I haven’t “been a fan” of award shows since my teen years.
I haven’t really watched any of them – except the smallest bits and pieces – in about fifteen years.
No wonder when I finally do turn on the Golden Globes, it’s like I’ve been tossed in a Time Machine and thrust far into the future.
The “In” young hotties from my earlier years? They look unnatural, as if one too many face lifts or an overload of Botox injections have deprived them of real facial expressions. I mean, Sandra – what happened to you??? I used to love your natural beauty and quirkiness you could pull off. You don’t even look real anymore.
Except Halle Berry. She’s still smokin’.
Unless you’re Johnny Depp – who still looks damn fine.
The new young teen and 20-something stars? I have no idea who the hell they are.
And Trent Reznor – of Nine Inch Nails – did a movie score? And won?! And cut his hair and put on a tux?
Michael Douglas looks like his dad, not someone who should be married to Catherine Zeta-Jones.
It’s like entering the Twilight Zone.
I don’t have time to read magazines unless you count the grocery check-out covers. I saw a grand total of two new movies last year: Toy Story 3 and Inception (both excellent movies by the way).
Two young children, no family close by, and your main babysitter taking a full load of classes at college just aren’t conducive to grabbing a Friday flick.
Somehow time has sped by, and it took Hollywood’s anti-aging efforts to make it obvious.
We really are in 2011, not 1995.
Well.. damn. So that’s how I have a husband, two children, a mortgage, and piles of never ending laundry.