Op-Ed
Courage and Loving on the Red Carpet
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John Manetta Once Told Me
Heartless, Not Stupid
.jpg "Heartless, Not Stupid")
9 a.m. 12 hrs. until the Oscars
It started off like any other Sunday; a 9 a.m. mass. This particular service, however, was slightly different than usual. It was delivered in a pre-Vatican II fashion using Latin; it took place in a private home; and Mel
Gibson was the preacher. After mass, Gibson and I shot the breeze over some whiskey sours. He started talking about how the Jews in Israel are responsible for all the wrongs in the Middle East. I thought it was because he was drinking again, but then I saw that he was just reading the Democratic Party platform. Still, Sun Editor Jonny Lieberman felt uncomfortable.
That’s right; I spent my Sunday in J-Peso’s native Los Angeles to bring Cornell a firsthand account of the Oscars.
Sun Podcast: A podcast is available for this column. Click here to listen to or to download it.
1 p.m. 8 hrs. until George Clooney shows everyone why he is better than us
J-Rock brought me to a park just outside Beverly Hills. I saw Ashton Kutcher playing hide and seek with Bruce Willis’ kids. I told Scout Larue where Kutcher was hiding; Ashton started complaining about how she cheated, so I pushed him down the stairs and told him he’d been punk’d. Bruce gave me a high-five then offered me a role in his next movie Die Hard V: Die Harderest Times Infinity Plus One. I told him we’d be in touch … we wouldn’t.
1:38 p.m 7 hrs. 22 mins. until Scorsese evens the Oscar count with 3-6 Mafia
In fact, Ashton wasn’t the only That 70’s Show star I ran into — Wilmer Valderrama was in the park, as well. I screamed, “Hey Wilmer you’re mom smoked so much weed when she was pregnant that she birthed a no-talent-loser, who can’t even keep an underaged Lindsay Lohan satisfied. Loved you in Unaccompanied Minors, though.” He cried. J-Kwon the chef offered to buy me coffee.
3:42 p.m. 5 hrs. 18 mins. until environmentalist celebrities roll up to the red carpet in Escalades
J-Liebs and I were then sipping lattes when we saw Jean Claude Van Damme and Steven Seagal arm wrestling. The Lieb-Cat walked up and told them that he was a Miramax producer, who was at the café for a sit-down with a hot action star. “Since Dolph Lundgren never showed up,” he began, “you each have 30 seconds to pitch me.”
“Picture this: the spiraling end of the Habsburg empire,” JVD began, “Someone kills my wife, and I launch a karate-filled quest for revenge.”
“That’s nothing,” Seagal interjected, “I’m a peaceful Buddhist with a secret past. …” Before they could get any further, I slap them each three times and strut away. … They don’t do anything.
4:26 P.M. 4 hrs. 34 mins. until Sean Penn’s moving tribute to Saddam
J Max Ultra gets me invited to speech delivered by Danny Glover pertaining to the proletariat struggle and Black History Month. During the question and answer session, I go up to the mic and ask, “Don’t you find this whole venue ironic because you’re career is history barring the release of Lethal Weapon 5: Fataler Force?” Glover buried his head in his hands and began sobbing. Joe Pesci rushed the stage and gave him a hug. “You guys should be ashamed of yourselves,” the little guy said coldly. We weren’t.
6:16 p.m. 44 mins. until Joan Rivers pre-Oscar Botox shot
Sugar J and I needed sweet tuxedos for our stroll down the red carpet. We stopped at a local Salvation Army to see what we could find. We were walking through the aisles in our matching tuxes when we saw Emilio Estevez in the children’s section of the store. His eyes were dead; that sparkle that had graced the big screen during Young Guns II was no longer there. “Emilio,” I said solemnly, “What happened?”
“Well,” Estevez began wistfully, “my career starting rolling downhill. My wife and kids left me. I was diagnosed with …”
“Oh yeah, well that’s what you get for not playing Julie the Cat Gaffney at the Junior Goodwill Games,” the L-Man proclaimed as he walked away in disgust. I didn’t want to admit it, but deep down … I knew he was right. “Goodbye Emilio,” I murmured as I walked away.
7:15 p.m. 35 seconds before I take it too far
J-Fab and myself roll into this real fancy restaurant a few blocks away from the Oscar ceremony when we see a shaved Jack Nicholson. “Oh my God is that Britney Spears,” I yell out across the room, “Don’t worry there’s no way they’ll give K-Fed custody of the kids now.” Silence. Dead Silence. Nobody is even close to laughing.
“Dude, not cool … that’s Jack Nicholson,” J-Doc says as he steps on my toes. I then made a joke to Jonny-Jonny-Bo-Bonny-Bananafana-Fo-Fawny-Mi-My-Mo-Mawny-Jonny about how he needed Anger Management cause he sucked. Mr. Nicholson mistook the comment for an attack on his comedy classic and broke a bottle on my head.
8:53 p.m. 7 mins. until Al Gore’s “A Very Convenient Bandwagon” wins 2 Oscars
When I came to, I was backstage at the Oscars; an apologetic Jack Nicholson and Lonny Jierberman were having some champagne and offered me some. When I turned my head, I saw none other than my man Leo Dicap yukking it up with Alec Baldwin. As I walked closer I picked up on the conversation: “I want to have Al Gore’s babies,” Leo gushed. “Whatcha guys talking about,” I innocently querried, “Al Gore’s annual $30,000 utilities bill or his private jets?”
“We do not say that about Al,” Leo-the-Lioness protested. “My God, Dicaps,” the J-Bird said, “you weren’t acting in What’s Eating Gilbert Grape … were you?”
9:00 p.m. The Zero Hour
J-Twigs and I were shocked to discover that the Wayans Brother’s Little Man did not receive a nomination. After partying it up with Dolph Lundgren, we headed home.
Billy McMorris is a junior in the College of Arts and Sciences. He can be reached at wjm27@cornell.edu. John Manetta Once Told Me appears alternate Wednesdays.