Fizzled

I was all prepared to write a post full of righteous indignation, decrying the taste of the Academy for championing mediocrity and blood (oh, yes, there will be blood and lots of it and death and guys coming to kill you and break your pinkies and isn't anyone else sick of this same crap recycled every few years to the proclamations of "genius" and "originality"?). I wanted Michael Clayton and George Clooney to win it, with some side nods to Juno, but really Michael Clayton -- it was so good, I have a hard time describing why. It was subtle and nuanced and Clooney wore it all on his face, without the screaming or the shooting.

And then I was going to rail on the fashion, for chrissakes, for doing the same thing -- red or black, or if you were daring, gray. And hey! Why not make it one-shouldered, too? I had all this good anger, but then I got distracted by work and making dinner, and then fucking sudoku kicking my ass, and now I have a headache. Being angry hurts too much right now. Maybe tomorrow.