Oscar Goat's Gruff.

Everybody’s talking Oscar.

Nobody watched, but everybody’s talking it. Well that’s not true. Some people did watch the Academy Awards. The fishbowlers watched so they could rub up their famous favorites as they strolled down the red carpet.

“Honey, could you stop licking the screen? There’s a Brad Pitt stain, and, frankly, you’re scaring the kids.”

But even they draw the curtains and Windex the 1080p of Hi-Def glory, after the show actually starts. They don’t care about the awards. They didn’t pick the movies, and they certainly didn’t get to vote.

And years like this year, picking the best Oscar horse wasn’t even a head scratcher of a horse race. My cat’s Oscar picks were more accurate than an LA weatherman’s forecast.

“Today will be sunny, with smog.”

“Mew-mew.”

The mews have it.

Members may have voted on best drama, but there’s no drama on the screen. Why watch? Seth MacFarlane? Unless he does the whole show as Peter Griffin, nobody even knows who he is. And, since he’d told us in advance that the Oscars were not the “Family Guy,” why watch? I’ll just turn to Fox and watch the Seth I know is gonna be funny.

The problem with the Academy Awards is that it doesn’t reflect our opinion. We the people who pay $10 a ticket to watch their movies don’t get a vote. The Academy Awards reflect the opinions of academy members who slip DVD copies of their movies under doors of clandestine closets, like they’re taking confession.

“Forgive me, Meryl, I made Twilight.”

“You are forgiven, now go watch 3 Argo’s and one Lincoln.”

We may not pay that kind of penance, but we do pay to keep their industry alive, and our votes don’t count for more than a nod at box office scores. That’s ok. Let them have their little back-pat circle-jerk, just don’t expect me to watch. I can only take so much self-love.

“You’ll shoot your eye out.”

It’s like watching Hemmingway talk about his favorite Hemmingway books. Ernest was an interesting guy, but four hours of hearing about him, from him, for the love of him, sounds like less fun than a barrel of bedbugs.

And that’s my impression of the Oscars.

Maybe I will watch when they start honoring what we the viewer watch. I looked into that—what we the viewer watch—Do you know what we watch? Goats. Yup, according to YouTube hits, we watch goats, a lot of goats.

Based on our YouTube history, this would be the shape of our Academy Awards based on viewing:

Best Goat Documentary:

Best Actress in a Goat Drama:

Best Goat Musical:

Best Foreign Goat:

Yah, sorry. He’s everywhere.

 “Goat-Goat style”

No wonder the Academy picks their own movies. Next year I’ll just watch the Oscars.

Lost Gatherations

So you’re standing at the water cooler.  Theo, from accounting, the dude with the bad breath, but a really sweet fire-orange Vette steps up and grabs a cup. In fact, if it weren’t for the Vette or the fact that Theo supplies the office donuts, you might not talk to him. I mean he did hit on your sister at the office party last Christmas…

But anyway, I digress. You, Theo, water cooler: It’s Monday, what do you discuss?

The Superbowl?

The Commercials?

Intense Beyonce Barbie, with the kung-fu action grip?

Jenny McCarthy’s new foot tattoo?

The recent discovery of Richard III’s bones?

Ahhh, the water cooler. The time honored opinion hub of the office space.  It’s like the coffee room, but cooler people are less jittery and don’t jump topics like derailed trains, because the caffeine has hypercharge their ADD.

“Farmers…Ram Trucks…Clydsdale…Flacco…Harbaughs…touchdown…Squirrels!”

I know! Add some hashtags and you might as well be reading a blog. Not my blog: I’m not coffee topical.  I’m highly untopical, unless you’re talking ointment, then yah, rub a little on the rashy spots. I am an irritant, but I too avoid the coffee corner.

Especially when that pseudo-intellectual goth-girl, Kat, is there. She’s the temple of conversational doom, because she knows so much more than everybody else, except her musician boyfriend. He’s a freakin’ genius. He’s so indy he’ll never succumb signing with a record label, even if they did ask…

Yeah, you talk a lot about Kat at the cooler. She’s never there. The worst irritant at the water cooler, other than Theo, who never leaves (making him a close second), is Cal.  He’s a slosher.  He can’t seem to talk without his hands. Learned that the hard way, right? Last time you’ll wear silk to the office again, huh? Still, Theo, Cal, and even Barb, from HR, are good people. They know a lot about the world around them, and talking to them is much better than anti-social living through Twitter.

Water people are cooler people. They’re local. Their concerns are your concerns, and yeah, sometimes Cal breaks into Goo Goo Dolls’ classics like he’s wailing bar anthems, but that’s just cuz it takes him back to college. Cal was also the one who got you to understand the “fiscal cliff” using sugar packets and Dixie Cups impaled on stirrer straws. And Barb says so long as he stays away from the feminine hygiene closet this time, corporate will allow him try to explain Obama Care again. 

“I just want you to know who I am!”

“Damnit, Cal! You sloshed me again!”

The best thing about water coolers over Anti-social Media? Nobody at the water cooler, including Nina, the self-proclaimed grammarian, uses the word “trending.”

Nothing trends at the cooler. It’s life. It happens. Conversations flow. They don’t follow pre-forged rails designed by marketing analysts, and anti-social media experts. The water cooler never burbles with the meh, unless the topic is meh.

“Barb, what’s up with the new co-ed bathrooms?”

“Nothing. It’s just PC meh.”

“Meh, isn’t used like that, Barb.”

“Carful Nina, or she’ll ‘meh’ on your performance review.”

…

Nina’s a good know-it-all.  She knows when to shut up.  That’s the other thing about the water cooler.  Everybody knows when to talk, and when to listen.  Yah, Theo’s a little wordy, but you all know that about him, and you know when to avoid him.

“Did you see how they ruined the new Star Trek?”

Sometimes I’m jealous.  I don’t hang out with your get-along-gang.  I’m a loner. I get my news from the media, without the personal touch.  I translate how it affects my life, but I don’t get Cal’s extra special insight, or Nina’s intense corrections.

That’s why I worry about those who came behind the great white caboose. On the caboose, we were still part of something, a collective. When it derailed, it left many of us looking to make something of ourselves. The only element of capitalism we pulled into our hobo sack before disembarking was the bundle of “me.”

We took that we were all special stars and turned that into enterprise. Facebook, Twitter, they’re all about the “me.” It’s no longer about the give and take at the water cooler, it’s about me saying what I have to say, whether you’re listening or not.  It’s the great wall of “me.”

On the one hand, it’s good. It removed the gatekeepers, like Kat and her friends, who blockaded the doors, and never let any of us play their reindeers games, because they’re still bitter about what happened in high school. 

What happened to “what happened in high school stays in high school?”

Why did my generation carry the cross of being unpopular only to plant it in everybody else’s front yard with a placard saying, “None shall pass”?

So Hooray! The next generation broke through, but only to lose themselves in the Social Media mirror. 

I Tweet, therefore I am.

Where is the age of the ensemble?  The choir singing together? Where is the community? Where are the relationships that forge us like sharpening swords? Now we can’t revolt, because we can’t even figure out what revolt over.

“We have met the enemy, and he is revolting.”

Until we come back together, it’s gone. And if it continues this way, we may even lose the cooler, and I think we’ll all be a little lesser for that. Except, Kat.  She’ll get by.