Eileen Goudge

And the winner is

Every year when my intrepid reporter husband is getting ready to go out to LA to cover the Oscars, I’m guaranteed to have at least one person—usually more than one—ask, “Are you going with him?” As if! For those of you who don’t know: The red carpet at the Oscars is tougher to get onto than the lawn of the White House. Security is beyond tight and press passes issued like gold from Ft. Knox. Sandy’s been covering the event for more than two decades and he still has to jump through hoops (some of them flaming hoops) to get the requisite badges for himself and his cameraman. And his pass doesn’t even get him onto the red carpet. Most of the ceremony he, along with the rest of the press corps, watches on the monitors in the press room. I probably see more on my TV at home!

So, no, I will not be attending the Oscars this year. Should you ever see me gliding down the red carpet at the Academy Awards, it will only be because a book I’ve written has been made into a movie that’s been nominated for an award. (Does the author ever get invited when that happens? Probably not.) In other words, dream on, Eileen. In the meantime, I’ll be watching from the carpet in my living room (the sofa that sits on it, to be exact). I’ll console myself with the fact that the pj’s I’ll be wearing are way more comfy than a designer gown. And besides, I probably wouldn’t have won anyway.

I did hold an Oscar once, though. It was when I was married to my ex, the agent. We were in London taking a meeting with David Putnam, and I spied the Oscar he’d won for “Chariots of Fire,” displayed on his mantel. I asked if I could hold it and he said “sure.” One thing I can tell you is ol’ Oscar is HEAVY. So heavy, I used it to bludgeon a character in one of my novels (pop quiz: can you name the title?) Not the Oscar moment one might expect, but hey, you make do with what you’ve got, right?

(Photo of Sandy's special Oscar jacket - available only to
backstage crew members.)

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