The Writer's Strike caused a lot of anxiety - what the hell would I do without all the televisual output? No more Heroes? It seems so. More worrying though was that perhaps there would be none of the world's most important fashion show. I mean awards ceremony. Oh, let's face it, no one cares about the Oscars for the films - it's all about the dresses.
With the lack of Golden Globes and the Baftas being, try as they might, nowhere near as glitzy or glamorous, I think I was suffering from a severe Red Carpet withdrawal. Then, after Vanity Fair had already cancelled their legendary party, those sneaky writers said "Oh go on then, we love looking at the dresses as much as anyone else and we might actual win prizes too!" and lo! the Oscars happened.
They happened and were meh. You heard me - meh. Black? Red? Is that all you got? Really? The rumour was swirling that all the best dresses had been wheeled out at the Grammys seeing as no one knew if the Oscars would be the full on red carpet glamathon it should be. The Grammys passed me by seeing as The Rest Of The World (that's how America describes us on record sleeves - that's CD inserts or MP3 distribution rights to you kids - check it out if you don't believe me) doesn't really get excited by them. Rest assured though that I will be trawling the interwebs to verify this rumour, especially given some of the boredom on display last night.
Obviously I have some out and out loves and some out and out hates. Looking at all of the pretty and fugly and meh has taken the best part of a day. My eyes are starting to glaze a little but hey, who the hell wore what?!
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