Awarding

 I understand that while I am calling for us all to rise up that I would pause the struggle for four hours on a Sunday night to stare at a group of folks who can afford to rent a tuxedo to sit in the Dolby Theatre, formerly the Kodak Theatre when movies were shot on "film," and pass out awards for art. 

Yes, I watched all of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences annual Self-Congratulatory Celebration of folks who, for the most part, can afford to buy themselves the Rolex they found in their Swag Bag. My mother raised me this way. She was the first in her little town of Granby, Colorado to read the newest movie magazines when they arrived at her parents' drug store. She sat me down at the foot of her bed late one night to show me something called "King Kong," and my life was aligned with her ever after.  

Throughout the seventies, eighties and nineties, compared notes with my mom as we filled out our Oscar ballots. When I moved to California, there were lengthy phone calls to discuss the way things turned, back when the show originated from the Shrine Auditorium or the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion. Bob Hope and Johnny Carson presided over the festivities and it never occurred to me that with all the horrible things that were happening in the world maybe watching a bunch of stiffs in formalwear take their bows for the performances they had made with the support of hundreds was a waste of time. 

Like the Super Bowl, it became a tent post, an event that marked the passage of another year. When there were "important" movies that had been stamped by the Motion Picture Association such that I would be barred form entry without a parent or guardian, I had a parent who would make sure I didn't miss One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest. Or Blazing Saddles. 

Those were the days of Nixon. And the Energy Crisis. And Inflation. And the Middle East. Those were the days when I was at the movie theatre. Those were the days when I took it as a matter of pride that I had seen all the nominated best pictures. 

And I knew that the world was at a tipping point. Taking those hours away from worrying about Armageddon didn't seem like a bad choice. In fact, it made the whole mess just a little easier to take. When it was time to hand out golden statues for recognition of the stories being told on those silver screens, I was there.

I still am. There was some mild vindication in seeing One Battle After Another win the big prize. The revolution may not be televised, but at least I got to see it on the big screen.