I have (at this moment, a little over an one hour into the Academy Awards) exactly 140 movies in my Netflix queue. One hundred and forty. If each movie is approximately 2 hours long, that’s 280 hours of popcorn munching and Coca-Cola sipping. If I take breaks to sleep, shower, potty, and prepare a quick meal, it would take me about a month to watch every single movie on my list.
I do love movies. I used to watch the Academy Awards and it was rare if I hadn’t seen all the movies nominated for Best Picture. Now, post kids, it’s rare if I’ve seen any of the pictures nominated. I have to TiVo them or put them on my Netflix list. Hence, the length of my list – which is now at 142, almost two hours into the Oscars. Yes. I am watching the Oscars, with my laptop on my lap and three tabs open: Netlix queue, WordPress and Pinterest. I’m the queen of multi-tasking.
I look forward to this night. A chance to see the stars in a different light. A chance to find out what I’ve missed in the entertainment world over the past year. Be it a song to add to my ipod or a movie to add to my Netflix queue.
But taking a look at my list, I’m having a hard time paring it down. So many items are documentaries or foreign films that will never make it to television. Waiting For Superman. Blame It On Fidel. Paperclips. Sarah’s Key. Or television that I have missed. Dexter, my favorite serial killer. Or the Mad Men series that I’d love to catch up on from the beginning.
I have a love/hate relationship with these award shows. Love the glamour, the pomp and circumstance. The gowns. (Didn’t you just love Penelope Cruz’s dress?) The heartfelt thanks and genuine surprise and awe. Hate the political (though rare) rants thinly disguised as acceptance speeches. You are actors. Who act. Your opinion on world affairs has nothing to do with your craft or my enjoyment of your talents. So, please. Zip it.
And now, my queue has grown by two more. I’m at 144. Netflix is getting a workout tonight as they mention movies I was never able to see in the theaters. Either because my role as mother is more important than my role as armchair critic. Or because some of the most critically acclaimed movies don’t make it to my backward neck of the woods. I depend on the Academy Awards to make my Netflix suggestions.
But I’m having a hard time keeping my eyes open. Per usual. I am a mother now. Gone are the days of Oscar parties and ballots, Twizzlers and popcorn. I have lunches to prepare, another load of laundry to push into the dryer, book bags and shoes and jackets to place by the door.
I. Can’t. Make. It.
Must. Go. To. Sleep.
Let me know who wins Best Picture. That is, if you are able to stay up.