Cinematic Circle Jerk

I love the Oscars. But they’re disgusting.

They’re like watching a porno while your sister is in the room. They’re like tipping the pizza delivery guy with Monopoly money. They’re like eating a corn dog after sex.

Oscar night is the most self-congratulatory night of the year.

Kanye West filming himself frenching a Fathead of himself naked in the candlelight on his birthday while “808s & Heartbreak” plays softly isn’t nearly as self-congratulatory.

Here you have dozens of Hollywood’s “finest” getting together for one night to thank themselves, no, award themselves for being themselves.

Then they make a speech written by their publicist for all the people they’ve trampled over the years to make their win possible.

Even though they’re saying thanks, what they’re really thankful for is themselves for being able to step into the multi-thousand dollar dresses and hairdos that took three days and enough gay men to fill up the auditorium of an off-Broadway production of “Rent” to get “just right,” the ocean of paparazzi rushing to take a photo of Angelina Jolie’s cleavage as she bends down to pick up her tiara, Ryan Seacrest still denying he’s gay, Jennifer Lawrence giving somebody the finger — the list goes on and on.

It’s all just depressing to watch.

“Who are you wearing?” Guiliana Rancic drones halfheartedly to some plastic doll.

“Oh, this? My darling friend Federico Empirio LeMario Valentino Vittorio Valentino designed it for me!” plastic doll answers as the gentle petting of her ego can actually be heard through your television speakers.

But maybe I’m just jealous of all these people.

Maybe I’m angry I haven’t won an Oscar. There’s a 122-page script that’s never left my computer’s hard drive that provides good evidence for this claim.

I’ll probably never win an Oscar, and I’m not sure if I ever want to (this is a lie), but this isn’t the point, because I love the Oscars despite all this.

Maybe the Oscars are just a metaphor for the inherent hypocrisy of society. Like cigarette smoking or unsafe sex.

We know they’re bad for us, but we do them anyway.

­— zipperr@indiana.edu