I had a doctor’s appointment this morning (11:50 is MORNING, as far as I’m concerned) Oh, whatever.

While I was in the waiting room, I read up on the Oscars. They’re, what, Sunday night or something? Eh, I don’t watch TV.

I read about the dresses and the tuxes and the shoes and the underwear, or lack thereof. I read about the hairstyles, and the jewelry, and who was going with whom, and why or why not. I read about the designers, and how they all got started, and who wore ‘their’ creations. And how much some of those dresses cost; these people are nuckin futz. One question about that: WHY?

I admired some of the outfits, giggled over others, and mentally recommended extensive therapy for anyone who would be caught dead in others, or anyone who would pay that much for a few yards of red silk and a feather.

I read little synopses of the films, and I read about the personal battles with drugs, fat, custody, acne, and misplaced toe rings some of the nominees are struggling with.

There was mention of parties afterwards, and the guest lists thereof.

But really, I am not very interested in the Oscars this year. The last movie I saw in a theater was that latest Superman film, and before that, it was Harry Potter, I think. I didn’t see either of them listed in the roster of nominees.

The movies I love best are seldom mentioned when it’s Oscar time, in fact. They don’t nominate the movies that people like me love. Not any more. They used to, but somewhere along the line, they stopped caring about movies for people like me. You know, films about nice people who fall in love and laugh a lot and have adventures with happy endings. That ‘happy ending’ thing is VERY important to me. I will not pay money to see a movie with an unsatisfactory ending. I inject myself into beloved movies and books, and if the ending isn’t wrapped up beautifully and happily, I brood over it, like, forever. I’m still brooding over movies I saw when I was eight years old. Still re-writing them over and over in my head so the ending comes out right.

But that’s okay, because I don’t care if the Oscars pay attention to the movies I love. I don’t pay any attention to the Oscars, either. But when I do find a movie I love, I tell everybody. And when it’s released on DVD, I buy it. And I give it to other people as birthday presents and love gifts, too. So oh well.

This year, I realized that I have not seen a single nominated movie, no, not even one. In fact, the whole thing bores me so thoroughly that I didn’t finish the article, not even to see the nominated songs.

All I can think of these days is how all that money that’s being spent on makeup, shoes, sparkly stockings, jewels, parties, gift baskets, etc, could be put to better use. Our children sit in classrooms that have no windows or insulation, but there are people who are willing to spend eight hundred thousand dollars for a pair of shoes? I can’t rationalize that.

And I’ve seen too many shiftless parents who send their kids to school with no socks or pencils standing in line at the theater to see the latest “Rocky” movie, smoking cigarettes and reeking of liquor. I think of all the warm socks and little shirts and new tablets and pencils they might have purchased for their children, instead of spending it on themselves for something so selfish as personal entertainment and addiction enhancement.

“I got me a right to a little somethin’ for myself once in a while!”

“No, you don’t. Not until you’ve taken care of your children. You have a right to NOTHING until you’ve fed and clothed your kids, and made sure they’re got the things they need so they can learn to rise above YOU.”

Boy, can I digress or what. . . .

I drove past a house last night that still had a zillion Christmas decorations all over the lawn, still sparkling and twinkling and jolly. I made silent fun of those people all the way home.

The fact that I still have Christmas salt-and-pepper-shakers on the little shelf above the stove is not the same thing at all. There’s a very good reason why I am still using my Christmas salt-and-pepper-shakers.

When I got out the Christmas dishes last November, I packed away the regular shakers and now I can’t find them.

See? Totally different.

Somewhere in this house, there are two sets of very pretty non-holiday salt-and-pepper-shakers. Your guess is as good as mine.

I’ve been shopping for some cheap-but-pretty shakers, but all the little shaky-holes are HUGE, the kind you see on Parmesian shakers. I do not care for a small mountain of salt or pepper on my green beans, so until I find some normal shakers with normal holes at a normal price (fitty cent is good), or happen onto the shakers that are already in this house, somewhere. . . . ho ho ho.

***Because’s it’s a Shaker song.