Having fun not watching the really Big Show

The Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences has a pretty tight grip on the trademark of their annual awards show, much like the NFL has on the Big Game played between the winners of the NFC and AFC division championship games. So let's just say that I want to talk about the Big Show that was hosted by Ellen "I'm Really Not That Funny" Degeneres and televised Sunday night.

I thought I'd come up with a great fix to my dilemma of not having any TV channels to speak of, but Mother Nature conspired to keep me from going to my friend Jill's in Mason County for a blow-out, two-person Big Show celebration.

I have always been a big fan of the Big Show. My mother and I used to watch it together when I was a kid. I remember the 1987 show in particular because I got to stay up two hours past my bedtime to help Mom root for Cher, who was up for Best Actress in the film, Moonstruck.

Then she actually won! We could barely contain ourselves.

When the storm interrupted my plans to watch the Big Show with my friend, I was very sad. But I didn't think about the wonder of technology and how it might give me a whole new - and wholly satisfying - way to experience the Big Show.

Between Twitter, Facebook, the New York Times and rapid-fire text messages from my friend Jill, I didn't really miss anything.

Minutes after it happened, I got to see Jennifer Lawrence fall down on the red carpet; it's good Lawrence got that out of the way, because she didn't get a chance to fall down to accept the Best Supporting Actress Award, which went to Lupita Nyong'o.

Because I wasn't watching the show, I didn't have to suffer through Ellen Degeneres's monologue until I was ready for it.

Same with all the acceptance speeches (which I will never be ready to watch). I didn't have to look at Ellen Degeneres in a tuxedo; I'm sorry, but I always dread seeing a woman in a tuxedo. I am powerless to explain why.

Though I missed the actual gathering of celebrities for the "selfie" that basically crashed Twitter, I saw the photo somewhere online that was not Twitter about five minutes after it was taken.

Another thing I was thankful not to have to sit through are the songs nominated as the best from movies this year. I didn't have to worry about crying during the "In Memoriam" segment because I did not see the faces laid against the mournful music they always play.

Best of all in that case was not having to hear Bette Midler sing "The Wind beneath My Wings," a song that I despise almost as much as "My Heart Will Go On" by Celine Dion, but nowhere near as much as "Can You Feel the Love Tonight" by Elton John.

Of course, reading texts and tweets and comments on a live blog by the Times is not a complete replacement for actually watching not just the Big Show but anything else.

There was a pretty huge "Aha" moment for me Sunday night, and this was regarding the winner of Best Picture. I thought 12 Years a Slave would be a shoo-in because the director surely had to be 120 years old and had never won before.

Then I found out that super-cool, motorcycle-riding Steve McQueen has been dead since the day I turned 11, and the Steve McQueen who was nominated for Best Director for 12 Years a Slave is actually an African-American man who is just a month older than I.

This was enough to make me thrust my fist at the ceiling, a clump of dirt in my hand, and vow: "As God is my witness, as God is my witness - I will never go without cable again!"