In which I pull out the "unrehearsed" acceptance speech

Nora and I watched the Oscars together last night. She was mesmerized by the sparkly clothes and bright lights. I was mesmerized by the sparkly clothes and bright lights. We made a good pair. Nora also clinched the Most Adorable Baby on the Planet title by demonstrating her new clapping skills whenever she saw the audience applauding another award. Cuteness with a capital Q I tell you.

Nora also agreed with me that Meryl Streep looked a little silly in her Prada trenchcoat and gypsy beads, we being uniquely qualified as fashion judges since we spent the day hanging out in plaid pajama bottoms and hand-me-downs from big brothers, respectively. Thank goodness, unlike Meryl, our sense of style has not been clouded by a lifetime of critical acclaim and 14 Oscar nominations.

I’m not sure why I get a kick out of watching the Oscars. Maybe it dates back to the days when my older brother Scott would rent a tux and host his Oscar party every year so we could make our own nominations for “Least Dressed” and “Outfit Most Resembling a Bathrobe” awards. Maybe it’s because even while I arrogantly pretend to be above the celebrity-worshiping, National-Enquirer-buying percentage of the population, I secretly find myself caught up in the spell of the Beautiful People. I admire them and despise them. I wonder what their lives are really like. I aspire to their slenderness and sophistication. I even sympathize with the fact that their lives have no sense of privacy or normalcy (whatever that means) almost as much as I resent them for having nannies and personal trainers and private chefs and never having to ask themselves those really hard parenting questions like, “Is my child truly sick enough to merit the $20 copay or should we wait for her ears to start bleeding before jumping to any conclusions?”

Andy Warhol, in his Marilyn silkscreens, captured the “incredibly familiar yet totally exotic” quality of the star personality. I see Marilyn and think I recognize her. But I never knew her. I wonder if she even knew herself. Warhol wrote, “I love Hollywood. They’re beautiful. Everybody’s plastic.” And I presume he meant that figuratively although if you include collagen and silicone in the definition of plastic, you could take it literally as well.

Warhol was also the one who said that “in the future everyone will be world-famous for 15 minutes.” And see, thanks to my blog, I have hit the mark already. I even have a Google ranking that sends my blog to the top of the query list whenever someone types “crapbooking” or “pee smells like tuna.” If that’s not world-famous I don’t know what is.

And speaking of my blogging self, this is officially my 100th post (or as Gabie would call it, my ten-tieth post). There’s likely some blog-protocol I’m supposed to follow (Do I put together a retrospective slideshow accompanied by “If I could save time in a bottle”? Do I send out flowers to my readers? Do I take myself out to lunch and present myself with a cheap watch?) But, alas, I’m only slightly less clueless about the blogging world than when I started several months ago, so I’m just going to do a little happy dance with my feet as I continue to type and call it good.

Okay, I confess, I did prepare a little speech just in case. I have it tucked inside my Dolce and Gabbana gown. Ah, here it is….

I'd first like to thank the Academy. I’d also like to thank my incredible family for their support. Even though they don’t comment very often, I know they are loyal readers (and not just because they suspect I will say something frightening about them, although sometimes I’m sorely tempted just to see who’s paying attention). I’m thankful to my old friends who visit and my new friends whom I’ve met since I started this strange venture. I never knew how having an audience would transform my writing so dramatically. I am honored that you spend your valuable time reading what I have to say and then spend even more time posting a comment to let me know you’ve been here. Oh how I look forward to your comments, which make me feel like a celebrity and are often more lucid and amusing than my original posts. I’d like to thank my 10th grade teacher Mrs. Bestor for…… *cue loud music from the orchestra pit* ….. but wait! I’m not done yet! I haven’t even told my kids to get to bed..... *giant hook comes out from side of stage and pulls me off, still shouting “thank you! thank you all!”…..*cut to commercial*