And the Award Goes To . . .

I watched the Golden Globes last week. No real surprises. The usual mix of cleavage and bones. Meryl Streep was charmingly witty when she won (is it me, or does Ms. Streep pick up an award every year?), and Helen Mirren proved that you can be over 60 and still be sexy. Annette Bening and Warren Beatty are finally starting to look like a real couple to me, instead of another old dude with a much-younger wife (that dowdy dress she had on went a long way toward that.)

But two things made me really happy. Grey’s Anatomy, which I don’t watch all that often, won for best something or other, with the award accepted by Shonda Rhimes, probably the most powerful black woman in television today. (The happy occasion was somewhat marred by Isaiah Washington’s unfortunate reference to his co-star, T.R. Knight . . . but that’s a column for another day.) Another was to see Ugly Betty recognized by the . . . the body of people who vote for the Golden Globes, I believe, the Hollywood Foreign Press. America Ferrara looked anything but ugly in her purple dress, and her speech was so heartfelt. I’m glad that Vanessa Williams has landed a decent acting job. It’s always been slim pickings out there for black actresses, and it gets tougher the older they get. I haven’t even seen Alfre Woodard lately, and she’s been popping up everywhere the last couple of years. I still think somebody ought to give Vanessa a recurring part on Desperate Housewives, now that they’ve found their way back to less ludicrous storylines this season, being in the same age group as the rest of the broads on the block (and certainly just as skinny.)

The SAGs come on tomorrow night. In my mind these carry less prestige than the Golden Globes, but I’ll probably tune in anyway, even if I’m multitasking, just for GP (that means general purposes, for all you young folks out there.) But when the golden boy (and I mean that literally,) the Oscars, comes on the end of February, I’ll be glued to the TV.

Now I'm off to check movie times. I'd like to see Forest Whitaker in The Last King of Scotland. My suspicions tell me that this sophisticated film will be playing closer to Chicago rather than up here in the sticks, so if we're faced with a 20-mile drive, we'll probably end up seeing Martin Scorcese's crime drama The Departed.

Wish us luck!