They just gave us the sit down and shut up signal. Shit's about to get real, yo.
There's a big piece about Bob Hicks in the program, the Oregonian critic who retired in December. 35 years of writing about theater. That is, frankly, mind-blowing. I've only been doing it for four and I think about suicide way more often than I used to. (I kid because I love.)
Here we go! Apologies in advance for misspellings, I have the wrong version of Safari or something.
Vana and Eleanor O'Brian ("Portland's answer to the Judds") are hosting, here they come. Oh, it's just Eleanor, Vana is running a little late... Here she comes. With snacks. "I brought brownies... Every presenter will receive a homemade brownie." Neato.
Eleanor mentions a "gender inequality" in the ceremony. Ooh, I see what she means. Only one best actress award is being given out, and four best actors? Same deal with supporting roles? Yikes. She just led the ladies in the room in a cry of "What the fuck?!" Heh. That's pretty funny actually. Oh, now we're doing a "group om." You had me, and you lost me.
All of the presenters have to tell a joke. Neat, jokes. We're telling actor jokes now. Ooh, that one was dirty. I can't repeat it.
Oh my god. I'm going to get hit by a plate. Eleanor telling the story of how during a performance of Streetcar, Floyd from Just Out got hit in the head with a plate. And she says, "Presenters, throw your paper brownie plate at the audience when you are done. Maybe you will hit a critic."
Now we're telling blooper stories. This is boring. Back in a bit.
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