A vaccine for my Oscar fever

I'm supposed to see snow, not awakening cherry blossoms, on the big tree in front of my home during Oscar weekend.

By the same token, I was supposed to see  all the nominated films in a theater, and that didn't happen.

I love my cherry tree(but not the fallen blossoms that will coat my welcome mat, foyer, and shoes in the weeks to come) and I hope it's  still in full bloom a week from tomorrow, when Evan can pose in front of it in the tux he'll wear for his BFF's wedding.

It just seems out of place to see it and the Oscar telecast on the same weekend.

It's  anti-climactic to be watching the Academy Awards  in the spring, although  I've hosted and attended many Oscar parties in similar weather. 

 Just never this late in the calendar.

I have so many memories(and buried photos) of those wonderful Oscar parties from the 1970's-1980's.  The day itself was my Super Bowl; even the nomination day was something to get out of bed for.

My raging Oscar fever now is more like a dull ache, and that's partly due to the pandemic robbing me of the movie-going experience, and partly because the awards are pretty much sewn up, thanks to all the televised award shows leading up to the Big One.

Only  the award  for "Best Actress"  has any suspense.  I'm personally rooting for Carey Mulligan, but every one of these ladies gave performances that warrant a statuette. This category is the only one that offers any mystery, unless Faye Dunaway reads the Best Picture winner, and what comes out of her mouth is anyone's guess.

I miss those Oscar parties of my 20's.

I'd decorate the halls with caricatures of all the major nominees, not exactly capturing a likeness but capturing an essence.

  Everyone dressed up as a nominee. 

 Everyone loved my salute to Oprah Winfrey's Miss Sophia in 1986.

 Everyone cringes now, but at the time, we  had no idea what I attempted to do with make-up was so PI.

I loved our betting  pools, which were won mostly by someone who randomly guessed the winner of the  documentary or live action short, which I once considered a joke until I found a venue to show them decades later, turning them into the night's most suspenseful moment.

I remember being Oprah in that terrible burnt-sienna make-up and BFF Jim dressing as her competition, Meg Tilley's  character from "Agnes of God." We stopped for ice at a 7/11, and the clerk didn't bat an eye, even when Jim whispered "bless you, my son" after receiving the ice in a nun's dress and hat.

Everything we  served matched the nominations too, which would be a challenge this year.

What would I bring to salute this year's nominees?

Korean celery in honor of "Miniari?"

Deep-dish pizza for "The Trial of the CHICAGO Seven?"

Cupcakes decorated with newborns, like the baby Borat put into his daughter's belly for pleasure?

Or would I just serve revenge ala Cassie from "Promising Young Woman" which is still my favorite movie of the year?

It'll be close but no cigar for actress Glenn, facing Olivia Colman  yet again, but  experts say they're both going to lose to Yuh-Jung Youn and yay, me!  I think I got her name right without googling.

Eight nominations and no win!

(Although if I were Glenn Close, I'd be kind of embarrassed  to win the coveted prize for this role, a movie so universally panned by critics even 'though I personally liked "Hillbilly Elegy.")

I'll miss the smarmy monologue but how smarmy would it be with no host and  no Trump in office?

Maybe they'll have a host next year.

And we'll return to seeing films in real theaters.

Without masks, and without freaking out if someone coughs.

Until that happens, save me the aisle seat.