Good morning and welcome to Summit Up, the world’s only daily column that held the “Best Actress” Oscar yesterday. No one believes us. You out there in Summit Up Land probably doubt we held the actual gilded statuette. But we did, and we want to say that those Hollywood personal trainers are really worth the money their clients pay them. Forget ski school in Summit County. Those instructors just show you how to make a few feeble, Bambi-like turns down the semi-slippery snow surface. These trainers, though – they show their objects d’art (the stars’ bodies) how to successfully lift up an Oscar upon winning an award.
The actors and (sometimes very diminutive) actresses pump Oscar up and down in their fist like they’ve been lifting 100-pound dumbbells while drinking their morning coffee. It could be the adrenaline, or they might be on the juice. Either way, the trophy is much heavier than a Hillary Duff film. Oscar’s size is deceptive. He’s probably only a little over a foot tall. And he looks suspiciously like the plastic softball trophy we received this summer during our premiere season in the Summit County C League. But when we picked up the gold-covered bronze man, we knew this was no low-level softball souvenir. Feeling Oscar’s weight was a little like biting a gold doubloon to test it’s authenticity. Use of the senses – and in this case, muscle tone – is necessary to knowing if the Oscar you possess is the real thing, the earned token for pretending to be someone they’re not (i.e., an actor or actress).
When we hoisted the trophy, we were glad we were wearing boots because we came precariously close to dropping the old boy on our feet. Thank goodness we weren’t wearing fabulous open-toed heels, as we’re sure we would if we went on stage at the Oscars. Really, fabulous heels would be great, but we fight a personal battle every morning to convince ourselves they are not practical footwear for the High Country. Anyhow, we remained intact, and so did Oscar. We don’t know who won the award because the nice film producer who brought him by The Corporate Suites put tape over the name. Speaking of the Oscars, how do they choose the best picture? Or best actress? Yes, yes, we know about the Academy and how they vote and all, but really it’s just an opinion. Usually a good opinion, because Academy-Award nominated films are generally pretty darn good, but why do we care what this faceless, nameless Academy thinks?
We like film because we like stories. The same goes for books, art and history. And our own personal history is reflected into our perception of the movies we watch. So really we’re upholding the egos and emotions and biases of all the Academy members when we sit glued to the television on Oscar night. Actually, we really like looking at the dresses too. That’s a form of art that only Joan Rivers and her weird daughter Melissa discuss on the red carpet. We think the comments about the dresses should be as silent and anonymous as the Academy’s individual opinions. Maybe fashion would move forward a little faster if everyone watched What Not to Wear and stayed away from the people that didn’t like the dead swan Bjork wore around her neck at that awards show way back when. We had just pulled our koala backpack out of the closet when we were told it was a faux pas. ***We’re out, making cookies.
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