beulahbondo's Diaryland Diary
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Morning becomes Beulah; Oscars
I like Beulah-style mornings. I read the paper and drink coffee for an hour, then do some work-related emailing. When I'm good and sweaty I take a shower, ingest allergy medication (squirt, squirt), and get dressed. If I've gone out the night before, my street is now empty enough so that I can correct my eccentric parking job. Then I saunter to work, crossing paths with the hundreds of high school students crowding into the pizza place across the street for their 11 am lunch.
Whenever the Greyhound says "I'm looking forward to the blog tomorrow," I feel challenged. I know that he wants to read a super-charged, wittily tentacled account of a social scene in which he plays a supporting role, preferably with nefarious doings.
So. The Oscars and poker night at the home of Fuad Ramses.
The handful of media professors that Adjunct Lecturer Ramses had invited, I was pleased to note, did not pontificate over the Oscars. They just yelled things like "Oh my god she's so ugly" and "I really liked that movie." Harry the Greek, the Greyhound, and I did our best to crack the wise and keep the hot poker action going. Harry the Greek kept upping the ante in huge, swaggering increments, while I played a prissy little game of nickel ante, and I don't know what the hell the Greyhound's strategy was. Fuad Ramses just drank whiskey steadily and, though he is the only one of us who has actually published a book on le cinema, kept his mouth shut about the Oscars and won many hands. I won three.
Renee Zellweger always looks like she has an entire slice of lemon clenched between her teeth. Zeta-Jones looks like she'd swallow you whole and not really enjoy it. These, friends, are truly movie stars. Who needs the frisky, swim-team friendlyJennifer Garner and the yee-haw "ain't I hot shit" Julia Roberts? Just as the brilliant Cintra Wilson dubbed Nicholson and Beatty "pussy-sick," Zellweger and Zeta-Jones, and to a lesser extent Jennifer Connoly, are totally hammered on fame, and loving it.
I read somewhere that Queen Latifah is "our Pearl Bailey." I'm quite sure it was a white man who wrote it. And you'd never say that about a white person. You don't own white celebrities, or even Asian ones. Only large black women. I'm still not sure what Adrian Brody's attack on Halle Berry means, though.
8:13 p.m. - 2003-03-24
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