For those of you not playing along, the Golden Globes were broadcast on the 11th and as George—or all my college roommates, for that matter—will attest, I am obsessed (and I mean OBSESSED) with awards shows.
There is absolutely no rational reason for this: I have zero idea who most of the celebs walking the carpet are, I have seen zero of the movies and/or TV shows, and I look like a total zero in a long gown so I’m not exactly clamoring for tips on the off chance I’ll be in the market for some Givenchy.
I spent a significant amount of time this past weekend in full on countdown mode for the Oscars. Why does it—and so many shows of its ilk—bring me such joy? I’m glad you asked:
- The snacks: Awards season is a WAY better excuse than, say, the Superbowl to stuff my face. Why? Uh, because there are like 900 awards shows. That means 900 times the gummy bears, cheese curls, and sugary drinks. Also, cheese filled pretzels. ALWAYS cheese-filled pretzels. Somehow, I never feel a lick of guilt when doing this, and George kind of just accepts that it’s “what I do.” “Oh,” he’ll say, “is this one of your shows? Did you make sure to get your snacks?” What a nice guy. And yes, sir, I sure did. May I offer you a cheese-filled pretzel?
- The stupidity: I’m sorry, but what the crap is going on on the red carpet? What sort of questions are these “reporters” even asking? (I use the term “reporters” very, very loosely…so loosely I'm thinking Brian Williams could have a second career on E! Just a thought.) Why are they openly gushing about the celebs they’re currently talking to without compunction? Who is the evil genius who created the “mani-cam”? I mean, I’ve always been one to enjoy a bit of the “cringe factor,” but that can’t possibly account for why I’m sort of helping to perpetuate this horror. The only thing I know is, I wouldn’t turn away, even if I could. This isn’t a psychology blog, people.
- The slams: This doesn’t happen on the Oscars so much, but the Globes in particular are an exxxcellent opportunity for the host to serve up a star slam…and for the targeted star (and the rest of the audience for that matter) to pretend they're self actualized enough to laugh at themselves and/or take their own celebrity lightly. Which, based on the faux smiles plastered on their faces and their insincere air claps, they’re totally not. Hey, whaddya know, maybe this is a psychology blog.
So sadly, for all my pre-gaming with fruit snacks and diet Cokes, I fell asleep midway through the Academy Awards. But it's all good, because this fall the Emmy's will air and I'll be right back on the couch, pleased as punch. Ooooh, punch. Next year I should get some fruit punch. Who's in?