Things I did while watching this year’s presentation of the Oscars:
I checked to see if my pulse was running slower than the pace of the show. I was lucky. Were it I would now be dead.
I began painting my apartment the color of ennui. Then I broke into the apartment next door just to see if darkness was more exciting.
At the 127th hour of the telecast I cut off my right arm just to have something to do.
I tried to guess the color and bird of The Black Swan.
I picked up stuttering.
I cleaned my refrigerator of last year’s Oscar leftovers.
I defriended myself.
I called up strangers to ask if their kids were alright.
I wondered if Gaddafi had truly sent the Academy his very best crack comedy writers.
I texted an old girlfriend to come over and beat me to death with a claw hammer so I could say the evening wasn’t a complete waste.
I looked up the words “inception” and “contraception” to see whether their root was what I was feeling at the moment: constipation.
I read the Tea Party Manifesto backwards and in German.
I counted the number of flabby triceps exposed whenever a sleeveless winner strode onto the stage.
I turned onto C Span 3 to see what books were being discussed in 1996.
I tore out my chest hair and super glued it to my face to resemble Christian Bale.
I volunteered to pass someone else's kidney stone.
