Why am I watching this show?

Some time ago I was watching the Academy Awards, and at one point I wondered why I was doing so. What was the appeal of twenty something millionaires singing each others praises. Yes, the movie stars were handsome and talented, but they certainly seemed wrapped up in themselves. What kind of industry gives awards to the award shows themselves? Was it my own envy, jealousy, or competitiveness that was causing my distracting thoughts? Did I really want to be Brad Pitt or perhaps more appropriately Robert Duvall? Suddenly I had a clarifying memory.

Sharon Stone

Years ago on the night before I was to fly to Pakistan to begin a trek to the base camp of K-2, my wife, Vicki, and I attended a dinner sponsored by the American Himalayan Foundation honoring the Dalai Lama. I knew the history of the Dalai Lama, as I had read Heimlich Harrier’s excellent book, 7 Years in Tibet.

Indiana Jones

Once inside the banquet room I remembered that the Dalai Lama had been strongly embraced by the Hollywood community. Suddenly I saw stars everywhere. I restrained myself through two glasses of Chardonnay, and then I was off with my camera. Like a crazed man I walked up to Stephan Segal in his colorful smoking jacket, and I shot. Keep beating up the bad guys I thought. Then it was onto Shirley McLain. The Rat Pack was gone now, but Shirley looked good. Dr. Spock was there as was Ed Begley of St. Elsewhere. I took pictures of Meg Ryan and Dennis Quaid, one of my personal favorites. The most striking person in the room was easily Sharon Stone. When I approached her, she flashed me a big smile, and I took her picture. The finale came when I walked up to Indiana Jones and got a great shot. Satiated, I walked back to my table, somehow having forgotten about the man from Tibet, who was the real star of the evening.

Segal

My reverie was interrupted with the sight of Halle Berry being kissed by one of the award winners. Steve Martin continued to be funny, and Michael Moore got the crowd going with his anti war comments. Suddenly three hours had passed, and the show was nearly over. By that time I had stopped trying to understand why I was watching the show, and I was only enjoying it. As I turned the TV off, I had an image of myself as the country singer in Tender Mercies, the movie starring Bobbie Duvall in the mid eighties. When I walked out of the room, I even thought I heard the sound of a Texas wind whistling across the flatlands.