The Awshugs

"I'm sooooo happy for the winner."

“I’m sooooo happy for the winner.”

I’m ready for my close-up. No, I’m not the new international eyebrow model for Tweenzers, the tweezers made for tweens, by tweens, with no inbetweeners. Although I bet I could pull it off. I’ve been told I have the eyebrows of a twelve-year-old, with the nose of a twenty-eight-year-old, and the signature of a business-casual sloth. But enough about me, let’s get back to me. I’m coming at you, live, from the futon in my basement, giving you an exclusive outside look at one of my most favorite events of the year, The Oscars. Sure, they don’t start for another five hours, and I’m in my bathrobe (the alternate-my ace had to see a window about a curtain), but that’s not going to stop me from providing running commentary for The LXXXVIth Academy Awards! Of course, I prefer to call them The Awshugs, because that’s the face every nominee makes in glorious HD (High Disappointment) when the actual winner is announced. It doesn’t matter if you are a beautiful, bright-eyed actor or a beautiful, bright-eyed, slightly older actor–every loser is a winner at The Awshugs, and, in a way, doesn’t that make us all losers? In fact, why don’t we take that High Disappointment display and use it to spice up everyday situations? “And the last pound of deveined jumbo shrimp goes to…Barb Whatley! [various shoppers grumble as Barb approaches seafood counter] This is Barb’s five-hundredth shrimp casserole.”

Modern Callar

Captain snootypants.

Captain snootypants.

What’s black and white and growls like a tiger?

If you guessed tiger, you’re wrong. Besides, there’s no such thing as a black and white tiger. Wait, is there? Let me google that real quick. Ah. I stand corrected. According to Wikipedia, the white tiger is a “recessive mutant of the Bengal tiger.” Wow. That’s a pretty harsh description. You’d think the editor of the white tiger Wikipedia page has something against white tigers. Maybe they were mauled by a white tiger, and have been on a smear campaign ever since. I feel sorry for anyone who makes the mistake of bringing up white tigers in this person’s presence. They’d be like, “Oh, white tigers? Let me tell you something about white tigers. They’re no-good mutant freaks and I hate them.”

I’ve gotten off topic.

The correct answer to my original query is “Modern Dance.” See, Wife’s Christmas present was two tickets to the Boston Ballet’s presentation of esteemed Czech-Nederlands modern dance choreographer Jiří Kylián’s (yes, that Czech-Nederlands modern dance choreographer Jiří Kylián) better known works. One of his pieces, entitled “Tar and Feathers,” features, among other things, a pianist playing a piano on ten foot stilts, a giant pile of white bubble wrap, and dancers in black leotards growling like tigers.

And that wasn’t even the craziest part.

The craziest part of the show was watching the two high society women sitting in front of us have a muted argument that began when Ms. Snooty Pants A refused to move her legs as Ms. Snooty Pants B was trying to get to her seat. Ms. Snooty Pants B then “accidentally” hit Ms. Snooty Pants A in the face with her fur shawl as she was removing it. Ms. Snooty Pants A demanded an apology, Ms. Snooty Pants B refused, and the two spent the rest of the performance silently growling at each other with their eyes.

Best show I’ve ever seen.