A few weeks ago we went to the Golden Boots awards dinner. It honors motion picture Western stars and forgotten workers, with an ever shrinking list to honor. The money raised goes to the Motion Picture Home in Woodland Hills. People come in Western costume, if they wish. The men seem to get into dressing up for this more than women do.
I had a nice new Rockmount shirt to wear. This fellow came dressed as a sidekick, or maybe he just sloshed into the hotel lobby.
Clint Eastwood got the top award, at the end of FIVE HOURS of slow ceremony. No one told him that the top of his hair was sticking straight up like a rooster comb. Maybe he took a snooze before the dessert course. Burt Reynolds told a funny story about how cheap Clint is, then rambled on like a beatnik poet till they pulled him away from the mike.
I thought it was pretty tacky that they asked us to bow our heads and pray for God to give us more opportunities to make Western movies and tv shows. No one mentioned Brokeback Mountain. They also brought some army guy in from Iraq who proselytized about harm's way, the usual crap. The emcee should have had his speech checked at the door.
