And the train wreck goes to...

What a lackluster year for the Academy Awards. If it wasn't for my hetero lover and Marion Cotillard winning, I'd have thrown myself out the window. Okay, it wasn't that terrible. It had it's moments (Amy Adams, 'Once' performance, many of the presenters almost eating shit on stage). Another highlight (or low light depending on how you look at it) was the best and worst dressed of the night.

On that note, my picks...

WORST DRESSED:

5. Make no mistake, I have a non-describable (if not a tad inappropriate) love affair with Julie Christie. She is without a doubt the most gorgeous Oldie McHottie on the market. But even screen legends need a little fashion advice. Her ruffle-rut would look aiight if those ghasstly flesh-eating gloves weren't taking over her arm. Nevertheless, she's still purtty. Although I thought Marion deserved the Oscar (slightly) more, Christie was a talented little bitch in Away from Her.

4. ...and I am telling you, I'm not impressed. In fact, I'm a little distraught. I understand J. Hud needs to turn heads and scout for attention, but this dress is a sack full of nasty-ass (to be fair, she is attracting attention). However, it doesn't flatter her figure in the slightest. You'd think after last year's pitfall, she'd have learned her lesson. Um, no. Instead, she decided to one up herself.

3. I know what you're thinking - "you unloyal POS fan". Okay, before you run towards me with pitchforks and hatchets, this hideous lapse of fashion judgement does not (I repeat does NOT) alter my loving perception of her. She's still my Diablo and I heart her anyways (despite her hard-on for leopard print). I just wish she looked more Glamorous Hollywood for her deserved Oscar win, and less Jungle Fever. All that's missing is her Boa Constructor (or rather, feather Boa?).

2. I reaally don't want to talk about it! Despite Daniel Day Lewis's talent, his "style" remains unfortunately consistent. Apparently fashion and performance don't necessarily go hand in hand. However, the worst part about this disaster zone is his accessory (my apologies Ms. Lewis). My attention was directed at her shoulders, then my eyes worked downwards (Jeweled broaches and all) till my corneas burned out. At least they're still cute together and boy can he act!

1. Tilda Swinton, where do you get these ideas? Yet, does this really surprise anybody? She was my personal pick for Supporting Actress, but that doesn't mean her performance inspired much confidence for her "fashion taste". It looks as though she stomped on over to the nearest fabric store, grabbed a couple yards of charcoal colored velvet and wrapped it around herself. I dunno, maybe she was cold. In any case, I'm glad she won. It was well deserved. God love her.

BEST DRESSED:

To me, the best dressed of the night needs no explanation. They simply need to be stared at for all eternity, and learned from by the aforementioned train wrecks.

5. Cameron Diaz

4. Heidi Klum

3. Laura Linney

2. Jennifer Garner

1. Penelope Cruz

Oscar Post

Forget Christmas, Oscar season is the happiest time of the year.  With a fantastic film line-up and note-worthy performances, we have approached the weekend of all weekends.  The Superbowl of filmmaking.  The award shows that make every other awards telecast look like the People's Choice Awards (Oh stop, the shows ghastly).  The Academy Awards are here, and after a brief moment of nonexistence (due to the lovely Writers Strike), they're happening TOMORROW.  

As of now, I have my picks of who I think are gonna win (do you have yours?), but I'm mostly interested in the fashion aspect around the corner (Everyone and their Uncle Joes are laying down their lists).  Fashion-wise, I can almost predict the inevitable.  Of the Best Actresses, Julie Christie will sport a heinous ensemble.  Cate Blancett and Laura Linney will look divine.  Ellen Page will look awkward as usual (God bless her heart).  However, I'm predicting the Best Dressed female will go to, none other, than Marion Cotillard.  

Mark my words, she's gonna rock it. 

A LIFE Less Ordinary

What better way to spend a rather dreary Sunday night than to play the game of LIFE with my amigo-chums. I use the word 'dreary' specifically only because I was still nursing a horrific hangover (damn you orange juice and vodka....times 3!). Anyways, wouldn't it be peachy if the game of LIFE correlated with your actual life. Take for instance, Sunday night's primo wicked "life". I was a successful novelist, living in a Hugh Heffingnormous mansion, and married to Brad Pitt. (Hey, it's my fictitious life!) Anywho, throughout my thirty-year span, Brad and I had three children named Snoop Dog, Meleike, and Shantashayshay. These names were courtesy of my roommates (we all put names in a cup, and I happen to draw the most, um, unique). In any case, I thought the names reflected well with me and my hubby's cultural-seeking, manic-adopting, ethnic-baby-obsessing personalities. Well....his atleast.

Through the thick of the board-game storm, I began to question the details within my own life. If the life I covet - filled with scolding bosses, coffee runs, and shameful casting couch excursions - is actually worth it. Okay okay, I'm totally kidding - I don't make coffee runs. Alas, I'll just have to wait. Patiently wait. And in the mean time be left with the sheer hope that a Brad-filled, mansion-living, highly successful life is, in due time, possible.

With a little Shantashayshay on the side.

Fast Food Order

How adorable is Anderson Cooper? I would like two orders of him (hold the onions) with a side of curly fries please.

Heart Race to the White House

I can distinctly remember the good ole' days when Politics was merely an apparition brought upon by a couple of geriatrics (eventually chiseled onto a mungo mountain). You know, when history class taught us the grueling significance of the declaration of independence and our four fathers (George Washington...and some other guys). Yet, never did I think I would be voluntarily interested in Politics. Until, however, this pesky little Presidential race began. Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton (or more widely known as the first potential black president or woman president) have become instant celebrities. I half-expect the paparazzi to snap unsightly photographs of the candidates (all of which would subsequently end up on P. Hilton's websites with fake jizz on their lip).

Anyways, it's quite amusing. Not too long ago, two of our most notorious fictionalized Presidents graced the boob tube mirroring an uncanny representation of Hillz and B-Rack. Ironically, I was a huge fan of 24 and Commander in Chief (a slight edge given to the heart-pounding drama of 24) . Suddenly, what many thought to be purely fictional, now can possibly be a reality. Who knew such a culturally influential year could make government so delightfully intriguing.

Now, Politics has suddenly entered every aspect of my daily life. I find myself regularly drawn to CNN, C-SPAN, and (gasp!) talk radio! My morning cartoons have transitioned to the Today Show and I actually have begun reading the LA Times regularly (ick)! I'm a hop, skip, and some Bengay away from full-fledged adulthood. All that's missing is some guacamole and a proposition from AARP, and I got myself a partay.

The United States of Tara

Honestly, I did everything to cure me of my Diablo addiction...
I was prescribed every possible remedy on the (black)market. Visited all the top psychologists, physicians, and witch doctors. Hell, I even tried diagnosing (slash treating) myself on the internet (which evidently caused me to be sidetracked to perezhilton.com. DAMN YOU INTERNET!) Unfortunately, none of that was enough. The addiction remains! A few days ago, my dealer (formerly known as my boss) presented me with The United States of Tara script. For those of you who are so 6 months ago, it's Ms. Cody's sophomore project starring renowned actress and sexpot, Toni Collette. Now, I'm obviously not going to divulge too much information because I don't really want to be fired from my trabajo, not to mention shunned by Spielberg himself, but I will tell you that it's looking to be mighty entertaining. Imagine Juno televised, and you basically have the mirthful series pegged.

The premise revolves around a vivacious decorator (Tara Gregor) who struggles to find a balance between her dissociative identity disorder and dysfunctional family life. I must admit, I was obviously elated receiving this script on my desk. A real shot in the arm for my DC complex.

All I need to do now is figure out a way to get on that damn set. For your sake, you better hope I don't. Otherwise expect loads of Diablo COverage in the future.

Sin City?

There's something about gambling and God that go so well together. Last Saturday, I attempted to try my luck (or lack thereof) at my Church's Texas Hold'em Tournament. That's right ladies and gents, my Church hosts poker tournaments! Where else can a guy put up his Sunday tithings? I kid I kid. Contrary to popular belief, no money was actually exchanged and we did not use the body of Christ (i.e. the yummy wafers) as poker chips. Instead, we played for raffle tickets. Oh I know. I'm très cool.

Anyways, I really hate to brag, but I'm awesome. That evening, I put on my best poker face and went in guns blazing. Actually, I played the 'but-I'm-new-to-this-game' card. I know, God will smite me. In the end, however, my luck diminished and I placed a staggering 5th place (out of 30, mind you). From that moment on, I decided to become the trophy wife to my new-found friend Gwendoline (a.k.a. Desperate Housewives' housemaid hussy). I was the Posh to her David - my poker face was replaced by a pouting one. To no avail, she didn't win, but did take home the silver.

The night ended with the much-anticipated raffle drawing. My luck must have carried over, because I actually won the Hasbro hit electronic game Catch Phrase! So...do I have any takers???

Through the Looking Glass

This writer's strike has given me a red rump lately. No, not because my fave shows have gone M.I.A. (But now that you mention it, I wonder what Meredith and McDreamy are up to....) Anyways, living in and around Los Angeles through the WGA storm, I've yet to see any actual evidence of a strike.* Eighty-six days in, and it's still all smoke and mirrors if you ask me. It's dissapointing. I wanna see picket lines! You know, crowds of scripters carrying burning torches and tossing their failed screenplays into bonfires. Where are the writer riots??! I half-expected Akiva Goldsman to smash through a Paramount window with an Olivetti-Royal Premier Plus Typewriter. Nope. Nuthin'.

Alas, the reality is that the strike isn't an illusion. I have friends who were unfortunately fired from their jobs this past week. Now, who knows what the future holds for them. They may have to start selling meth. Or perhaps begin turning tricks on Miracle Mile. Or even (dare I say it) work in reality television! Ugh, the mere thought of that makes my skin shiver. Let's just hope, for their sake, it's resolved soon.

...Oh, who am I kidding. I miss McDreamy!

*The picture above is courtesy of my friend Yaniv. I have no idea where he ran into this. I personally think he staged it.