We enjoyed our first once-a-year Oscar experience last night, and it was just as surreal and weird as we’d expected. It was surprisingly easy to negotiate our way to the deserted, cop-lined Hollywood Boulevard and wind our way among the concrete barriers while bystanders screamed at us even though we weren’t anyone they were interested in. We got our valet ticket for our car and headed into the pre-security red carpet, where we were immediately joined by Eddie Murphy and Mark Wahlberg. From then on, it was non-stop recognizable faces, with photographers screaming people’s names, fans in the bleachers screaming in general, and those of us on the non-famous-person half of the red carpet walking as slowly as possible, smiling and nodding when security told us to move on. It probably took a half an hour to move down the red carpet, and we ended up the background of what seemed like a zillion photos, though I could only find one or two online so far:
Once we got in and took our seats, we realized why most people stay at the bar on the first floor. We couldn’t really see a thing from the third-to-last row of the theater, and we were TiVo-ing the show anyway, so after the Will Ferrell/Jack Black/John C. Reilly number, we headed down with a bunch of other people to the first floor. We had planned to return for the major awards at the end of the show, but we never made it back. Why go back to the nosebleeds when you can share the bar with Peter O’Toole, Quincy Jones, and Meryl Streep, and share the bathroom with Clint Eastwood, Mickey Rooney, Alfonso Cuaron, Steve Carrell, and Martin Scorsese? We hung out with our friends, but no one really had any particularly deep conversations because we were too busy looking over others’ shoulders at who might be approaching. Ah yes, Sacha Baron Cohen. Hey, is that Philip Glass? And Beyonce is looking very nice tonight, no? We all had a great time, I think, though for some who had been before, it seemed like it was a little less exciting, which I can understand. Katie had an even more exciting time as a seat-filler, as she spent some quality time with Will Smith, Jack Nicholson, and the whole gang from The Departed. My only real exchange of the evening (besides Clint Eastwood saying “OK!” as he came out of the stall and I went in, and a quick “excuse me, no, excuse me, I’m in your way, oops” sort of interaction with Steve Carrell around the paper towel dispenser) was a congratulations wish to editing hero Thelma Schoonmaker. She smiled and said thanks. Aimee will forever be the person who told Beyonce which film had won Best Picture, after she asked the question to no one in particular Aimee specifically.
After the show, our reservations at Formosa didn’t work out because their kitchen had closed, but our numbers had shrunk so we were happily able to fit in at Jones across the street, where we enjoyed pizzas and drinks before heading home to re-hash the evening.
