Star?

I used to be enthralled by the Oscars. The beautiful dresses, the funny comedians, the talented Hollywood people. I completely bought into it. During spring break in 8th grade, I even got to go out to California and stood on the Kodak Theatre stage. I think that's probably when my fascination began.

I tuned in this year. I missed the first hour or so because I was at church. As I watched Al Gore receive two standing ovations and Ellen Degeneres meander around in her white tennis shoes and Clint Eastwood stumble over the intro for the honorary oscar (because he admittedly "should have brought his glasses"), I lost my enchantment. I saw it for what it really is: the Hollywood system giving itself a big pat on the back. Is this what people live for? A moment of fame? A little gold statue? A 30 second acceptance speech that's cut off by music anyway? Oddly enough, I became fairly ecclesiastical: it is all meaningless.

Tonight, I went (with my extremely proud mom) to a banquet honoring seniors with outstanding SAT scores, myself included. We sat at our assigned table behind our large name cards (I took mine home) with people we didn't know. I left the table for two minutes and came back to find that mom had already filled our table mates in on my constantly changing college plans: "She's applied to A, B, and C. She got into B and C but she hasn't heard from A..." I could recite it in my sleep I've said it so many times. Turns out, the other spectacular test taker at my table is also interested in A. More conversation about how ironic it would be.

To the buffet line we proceed. Pasta with two options (two!) of sauce: marinara or alfredo. As with my ever-present college decision, I could not choose and solicited the advice of the man in front of me. Turns out he couldn't decide either and had two separate piles of noodles with a different sauce on each. "It's like a cruise ship!" he says. "I've never been on a cruise ship." "Well, you better marry rich then!"

Back to the table. Mom disappeared for a while and things got awkward. All adults stared at me, the teenager whom they know not, and one asked the question. "Well, [glances down at the large name card] Jessica... what's next for you?"

What kind of vague question is that? What will I do when I get home? Next week? Next year? "Next? Like... after high school?" When she replied in the affirmative, I panicked. Mom had already taken the usually litany of A, B, and C. So I opted for the "give them something to laugh at so they'll leave me alone" escape route.

"Well, I'm definitely going to college." They laugh - of course she is! She did so well on the SAT! I push my advantage. "Actually, I decided that in fifth grade, so I've been ahead of schedule for some time." More laughter. They catch the irony of my current lack of plans with the existence of them seven years ago.

Keynote speaker. I don't remember anything she said. It was so cliche, I just tuned it out. Oh, well. I can always marry rich.

Was it just a big night of pats on the back? Perhaps. Was it meaningless? Maybe. I'm glad I went, but I don't put too much stock in it. It's no fun chasing the wind.