My Oscar Night Routine

I don't know about you guys but Oscar night is usually one of the busiest nights of the year for me. It's incredibly intense and nerve-wracking with fluctuating levels of torture. See, I usually end up writing some kind of recap of the whole event that includes the dreaded red carpet pre-show. And I'm telling you, those prisoners in Guantanamo Bay getting waterboarded don't know the half of it. If I had a choice of watching Joan and Melissa Rivers' red carpet show one more time or getting razor-sharp chopsticks forced under my fingernails, well, it looks like I'm eating Chinese tonight!

Luckily for me, the powers that be gave these knuckleheads the boot. Now I will have to deal with ... Ryan Seacrest. I miss the good 'ol days when Kathy Griffin just made fun of everybody. Joan started that trend but the last three years she was just senile and her daughter was just... an idiot.

Anyway, the point is for me that the Oscars aren't just about watching the show. It's an experience. You check out the ladies' dresses. You tell your friends 800 times that you can't believe how good Allison Janney looks, that she never, ever has been even remotely attractive to you but that tonight, for one night, you'd consider getting a little freaky-deaky; you boast when you get Best Editing correct, adding that it's always a safe bet to make it the same as your Best Picture pick; you groan at the horrible pre-award banter; you guess which actors recently had their Botox injections... it's America's opportunity to point and laugh at the adorable self-important icons we all have come to know and love.

And I usually have my laptop placed firmly on my lap in a crowded room packed with my fellow movie geek friends, typing away, stealing some of my friend's best lines and observations and giving them absolutely no credit whatsoever!

The first relevant thing I do on D-Day (other than waking up) is print the Oscar nominations out. Depending on how many people gather for the freak fest, it's usually about six-to-eight copies.

Next I go online and try to find an article of someone who has seen all the smaller nominees like the documentary short subject movies to gauge who has the best chance to win (Note: This usually ends in disaster. I instead recommend to everyone they just pick the most interesting-sounding title and run with it. Statistically this has worked much better in the era that began with King Gimp). It's amazing how sure of yourself you can get after attempting to rationalize your picks in these categories.

Later, you end up handing out the sheets of nominees and this is where I get "the eye" from my friends. They size me up, looking at me up and down, trying to figure out whether or not I did any extra last-minute research. "Got any inside scoop on the short animated groups there, Dre?" This is where I give them the "Who me?" look before shaking my head and leaving the room as swiftly as possible.

And this is where I start drinking. Hardcore liquor only. Grain alcohol works best during the painfully phony red carpet greetings. It also gives you a higher sense of entitlement which is fun.

The red carpet pre-show begins. By now the money (usually $20 bucks per) is already in the pot. Now it's time for the deep hurting.

The next couple of hours consist of everybody in the room making fun of Ryan Seacrest and/or the celebrities he's interviewing. We will then spend the rest of our time trying to award someone for the dumbest question, comment or statement we heard on the red carpet. This whole time my laptop is blowing up, my fingers are on fire and I'm seeing spots.

The show usually starts with a Best Supporting Actor or Actress award. This is what I like to refer to as "Easy Street." I check off a victory mark before the name is even announced. In fact, by Oscar night... don't we already know who's going to win the six major awards? Hint: No Country, Coens, Day-Lewis, Christie, Bardem, Ryan (this last one being the only iffy of the group).

When those other awards that nobody cares about (because nobody's seen the nominees) come up, like Best Animated Short, this is where the room starts to get tense. See, everyone's pretty much picked the same six winners in the major cats. It's the small, innocuous ones that bring home the bacon. Next thing you know, Madame Tutli-Putli comes up with the win and everyone in the room shifts their eyes in my direction. There's madness in those eyes... hate, pure, real illogical hate. I check-mark my sheet, smile and pretend the world's my oyster. But really the whole time I'm planning my escape.

The show ends and there's a pretty good chance I won the pot. It's like Tom Cruise tells Jamie Foxx in Collateral, "Max, I do this for a LIVING!" Admittedly, however, it's really a false kingdom. Yes, I'm not bad amongst my friends. But I got no shot in Vegas. I make it my policy to never engage in office pools with people smarter than me. Yes, I realize this is sad and more than a little pathetic. But for one night, I'm king. I'm not holding an Oscar, but there's a good chance I have a nice fistful of cash. And daddy needs a new pair of shoes.

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Dre writes three times a week for Film.com. Email him!

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