The Oscars

Perhaps you didn't notice that The New Yorker was revised to include Lauren, her boyfriend and me at the Oscars on Sunday, Feb 24. It was a magical evening - starting at 11:00 in the morning when we lined up-all gussied up, as my grandmother would say- to be "seat fillers' for the LIVE Academy Awards. Since most of the guests haven't eaten since 4;00 and won't eat until the Governor's Ball at 9:30, the Academy provides an open bar and appetizers all evening in the lobby. At the commercial breaks, many stars get up to have a drink (or three) and some food. In addition, if a nominee wins an award, they go backstage for interviews, photo shots and general merriment. So, as they depart, we slip discretely into their seats so the theater is always full of enthusiastic, well-dressed people who LOOK like they might be famous. People with Botox allergies, an obsession with obtaining autographs or tendency towards butt cramps, did not apply for this unique position.

Lauren had been working for the Academy since October for 22 hour days - or 105 hour weeks - whichever is greater, so she got to share the opportunity with two of her favorite people: her boyfriend and mother. It was a hoot, being behind the scenes, seeing the Red Carpet being set up and experiencing all the global buzz. We discovered that Oscar was redesigned, is seriously branded and now wears a thong. Check out Lauren's boyfriend, Brian, sitting next to Jack Nicholson and, if you don't blink, you will see Lauren dashing behind a newsbroadcaster on her way to manage some logistical situation. I spent my time sitting alongside the cast of Les Miserables, but would have been happy sitting with a Hobbit. Everyone was so incredibly congenial, professional and appreciative. Whatever notions I had of Hollywood has been replaced with admiration. I think I have PSSS (Post Start-Struck Syndrome) and have no intention of recovering.

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