It is so beautiful to watch black stars shine on a white sky.
I was at the Oscars last night, sitting to my right was million dollar baby, and to my left I had a nice glass of the earth’s finest brew of gin on the rocks…in translation that means I hijacked the remote control in my house last night, I sat my black ass on my blue couch…my new born son was on my right hand side sitting on his bouncer (I wanted him to witness history unfolding) and on my left hand I had a home brewed ogogoro.
Wait a minute, before you go thinking Ogaga gave me ogogoro, he did not, I brewed it myself and here is the formula if you are interested… get a bottle of 100 % proof vodka (any brand will do, but I prefer Absolut for no absolute reason…but it can be found in liquor store in any black neighborhood and there is at least one in every square foot) mix it with Johnny Walker black label, put a dash of lemon (not lime please), allow fermentation in a room temperature of 90 degrees Fahrenheit for about two days… use your girlfriend’s or wife’s most expensive silk scarf to sieve out the sediments…and there, you have yourself authentic Sapele ogogoro. (Children please do not try this at home, it is highly combustible).
What I like watching most about the Oscars is the two hours broadcasting of the red-carpet arrival of stars. I had developed this habit over the years because blacks don’t win the real thing, so I usually enjoy myself thoroughly by watching my black brothers and sisters go through the red carpet smiling and I go to bed early before they start coming out with long faces of rejection. But last night, I smelt “we is free” in the air, and I waited long enough to see it all.
The two hours leading to the Oscars tells a lot about American stars. Apart from the long limos and the parade of fashion, it helps me know the romantic structure of the western glitterati…it usually goes down like this:
-A man who comes alone to the Oscars is a selfish and obnoxious son of a beach.
-A woman who comes to the Oscars by herself can’t keep a man.
-A single father who comes to the Oscars with her daughter is having custody issue with his ex, and is trying to win the favor of her little girl.
-A man who comes to the Oscars with her 96 year old mother, is indirectly telling her “this is my way of saying goodbye before you kick the bucket…because I know your days are numbered”
-A man who comes to the Oscars with a brand new girlfriend, hasn’t got “none” yet…he is still begging to see the color of her Victoria’s Secrets.
-A girl who brings her new boyfriend to the Oscars is trying to make her old boyfriend jealous.
-A man who brings his wife and kids to the Oscars did not sign a prenuptial agreement before he hit it big…that means his wife has his two balls in her hands and she is juggling them.
-A woman who brings her husband to the Oscars needs someone to drive her home after the post-Oscar parties…she does not want to risk a DUI ticket.
-A girl who brings another girl to the Oscars is experimenting and testing the waters of public acceptance…well do I need to spell that out in these days of political correctness?
-A guy who brings his friend to the Oscars is in-between girlfriends or wives…or maybe is in the same category as the girl above who brought her girlfriend.
-A girl who brings both her parents to the Oscars is simply bi-polar.
-A girl who brings her brother as date to the Oscars is white and was raised on the farm.
-A boy who brings both his parents to the Oscars is still trying to prove to them that smoking marijuana in high school is after all not bad, as they thought.
I digressed. Lets move to the fashion…
Hollywood fashion is a wonderful kaleidoscope to behold on an Oscar night. Last night was no exception…I don’t even know where to begin, I will just pick a few.
Lets start from the oldest hosts of the red carpet reception tradition, the mother and daughter duo, Joan and Melissa Rivers…who is the mother and who is the daughter? Joan keeps reconstructing her face like Julius Berger project in Abuja. Melissa is drying up like antelope meat left too long under a smoking hearth and Joan’s face is puffing up like a cobra in the process of attacking. Together they both look like a surrealistic painting by Salvador Dali!
Another host of the red carpet reception is Star Jones…can someone please tell her and Al Roker that America is big enough to accommodate fat people. (Probably too late now…these two black folks are already paling like a bleached and over washed adire). This surgery of tying one’s alimentary canal, (similar to tie and dye adire) in other to lose weight is not good for everybody. Yesterday Ms. Jones looked like a gelede masquerade sculpture by Sokari Douglas Camp. And the layer of extra skin under her arm was enough to construct 77 djembe drums to commemorate the 77th Oscar Award. Her gown looked like it was made from Ekpoma rice bag, her half a million dollars jewelry did not help matters…and to cap it all, she wore a $25 slippers from Payless Shoes…did I hear someone say endorsement gone too far! The only thing going for her yesterday was the bling bling E! Channel microphone she was holding.
Oprah…if you are a billion dollar baby, everything looks good on you…not quite. Yesterday, Oprah’s makeup rivalled that of THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA and her hair wig looked like a nest where two eagles just made love. Oprah should please leave the bad hairstyle to aunty Condoleeza Rice, that poor civil servant in Washington that can’t afford a Hollywood hair stylist.
The Older Van Peeble…all I can say to the elder is “grow up old man…and get yourself some viagra prescription if you must act young…and stop wearing inner city kids’ scarf under your hat.”
Samuel L Jackson…what was that he was wearing? I could not figure out if it was a French suit or a farm suit…so lets leave it at that. But he needs a serious wardrobe makeover.
Spike Lee…his hat gave him the look of Elijah Mohamed in a press conference telling America he did not have a hand in the slaying of Malcolm X. The ensemble worked fairly well for the small sized man, except for the oversized glasses that made him look like Steve Urkel in “Family Matters”.
Robin Williams…someone should put him in an asylum before he turns to Nebuchadnezzar and starts biting people. I am tired of his voice acts and he definitely keeps a malfunctioning wardrobe.
Now lets move to the real stars of the night…
I would like to start with my sister, the Ishan girl…Sophie Okonedo. If I had any doubt she has some Ishan in her, I was convinced beyond any reasonable doubt yesterday that she definitely has some Ishanness in her. The name “Okonedo” is not a common name that is listed in some of those cheesy books found in the house of Afrocentric families with a title like “AFRICAN NAMES FOR YOUR BABY”. Okonedo is a typical Ishan name given to a baby boy born in Benin City…it literally means Benin-dude or Born in Benin.
Also, Sophie’s village-girl-going-to-her-first-disco-party dress and the way she packed her hair naturally left no doubt in my mind that is a sister. She looked like Magdalene my first love interest who attended Irrua Girls’ Secondary School…by the way Magdalene has the manuscripts of all my early love letters, just incase there is a publisher out there who might be interested. Not even one day did she reply any of those letters…if you think publishers are snobbish these days and don’t reply writers, try Magdalene.
Anyway, I am happy for Sophie even though she did not win…her extra-laughter was infectious and tomorrow is another day for the girl from the northeast side of Midwestern Nigeria.
And the host of the show…Chris Rock, poor Chris Rock he was so censored and muffled by ABC that some of his jokes were dry and fell flat like a grandmother’s breasts…but his outfit was impeccable, never before have I seen a living black man looked so good in a tux and wet-look shoes…everything fitted like a dead preacher in a casket. I hope they give the basket mouth a second chance to be himself next time.
Clint Eastwood looked pretty good for a white man his age. His mates are in a nursing home eating pureed pudding and drinking pureed water. It was like a bingo night in a senior citizen’s club when he and Morgan Freeman won.
By the way there is a theory of name association that I am working on…Clint and Hillary…Clinton and Hillary, both are a winning combination. Earlier in the day when I heard President Clinton told the press that Hillary would be a great president, I thought he was talking about his wife…not knowing he was referring to Hillary Swank. Can you imagine Bill Clinton and Hillary Swank making babies…Americans will enjoy budget surplus again…because the babies will be billion-dollar-babies.
Don Cheadle looked really cool with his moderate and austere tuxedo…he should not feel bad because he did not win. He should remember that America shut its eyes to the human carnage that went on in Rwanda and the Oscars did the same last night. I will leave that at that.
Halle Berry…who did that woman’s embalmment? She never ages, the same yesterday…today and forever more…amen. She can wear my father’s farm clothes and still look astonishing. That is one woman if your wife or girlfriend caught you cheating with in Colorado…will give you a medal of honor, buy you a box of chocolate, a bouquet of rare roses and a boxer shorts that has kisses stamped all over it…not only that, your girlfriend or wife would call her best friend and go “did you know I caught my man with Halle…I am so proud of my Mandingo man” and her girlfriend would go…”you are just too lucky to be sharing your man with Halle”. (Once again please do not try this at home, if you do, you will be starring in the Diary Of A Truly Mad Black Woman).
Seriously, I think any man that wants to keep Halle Berry to himself is selfish and does not wish humanity well. Halle is a goddess, which means she belongs to the community, the black community that is. Who did Eric Bennett think he was, he does not even have the priestly phallus to keep down a water goddess like Halle.
Just incase you are wondering why Halle Berry can’t keep a man…the answer is, goddesses only marry and stay with deities who have monster balls… Let me stop before someone screams debauchery.
Is it me or is someone else having the feeling that Beyonce is fast becoming the Halliburton-in-Iraq of America showbiz. She sings at every major event in America. How does one girl (black for that matter) sing all the songs in an Oscar night full of white people? Who negotiated the contract, Dick Cheney? Was there even any bidding for the singing contracts at all?
Not that I am angry… it was heaven on earth to see her change like a chameleon and what could be sexier than seeing such a vivacious black woman sing in French. Only a man who is blind, dumb or with an acute ED would complain at such a feast on a black history month. (ED here does not STAND for Erectile Dysfunction please…it means Ear Defect).
Now to the million dollar baby herself…the swanky Hillary Swank…she is one gorgeous white woman, with a black body. The lips on her are definitely black woman’s lips, not to be mistaken for those of Melanie Griffith’s that were plastered all over her face by a plastic surgeon in LA.
Hillary’s gown was something else…while I was debating with my co-watcher if she was wearing any B under her gorgeous dress; the camera panned her backside and my heart skipped. Here was the Hollywood woman of the night honoring my first initial with the backside of her dress in a V shape cut…(V stands for Victor, by the way. Yes, I heard her calling my name!) I nearly wept!
The base of the big V rested its tip on her Bermuda triangle like a rainbow dipping its beak on the great river Niger. And the visible lines of her backbones made her bare back look like Onitsha Bridge viewed from Asaba…mama mia! I told my boy if he ever brings home a white chick like that, I just might turn a blind eye on racism in America.
Which brings me to the man of the night…my friend Jamie, who outfoxed them all with his role in Ray. It was not only a big night for Jamie Foxx but for every comedian all over the world…Jamie’s Oscar shows that those who trade in laughter can be serious atimes, as long as they just shut their eyes really tight and not make jokes about everything and anything.
I know some people barked at the tattoo on the back of his head…that is marketing at its finest. He is sending a message to the powers that be in Hollywood that he is ready to play Mike Tyson on the big screen…and who says thunder can’t strike twice on the same g-spot…ask Hillary Swank.
I want to continue my Oscar analysis but I have to rush to my appointment with a voice trainer…I don’t want to miss out when directors call me to audition for the next hottest script in Hollywood, which is STEVE…or maybe they will title it WONDER.
Also, now that I know that black people and movies about Motorcycle Diaries can win Oscars, I better start writing my own Okada Diaries…or maybe not…that title is too close, especially in these day and age when the word “plagiarism” is abound like FISH peppersoup in an Efik restaurant.
Victor Ehikhamenor. 2005
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