Oscar flub happened to me in '06

(664 words)

People still buzzing about the incomprehensible Oscar best picture flub.

“La La Land” director Damien Chazelle must still be feeling emotional whiplash, which must be oddly familiar because his breakthrough hit was an outstanding 2014 emotional hit named “Whiplash.”

People speculate it must have been devastating to have been told you were going to win a prestigious award and have it been cruelly snatched away.

Oh, it is.

Happened to me in 2006.

It was way back when I was still quasi-legit as a professional writer. I was doing features for a truly legit outlet, Pittsburgh Magazine, which was paying me a truly legit wage.

It was two years before I began blogging when the truly quasi began to overwhelm the legit.

I was doing the magazine’s “BackTalk” column, slice-of-life features about interesting locals. Pittsburgh is full of raucous characters and the column was well-received, enough so it was nominated for a prestigious Western Pennsylvania Press Club “Golden Quill” award.

I remember the awards ceremony being a swanky affair at what was then the Pittsburgh Hilton. I was having a pre-dinner drink with a board member who congratulated me on my win.

“You mean on my nomination,” I corrected.

“No. You won. I saw the list. Congratulations.”

I was startled. It wasn’t the way I wanted to find out. Now, instead of an authentic reaction I’d have to fake emotion in a room full of real journalists who in the not-too-distant future would be accused of promoting in fake news.

I began to game plan my acceptance speech and the degree of strut cockiness I’d use on my way across the stage.

I had it all worked out by the time my category was announced.

And the winner is …

Not me!

I hadn’t begun rising from my chair, but my knees were in the process of straightening. 

I glared across the room at my guy. He was looking right back at me. He was shrugging, his expression one of bewilderment.

He later swore my name was written beside “Winner …”

Well, let me tell you, I wound up getting pretty drunk that night which, by the way, is exactly what would have happened had I won so it was all a bit of a wash.

None of that, however, is what makes this story interesting.

What does is the identity of the actual winner.

It was Teresa Heinz!

It’s true.

If I’m “Eight Days To Amish,” Teresa Heinz is about 10 million light years from them.

The matriarch of the $1.6 billion Heinz family, she’s the Mozambique-born widow of Sen. John Heinz III and current wife of 2004 presidential nominee and recent Secretary of State Sen. John Kerry. She’s a philanthropist/environmentalist/educator/business and stateswoman whom I admired for referring to creepy Sen. Rick Santorum and perennial GOP presidential candidate as “Forest Gump with attitude.”

I could see losing a Nobel Peace Prize to her.

But a Golden Quill?

Apparently, she’d written a column for her foundation’s magazine, “H,” that moved the committee, which — and I’m not accusing — may have seen some profit in kissing her golden ass by declaring her the winner over me, a man whose ass remains pristinely free of kisses.

Of course, she wasn’t there to accept the award, probably off bottle feeding endangered baby rhinos on some central African savannah.

I wondered in which of her five palatial residences she’d be displaying her Golden Quill.

I was more baffled than bitter. 

It all seemed so surreal.

I thought about graciously reaching out to congratulate her, proving I’m capable of some deft butt smooching when I see a potential payoff.

I thought maybe she’d be impressed with my manners and hire me full-time for her multi-million dollar foundation.

It was illogical thinking, sure. Pure fantasy, a frolic in cerebral la la land.

But who knows? It might have turned into some scratch.

I’d have settled for a chance to moonlight.

Related …

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Alien movies and the new Ray Kroc flick

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Oscars bore; movies suck

I found myself getting impatient watching the Oscars like I do when I’m obligated to attend some party with too many people I don’t like.

The guests bore me. I can’t stand the conversation. I wish I could duck out and watch a hockey game in a divey bar that’s untainted by all the stifling pretension.

And this is a party I should enjoy. These are the core people in an industry that thrills us all. And we have much in common. Like me, most of them want to help earthquake victims, support President Obama and are unruffled that so many gays are eager to engage the pitfalls of holy matrimony.

I think the problem may be that no industry builds up then dashes all my hopes the way the movie industry so consistently does.

I don’t expect much from politicians. The automotive industry with its clinging commitment to 19th century internal combustion technologies seems almost quaint in its stumbles. And, yes, the banking industry steals from us all, but they’ve yet to start shooting customers in their robberies and I’m grateful for that subtle distinction.

But going to the movies is still very special to me. I love the escape and get excited when a buzz builds that some movie is going to provide an emotional jolt that’ll stir my soul.

And, inevitably, more and more I’m let down.

The 2007 best picture winner “No Country for Old Men” should have been called “No Ending for Confusing Movie.” Loved Heath Ledger in the “The Dark Knight,” but the action scenes -- about three quarters of the lengthy flick -- were a chaotic mess.

Your highly acclaimed Erin Brockovichs, your Benjamin Buttons and Harry Potters have all left me cold.

Symptomatic of the problems is “Avatar.” I like James Cameron, loved “Alien” and “Titanic.” But no one’s said, “Man, you have to rush out and see ‘Avatar.’ It’s the greatest movie of all-time.”

Well, it’s the greatest earning movie of all time, a number that’s been inflated by 3-D premium pricing, but no one’s said it’s the greatest movie of all time.

And these are the serious films by serious artists.

I’m surprised the sheer volume dreary crap Hollywood releases each week isn’t enough to slow the earth’s daily rotation to 32 hours (and that still wouldn’t be enough hours in the day to get me to see “Avatar”).

This isn’t counting anything from the Axis of Apatow/Aniston or others who earn millions making the kinds of movies they probably used to denounce back when they had youthful credibility.

So I get angry sitting there watching Ben Stiller yucking it up, Quentin Tarantino preening and Keanu Reeves applauding Sandra Bullock like she’s just announced a cure for something itchy.

It all has me so desperate I’m thinking of drastic measures. Yes, it may be time to ditch the family contraceptives.

The very best movies I’ve seen in the past 10 years are either cartoon or computer animated.

I wholeheartedly recommend “Up,” and “The Princess and the Frog” -- two best picture nominees from last night. I’ve seen “The Incredibles,” “Ratatouille,” “Finding Nemo,” “Toy Story” and “The Lion King” dozens of times and never tire of the viewing.

And I’d put “The Princess Bride,” and “Ella Enchanted” with the beguiling Anne Hathaway in that category.

I’m at my most content sitting with one of my darling daughters in my lap while watching a great children’s movie (and I’m not talking about hyper-obnoxious nonsense like “Shrek”).

And here’s a tip: it helps to be hungover. It’s like taking a nap with your eyes open.

Once the little one gets too big for that kind of cuddling, we’ll need a fresh kid or else I’ll look creepy going to see kiddie movies solo.

For the record, some of the top-of-my-head my favorite movies from the past 15 years or so are “The Big Lebowsky,” “American Gangster,” “Hot Fuzz,” “The Shawshank Redemption,” “Big Fish,” “Gran Torino,” “Sideways,” and “Up in the Air.”

Why more of our movies do not rise to those august artistic levels is just laziness. I know they can do better.

I hope you’ll join me in demanding more quality from the men and women who produce our movies.

And I’ll thank you in advance for not demanding the same of the people who write the blogs you read.