Not only are the Oscars over, *sigh* but I just steeped my last bag of tea from Singapore. I have a strong feeling my sadness over these two facts has much to do with a temporary hormonal imbalance, but I'll try to work through it in your presence anyway.
I have already discussed my irrational, possibly unhealthy love of the Oscars. All year I think about which movies are going to capture the attention of the Academy, for no good reason other than to try to see everything that might be nominated. This is part of my 'hate to be excluded' complex. The month before the show is a frenzy of movie-going that friends and family try to understand, but mostly they just step aside quietly. I was particularly manic this past Friday, trying to rent one nominee then racing to see "Little Children" at the only theater within 60 miles still showing it. Failing to get a copy of "Babel" nearly sent me over the edge; I almost resorted to putting Blockbuster on speed dial since standing at the drop box for six hours seemed a little excessive. But I did neither of those things and simply made a petulant peace with God for not stopping time for me to watch more movies before Sunday morning, as though He should be my ultimate universal TiVo. I might pay extra for that...
So my big evening came and went, with everything just how I wanted (except that my best friend got more predictions right than I did, which isn't supposed to happen because a) she doesn't care as much as I do about the movie industry and b) it's my party). There were good friends, lots of fun food and drink, and I wore my 50% off clearance black taffeta skirt that only gets to feel the love of life outside the closet this one time during the year. Ellen was a delight, I caught a glimpse of Gael as well as my new very guilty pleasure Sacha Baron Cohen, and most of the winners pleased me. Good times.
Now it's the day after, and I'm back to real life wearing my standard jeans, sweater, loafers uniform with only leftover stuffed mushrooms and egg rolls to remind me of the big night. And I ate both for lunch, along with that last cup of Raffles Afternoon Tea. When I opened the box and found only one last teabag, I actually felt a jolt in my stomach. Now there was no tangible thing left to return me to those wide-open days of wandering, watching, tasting, breathing in a place literally a world apart from my home. I have my Hard Rock Cafe t-shirt, sure, but it doesn't bring back the smell and flavor of Singapore; it just looks cute & snug, and actually makes me think more of the old Italian guy who wanted to follow me around the city for an afternoon.
Oh well, c'est la vie. Which I think means "Oh well" in French. Or maybe it's "There, there"?
