Two Old Guys at Lunch

I talked a few weeks back about some imaginary old Jewish studio executive grousing about the new Hollywood. Perhaps while chomping on a pastrami sandwich (extra lean, please) at Nate N' Al's. Maybe he's bitching about the business to Ceil the waitress. Or another old business chum of his. Perhaps somebody he knows from temple. Let's call them Saul and Hesse.

The day after the Oscar nominations were announced, here's what I might have "overheard."

"Oy, what's with the ten pictures nominated? With the shit these pishers are putting out these days, they want more than five?"

"As if they're not making enough money. And still they bitch, moan, and groan about paying for the good seats at shul during the High Holy Days."

"Like this Cameron altacocker, who the hell wants to see these meshuggah blue things flying around? Where was the story? Where was the love song? What? Celine Dion is so busy?"

"My wife couldn't be bothered. But, Titanic, I had to take her two times. And she cried like a baby."

"And then I got to pay three dollars more for the stupid glasses that make me look like Swifty Lazar. Oy."

"Then they pick The Blind Side? Hello, did you see? It was like watching Oprah. I didn't buy Bullock running around with that schwatzah."

"If that kid's walking on my block late at night, I got ACS Research on my speed dial. Football, schmootball. Feh! He's up to no Goddamn good."

"Sandra's a nice girl, though. I'd give her a little pickle tickle."

"That's more than I can say about that schwatzah girl in Precious. Oy. A two-bagger."

"What was the pitch meeting for that? Shrek meets Shaft? Who wants to see that? I'll stay out of your movie if you stay out of my neighborhood."

"Mo'Nique wins the Oscar and I guarantee my maid will start slacking off. Just like when Obama got in."

"Did you see the Quentin Tarantino monstrosity?

"Inglourious Basterds? Takes one to direct one."

"I wish him my prostate."

"He actually made me root for Hitler. Who knew?"

"They should give the Oscar to Jeff Bridges. Nice boy, even if his father was a little funny in the head."

"Yeah, too many air bubbles went up his nose. I wouldn't mind George Clooney, though. I think I fucked his aunt."

"No, no, I remember. That was Marilyn Maxwell."

"Oh, right. Tomato, tomatoe. All the same in the dark."

"You think that broad will win Director for the Hurt Locker?"

"Oy, what did she know about war? You didn't see any dames on the set when we were making The Longest Day. They were all back at the hotel, trying on their new lingerie we bought them."

"Those were hookers."

"Yeah, well, I knew I paid for something. Potato, potatoe."

"They say she may win."

"If that means Tarantino loses, then God bless her and her mother."

"Do you even know what District 9 is?"

"Is that where I live in Brentwood? I forget my councilman's name."

"No, District 9 is that space movie. With all the aliens."

"Enough with the Martians already. I was done with them when Ray Walston was still alive. Oy vey."

"How you even going to fill out your Oscar ballot?"

"Me, I can't be bothered. I give it to the Mexican who cleans my pool."

It went something like that.

Dinner last night: Turkey meat loaf and grilled vegetables from Gelson's.