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| "AMERICA'S FUNNIEST HUMOR"TM
SHOWCASE
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February
/ March 2006 Contest Results |
My Oscar-Worthy
Experience
By
Joel Schartzberg, New Jersey
Fifteen years
ago, I was an unemployed 22 year-old living in a friend’s studio
apartment near Los Angeles when I took a temp job working for the
Academy of Motion Picture Arts & Sciences. My job was to process orders
for a casting bible they’ve been putting out since 1937 called the
Academy Players Directory. I was eager, smart, and didn’t steal anything
–- apparently difficult qualities to find in a $400-a-week employee -–
so they hired me full time.
Most company perks include things like free hot chocolate, discounted
gym membership, and annual fleece sweatshirts screaming your company’s
logo. When you work at the Academy, there’s one big perk: two tickets to
the biggest Hollywood event of the year, the Academy Awards.
I attended both the 1990 and 1991 Academy Awards. The seats weren’t that
great, but they were real seats that you couldn’t get any other way but
for being an Academy employee, an Academy Award nominee, a friend or
family of a nominee, or someone generally famous or important by
Hollywood standards. When it came time to choose my date, I made one of
the most regrettable decisions of my life. Consider: an unemployed 22
year-old living in someone else’s living room now has the chance to pick
any beautiful stranger to accompany him to the most celebrated night of
the year.
Instead, I took my Mom. Both times. If you looked up "pathetic" in the
Hollywood Dictionary, you’d see me and my mom, decked out in tuxedo and
off-the-rack sequined dress, driving my Mazda hatchback in between two
stretch limos.
My mother and I were timid the first time around, when Dances With
Wolves won Best Picture. After all, I had only been a true employee
for a few months. We zipped down the red carpet as if catching a flight.
Feeling like imposters, we passed on the invitation to share an elevator
with Richard Gere and Cindy Crawford. We took the stairs. In a story I
can’t possibly validate, my mother swears Joe Pesci hit on her outside
the ladies’ room, his recently-acquired Oscar for Goodfellas in
hand.
The next year, when The Silence of the Lambs won, my mother and I
were more comfortable and strategic; we knew what to do. We planted
ourselves firmly on the red carpet and let everyone from Tom Cruise to
Barbra Streisand walk around us. We hobnobbed with the stars as if we
were obscure documentary filmmakers, and my mother touched Bette
Midler’s shoulder. I might have even given the "Hollywood nod" to a few
people who mistook me for Bob Saget (to whom I bear an uncanny, and at
times unfortunate, resemblance).
After the show, we had a late dinner at The Cheesecake Factory on Rodeo
Drive. I was still wearing my rented tuxedo and my mother was still in
her sparkly dress and borrowed diamond earrings. As we ate, I felt eyes
staring at us, knowing where we had been, and wondering if we were
famous. Good thing that place was open because I couldn’t imagine the
same response at Denny’s.
In the years that followed, I began to lose interest in watching the
Academy Awards. Maybe I was spoiled by the in-person experience. Maybe,
not being able to see that many movies any more, I lost interest. Or
maybe Whoopi Goldberg just did a lousy job hosting.
I’ve even sworn off Oscar pools. Most pools just cover the major
categories. I’ll scoff and say, "This is nothing. You should see the
Oscar Pool at the Academy. Make a wrong prediction at Best Documentary
Short and you’re toast!"
But I can only run so far away. For the past 11 years, my local library
has hosted a "Pre-Oscar Discussion" with columnist Allen Barra. And many
families we know are hosting local ""Oscar Parties."" These parties
typically include food, drinks, and ballots. Sounds like a French
election.
This year, host Jon Stewart was a big improvement over Whoopi. Also,
having seen more of the nominated films than usual (and by that I mean
one), and being an admirer of ""Brokeback Mountain"" for sheer guts, we
created a new tradition more suited to our lifestyle. No tuxes, no
limos, no amorous wise guys. Just the kids asleep upstairs, something
hot to eat, a big glass of diet soda, and the comfort of my wife, my
sofa, and my TiVo.
It was the start of a beautiful relationship.
http://www.jesttokill.com
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