Wait, wait! Can I change my decisions? I obviously spend way too much time thinking about this.

Best Director: Okay, in truth Ron Howard will win for A Beautiful Mind if that picture nabs a win from Lord of the Rings. I just think the Academy will have to agree that for all it's actorly fun, Gosford Park was too technically shabby to reward it for this prize.

Best Supporting Actor: This is hardest for me because I haven't seen most of the nominees. But I'm going to go out on a limb and say that Ben Kingsley will win for Sexy Beast, and I'll also give my "hope for" vote to Ian McKellen for Lord of the Rings. I was feeling guilty for giving props to Jim Broadbent for his other work, and really McKellen did a mighty fine Gandalf, anyway.

Okay that's it, really. But I reserve my right to change votes until broadcast time.

Here it is, barely twenty-four hours before my favorite holiday, Oscar^TM night. You might well ask, “Why Oscar^TM? Everyone knows that the best movies are overlooked, and even the best nominees tend to be snubbed. Everyone knows that nobody wins when they should, and often win when they shouldn’t. Everyone knows that the election (like most elections) is dominated by politics, gossip, bad-mouthing, and whoever can buy the largest ads in Variety. Everyone knows that the telecast is overlong, yet it is always the thank-you speeches that get trimmed instead of the torturous musical sequences or the painful “banter” between tipsy presenters. Why should anyone pay attention to this crap, much less spend precious hours mulling over sample ballots?

I have three reasons. First, I dearly love a spectacle. Second, the outfits: oohing over the good ones and howling over the bad ones. Third, there is always the chance that someone worthy will squeak by with an award--Steven Soderbergh, say--or, uh, well I’m sure I’ll think of someone else.

Since I made my knee-jerk predictions just after the nominees were announced (see Feb. 14), I have seen the remaining four of the Best Picture nominees, but unfortunately nothing more. Based on that shaky information, I have a new list of those I think will win, in addition to those I hope will win. Where applicable, I've also included my earlier predictions:

Best Picture
Think Will Win: A Beautiful Mind
Hope Will Win: Moulin Rouge
Feb. Prediction: A Beautiful Mind
Frankly, I don’t think any of them really deserve it. I felt all the nominees were flawed in some way (Gosford Park’s murky sound and visuals, In the Bedroom’s disappointing third act), which rendered them not great but merely well done. I almost picked Lord of the Rings as my “hope will win” choice, but I cannot forget that even as I was nail-biting through Moria, I was also looking at my watch. Moulin Rouge was the only film in this bunch that truly transported me to its Technicolor world, while the commitment of the actors transcended the silly story—and that was on the small screen. Also, I would feel remiss if I didn't note that A Beautiful Mind has gotten a bad rap of late (which might serve to push Lord of the Rings into the winning spot). Yes, it is a soppy Hollywood movie, but I found my distaste for it ran more from the type of film Ron Howard and the producers chose to make, rather than the execution of their vision. As soppy Hollywood films go, Howard did an admirable job making the movie he wanted to make, even if I might argue that it didn’t need making.

Best Director
Think Will Win: Robert Altman, Gosford Park
Hope Will Win: Peter Jackson, Lord of the Rings
Feb. Prediction: Robert Altman, Gosford Park
Altman has the edge for the sympathy vote for his contribution to the medium (and the chance to reward Jackson for one of the next two Rings films). But clearly, of this year's nominees, Jackson’s was the strongest achievement.

Actor
Think Will Win: Denzel Washington, Training Day
Hope Will Win: Denzel Washington, Training Day
Feb. Prediction: Russell Crowe/Denzel Washington
I thought Crowe might bring home Oscar #2 this year, but now I think the Academy might—however unfairly—wish to avoid awarding someone with a dodgy reputation so generously. Also, his performance might annoy people as much as amaze them, depending on how you like your on-screen loonies. Though I haven’t seen I Am Sam or Ali, this just feels like Denzel’s year. I haven’t seen Training Day either, but I like the idea of someone winning for an unlikable character in a genre movie.

Actress
Think Will Win: Sissy Spacek, In the Bedroom
Hope Will Win: Renee Zellweger, Bridget Jones’s Diary
Feb. Prediciton: Nicole Kidman, Moulin Rouge
I withdraw my previous slam-dunk prediction for Nicole Kidman. She’s still a possibility, but her performance was just too slight to compete with such heavyweights as Judi Dench and Spacek. As far as my “hope for” choice, I truly think Zellweger was dead-on marvelous as Bridget Jones. And it’s about time the Academy recognizes that comedic performances can be just as challenging and revealing as going bughouse nuts or dropping dead. Go Renee.

Supporting Actor
Think Will Win: Ian McKellen, Lord of the Rings
Hope Will Win: Jim Broadbent, Iris
If the Academy chooses McKellen’s lovely but unremarkable performance as Gandalf based on the times that he should have won before (Gods and Monsters, anyone?), then why not award Jim Broadbent because he turned out two other truly great performances this year—in Moulin Rouge and Bridget Jones’s Diary?

Supporting Actress
Think Will Win: Jennifer Connelly, A Beautiful Mind
Hope Will Win: Helen Mirren, Gosford Park
As much as I’d love to see Marisa Tomei win as a big “fuck you” to all of her detractors, if I had a vote I’d give it to Mirren, who was so subtle and touching in her role, and tends to be unfairly overlooked in favor of Maggie Smith’s more showy (but one-note) role in the same film. Not to slight Jennifer Connelly, but I think she can do better, and will.

Adapted Screenplay
Think Will Win: Akiva Goldman, A Beautiful Mind
Hope Will Win: Daniel Clowes and Terry Zwigoff, Ghost World
Feb. Prediction: Akiva Goldman, A Beautiful Mind
The media-created controversy over Beautiful’s factual inaccuracy is a non-issue. The criticism of the first third as “ludicrous” just shows that people either didn’t get or didn’t like the clever storytelling device. As screenplays go, I think you could do worse. But oh, Ghost World is such a triumph in all things wonderful. What kind of incantation can I do to make it win? Dye my hair green and play a lot of Ramones records? I’ll do it!!

Original Screenplay
Think Will Win: Christopher Nolan, Memento
Hope Will Win: Christopher Nolan, Memento
Feb. Prediction: Christopher Nolan, Memento
I marked my Entertainment Weekly Oscar Ballot^TM with Julian Fellowes taking the top prize for Gosford Park, but I’ve reconsidered. I just don’t think the Academy can completely ignore the extraordinary structure and intricacy of 2001’s most interesting film. The editing trophy it might win isn’t enough, and frankly Gosford’s murder-mystery plot isn’t all that fascinating, truth be told.

Best Animated Feature
Think Will Win: Shrek
Hope Will Win: Monsters, Inc.
Feb. Prediction: Shrek
It still puzzles me why Monsters didn’t seem to connect with as many people as Shrek, but perhaps that film’s legions of fans can’t understand why Mike Myers’ green ogre left me cold. But the real winner in this category is Richard Linklater’s brilliant Waking Life, which is the most baffling snub of all Oscar^TM snubs.

In the “lesser” races, I have Lord of the Rings taking home trophies for Cinematography, Visual Effects, Score, Art Direction and Makeup. Moulin Rouge may have it’s only shoo-in with Costume Design, but I secretly hope it pulls Art Direction away from an awards-laden Rings.

Has the world gone completely fucking insane????

My sister is here (not right here at the moment, actually. She’s off “partying” or whatever the kids do these days) so it’s been theater-intensive the last few days. I love that people visit me; otherwise I might never go to museums or see Broadway shows.

Tuesday night we saw The Crucible, starring Liam Neeson and Laura Linney as the heroic Proctors. The staging was really cool, and Neeson was every bit the “Force of Nature” shouted by the theater’s marquee. Plus he takes his shirt off. Recommended.

Tonight we managed to get second-row seats to Proof, the 2001 Pulitzer and Tony-winning play starring Jennifer Jason Leigh. Funny that mathematics and madness seem to be the two great tastes that taste great together these days. I just wish this thing could take the place of The Russell Crowe Twitching and Drooling Show in the Oscar race, but never mind. Melanie pointed out that the basic story and character types weren’t all that original, but the mathematics framework was a nice addition (ha ha). Leigh got to play the sort of broken-voiced wounded indie-girl-with-integrity she always, always, always plays—which she does very well. I was really impressed with Seana Kofoed, not only because her name must be the most difficult to pronounce in show business, but because she played a note-perfect prissy Manhattan career gal that you love to hate. Josh Hamilton was also very satisfying as the geeky boyfriend, although he did not remove any garments.

Monday night we took in a rehearsal of Mike’s show, 21 Dog Years. That was a real test, too. I think some people might wonder if they never had any direct connection with Amazon.com or the dot-com world, if this show would have anything to say to them. Well, Melanie is a 20-year-old musical theater major who has never had an office job in her life and she enjoyed it, so there you go.

Afterwards I told Mike that I felt more of a personal connection with the show this time. I’ve seen it three or four times now, but I think this is the first since I left Amazon.com, and the distance is significant. Mike told me that after the first time I saw 21 Dog Years (opening night, a little over a year ago, in Seattle) I made a point of telling him I didn’t agree with his opinions, but I still liked the show. It sounds incredible to me now, but knowing where my head was at the time (freshly laid-off for the first time in my life, in charge of creating a training program for my replacements and waking every day with the gnawing fear that any slip-up would cause me to lose my severance pay), I can see why I would have said something like that.

The show is certainly laugh-out-loud-roll-on-the-floor hilarious, don’t get me wrong, but it seems more poignant now--and that’s appropriate. After all, the dot-com bubble has burst. When the show premiered it was still the early days of a floundering industry. Many of us still thought, hoped, that this was just a little glitch, a dip, a trend that would bounce back. This couldn’t be the “Amazon.bomb” that was predicted in some business magazine back in 1997—an article which was subject to much ridicule in meetings for years. Now that nervous uncertainty has become a nationwide depression. We who were caught in the maelstrom of the boom and bust now have to face the question that many of us have put out of our minds since college: now what do I do?

Most people I know who have recently been laid off—all tech or dot-com, it should be noted—tend to agree that being laid off was the worst, best thing to happen to them. We are all in some way relieved to be out of that environment. Yet now we’re faced with the prospect of either trying to make a go of some artistic or academic skill we hope we haven’t lost, or going right back to the sort of office environment we were just “liberated” from—but without the friends we made there. It’s not easy to carry on.

Perhaps it’s appropriate that this show will play in New York, rather than Seattle or San Francisco. New York, known as being the most resilient of our major metropolitan areas, has been wounded in an unimaginable way, and now struggles under truly frightening levels of unemployment and untested leadership. As such, Mike’s play speaks to not only the loss of the company that would make corporate culture safe for artists, but to all of the illusions that shattered in the last couple of years: that we are safe, that our President really cares, that elections are free and that corporations can’t buy power using their own workers’ money. Far from being outdated, 21 Dog Years’s insight into the effects of dot-com life is a look into the sleepwalking dreams that we’re simultaneously glad and terrified to wake from.

But he doesn’t take his shirt off.

So Gia has left me; she is back in the skies, hurtling toward Seattle. Sigh. It was great having her here, like having my own vacation from the vacation that has become my life. Looking back on the week, it seems to me that it was remarkably well paced and planned, despite the fact that it wasn’t planned at all, really. All I knew was that Gia wanted to see museums, and she hadn’t been in New York for ten years, so I was perfectly willing to defer to whatever she wanted to do. If or when she ran out of ideas, I hoped to have enough of an arsenal of interesting destinations (despite the fact that I rarely go anywhere myself) to keep us entertained. It worked out rather well, I think.

Fortunately enough, I barely have time to think about getting back to my solitary lifestyle—forget job-hunting—because now my little sister is coming to visit! She’s on spring break from her last semester of college, and I’ll be putting her up for at least a couple of days. I’m looking forward to it. Not only is it always great to see her, but it was not so long ago (October 2000, in fact) that she and I were vacationing in NYC, on the first trip we’d taken together. We shared a room in Chelsea and spent most of our four-day trip at the Times Square TKTS booth or in some Broadway theater or other. It will be interesting to see how this trip is different (cheaper lodging, for starters).

But back to Gia’s visit. I am happy to see that I was able to resurrect my Thursday entry, below—Blogger.com was acting up that afternoon, causing me no end of consternation. It was a beautiful day, and by afternoon I was feeling antsy that I wasn’t outside enjoying it. Thankfully Gia called and I met her in Astor place so we could sightsee in the East Village. While doing so, we inadvertently ran right into the tenement where Gia stayed with friends the last time she was in town a decade ago. We then indulged in scrumptious curry at my favorite Indian place on 6th St. Again at a loss of what to do that night (woe to the early-thirtysomethings who have no interest in getting drunk or spending a lot of money after 6pm in Manhattan), we decided to finally see In the Bedroom, which we had both been talking about. We dashed uptown and saw the movie (we were both disappointed in the film, if not the wonderful performances), and then wandered through the Disneyland-Hell that is Times Square during prime time. Gia was pleased with her first visit to Times Square, and we were still in bed by a decent hour.

The next day, Friday, was Gia’s birthday, and lacking any smooth way of unveiling my birthday surprise for her, I just told her to pack everything she needed for the next 24-to-36 hours. Thankfully she had packed very light for the trip, so I ended up having more luggage than she did. As we had planned earlier, we subway’d up to Harlem for a soul-food brunch at Amy Ruth’s, which was even more delectable than I remembered (diet? What diet?). We left in actual pain, and still had a stack of leftovers.

Gia didn’t know where we were headed and it probably added to the mystery that the subway skipped our stop unexpectedly (“I was just waiting for that to happen,” she said), and we had to backtrack to 59th Street. Finally we got to our stop, and I navigated until we got to an unlabeled entryway bathed in chartreuse neon. “I think this is it,” I announced, and we entered. Once inside, we were faced only with a steep escalator surrounded by the same chartreuse lighting, and no signage. I joked that if we were in the wrong place, the worse they could do was throw us out. We went up the escalator and were faced with a mahogany lobby, covered with ivy which snaked across a high skylight. Deep leather chairs were mated with semi-kitschy lamps made of faux (I hope) antlers. The juxtaposition of the modernistic neon with the hunting-lodge earth tones was strangely pleasing, so I walked up to the front desk and asked, “Is this the Hudson?”

I don’t remember the first I learned of Hudson, but I think it was around the time my sister and I were planning our vacation to NYC a year and a half ago. It was a more innocent time, when I thought my Amazon.com career was stable, and the World Trade Center still existed. I had seen articles in In Style magazine and the like about this brand new super-chic NYC hotel, with its Philippe Starck furnishings and celebrities clamoring to be seen at the futuristic bar. I think my friend Alex even suggested that we stay there. It looked really cool, all right, but besides the expense, I would feel about as comfortable there as I would in Twilo (the now-defunct ultra hip nightclub of the time). I may be OK-looking, but I am not one of the Beautiful People, if you follow.

Fast-forward to a few weeks ago. I had heard of a deal for discounted hotel rates, and I was actually looking to see if I could get a cheaper rate on a room in Indianapolis for the Star Wars Celebration this May. When that turned out to be a wash, I decided to check their New York offerings, just on a lark. When Hudson turned out to be one of the choices, I suddenly came upon the idea of what I could give Gia for her birthday—a night in a sleekly designed urban fashion-palace (and, of course, I would selfishly come along to keep her company).

So, there we were, checking into our tiny room. I couldn’t get two beds, or even a King, for the discounted rate, but it was clear we could comfortably fit into the Queen without having to snuggle. I told Gia that when I called the hotel to confirm the reservation, I had tried to get a different bed option. The reservations clerk wondered why I needed a bigger bed, and I explained, “There are two of us, and we’re not--you know--together.” “OH!” exclaimed the clerk, comprehension dawning. But when she told me it would be $135 to upgrade, I told her we’d just be friendly.

Gia, the burgeoning designer, was impressed with the room. It was done in the same dark wood as the lobby, with bright chrome accents and the bed as a big fluffy white cloud in the middle of the room. She explained that this was a great example of a classic design trick, whereby putting one large light-colored piece of furniture in the middle of the room makes the room appear larger. There was a fun backlight behind the headboard, and a beautiful modern basin sink in the closet-sized bathroom. Gia’s favorite touch, though, had to be the peek-a-boo shower. The shower stall (and, thus, the entire bathroom) was separated from the bedroom by a clear pane of glass. The options were to shower in full view of the room’s occupants, draw the sheer curtain for a more subtle effect, or close the shower’s opaque curtain for ultimate modesty. Though we made sure to close the privacy curtain any time we attended to bathroom business, Gia had great fun leaping into the dry shower, fully clothed, to go-go dance at every opportunity.

After settling in, admiring the view, and resting to allow our enormous brunch to digest, our friend Nell showed up to take us lingerie shopping. From the too-much-information dept: All of us had realized at some point or other in our lives that finding a bra that fits really well is not an easy task. Nell had discovered a place in the Upper West Side that specialized in such fittings, and Gia and I were eager to experience the joy of a perfect bra. I won’t reveal the intimate details, but I will report that, apparently, I’m two cup sizes larger than I thought I was. I joked that my newly-discovered size now sounded so impressive I wanted to wear a nametag that cheerily read: HI, I’M 34-D! I still don’t know that I really believe it, despite now owning the best-fitting (if not the world’s most attractive) undergarment of my adult life. As a bonus, it wasn’t any more expensive than most of my ill-fitting Victoria’s Secret finds.

Back at our hotel, we decided to go down for a drink before the bar got overloaded with Friday night out-and-abouters—even though Thursday is reportedly the new Friday, I figured the end of the typical work-week still means something to most Manhattanites. However, I wanted to wear the new shoes I bought with Gia a couple days previous, which required a complete outfit change. This didn’t take long, but by the time we made it back to the lobby, all the seating at the bar was taken. From the photos I’d seen, I remembered the Hudson bar as being a perfect replica of the “white room” set at the end of 2001: A Space Odyssey. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the case at all, though it was clearly inspired by that aesthetic. The floor was made of fluorescent-lit squares, as if Michael Jackson had come in from his “Billie Jean” video and danced all over the place. The furniture was an odd collection of 18th century-inspired styles and a continuation of the lobby’s bizarro hunting-lodge motif—in particular, a couple of large benches fashioned like rough logs with dainty chair-backs embedded into them. We found a large leather armchair just outside the bar entrance, and so we perched there until the waitress brought us extra chairs. We discovered we were set right at the top of the escalator coming up from the main entrance, so we exchanged plenty of looks with arriving tourists as well as the hipsters coming up for a few drinks—no celebrities though.

I’m never good at choosing a drink when faced with a bartender. I don’t have a signature cocktail, much as I’ve tried to develop a taste for a particular variety. I end up standing there, dazed, trying to remember the various names of cocktails I’ve either had or read about somewhere. Basic well drinks (i.e. vodka tonic, whiskey sour) all seem too boring; particularly at a fancy bar, but I’m not all that well versed in beverages with clever names. Finally I decided on a Cosmopolitan, correctly guessing that this was the pretty pink thing being ingested by a handful of folks at the bar. After we settled at our seats, I realized that I hadn’t had an alcoholic beverage for many weeks, and Hudson wasn’t about to skimp on the devil juice in my Cosmo—especially considering the $11 price tag. After two drinks each (I changed to a Salty Dog for my second), we all were feeling giggly and sleepy—and it wasn’t even 10 o’clock yet! We’re pathetic. We all stumbled up to our room and chatted for a while before Nell decided to head home. Realizing we hadn’t eaten since brunch, Gia and I nibbled on our leftovers from Amy Ruth’s, which quickly satisfied us, gazed out the window at 9th Avenue traffic and talked for what seemed like a long time. I had a fitful night, often waking up feeling queasy. I thought that perhaps late night chowing on un-refrigerated leftovers wasn’t a great idea, and feared food poisoning. The next day, Gia said she also felt nauseated, but insisted that it was the alcohol. After my hard-drinking Amazon days (which, to be truthful, would still be considered lightweight by most of my peers), I refused to believe that two cocktails were enough to give me the spins. I didn’t get food poisoning, though, so I think Gia was right.

The night before we had decided on one more indulgence: room-service breakfast. During hotel stays in the past, I’ve wanted to order breakfast on one of those hangtags that you put on your doorknob at night so that I could wake up to home-delivery, but never did. The prices are, naturally, ridiculous. However, we decided that splitting a $20.00 continental breakfast was within our limits. The menu was a little confusing. We both thought that the breakfast would include a hot beverage, “a selection of pastries,” juice and a choice of either strawberries or raspberries. When morning came, however, the raspberries were nowhere in sight and our “selection” of pastries were merely two croissants--albeit perfectly fine ones. The meager breakfast was tasty, but it did feel pretty insane to pay $20 plus tax plus gratuity PLUS delivery charge. Gia insisted on paying, though I would only allow her to give me $20.

We checked out and had the hotel keep our bags while we headed downtown to meet Nell at Canal St. It was cloudy but unseasonably warm when we left the hotel, so we dressed very light. By the time we got downtown, however, there was a slight chill in the air, which only increased as the day wore on. Undaunted, we met Nell, grabbed a more substantial breakfast and spent the day window-shopping through Soho. This was as much a treat for me as it was for Gia, as I’m not all that familiar with Soho. Since Nell used to work there, she was a fabulous tour guide, and we did all the appropriate girly things, like ogling shoes and playing with makeup at the MAC store. Between the three of us, we bought very little, which proves that recreational shopping doesn’t have to be expensive. As the afternoon wore into evening, we decided that Tex-Mex sounded mighty fine for dinner (diet? Who said anything about a diet?), so we ended up at Cowgirl Hall of Fame in the West Village—another neighborhood I had not yet discovered. Nell knew one of the waitresses there, so we were treated with particular care and friendliness. Our waiter mentioned out that they were filming a TV show there, and lo and behold we spied a young couple in the corner who were very attractively lit (up-lighting, it works wonders), and a surprisingly unobtrusive woman filming them with what looked like a digital video camera. The waiter thought it was Change of Heart, which basically encourages couples to break up on the air. I kept an eye out for a spontaneous make-out session or a bitter argument, but it seemed like nothing more or less than an innocuous first date. Oh well.

And that was that! After being up too late chatting, I blearily accompanied Gia to Penn Station this morning to see her off. It’s nice to have some “off” time, yet I really enjoyed her visit and will miss her. I am glad that we filled the time well, Gia got to do all the things she really wanted to (plus more she hadn’t thought of), and I got to know the city a little better. Though I am really, really broke now, I am looking forward to Melanie’s visit to keep me from going immediately back to normal. Although my seitan-and-soybeans diet pretty much went out the window, I think I probably made up for it with all the walking we did. And to my credit at least I still haven’t succumbed to the lure of coffee or soda. I’m looking forward to cooking again, once I can afford to go grocery shopping!