Hey Oscar, aren't we cute?

So the little movie that could won moviedom’s top prize. The movie has already been reviewed and analysed to death by every other critic spanning the globe.  Yah, yah, it’s gorgeously shot, boast a heartwarming storyline, and hailed as “the world’s first globalised masterpiece.”

Some decried it as romanticising the Orient. It probably did. But all these don’t matter, not the praises or the criticism. Not even the eight shiny trophies the movie carted back.

Just look at that photo above. The child actors playing the slumdogs of the show all got to go to LA for one magic-filled night, especially the two right in front, Azharuddin Ismail, 10, and Rubina Ali  9, (on the left and the centre), who are real life slum kids.

They had never travelled out of India or sat in plane – until now. In fact, they nearly didn’t get to go. It was reported that their parents were not keen on sending them to the Oscars and instead wanted the plane fare to be utilised for other necessities. Thankfully they changed their minds.

Let’s drop all posey intelligent discussion of the merits of the movie. It’s this very tiny yet real, life-changing, affecting dream-come-true  moment Slumdog Millionaire achieves that makes it worthy of its Best Picture Oscar. Now how many films can really say that? And even if the kids were to go back to their terrible slums after that, they know they’re one of the few who managed to touch the heavens so many long for.

At home. If you can ever get used to us living there.

Stay at home, suckers. Because love isn’t in the air. Even the celebs aren’t feeling it this season.

If you don’t already know, Mr Umbrella Chris Brown finally opened and showed what’s lurking behind that squeaky-clean 19-year-old smile. He walloped his girlfriend Rihanna one time good good last Sunday. Poor thing RiRi told cops Brown strangled her and she was  seen sporting a” black eye” as well as “a swollen split lip and two red and purple contusions on either side of her forehead.” No, that’s not her latest makeup look. And as overheard on the radio, now she knows what it’s like to have “No air, no air.” Who cares why he did it? The fact is he did. To top it off, he learnt martial arts, okay? Can you imagine being pulverized by a Bruce Lee-esque boyfriend? Love really hurts, man.

(Check my phone for booty calls again and you can be good girl gone. Period)

Over in Singapore, popular radio DJ Glenn Ong thought of a novel way to tell us about the state of his marriage. He announced on his show Morning Express that he’s splitting up with his wife Jamie Yeo, who is probably best known for being somewhat famous here (she’s currently a host on ESPN, prattling unconvincingly about Football Crazy).  It came as a shock to most Singaporeans, after all didn’t she just appear in 8 Days with her BMW Z4 Roadster being matchy-matchy with her hubby’s? Like that huh. Does it mean one of them has to change cars now??!

Wow, the last time I posted was June last year. It really shows the level of committment I have for this blog. I don’t even remember what I did in that span of time.

The  greater universe is a lot more dynamic that the listless, aimless, restless minion that I am: Let’s state the obvious: Change has come – Obama is in the White House; Israel bombed the crap out of the Gaza strip (the line the more things change, the more they stay the same comes to mind); Lindsay is no longer livin la vida loca now that she’s as a les-loving Lohan (then again in retrospect, change has truly come); practically everyone in Singapore lost an acquaintance or dear friend in the the Mumbai terror attacks; practically everyone in Singapore lost their minds or dinner dates to watch The Little Nyonya; practically everyone in the world lost their savings or jobs when the economy decided it has enough of our shit – no thanks to shitty bankers. That’s not all, but you can google the rest.

Me? I just lost my iPod. 4 years of my life encapsulated in 2000+ songs. My tiny profound tragedy.