Oscar and Me. And Oscar.

As a young woman, I dreamed of being an actress.  So today/tonight, it is only fitting that I tell you this story.

You know how they say that life is what happens when you’re making other plans.  It’s true.  I’m living proof.

I had everything it takes to be a fine, award winning actress.  I was talented, pretty, had good comedic timing, and a voice that could be heard in the cheap seats.

What I didn’t have was guts.  Good guts.  My GI tract erupted in high school leaving my future in the hands of jobs that offered health insurance instead of fame and glory.  Damn.

Oh, and I lacked the guts to go for it anyway.  Once I made a wrong exit and  my acting career died in a broom closet, that is.

But even after leaving my dream in tatters with the mops and brooms, I continued to pipe-dream.  That’s different than the real thing, and you don’t have to remember lines, or stage directions or what to do with props.  It’s actually much easier.  You get to keep your privacy, too, which is nice.

Most of my friends are aware of this fantasy of mine, and of my need to, from time to time, stand on a table (instead of a stage) and tell a story.  It often involves alcoholic beverages.  The table standing, not necessarily the story.

Right now I’m going to tell you about the night I received my Oscars.  [Feel free to stop here if you’ve heard this one.]

It was an incredibly special night for me.  An honor really.  Well, actually, two honors.  Two Oscars.  Two Awards.  But I only got to make one speech.

It was 1983, and some really fun people worked in my office that summer, one of whom, Jon, was from the area.  Carol, Mike, Jon and I all went to Jon’s house one night.  You see, 1983 was still in the Bronze Age, and Jon’s parents were on the cutting age of technology, because they had a VCR.  And Risky Business had just come out on video.

In the middle of the movie, we took a beer/bathroom break.  And guess what I spotted, casually stuck on the bookshelf in the TV room of Rob’s house.


And Oscar

It turned out that Jon’s father was a filmmaker.  Documentary films.  My pals presented me with two Oscars for Documentary Filmmaking.  Sadly, not one of us had a camera.  Probably just as well, because not many stars accept wearing blue jeans.

Receiving Oscar, and his twin, Oscar, was a special honor to me, since I had neither made, nor been in any documentary films, nor even fetched donuts and coffee for the real filmmakers.  Regardless,  I got to hold Oscar and Oscar, and I got to make a speech accepting my Academy Awards.  So I am in an unusual club of people who have never actually acted or contributed in any way, shape or form to a movie, who has been presented an Academy Award.

Yes, I’m that good.

[Yeah, it’s a repeat.  But one can never have too many Academy Award stories.  Amirite?]


Filed under ; Don't Make Me Feel Perky Tonigh, Acting, Adult Traumas, Awards, Baby You Can Drive My Car, Conspicuous consumption, Cool people, DON'T go back to your day job either, Dreams, Dying Dreams, Fashion, Good Deed Doers, Growing up, Health, History, Huh?, Humor, Illness, keys to success, Memoir writing, Mental Health, Plagarizing myself, Satisfaction, Taking Care of Each Other, Washington, WTF?

21 responses to “Oscar and Me. And Oscar.

  1. Just think, had you pursued your dreams people would write nasty things about you. Joan Rivers would have taken apart your red carpet attire, at least one time. Your son would have grown up under a microscope. Your friends wouldn’t have been as cool as we are.

    It was all for the best.


    Liked by 1 person

  2. I’ve always thought of fame as fool’s gold. I’ll take my privacy, thanks. I just saw O’Neill’s ‘Hughie’ with Forrest Whitaker. He went up on his lines, that idiot. Broadway prices = remember your lines, please.

    I have a friend who’s an editor at NBC news who won an Emmy for a story she helped with. She found out that she had to pay for it ($300, I think) and she said, “No thanks.” Can you imagine!?

    Liked by 1 person

    • She won an Emmy and had to pay for it?!? How awful — how tacky! Growing up in Westport, celebs were all around. I watched how people fawned and pointed at them with visceral embarrassment. Even when I wanted to be an actress, I wanted my anonymity. That’s the only part of the dream I managed to get!


  3. I don’t have ANY Academy Award stories ;-). My mother likes to remind me that I promised her I would win one some day and thank her from the stage. She likes to tell me she’s not getting any younger….

    Liked by 1 person

  4. And I’m sure you richly deserved every one of your purloined Oscars!

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Be thankful it was 1983, otherwise your acceptance speech could have be interrupted by Kanye Ima-let-you-finish West.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. And the Oscar goes to…Elyse! For walking into the broom closet! (Still one of my favorite stories of yours. 🙂 )

    Liked by 1 person

  7. Staying in that closet for one minute did you in. Poor timing. I would have stayed in there for one hour, or two, or four, or however long it would have taken for everyone to leave.

    But tonight when they name the Best Actress, I will imagine that it’s your name they’re calling, so that in my mind you will have won your third Oscar. Will that help?

    Liked by 1 person

  8. Paul

    Oscar by association – is that an award category?

    Liked by 1 person

  9. I hope you gave them back to the deserving soul who earned them! Of course you did, you were drinking, weren’t you?

    Liked by 1 person

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