So the Oscars are over.

Thank God.

I’m telling you — nothing inspires cattier comments amongst women than hundreds of couture-clad, genetically blessed actresses thrown together in a single tank for everyone to ogle and criticize.

(source)

It never really bothers me that most of them can only move 12% of their facial muscles and there’s always one, inevitably, who apparently feels she’s above that whole hair washing thing.

I’m talking to you, Renee. (source)

(But holy cow, look at that physique! She kind of looks like a sculpted statue herself, no? Minus the frizzy hair. And I don’t want to jump on that whole Renee hatin’ bandwagon because, hey. She is one talented woman. I ain’t afraid to say it. If she weren’t, she wouldn’t be there year after year. Plus I think she’s adorable when she does wash her hair. And I think everyone else does, too — it’s just that it’s en vogue to make fun of her.)

So only thing that really bothers me about the Oscars is that the event has apparently become a free pass for the glitterotti of Social Media Land to publicly ridicule people who — when you stop to think about it — are at an event to potentially receive a huge award and recognition for the work they do.

I mean, back when I had that cubicle gig, nothing would have made me feel worse than some chick who didn’t even know how to send an email attachment Twittering — Tweeting? — the fact that I’d been wearing the same pair of jeans for three days in a row when I walked up to accept my cheaply framed, office printed Certificate of Recognition for Being the Best Office Employee in The History of the Entire Month Along With Six of My Co-Workers.

Okay, that’s a lie.

There are plenty of things that would have made me feel worse.

Because I would have known that haters only hate out of some kind of deep-seated personal discontent.

Which is probably how the stars feel about us.

So, no.

The thing that really bothers me about the Oscars is how they always, without fail, make me think about my own mortality.

*crickets*

What, that’s just me?

Hear me out for a sec.

See, every year they do that In Memoriam bit where they show images and video clips aligned with sad music to pay tribute to the Hollywood players — both past and present — who had passed away during the previous year.

And of course the young, non drug-induced deaths are always the worst — the Patrick Swayzes and  Michael Clarke Duncans of the group because you know the last time they sat in their seats watching In Memoriam at the Academy Awards, they probably thought it would be years before they’d ever actually be in it.

But they do know they will be in it.

One day.

They know that their deaths — and life’s work — will be acknowledged somehow.

And that’s the thing about movie stars and the morbid fascination so many of us have with them. It’s not them, so much as the fact that we know they’ve made themselves known to a point where they won’t be forgotten once their gone.

Their work will continue to influence and inspire and even garner negativity and criticism long after Streisand finishes singing The Way We Were.

And I’m pretty sure that makes most of us kind of envious.

That can’t be just me.

Go on.

It’s okay to admit it.

And here’s the thing: If I’m going to be remembered, I don’t want it to be because I was some snarky nobody blogger whose biggest contribution to this wide, great world was bringing others down.

I want my mark to be positive.

It’s imperative that my mark — should I leave one — be positive.

So I’m sorry, Renee.

I think you are lovely and hilarious and your incredible arms make me wish typing counted as some kind of tricep resistance training because, wow.

Nicely done.

I wouldn’t worry about my hair either if I had a body like that.

And also I was really happy to learn this morning — because I totally went to bed before they were over last night — that Jennifer Lawrence won Best Actress for Silver Linings Playbook.

 

Incredible movie, and incredible acting. All around.

What about you? What’s your positive mark for the day?