Week 4 Day 3

It doesn’t matter who you watch the Oscars with, everyone thinks the same two things:

What would I wear?

Who would I thank?

Some people might think of who they would bring, but that falls into what they would wear, as the date is merely an accessory in the fantasy. Whether you bring a parent, grandparent, friend, model, other actor, boyfriend, significant other, or someone paid to be your date says a lot about you. Mostly it says, “We’ve been circling the block for over two hours.”

I remember in 1992 when Anthony Hopkins and Jodie Foster won for Silence of the Lambs.  My sister was talking about what dress she would wear, and it was green and black and very classic. She always wanted some kind of one-of-a-kind vintage something or other and her friends would all chime in on what they would wear, but their ideas were never as good as hers.

When she reached the age when she would bring musicians as dates and arrive in a Jeep Wrangler, it was really the beginning of the end for her Oscar fantasies. For me, I was just entering the age of delusion where anything is possible because I had no experience with things like rent, and bills, and relationships. The world was my oyster.

I always said I would bring my mom or my Nana, not because that was true, but because at twelve it was easier to say one of them than Keanu Reeves. 

Shut up.

My outfit never changed in all the years I had the Oscar fantasy, and it still hasn’t. I saw a suit once and it is really the only thing I would ever wear, even though it is now completely ridiculous.

There is a picture of David Byrne taken for Rolling Stone and he’s wearing this suit that looks like a tree. The jacket has little leaves attached all over it and the pants were made to look like the wood grain pattern of a tree trunk. I think it was taken by Annie Leibovitz, but it was in this Rolling Stone book my sister got for Christmas one year from our Dad. I would stare at that picture whenever I could and try to imagine myself in that suit.

I would stand in the empty living room and walk the imaginary red carpet, perfecting the perfect wave to the crowd in the stands. I never knew why I was there in the fantasy, just that I was walking quickly and doing the same wave. 

Unbeknownst to me, Jennifer Aniston was somehow watching me and stole my wave. You know the one, it’s where she is nearly sprinting from the limo inside and Brad Pitt is dragging her along and it’s one smooth motion with her right arm facing out, like a wave that stops about fifteen degrees of her just raising her hand and only her fingers bend three times. 

Do it and you’ll see. Swing your right arm up with the palm facing out. Stop when your arm is almost straight, but keep your elbow slightly bent, just a little. Smile in the direction halfway between where your palm is facing and your body is facing, about forty-five degrees from both. Bend your fingers only three times, and turn your head to where Brad Pitt is pulling it and walk in.

It’s a wave that says, “I really wish I could be with you. And I love all of you, really, that’s why my palm, face, or body is angled in your direction. If only our limo was here earlier and Brad didn’t have to pee, I’d love to sit with each and every one of you and ask you about your lives. Let’s not talk about me, I want to know about you.”

In reality, we all know she’s been circling for hours and her assistants and managers made damn sure no one would bother her and she wouldn’t have any time for press. She’d have to run in to avoid missing the show.

That’s my wave, and you’re welcome, Jennifer. 

And as for the speech… well, let’s just say that after losing my wave, I won’t make the same mistake about the speech.

B