The Moment

You sit down, ready to write and...nothing. Not a damn thing comes to mind. That's not true. Nothing you feel like sharing, out of fear or embarrassment or concern that you will say too much and someone will get hurt. Someone like you. So you push it down, ignore it, figure you will save it for another day. But it's there, lurking, waiting, keeping you up at night. You know what you feel, but you don't know how to say it in a way that anyone would understand. You don't even understand it, so how in the hell will anyone else get it.

You get up and go to the kitchen. You make tea. You go back to the computer and...you check facebook, blogs, email. You're stalling and you know it. Whatever it is, you can't or won't say it. Not tonight. You sit and you think about it some more. Really, if it's keeping you from writing (or thinking) about anything else, then why not say it?

And then it happens. What your best friend once called "the moment of breaking." The hurt, the frustration, the confusion, the trying to make sense of how you got to this place. It all spills out, faster than you can keep up with it. It still doesn't make sense, but it's out of your system. You feel lighter, unburdened, relieved and maybe, just maybe you'll be able to sleep.

Super Sunday

Ever wonder what would happen if a comedian didn't host the Oscars? Me neither, but someone must have considered the possibility because it happened. And the results were...not bad! Let's recap, shall we?

Sparkle...Magic: In case you were wondering, the sparkly curtain at the front of the Kodak Theater? Swarovski crystals.

Nice to meet Hugh: Still a little on the fence about Hugh as host, don't know why. Maybe because he was so relaxed and seemed to genuinely be having a good time. I'm not accustomed to the host not having at least one moment where things go wrong and they to want to be swallowed whole by the stage or played off by Bill Conti (who, by the way, was not missed by ANYONE).

Close to Hugh: The big show felt a little smaller, a little more intimate. The orchestra was moved and the audience got to be a little closer to the action. The good news is some winners had a shorter walk to the stage. The bad news is everyone in the front row got to see a whole lotta Beyonce.

And the winners were: I may be in the minority, but I really loved the whole "welcome to the club" presentation of the acting categories and the montages introducing those segments. I know some people thought it was too much mush, but think about it, people...you're nominated for an Academy Award, it's the biggest night of your life and instead of having to watch that same clip of yourself (the one you have now seen at the SAGs, the Globes, the BAFTA's and the Spirits), Shirley MacLaine or Robert DeNiro or Eva Marie Saint or Alan Arkin walks out and talks about how awesome you were in your movie. How are you NOT thrilled? How do you NOT get emotional? And if your name happens to be called when that envelope is opened? BONUS!

His and Hers: Last year, Javier Bardem became the first Spaniard to win the Academy Award. His co-star (and lady love) Penelope Cruz is now the second Spaniard to win. For those of you who do not speak the Spanish: All of the loyal people of Spain, now they share this moment with me and feel that this (Oscar) is theirs also, so I dedicate to them. To all of the actors and actresses of my country, Thanks a lot.

Que Viva Espana!

Kate, so great: Sixth time is the charm for our girl Kate, the youngest person to be nominated that many times for an Oscar. This was totally worth the wait, if only for that sweet moment when she said, "Dad, whistle or something, 'cause then I'll know where you are." (He whistles.) "Yeah!" (Waving to him.) "I love you." My sister and I agreed that our dear dad would have done the same thing...and then he would have started sobbing.

Bonus: This is what it looks like when it really hits her backstage.

Milk Men: What a beautiful speech by Dustin Lance Black. Heartfelt, genuine, lovely. Well done, sir. Well done.

About that dress, briefly: Penelope Cruz in vintage Balmain Coutoure. AWESOME. Natalie Portman in Rodarte? SO Audrey. Taraji P. Henson in Roberto Cavalli? Amazing (and that necklace! Love it.) I could have done without the feathers on Nicole Kidman's dress, but she looked good. Diane Lane? Perfect and lovely, as usual. Anne Hathaway in Armani Prive? Sparkly and gorgeous! Sarah Jessica Parker in Dior Haute Couture? Only person who could get away with it. You know who couldn't get away with it? Jessica Biel in Prada. As my mother would say, "No goo." On a brighter, hotter note...

Let's hear it for the boys: Damn, the men looked good in their tuxedoes. They combed their hair, wore ties, some of them even shaved! Even Mickey Rourke, in his white Gaultier suit looked good for Mickey Rourke. My favorite? Craig, Daniel Craig. Damn.

Two words: Slumdog Millionaire. Eight Oscars. Effing Brilliant. Haven't gone? Go NOW.

Seeing Things

I went to see Ghost on Sunday with Heather. Yes, dead Patrick Swayze, teary Demi Moore, psychic Whoopi Goldberg Ghost from 1990. It may surprise you to know that it was nominated for an Oscar for, wait for it...BEST PICTURE. I know, crazy right? It still holds up almost twenty years later. Swayze and Demi look gorgeous, Tony Goldwyn is the perfect evil best friend and the story is engaging. The special effects are dated, but overall, not a bad flick for a Sunday morning. The mimosas probably helped.

In preparation for Oscar Sunday (aka My Superbowl) I've seen Ghost, Roman Holiday, Pat & Mike, Say Anything, the Age of Innocence, Gigi, and most of Funny Face. Heaven bless Robert Osbourne, TCM and their 31 Days of Oscar. I might have a crush on Osbourne. He's such a gentleman, with his white hair and classic clothes. It also helps that he has an encyclopedic knowledge of film. The man loves his job and I love him for it.

So, I'm watching Funny Face last night and I am struggling to believe that Audrey Hepburn would fall in love with Fred Astaire. Richard Avedon, sure (Astaire's character, Dick Avery, is loosely based on Avedon), but Astaire? Not buying it. I can buy her falling for Bogart and Holden in Sabrina, Peck in Roman Holiday, Gary Cooper in Love in the Afternoon and especially Cary Grant in Charade (who DIDN'T fall for Cary Grant in Charade?). I'm just not feeling Fred. It's not that he's too old, most of Audrey's leading men were considerably older. Maybe he's too smooth, aloof. I know, I'm biased. I'm a Gene Kelly person. Always have been, always will be. I can't help it. Astaire, is absolutely an icon in his white tie and tails, but give me Gene in a polo shirt, khakis and some loafers any day. Oh, what do I know? Judge for yourself and watch Fred and Gene rock it out in The Babbit and the Bromide.

No Ordinary Love

"Life isn't a love in, it's the dishes and the orthodontist and the shoe repairman and... ground round instead of roast beef. And I'll tell you something else: it isn't going to a bed with a man that proves you're in love with him; it's getting up in the morning and facing the drab, miserable, wonderful everyday world with him that counts." - Henry Fonda as Frank Beardsley in Yours, Mine & Ours (1968)

My parents were married for forty-five years. They survived a revolution, moved to a country where they did not speak the language, started a business, made a home, raised three children, fought a lot, laughed a lot, traveled (alone and together) and opened their home to countless refugees (and helped find them jobs and homes). They took care of each other (and us) no matter the cost. Sickness, health, richer, poorer, better or worse, they were in it for the long haul. God knows it wasn't easy, but they stuck it out. As my mother once said to one of a friend who told her she should go home and get some rest after spending days at my father's side in the hospital, "After forty plus years, I'm not leaving now."

I will think of my parents on Valentine's Day and remind myself that, not only is lifelong love absolutely possible, I've seen it in action. How lucky am I?

First and Last

I've probably mentioned this before, but I wrote a book about ten years ago (OK, more like going on twelve years). It's twenty-six poems, that I wrote in no particular order. Somehow when I put them all together, they made sense. They tell the story of who I was and who I loved at that time in my life. Now that I'm writing again, and I'm more serious about the writing, I'm wondering if it's time to do something with these. Take a look and let me know what you think. Thanks.

Here's the opener:

A

Ambitious

Brunette seeks

Caring,

Devoted,

Exuberant

Foreigner to

Give

Her

Insight and

Joy. Must have

Killer smile,

Legs of steel and good

Manners.

No

Opportunists

Please.

Questions

Regarding

Sexual appetite

To be asked later.

Until our

Very anticipated

Walk through an

X-rated garden,

Your face

Zooms in my memory.

3.26.97

And the closer:

Z

Zinc

Arrives at the

Back of my throat,

Closing it

Directly.

Every bit of

Flesh

Gooses.

How

Is it possible?

Jellyfish for hands. Where

Knees once

Lived,

Marshmallows

Now

Own the

Place.

Quite

Remarkable this

Spell. And

To have kept me

Under, you must be

Well

Versed in the

X-otic language of

Yes.

4.10.97