Benny Jay: Bullock Kisses Streep!

I’m watching the Oscars….

Each year I say I won’t, but each year I do. Can’t help myself. Fact is, I can’t get enough of this shit.

I got a special reason this year. The Coen Brothers‘ movie, A Serious Man, is up for Best Original Screenplay and I want them to win. I love the Coen Brothers. Matter of fact, I sort of wish I were a Coen Brother.  But don’t let that get around.

They’re also up for Best Picture. But, trust me, that’s going to The Hurt Locker cause it’s directed by a woman and the Academy wants to finally give all the big awards to a movie directed by a woman, like they’re all noble and stuff.

I’m not hating, just saying….

Sure enough, they give the script-writing Oscar to Mark Boal, who wrote The Hurt Locker. Nothing against Mark Boal, but who the hell is he? He’s no Coen Brother, that’s for sure.

“Boo!” I exclaim.

“Stop booing,” says my wife.

“If you’re not gonna give it to my boys give it to Tarantino….”

I love Quentin Tarantino almost as much as the Coen Brothers. He’s up for Inglorious Basterds, which isn’t going to win anything either, cause of that woman thing I was telling you about.

I boo louder.

From upstairs my younger daughter, who’s trying to do her homework, yells: “Stop booing!”

Boal gives a great acceptance speech, thanking our troops in Iraq and Afghanistan, and I feel kind of guilty for booing.

They give some award for something to some black guy I never heard of. He’s in the middle of his acceptance speech when some redheaded lady shows up out of nowhere, pushes him to the side and starts talking.

“What the fu,” I say.

“Who’s she?” asks my wife.

“This is like something out of Saturday Night Live….”

It’s Robin Williams’ turn to make a presentation. He refers to the Governor’s Ball: “It’s one of many balls that will be held around town tonight….”

It takes me a second or two – okay, I’m slow – then I get it.

My wife brings in dinner: Greek chicken, oven-cooked potatoes and salad. Damn, it’s good. I’m chowing down – got a chicken bone in my hand – as James Taylor starts singing In My Life, while they show footage of the greats who died last year.

“Taylor’s killing this song,” I say.

“Shh,” says my wife.

“He’s singing it like a dirge — but it’s not a dirge….”

“I’m trying to listen….”

“This sucks….”

“Stop hating….”

For best actress, they bring a bunch of celebrities on stage to give testimonials for the nominees. This one guy’s going on and on about Meryl Streep, like she’s a saint.

“Gimme a break,” I say.

“Shh….”

“This guy’s got her walking on water….”

Oprah starts talking about Gabourey “Gabby” Sidibe, who’s nominated for her role in Precious.

“This is my girl,” I say.

“Quiet….”

“I’m sick of all the skinny girls winning….”

“Shush….”

Sean Penn opens the envelope and says: “The winner is….”

I chant: “Precious, Precious….”

“Sandra Bullock….”

“Boo…..”

“Stop it,” says my wife.

“Should have gone to Precious — Boo!”

“Stop booing!” yells my daughter from upstairs.

Bullock gives this fantastically gracious acceptance speech. Total class. Makes me feel salty for booing. I feel guilty all over again. Man, rough night for me.

As she’s finishing, she refers to Streep as a great kisser and calls her “my lover.”

I look at my wife. My wife looks at me.

“They’re gay!” my wife exclaims.

“How did I miss that?”

My wife grabs her cell phone. “I’ll call Sean.”

Great idea. Sean’s a hairdresser she works with. The man knows more Hollywood gossip than anyone alive. His particular specialty is The Golden Girls.

My man Sean knows all about it. Turns out Bullock kissed Streep at another awards show. It’s all a big inside joke. Only we’re not in on it cause we’re out of it.  Good thing we got Sean. This guy knows more stuff than Google.

“Ask him about that redheaded lady,” I say.

Too late, she’s off the phone.

In the end The Hurt Locker cleans up (wins Best Picture and Best Director) just like I told you.

“This sucks,” I say. “The Coen Brothers make one of the best movies ever and get shut out. That’s it. I’m through with the Oscars!”

“Yeah, right,” says my wife.

On my way to bed, I stop by the computer just to, you know, check out the latest on that redheaded lady. Turns out she and the black guy had been partners on the documentary before they had a falling out. The Academy designated him to pick up the Oscar if the movie won. Apparently, she said forget that and went for the glory. Said the dude’s mother stuck her cane in the aisle to block her from reaching the stage. I like that detail about the cane so much I read it twice.

Told you – I can’t get enough of this shit….