Stem Cells For My Wallet

You can tell it's a Monday when you walk out of the house in a blissful haze, get to the Metro station, and realize that you seem to have forgotten your wallet and cell phone, prompting a slow trudge back to your house to retrieve such items lest you go the day anonymous, poor, and electronically disconnected from the world.  Screw this cloning sheep and organs crap, I need scientists to create wee little legs and a brain for my wallet, so it knows to run and jump in my pocket as soon as I open my front door.  Or, at the very least, to start screaming, "What about me?  What about my needs?"  Being single these days, I almost miss hearing that around the house.

I have this to say about the denizens of DC - they are absolute wusses when it comes to the snow.  My well-RSVP'd Oscars party started off with a slurry of text messages from my friends who claimed they were "snowed in."  On this side of the country, "snowed in" evidently means that there is an inch of snow on the ground, which might *gasp* get one's booties wet.  I have only ever been "snowed in" once - in Flagstaff, Arizona - when a nice little blizzard managed to bury my friend's SUV up to its windows in snow overnight.  If you have to retrieve your car with a snow shovel, I think you can qualify yourself as being "snowed in."  Saving that, I think you should heretofore text me to tell me that you're "wussed in."  Much more accurate that way.

Having said that, the Oscars were kind of a bust, I thought.  Long, meandering, lacking in surprise, and entirely devoid of the kind of spontaneous speeches that they were supposed to have this year.  Winners were not supposed to bring papers to read from.  I think it would have been a fabulous Oscars if the Oscar model, who normally just stands there looking tall, suddenly ran forth in her high heels, snagged the winner's paper out of their hands, and dashed off the stage.  Ellen was an amicable, albeit boring, host.  I miss Billy Crystal.  (And Jack Nicholson's hair, come to think of it.)  The best gig of the night (since Sacha Baron Cohen didn't get up on stage) was watching Emily Blunt, Anne Hathaway, and Meryl Streep do a mini-rendition of "The Devil Wears Prada."  Proof that Meryl Streep should have won the Oscar?  She can manage to look sexy and imposing, even while wearing what looked like a Hare Krishna outfit.  The Oscars ran so long that I ended up changing the channel to "The L Word" at 11pm.  Sorry, Oscar, read-from-a-pocket-note-slowly-and-in-a-monotone-manner speeches just can't compare to gratuitous nudity.