Traditions Old and New

One of my favourite mother-daughter rituals extends back through the years of my childhood, back to a long-dissolved time when memory ,as such, conscious or concrete, didn't exist. It has held a place in my life's routine for so long, however brief its annual appearance, that it simply is, as it has always been.Other shards of memory flicker through like film running at the wrong speed: the smell of her perfume, which in my mind is always Emeraude, stopped up in its green bottle; eating Jiffy snack cake and drinking hot chocolate, sitting on the floor and dining on the coffee table, as a special treat; watching baseball with my Grandpa on TV, in order to spend time with him after my Grandma exiled him to the bedroom; watching the Miss America and Miss USA pageants in their gaudy, tacky fun, a routine that we mutually stopped some time in my late teens.
The ritual that has outlasted them all, to this day, and with grace and good fortune will stand unbroken for many a year to come, till the as-yet generation has joined us in our revelry, is, of course, the yearly Oscars telecast.We enjoy, as a rule, most of the shows that make up Awards season, from the Emmys to The Golden Globes and BAFTA's. The People's Choice Awards are an exception; apparently we are not of the same mind as 'the people', whoever they may be.
By the time that The Hollywood Foreign Press throws their shindig, we are really geared up. That night is kind of a dry run for what comes a few weeks later. I would aver that the Oscars is like our Super Bowl but that would be markedly sexist and, as I really love football, untrue. Yet we anticipate it with the same sense of fervor and planning, down to the Awards Day Menu, which is usually every bit as fattening, casual and decadent as any Game Day tailgate party.No Oscar glitz and glamour filters down to the cuisine. Nachos, potato-skins,wings or corn dogs, brownies, the sort of caloric gore-fest that you save up for.
The point of watching the awards isn't just as an excuse to chow down on junk food. Other things factor into the celebration as well. Namely, clothing choice and, of course, who wins and who loses. As an ex-acting student and board-treader, the latter always fascinates me, as it would anyone, really, who finds psychological interest in that over-blown popularity contest. The fact that, on occasion, a nerd or new kid in town prevails usually keeps that facet of the spectacle fairly fresh.
Then, the clothes! Ah, we love the fashion and, if you pay attention, you can walk away with a translatable beauty idea or two. We also, from time to time, enjoy bringing out our Mean Girl schadenfreude by watching someone take a sartorial fall from grace. Yes, no one wants to watch a bunch of lovely starlets in stunning, tasteful haute couture forge an unbroken chain of style-perfection. A little bit of ugly keeps us coming back year-after-year.
Above all, watching the telecast year-in, year-out, even when it stales into boredom or predicability, is just another way for an exceptionally close mother-daughter duo to keep up their bond. The last 3 telecasts have been slightly different:we no longer live in the same city and, as it happens on a Sunday evening, a visit is not practical. We still spend the evening together, watching the show separately but simultaneously, taking notes on anything that catches our fancy, makes us laugh or annoys us, syncing our impressions during the commercials, via phone.
This year the routine was altered further, unexpectedly:my live-in boyfriend, The Chef, off from work early, joined me.He will appreciate me noting that he does not, never has and never will, give a rat's ass about the Oscars. He watched because he was off, he was home, and, as I will not hesitate to mention to anyone reading this, because he has a huge, unapologetic, non-sexual man-crush on this year's host, Hugh Jackman.
He was off, he was home and, while not watching Mr. Jackman in awe and wonderment, he cooked dinner with the ease and skill that I swear only he alone possesses. So, this year's meal was actually, in fact, a meal, instead of a series of appetizers. I contributed dessert, we opened a bottle of wine, mom was on the line and, as fate would have it, a brand-new tradition was born. Here's hoping that the handsome, golden-voiced Aussie hosts next year as well.