7:42: Happy Oscars 2017! It is admittedly a different world since last year’s annual live-blog, but life and the Oscars go on and so shall I.

Before we begin, I would like to inform you that I’m on day one of a sugar/carb detox so I may be snarkier than usual. I’m not in the full stages of withdrawal — by this time next week I predict that I will be willing to strangle Ryan Gosling in exchange for a single Cadbury Mini Egg — but it seems appropriate to issue a warning.

My early take on this year’s nominees: I saw and loved Moonlight, Hidden Figures, Arrival and La La Land, and am apparently one of the few outside of the actual Academy who is totally cool with La La Land taking Best Picture. I haven’t yet seen (but plan to add to my endless Netflix queue someday) Manchester by the Sea, Fences, Lion and Hell and High Water. Hacksaw Ridge wins this year’s “The Revenant Memorial Best Picture Nominee I Have No Desire To See Ever, Thank You For Asking.”

This year’s most notable red carpet trend appears to be metallic gold lame, because this is Trump’s America now. Also, Kris Jenner is doing fashion commentary on E! so I’m channel surfing for a Law and Order rerun or something to carry me to Jimmy Kimmel’s monologue.

See you at 8:30!

8:26: Before we begin, a moment of silence for the great Bill Paxton. Twister and Apollo 13 were two of the movies of my adolescence — and don’t even get me started on Titanic.

8:30: And we’re live! Apparently we’re starting with a Justin Timberlake performance of his nominated song “Can’t Stop The Feeling.” Let’s be honest: We’ve started way worse. (#HathawayandFranco #NeverForget)

8:31: Are they doing “The Carlton” dance from Fresh Prince of Bel Air or am I having a carb withdrawal-fueled hallucination?

8:32: This song is so freaking catchy. Also, I’m doing the routine set to this song that we do in Jazzercise. It’s a little more cardio-heavy than this evening’s choreography. Not that I’m bragging.

8:34: The only one not dancing is Ryan Gosling, who apparently decided he got all the dancing out of his system while filming La La Land. (more…)

Hello, everyone! It’s that time again when I annually live blog the Oscars. My one annual post! I have this blogging thing on lockdown.

I decided this year that skipping the E! red carpet pre-shows was good for my soul, so I’ll be back at 8:30 to live-blog the show. Join me, won’t you?

8:10: A few thoughts before the show begins: I have seen 5 of the 8 Best Picture nominees, and I would rank them, from best to notsomuch: Boyhood, Selma, The Imitation Game, The Theory of Everything, Birdman. (Haven’t yet seen: Whiplash, American Sniper or The Grand Budapest Hotel.) It seems like Birdman has the momentum and may take the top prize, but I thought it was a technical marvel that was very far up its own birdass. (Pardon my language.) Even though I agree with its main thesis that Hollywood should maybe start making films that aren’t just about white guys in capes.

Also, I’ve caught up on the outfits by watching the ABC pre-show for about half an hour, and I feel like an infinitely happier person for it. E!’s red carpet coverage runs for like 4 hours, and here are a few things I managed to do in the precious time I regained: Watch 2 old episodes of Grey’s Anatomy on Netflix, cook a mushroom risotto, slice open my finger chopping onions for risotto, swear, bandage finger, eat risotto, go shopping for an exercise ball, inflate exercise ball, collapse because manually inflating an exercise ball is harder than any workouts I intend to do on the exercise ball, start a live blog, write some pre-emptive thoughts. Number of times I regretted not watching Giuliana Rancic force a celebrity to stick her hand in a shoebox with a camera for a mani-close-up: Zero. Life’s too short.

ANYWAY. Back in 20 minutes for some Oscar goodness. Let’s do this! (more…)

I may not have blogged since last year’s Oscars, but WHAT THE HELL. Let’s do this, b-rollers.

8:19: I should mention: I’m on my second glass of wine. S**t is about to get real, folks.

8:22: Dear ABC: Best not to start a promo with “Everyone on Twitter agrees…” since no one on Twitter has ever agreed about anything. You could say “Human trafficking isn’t great” and you’d find dissenters.

8:26: Before we get into it, just a note that it would be very classy and righteous to hear someone mention the name Sarah Jones this evening. Let’s hope it happens.

8:30: And we’re live! The stage is filled with weirdly silicone Oscars who look a tad too alien-ish for my comfort level.

8:31: “It has been raining. We’re fine. Thank you for your prayers.” Oh, Los Angeles…

(more…)

I love the Olympics. I love the pomp and grandeur of the opening ceremonies, and was wildly impressed with the Queen’s game willingness to do a James Bond skit (though she may just have a crush on Daniel Craig, as does my mom, who texted me, and I quote, “Daniel Craig!!!! These are the best opening ceremonies ever!!!!”). I thanked the Olympic gods for the invention of the DVR, which allowed me to fast-forward liberally through the parade of nations and save myself 90 minutes of “What the hell is Benin?”-type comments. I got that swell of pride (as I stopped fast-forwarding) when the USA walked in, nattily attired in Chinese-manufactured uniforms, and wondered what the record is for oldest and least-athletic first-time Olympian, and if I’d have to take up shooting or archery since track is clearly out of reach. I’m aiming (ha! sorry) for Rio.

So on Saturday, I settled myself for a long day of cheering for the world’s finest athletes from my couch while eating tortilla chips (I’ll start my training on Monday), worried that by sleeping in I’d missed some critical race. Not to worry: The main event was men’s cycling, or an Amish, less-interesting version of NASCAR. And I actually watched it. (In my defense, the other options were tennis, meh; boxing, no way in hell; or fencing, but the outfits creep me out, they’re like storm trooper insects.) At one point, I heard the announcer say, “It’ll be a sprint to the finish!” and thought, “I want to get coffee, so I’ll read about it later.” When I returned home and turned on my television, the same announcer guesstimated that we were about forty minutes from the finish. FORTY. In this ADD-addled world, that is not a sprint, it is an Ironman triathlon. The most riveting part of the race occurred when the leader crashed into a barrier, gouged his arm and then attached himself to the hospital car to get stitched up at 40 miles per hour. (He lost. A guy from Kazakhstan won. I rooted for more crashes.)

Thankfully, the day picked up from there: Women’s volleyball and basketball (USA! USA!). I dabbled in table tennis, took in some men’s gymnastics and women’s soccer. If you normally gave me the option of watching table tennis or volleyball, I’d probably choose a deep, meditative silence, but thus is the power of the Olympics to transform an event from ungodly to fascinating (cycling notwithstanding).

I even watched so many swimming heats that I actually dreamt that I was in a race last night (it was a medley; I had to do the backstroke, which I don’t really know, so I winged it, no pun intended). When I woke up, my first thought, hand-to-God, was, “Wait, did I medal? Crap!” (Michael Phelps, alas, did not.)

It may, perhaps, be time for a break. What’s on this morning, though? Women’s cycling! Well, maybe I’ll just see if someone crashes…