Due to circumstances beyond my control, I was obliged to be in the same room as my friends while they watched the red carpet leading into the Academy Awards this past Sunday. With every revealing gown, wild hairstyle and fawning correspondent that graced the screen, I couldn’t help but think that at any moment, Caesar Flickerman from The Hunger Games was going to show up and take over.
Hollywood, CA (not the actually city, but the label) is Panem’s Capitol. A collection of citizens more concerned and consumed with the plunging neckline of Jennifer Lopez’s dress, the elaborate nails highlighted in the mani cam, the contents of a $167,000 swag bag, and a flogger that actress Dakota Johnson took home with her from the set of 50 Shades of Grey, than the actual films that the event is marked to celebrate and even more removed from the horrific events occurring in the world.
I hadn’t seen a red carpet production in a while and haven’t watched the actual Oscar awards show since 2008, but when I pointed out the comparison to my wife she became wide-eyed by the comparison. What is worse however, is us. Because we watch it.
