January 25, 2011


While I have seen some of the nominated pictures, I won't do what I have done last year and look at all of them. I simply don't find the strength in me to care. I just don't. It is a sad thing to say, coming from somebody like me who has loved the medium of film for such a long time, and who religiously watched the Oscars telecast, not as a kid but way into my adulthood, staying up all night and throughout the early morning. And no, not to see the celebrities parade the last fashion atrocities down the red carpet, not to listen to the impossibly vapid commentaries they gave in their interviews.

I actually cared about who would win best art direction, who was the best cinematographer, who did the best acting on what best picture, in the way football fans care about the even the smallest details. And in my head, I would assemble the best team ever, for my movies, the way those football fans assemble their fantasy team.

But it doesn't mean anything. It hasn't meant anything in a long time. And even though I am insomniac, for so many nights, I refuse to have my brain filled with things that are superficial and silly and stupid, and I refuse to be part a celebration that resembles the perfect circle jerk, and when I say "part of" I mean being their willing audience, their television viewing zombie.

There is no brain for me to munch on there.

There is nothing there.

And life is too short to care for them.