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February 11, 2008

A Fistful of Oscars

So, I have this cat. He's fat. He's golden. His name is Oscar. (I also have another cat who is also fat, but who is black and pissy and not named Oscar, and therefore, not what this entry is about). He's a handsome and noble fellow, but willingly gives up the spotlight when needed.

This is Oscar.

But he's not the Oscar who this entry is about. This entry is about Oscar, the other golden one, who is handsome and noble and may not be fat, but is definitely very, very heavy, and willingly shares the spotlight with the stars on Oscar Night. Since the Academy Awards show is on the horizon, I thought I'd write about my run-in with Oscar. I've never been a big follower of the awards shows, but my mom used to be a real devotee - she would watch every year, with the commercials and everything, as the show went longer and longer into the night as the years went by. Until, one year, she accidentally set the barn on fire because of her Oscar devotion. It didn't burn down, but there was a lot of damage. In her rush to get home to watch the Oscars, she had forgotten to turn off her hotplate, thus setting her tea kettle alight, thus catching the numerous pieces of dried flora, dusty towels and other flammable detritus about on fire, thus eventually burning up a bunch of stuff in her studio (or so legend has it). Luckily, a good friend of ours was walking by because he was not at home watching the Oscars, and noticed that there was smoke pouring out of the bottom of the barn. The proper authorities were called, and now mom makes yearly donations to the volunteer fire department and gets all tense on Oscar night.

But this entry really isn't about my mom and Oscar either.

This entry is about me and Oscar. Yes, I have been fortunate enough to have a real life Oscar in my hot little hands. He was heavy but polite, and didn't seem to mind my gripping him firmly by the legs and caressing his buns.

I won this Oscar for my good work being Matthew's dialect coach in A Matter of Justice - yes, look on down the list and you'll see that he starred as "Matt". That's really him. He had to master a true Alabama accent. And, you know how I am with the accents. The Academy was so impressed with his metamorphosis from suburban Kansan to Alabama country boy in four short lines that they gave me the Oscar. It was their one shining moment of really recognizing true talent.

Ok. Actually, that's a lie. That's why you shouldn't believe anything that you read on a blog. I have no one to stop me. This particular Oscar was actually awarded to Sidney Glazier, producer of The Eleanor Roosevelt Story. I just happened to be at his daughter Karen's house, was snooping around, found it, and was wondering why they had a fake Oscar sitting around. "What's the gag?" I thought. No gag. It was real. I was humbled in his presence. So asked if I could have my picture taken with him. Karen was kind enough to let me, but just to add to the authenticity, I asked for another picture with her in it too.

Just in case you don't believe I'm friends with a swank novelist whose father won an Oscar.

FYI, you also shouldn't believe everything you see on a blog. I'm a real whiz with Photoshop.

Posted by ribbu at February 11, 2008 12:19 PM