? Oh, it’s that cat! I told you I was a pussy magnet.
Author: jp
Iraq Suicide Bomber Kills at Least 115, the Associated Press, February 28, 2005:
A suicide car bomber blasted a crowd of police and national guard recruits Monday as they gathered for physicals outside a medical clinic south of Baghdad, killing at least 115 people and wounding 132 the single deadliest attack in the two-year insurgency.
Election Shock Treatment: The Democrats try to get over Iraq’s latest achievement, the Daily Standard/Weekly Standard, February 28, 2005:
WITH THINGS LOOKING UP for a change, this has been a rough patch of time for the Democrats. They have been suffering from Election Shock Treatment; which means the success of the Iraqi elections has shocked them into the realization that they may have to seek treatment, because of the trauma induced by the growing suspicion that President Bush has been right all along: right in the decision to go into Iraq; right in the decision to hang tough in Palestine; right in the belief that Muslims and Arabs may also want freedom; that elections there can be held, and succeed.
Virginia Governor Mark Warner, left, toast President Bush during a State Dinner for the National Governors Association in the State Dining Room of the White House in Washington Sunday, Feb. 27, 2005. (AP Photo/Gerald Herbert)
In the elevated, sanctimonious tradition of the inestimable Lloyd Grove, we issue this call to arms to pundits, writers, tastemakers, and (dare we say it) bloggers far and wide: Let us not speak of Paris Hilton again. Let us disregard those antics that would otherwise warrant so much fleeting press from so many fleeting media outlets. Let us divorce ourselves from her poisonous presence in American popular culture. Let us focus on more enriching enterprises, like rigorous discussions of the 17th season of The Apprentice, or Roger Avary’s screenwriting, or the career of Ben Stiller. Let us speak of steroids, of baseball, of horse racing. Let us embrace the Kentucky Derby with renewed vigor.
Let us look past Ms. Hilton’s three seasons of moronic reality-television output. Let us salivate no longer on the entity known as Paris Hilton: her casually-flouted nudity, her vapid imbecility, her patented pronunciations of “That’s hot.” Paris? Hot? You’re not.
Let us look forward to a day when this name will be synonymous with an endgame in the turning point of American culture, a utopian point at which we will have foregone such asinine documentation of these characters: the intellectually frail, the idiotically fulsome, and the irritatingly frivolous. Let us collectively embrace an era when we, the pundit class, can transcend such vile antics, and shall no longer forcibly parlay in matters of such juvenalia, such loathsome simplemindedness.
Paris? Ms. Hilton? We shall never speak of thee again. We are so much better than that.
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Office betting pools for the 2005 Oscar race are fast coming due, with the race for Best Actor seeming to pose a particularly difficult challenge for casual bettors and/or filmgoers. With that in mind, we’ve prepared this annotated list of nominees for Best Actor to help you make your picks this weekend…
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Leonardo DiCaprio Not honored for his role as Luke Brower in 1991’s Growing Pains Getting into character for this part required hours and hours of sleeping in a classroom closet. And being unbearably fucking handsome. Or is that unbearably fucking homeless? Aw, fuck it, look how goddamned cute this little street urchin is! First he stole our hearts, and then he fucked Katherine Hepburn. |
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Johnny Depp Not honored for his role as Officer Tom Hanson in 1987’s 21 Jump Street Yeah, that’s stubble on my chin. I haven’t shaved in like two weeks, you know. You can totally tell. I’m thinking of growing it out. What? Huh? Yeah, that’s a fucking gun in my backpack. It goes nicely with those drugs in your pocket, punk. You, against the lockers, now! |
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Clint Eastwood Not honored for his role as Philo Beddoe in 1978’s Every Which Way But Loose Because who doesn’t like to fuck monkeys? (This character was purportedly spun off to create the hit 1979 television series, B.J. and the Bear.) |
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Jamie Foxx Not honored for his role as Wanda the Ugly Chick in 1990’s In Living Color Being blind is one thing. But the foulest lay imaginable? |
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Don Cheadle Not honored for his role as Basher Tarr in 2001’s Ocean’s Eleven Getting into character for this part required hours and hours of listening to George Clooney and Steven Soderbergh’s pitching each other various TV series and film projects. All of which seemed like good ideas at the time. |
Oh, OK, wait a second…I think I get it.
It’s a “polite” thing, and by invoking the “Mister”, you’re deferring to his title as a head of state. That’s so impressively formal! We’ve got so much to learn from you Europeans.
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“On the other hand…”
President Bush, in his public statements on matters of great and non-controversial import, often makes sense. Then again, he does not. The ideas expressed therein will usually be very clear, very concise. Also, they will be very, very hard to decipher. When, on occasion, a matter of controversy is introduced in these contexts, Bush will leave himself little wiggle room for getting out of his assertions. Except when he leaves himself wiggle room for getting out of his assertions.
From Bush Denies U.S. Plans to Attack Iran, via the Associated Press, February 22, 2005:
“This notion that the United States is getting ready to attack Iran is simply ridiculous. Having said that, all options are on the table,” Bush said after discussing the issue with European allies.
And earlier this year, in a similar vein, from President outlines role of his faith, via the Washington Times, January 12, 2005:
“I think people attack me because they are fearful that I will then say that you’re not equally as patriotic if you’re not a religious person,” Mr. Bush said. “I’ve never said that. I’ve never acted like that. I think that’s just the way it is.”
RELATED: The Washington Post‘s Dan Froomkin on Bush’s usage of “On the other hand” to convey variable meanings
An actual caption for this wire service image, by way of Agence France-Presse (take note of the so-called ‘snarky’ quotation marks):
First lady Laura Bush thanked US troops based in Germany for their work in the war on ‘terror,’ as anti-war protesters across the country geared up for her husband’s arrival (AFP/DDP/Martin Oeser)
RELATED: The A.P.’s more innocuous take on the same photo and event
EARLIER: War on Terror, War against Terror; War of Terror