Overexposure

On Friday afternoons, I suffer through an hour of chorale at school and then rush home to rush through Entertainment Weekly before rushing off again to a saxophone lesson. This Friday, I got in my 3 series, BMW, swerving around corners, and skidding on the snow (why anyone owns a BMW in New England is beyond me), jumped through the front door, greeted my sister with a “where’s the mail?!”, swept up the magazine from the table, and made a face of disgust. What graces the cover of this least-trashiest of star magazines? The Oscars! Sigh.

I love the Oscars as much as the next person, and I love watching them–the dresses and fashion, rooting for my favorite movies and actors, eating popcorn while watching them make horridly boring speeches–but is there really that much to say about them? The noms came out a few days ago, and while a list is nice, an entire magazine isn’t necessary! Yes, Natalie Portman was fantastic in Black Swan, but is an entire page consisting of her age, her role, her Oscar History, and a few mangled quotes from her stating that her life post-hit is “hardly a constant chorus of praise”. Well, not to be rude, but who cares?! I also don’t care that David Fincher dreamed up some of the scenes in The Social Network, despite the fact that he is one of my favorite directors.

I like hype–but too much hype is this. Wanna know about the movies? Go see them.

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