On Sunday, I was in Los Angeles covering the 83rd Annual Academy Awards for the Huffington Post. As I reported from the red carpet, I secretly held out hope that the night would come with huge surprises. I hoped Darren Aronofsky would stun the crowd by winning Best Director. I thought Melissa Leo’s self-campaigning would sabotage her chances and fall to Hallie Steinfeld of True Grit. Most of all, I hoped Oscar voters would think outside the box and crown not a “King” but a royally good animated flick — Toy Story 3- as Best Picture. As we know, the night didn’t play out that way. That said, my evening’s biggest surprises took place after I left the red carpet.
Moments after leaving the glitz and the glamor, I found myself in an interesting pickle – not literally. Pickles are, after all, gross. I was in the entertainment capital of the world, steps away from the Kodak Theatre where the ceremony was taking place, and no matter how hard I tried, I simply couldn’t find a place to watch the telecast. As I walked along the Hollywood Walk of Fame, I gloriously found the irony of my predicament. I asked cops covering the carpet where to watch them, and was met with blank stares. I questioned event security and staff, and they looked at me like I had two heads. As I walked up and down the Hollywood Boulevard, my wife texted me the winners thus far. Continue reading