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Tricia McCallum is a Toronto freelance writer and also publishes fiction and poetry.

Monday, February 28, 2011

Oscars 2011

Random takes and tweets on the ceremonies:

Did James Franco look like he desperately needed a nap? He had the look I get when I sleep 'til two in the afternoon: vacant, dishevelled, slightly deranged.

It's Cate Blanchett - "an Oscar winner and always stunning", says Hathaway. Thus differentiating her from all those other Oscar winners who are now living under the L.A. freeway?

Further with Cate, handing out the makeup award for the Wolfman with a shudder, saying "That's gross," I think she was actually back-referencing the cadaverous Kirk Douglas' leering egomaniacal presentation earlier. He was always such a hound dog (I read his bio, yes I was the ONE.) and he readily admits same. P.S. I am NOT Spartacus!

The wonderfully manic Live-action Short winner Luke Matheny for God of Love announces: "Ugh, I should have got a hair-cut." No, say it ain't so. That's some impressive height on a wonderfully vast black bouffant.

Toy Story 3's Lee Unkrich: "I want to thank the Academy and I never thought I'd be saying that," says Unkrich. Um, why not? is there a bizarre history there? To wit... "I want to thank the Academy and I never thought I'd be saying that, after they sold my dog to the circus."

Sandra ("Sandy" to Ryan Seacrest) Bullock is always a stand out. Perfectly dry and droll. Heavenly. To Jeff Bridges, "You won last year: when is it ever enough, Jeff? Huh?"

Colin Firth takes the stage as the winner, looking - as ever - like he has some unfortunate embarrassing news to reveal. "I am sorry, Academy, but all your cars have been towed and compacted. Thank you for coming."

He should have danced. And so should we all...

Friday, February 4, 2011

The Island Dog

The Island Dog

He is everyone’s;
Yet he is no one’s.
Vacationers arrive, discover him,
Dote on him for two weeks,
then disappear.

He is their holiday project
A story they’ll tell over dinner at home.
Some allow him in, to sleep at the foot of their beds,
to guard their front door,
Some even toy with the idea of a rescue,
Could we, should we? Shots? Papers?
Questions asked,
with the exuberance of the relaxed and the happy,
but as the time to leave draws near
reality encroaches, the idea stalls.

A new band takes their place,
The island dog waits,
Knowing it will take only one,
One, to give him a name that won’t change,
One, to call it out in the dark
should he wander too far.
One, to call to him
and him alone:
Come home.

Felicity Point, Eleuthera, Bahamas
February 1, 2011