My partner Tom and I plan our trips and work schedules around the Oscars.  It’s a tradition we’ve established for ourselves in our almost twelve years of harmonious unity. Mind you, neither one of us are currently in the film business.  I did some consulting work in the early ‘90s for Paramount’s “Sliver” starring Sharon Stone.  And Tom has a dormant acting bug.  This trivia and the fact we live off of Highland Avenue, a seven-minute drive south of The Hollywood and Highland Center, site of the Kodak Theater and the Oscar telecast, is our only real connection to the event.

The fact is: Tom and I are fans.  We’ve loved movies and the movie business since we were children.  As a child, my dad would take our family to see the best movies being made in Hollywood.  He rarely took us to anything that was not of high quality, never mind the rating.  In the 1970s, that meant no Kung Fu crap or any exploitation films of any kind.  We only saw films made by the best artists of the time.

Every year I would watch the telecast religiously.  I remember sitting on the floor, at the foot of my parent’s bed, my parents asleep, my brothers and sister in their rooms, while I watched the telecast alone, loving every minute of overtime.

Tom and my tradition begins with waking up at 5:25am, the Tuesday in early January when the nominations are announced.  Before the first announcements, I always joke with Tom, telling him “I hope you’re nominated.”  Then we make a point of seeing all of the films that received major nominations.  On Oscar night, we feel we can make an honest assessment of who should take home the awards.

Tom and I decide long ago that we don’t like to host or attend Oscar parties.  We’re serious about the show and even enjoy the commercials.  The last thing we want is commentary by even the wittiest of our friends.  Forget football, this is our Super Bowl. So for the last ten years or so, we make our own party, just us and our dogs, in bed, eating an endless array of decadent appetizers with wine and champagne pairings.

One year, just as the first award was to be announced, I pulled out a replica Oscar from under Tom’s pillow and presented him with a “Lifetime Achievement Award.”  We were both so caught up in the moment, both of us got a little misty eyed.  My Tom deserves that award.

Another year, having successfully survived melanoma surgery and given the cancer–free diagnosis from my doctors, Tom and I went to the Hollywood and Highland Center days before the big show.  There was an opportunity to hold and be photographed with a real Oscar.  We took the picture.  Immediately after the telecast ended, I emailed the picture of me and “My Oscar” to friends and relatives, many of whom I had not seen in years.  In my mind it symbolized my victory over cancer.  Purposefully ambiguous, my simple message was “I couldn’t have done it without you.”  For days afterwards, I was sent messages of congratulations.  I corrected everyone by saying I would put the award right next to my Nobel Peace Prize and Mr. Universe Tiara.

This coming Sunday, you know where we’ll be.  And on the following Wednesday, we’re flying off to Madrid, Toledo, Rome, Florence, Pisa and London.  More on that later.