I like to tell my Oscar Story because IMO it’s an important one. So here goes and I hope no one will judge me for this but if they do, there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m all about just throwing up some truth right now.
The Prologue: I grew up in Los Angeles. I grew up with famous actors, it was the norm. Sally Fields and Burt Reynolds drove me to school (not everyday, they were in our carpool). I was friends with Frank Zappa’s daughter Moon and one easter Frank chased me around his living room with his boa constrictor (that sounds all kinds of wrong but it was an actual snake). I went to school with many famous people who were in many big name movies. I grew up playing on the beach with Brooke Shields. My father was a healthcare person and treated people like Keanu Reeves and David Bowie. The list goes on. I knew so many “famous” people that I can’t remember them all and they were just regular people to me because, in actuality, they are just regular people.
Act I: The Oscars were a huge deal in my house. Every year we watched them and my mom made her famous caviar, sour cream, onion and egg dip (sounds gross but it was amazing). We watched all the movies prior to the event. Nowadays both my mother’s partner and my brother-in-law are part of the academy (one was an editor and the other is an award winning sound designer) so they get screeners but back then it was just the family going to the movies. A week or so before, the LA Times would print the list of who was up for what. We’d snip it and we’d make our predictions. Then we’d sit together and watch, starting early so we could see what everyone wore on the red carpet. This was back in the day of Joan Rivers' pre-show and Barbara Walters' post show. We’d oooh and ahhh at the clothing. Then we’d sit back and watch the show. It held a special fondness for me. Big time. Why? Because it was the one night of the year that my family actually got along. Don’t violin me right now, it’s true and now that I’m a grown ass woman, it’s no longer sad.
Act II: After I left home - I tried for years and years to carry on the tradition. I held oscar parties and went to them. I made my mother’s caviar dip. One year I invited a group of people, the same group that celebrated with me every year. I spent more money than I made in a week at that time on food for the party. I cleaned the house, I even ordered cable because I didn’t have it at the time. I dressed up - oh yes this was part of the tradition as well. I made all the food, I had champagne, the works. And no one showed up. It was pouring rain and I had moved outside of the city and no one came. They each called, one by one, and flaked. I felt sorry for myself over that for about ten years. I never threw another party. But — it’s okay because what I learned was more important.
The Epilogue: I didn’t watch the Oscars this year. I didn’t even try. I edited a book instead. I didn’t see any of the movies except Get Out, which I loved. My mother called me the night of—to watch it with me over the phone but I didn’t know because I was working. This was the first year I didn’t try to watch them. The first year I decided it no longer matters. I can officially let go of my memory of that perfect moment (now in the past) and I can move forward to create other, better, perfect moments. Moments that are more meaningful and not based on how much money one is wearing or how famous one is or what someone looks like on that red carpet. Because that’s not what’s important and I’m ashamed that for me, it ever was.
Author Chloe Adler
Here are some musings - Nothing fancy - no outline and no editor - just some stream of consciousness. You want to read my books? :)