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2001-03-25
I'm John Travolta. My beliefs would frighten you. I'm Bob Dylan. I choose to resemble Satan. I'm Tom Hanks. Stardom has bloated me. I'm Russell Crowe. In Australia, we think our hair looks good like this. I'm Tom Cruise. I don't have to wear a tie. I'm Michael Douglas. My wife is glad I don't have lips.
I'm Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. I was robbed.
This writing about the Oscars while they "happened" wasn't the best idea I've ever had, I'll tell you that right now. Had it worked, I might have retired to bed with a clear conscience, but here I am, still, filled with guilt feelings at having failed to accomplish most of my goals for the weekend, trying to squeeze something of value out of this night which has vanished like a snake into a hole.
My recommendations to the Academy: Go back to Monday where you belong. Stop nominating lead performances in the supporting categories. Reward Jeff Bridges. And if you must invite her onstage again, make Hillary Swank wear a jacket.