I was watching the Oscars last night and my first thought was "Hey! I should liveblog the Oscars, because that's kinda funny how Tilda Swinton looks like a robot who is going to eat my face and I never need an idea more complex than THAT to write a blog!" but then I remembered that I stand up when I pee*, so maybe a liveblog wasn't the best idea and besides who the hell am I to make fun of people for wearing weird clothes because if anyone saw the state of my bathrobe I would be horribly embarrassed if I was sober. So instead I watched the show and talked on the phone and made comments in my head that were so funny, they would've made you throw up. I guess you should just consider yourself lucky that I remembered the lesson of Spiderman... that with great power comes great responsibility and if Kirsten Dunst tries to kiss you, you should web her in the face and run away.
It was pointed out to me, by Moonkee, that someone had to work in the factory that constructed all the super-long glittery banners that flanked the stage and I got to thinking about it and that is pretty much the best job in the world. How could you hate going into a job where all you do all day is make things sparkle? You couldn't. You would get there and be all "Where's the work for today!" and you'd be super-cheerful because it's pretty much the same as riding unicorns all day and when your foreman was like "It's over there.", real deadpan because he has forgotten the joy of imagination, you would RUN to your sparkle-station© (That's a professional term, you can look it up if you want) and dive right into the acres of glitter banners you were to make for the day. And you would enjoy it so much that people would gossip about how you were on drugs and you would have to take a disproportionate number of random urine tests BUT IT WOULDN'T MATTER because you practically work in the Land of Make-Believe, so all the haters can get fucked.
And then I thought about how after working there for 25 years or so, you would be less enthusiastic and you would wake up much slower and drive your crappy, rundown 2015 Toyota Treehumper (because working in glitter banners doesn't actually pay too well) to the Glitter Banner Works, Inc. LLC and now YOU are the supervisor and all the young, new-hires frolic and play in the banners all day and you just have to watch them to make sure no one is having sex in the product, because we all know that's what happens when you work around glitter. And then one morning you wake up with a persistant cough and after ignoring it for a week or two you finally go to the Doctor and get an x-ray and it turns out you have Glitter Lung and only a few months left to live.
And that was what my mind did while you were watching Hugh Jackman caper around so I guess it's probably better that I don't liveblog things because when I do, perfectly innocent shiny banners end up ruining your life and giving you cancer and I like you better than that.
* I in no way mean to insinuate that a man is somehow less of a man if he pays attention to celebrity and fashion and things like that because maybe he is a rugged, burly construction worker** who likes high fashion, and if that's the case then he could probably kick my ass, so you understand me not wanting to piss him off. I'm a humanitarian if nothing else, like Ghandi, only thicker.
** Also maybe he is an unemployed writer who has nothing better to do than watch the Academy Awards, because what the hell it's not lilke he has to BE anywhere tomorrow.