The Academy Awards were last Sunday night and that’s always a bittersweet night for me. Bitter because it’s the perfect excuse to wear that strapless black dress that’s both daring in its subtlety and pushes the boundaries of fashion with its “I’m special because I don’t need to stand out” vibe and unfortunately I have yet to be invited to the Academy Awards despite my on-again off-again relationship with Julianne Moore. (Editor’s note: It’s mostly off-again. … And made-up.)
It’s a sweet night, however, because it allows me to close my eyes and imagine myself up there accepting my own Academy Award. To be honest, I’d take any of the awards, except for Best Soundmixing. That award is for nerds. (Editor’s note: And weirdos.)
I actually dabble a bit in filmmaking myself. And by “dabble” I mean I “think about it night and day.” And by “I think about it night and day” I mean “I’m not entirely sure what filmmaking is but I think I might like it.” So it’s only natural that I get a little misty-eyed whenever I hear someone’s name get called and see them run up on stage and give their acceptance speech because I know one day it’s going to be me.
You see, I’m currently in the brainstorming stages of a little documentary called Yes I Can: The Story of One Man’s Dream to Tear Down the Walls of Sexual Discrimination and Play in the WNBA. Some of you may know that this isn’t the first documentary I’ve undertaken. My first film, Alex Trebek: Game Show Host or Puppy Massacrer won critical acclaim at the third annual Legarm Film Festival and walked away with awards for Best Documentary, Best Soundmixing (though I refused to accept) and Most Accurate Portrayal of a Canadian Asshole Gameshow Host Who Won’t Let Me Compete On His Show During Kids Week Just Because I’m Not a Kid. (Editor’s Note: That award is actually three trophies because all of that won’t fit on one trophy.) To quote the film festival’s resident critic, my friend Barry, the film:
“… served as a reminder to us all the blatant age discrimination displayed by the formerly mustachioed gameshow host in his never-ending quest to belittle Americans and murder puppies. While the documentary was preachy at times, it made it clear that Mr. Trebek not only finds great pleasure in creating death and destruction everywhere he goes, but also murders puppies. I can only shake my head in disgust when the narrator makes this final, damning point: We’d never let Pat Sajak get away with this. And he’s right. We wouldn’t. Especially the part where he murders puppies.”
I’d post the documentary here for you to see, but it’s currently in the possession of the courts due to Mr. Trebek’s lawsuit against me and my lawyers say it would be a bad idea to share it with anyone else since they still think there’s a chance they can make it appear the documentary was not made by me despite my name appearing over 42 times in the closing credits and my outbursts in the courtroom demanding recognition for such a powerful film. I also demanded we order out for Chinese during the next recess, but I don’t think the judge heard me since I’d already been escorted out of the room and was being held for contempt of court. (Editor’s note: I loves me some sweet and sour chicken.)
But back to Yes I Can: The Story of One Man’s Dream to Tear Down the Walls of Sexual Discrimination and Play in the WNBA. It involves all the things people love in movies including but not limited to:
- Underdog stories
- Gun fights
- Nicholas Cage
- John Travolta
- John Travolta stealing Nicholas Cage’s face
- Full frontal nudity
Take the following scene for instance. I’m and underdog at the local gym trying to hone my skills. A coach who happens to be a woman and refuses to wear a shirt sees me and thinks maybe I’d make a good protege. Unfortunately, another basketball coach, none other than Nicholas Cage, notices my skills at the same time and decides he’d like to coach me. Their argument over me bursts into a gun fight and Nicholas Cage guns down my would-be coach and wins the right to coach me. But it turns out it’s not actually Nicholas Cage. It’s John Travolta wearing Nicholas Cage’s face. Travolta tells me that there’s a bomb somewhere in the gym but Nicholas Cage’s brother is the only person who knows where the bomb is. But Nicholas’ brother won’t talk to anyone but Nicholas who happens to be in a coma so Travolta stole Nicholas’ face so he could talk to his brother but it turns out Nicholas doesn’t actually have a brother. So we don’t know where the bomb is and the whole gym ends up blowing up. I’m the only one who survives, but the blast ripped all my clothes off, so I arise out of the rubble completely naked with my arms raised skyward screaming, “Damn you Nicholas Cage!” And so I try to make the WNBA in John Travolta’s honor. I also buy a kitten in his honor.
Is it better than Alex Trebek: Game Show Host or Puppy Massacrer? I don’t know. But I do know it’s going to be a hit. And hopefully give me an excuse to wear that dress.