Posts Tagged ‘Oscars’

The Ralph Wiggum Of Hollywood

February 27th, 2017

I watched the now-infamous clip from the Oscars last night. The La La Land crew come back out and say that Moonlight actually won the award for Best Picture. One of the producers rips the envelope out of presenter Warren Beatty’s hand and shows the inside of it to the camera, showing Moonlight to be the proper winner. And when I say “rips” I mean this guy is trying with all his might to not have a screaming breakdown in front of Warren Beatty, legendary actor and guy who couldn’t read the inside of an envelope correctly apparently.


Oh, this isn’t painful and awkward. Noooo…

How hard is it to read the card? Apparently, Warren Beatty can’t do it. I would have called him a bunch of names if I were standing out there giving back an award that he incorrectly gave me, live on national television.


I put myself in that guy’s shoes. The producer who yanked that envelope from Warren Beatty’s fossil claw hand. What would I do if that had happened to me? If, say, I had been nominated for a Grammy. Album of the Year. And all the way up to the awards, a bunch of music buffs go, “Mike is really overrated. You watch, he’s totally going to win. It’s so not fair. So many better albums last year.” And then somebody, I dunno. . . David Crosby or whoever, gives out the award and says my name for some reason.


I would be on cloud nine. Even though I really have never been one for the Grammys, let’s be honest. . . it’s sour grapes. I’ve seen what gets nominated and what wins and it’s not for me and never was. But it would be boost my ego to have some sort of vindication! A real “how’s it taste” moment. Giving a heartfelt speech. I wouldn’t even have written a speech out because I didn’t actually think I was going to win. Everybody wanted Beyonce to win and expected her to win. Can’t believe Kanye didn’t run up to grab the award before I got there. I’m slow, it takes a while to get from my chair to the stage.


Then I get offstage and the producers of the Grammy telecast are telling me that there was a major snafu. “You weren’t supposed to win,” they say while showing me that David Crosby or whoever grabbed the wrong envelope and read the wrong card. Why is my name even in a card anyway? I didn’t win for anything other category even though I was nominated for fourteen (!) different categories.


I guess my album did win an award for Best Packaging or something but I was sniffing butane in the cast before the show and they didn’t give it out during the telecast. So I guess Crosby was givenĀ that envelope instead.


Then I gotta walk back onstage and hand the damn Grammy back to Beyonce. I have to walk to the podium like a complete and utter moron and give the award to Beyonce, the proper winner. Meanwhile, there’s fucking Crosby standing behind me sheepishly like “I dunno, man. Things happen. Almost cut my hair.” Fuck you, Crosby.

You know this motherfucker could ruin my life even by accident.


Then I become a meme, which is the cruelest type of fame imaginable. My soul leaves my body. People on social media, “well, yeah. . . Beyonce deserved that award anyway. Mike’s not as good as she is.” People are reenacting the Simpsons scene where Bart freeze-frames the screen to show Lisa where exactly Ralph Wiggum’s heart breaks. That’s me. I’m the Ralph Wiggum of the Grammys.


“I mean. . . whoever heard of Mike Farmer, anyway?”

An Open Letter To Meryl Streep

February 26th, 2012

Dear Meryl,

I don’t need to tell you what a legendary figure you are in the world of cinema. You have three Oscars and eight Golden Globes, perhaps the most decorated actress in modern movie history. You’re on the Hollywood Walk Of Fame, you’re a Kennedy Center Honoree. You have played iconic characters from Kramer vs. Kramer all the way to The Iron Lady. You were the Devil who wore Prada and you were awesome as Julia Child in a shitty movie about some modern chick who tries to learn how to cook. Silkwood. I mean, Silkwood. C’mon.


But you have never done a porn film. Listen to me, don’t click away. . . YOU HAVE NEVER DONE A HARDCORE SEX SCENE IN THE CHARACTER OF JULIA CHILD!


It’s not too late, Meryl. You’re sixty-two. You’ve continued to create great work where so many actresses have been dumped into the trash pile. It’s a double-standard, Hollywood and life in general. Men age gracefully and continue to get work and women can’t get good work on screen after they lose their white hotness. It’s not fair but you beat the system because you’re good. You’re so good at what you do that you’re practically untouchable. And I think that your career would not at all be damaged by doing a HARDCORE INTERRACIAL SEX SCENE WHILE IN THE CHARACTER OF JULIA CHILD.


Spread-eagled? Awww yeah!


Let’s be honest. Julia Child deserves a biopic, not the “Julie and Julia” crap that Hollywood tried to sell us. You nailed Julia Child. Like a boss, like Rick Ross even (he’s a rapper, that’s a cultural reference, ignore it ma’am). And now it’s time for a full feature about Julia Child.


I carry a mallet 'cause I love to bang!


But there should be one scene where Julia Child has sex. You can even keep most of your clothes on. I just think it would be funny and awesome if you whinnied like a horse while getting drilled, some guy hunched over you while on all fours. Let’s keep it artistic, for the squares.


Should you decide (and you won’t) that this is worth exploring, please do not ask Penny Marshall to direct.

2011 Oscar Recap

February 28th, 2011

One of the many things this is going to do that no one else is doing is talking about pop culture, but also discussing stuff in my personal life. To the former, let’s discuss last night’s Oscars.


Didn’t see it. Not a second. But I got to read all about it thanks to ALL THE REAL-TIME TWEETING ABOUT THE DAMN THING!! No, really. Thanks, everybody who documented the minutiae of their thoughts in the realm of award-giving, etc.


Basically, what I took from the live-tweets is that James Franco was exceptionally high and Kirk Douglas is dead and/or exceptionally high. I can’t blame James Franco if he was in fact high because I’d have to be exceptionally high to watch it. High and incapable of rising from my chair to change the channel manually because I turned my remote into a crack-pipe.


But I didn’t watch the Oscars, and I read the backlog of tweets out of some mild OCD obligation to the 150 or so people I follow. One of whom is Doug Benson, standup comedian and host of podcast “Doug Loves Movies”. Doug gets a pass for live-tweeting. Movies are his thing and the Oscars have something vaguely to do with cinema.


So here we are, folks. This is the pop culture criticism that you want, only on