We are going to be the last people today to have our say about yesterday’s um…whatever that was.  Do we care about the oscars?  Not as such.  As interested as we are in celebrities and their weight gains and losses, addictions, car crashes, affairs and flameouts, the oscars are a stodgy affair where these styled up plasticized humanoids *want* you to be looking at them.  Of course, they can’t help but be somewhat terrible, which provides cringe inducing fodder for our feelings of superiority.  For example, Miss Hathaway and her woo hooing brought painfully to mind the Pretty Woman style Julia Roberts.  Amy Adams is still a blob.  And Gwynnie, ohhhh Gwynnie, thanks for sharing your karaoke and your utter inability to feel shame.

Worst of all, Natalie Portman, whose “beautiful love”..”gave her”…”her greatest role”.  I am assuming she means by sticking her with his meatwad and successfully showering her with life juice.  My super could have done it for you, too, lady, he’s pretty handy with pipes.  Gee, I hope *my* beautiful love is not planning to “give me” motherhood.  He did say he had something for me, but I just assumed it was my tax return.  He’s pretty good with that stuff.  Anyway…ummm..FUCK YOU NATALIE PORTMAN.  Artistic achievement definitely ranks up there along with the other joys of life and there is no need to downplay one or the other, or to speak about your partner like he is the captain of your womb.  GROSS.  Even more gross than Kirk Douglas’ cryptkeeper impression. 

T-minus 2 days until the Fountain Exhibit at the NYC Art Fair, and the installation tonight has been rained out.  One less day to prepare.  Hopefully it will all go smoothly tomorrow.  I am just gonna go James Franco on this and shrug.