There was a time, long before I became a film critic, where I was passionate about the Oscars. I was invested in the offerings and performances of each and every year and sat with glazed, glad eyes as the overlong pageant provided Hollywood with the self-aggrandizing back slapping it so desperately needed. Even in those years where something didn’t grab my honest attention, I still tuned in to witness the always intriguing changing of the guard, Elizabeth Taylors giving way to Diane Keatons making room for Angelina Jolies. And then, I became more than invested. I became part of it. No, I don’t vote for the Academy Awards, but every year I am treated as if I do. I get hundreds of Oscar screeners. I participate in several guild nominations and elections. I even make the occasional media appearance to discuss the event. Granted, my role is not as important as the AMPAS membership, or the various under organizations that lead up to the big night, but I am there: small, insignificant, and struggling.