Sunday, February 22, 2015

The Big, Sickly, Bloated Night

I hadn't really planned on watching the Oscars but I'm at my parents' house and my mother's throwing a little Oscar themed party. I haven't seen most of the nominees. I suppose either American Sniper or Selma will win. I haven't seen either one. I'm leaning towards American Sniper for my prediction. The ironic thing about the outcry over Selma's initial shut out is that the movie looks unmistakably like Oscar bait to me. I suspect academy voters won't like being shamed so, even though Clint Eastwood presents a generally conservative worldview in his films, sort of the anti-Argo, I think the voters will go with him because he's royalty.

I don't have any illusions about movies winning on artistic merit. I'm almost to the point where a movie winning an Oscar seems like an insult to the filmmakers to me. But if I were pulling for anyone, I guess I'd want Grand Budapest Hotel to win Best Picture, The Tale of Princess Kaguya to win Best Animated Feature, and Ida to win Best Foreign Film.

Twitter Sonnet #719

Soggy crackers collide in a cork sky.
Reflected lamentations show tear glass.
The grooves in groves of Grover flail and cry.
Detained DeLoreans lack the right pass.
Brittle silver chopsticks doodle the eights.
Sticky white gum emerges as the king.
Hairnet boots confirm the rocket probates.
A song rattled a coin filled cup to sing.
Ham enclotted eyebrows break out the meat.
Birds wearing wing-tips will not ever fly.
Passion's plastic suffocates the love seat.
Couch consecrations praise potato fries.
Duplicate eggs liquidate drop pictures.
Yellow wings weakly whisk the light fixtures.

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