Royal lineage: A story of two heirs.

It wasn't a typical double date.

Each couple converged in the multiplex lobby following the synchronized finishes of their preferred movies. One pair decided to screen "The King's Speech" prior to the Oscar deadline, while the other duo opted for the slightly lighter "Never Say Never," the story of Justin Bieber and his unlikely rocket launch to stardom.

I should probably elaborate at this point. My wife and I attended the mature-themed film, and my daughters did Bieber, umm...so to speak.

After we met up, we each were quite satisfied with our respective choices, and were eager to talk about what we'd seen. Even though the subject matter and historical time frame differed significantly, the two movies dealt with a couple of guys who were strewn into extraordinary situations and compelled to make good under extreme pressure.

Granted, Justin Bieber isn't a bona fide monarch...or is he? If we traced his non-familial teenage heartthrob lineage, we could probably begin with the original American idol: Frank Sinatra. Arguably from there, the crown might be traced to Fabian and Paul Anka, and on to Frankie Avalon, Davey Jones, David Cassidy, Leif Garrett, Shaun Cassidy and Rick Springfield. Okay, let's do a quick tally. Caucasian bubblegum boy stars, 10, every other ethnicity, Zero.

During the mid-eighties, the industry giants must have decided that a boy band was at least four times as good as a single star, so the pre-fab ensembles took over, like New Kids Under the Block and N' Sync. Crooked boy band architects like Lou Pearlman came up with the formula for success: Half of the group would have talent, and the rest would rock intricate facial hair carvings.

But then, it was back to the future, as guys like Jesse McCartney, Zac Effron and any other solo acts who looked good in Mickey Mouse ears seized the reins back for the cause of the lone wolf.

Enter Mr. Bieber.

I'm not going to retrace the lineage of the British monarchy, but prior to King George VI, played by Colin Firth in "The King's Speech," the head royal wasn't expected to publicly address his subjects. The introduction of the newfangled "wireless" technology rewrote that rule as he ascended to power; his people were no longer satisfied with someone who simply looked good in a uniform while cutting a ribbon, they wanted to hear what he had to say.
Oh, yeah, and the new king possessed a debilitating stammering problem.

Have you ever spoken publicly, like at a wedding or a work meeting? It's difficult, especially when you're attempting to convince or inspire people. You feel nervous, sometimes nauseous. But what if you're expected to do as such, even though you can barely string four words together, and an entire nation's confidence in your abilities as king rests on a single address?

Adult diapers? Aisle 18b.

Years ago, my manager suggested that, since I got so anxious speaking in public settings, that I join the local Toastmasters club. It was a great experience and trained me to hold my own without quivering like aspic-covered ham while speaking to a large group.

I won't elaborate too extensively on the time back in 1989 when I entered district "table topics" competition. I had won the club and area contests, so I was feeling a bit cocky with my abilities. The winner got a really cool trophy, which I suppose would've looked nice next to my framed letterman's jacket.

Oh, but there would be no trophy for a shallow pond that day.

A speaker of table topics must face the audience and receive a small piece of paper containing a subject from the Toastmaster. The contestant must then speak extemporaneously on the subject for one minute, with five seconds allowed for mental preparation. My topic that day was "What kind of vegetable would you be?"

My first thought, which I know is sick, was of famous people who have been vegetables, but I could think of none. I locked up completely and babbled incoherently for an entire minute, and actually did list a lot of vegetables. I'm sure that impressed my first grade teacher when we did that farm unit, but the audience looked like I was inserting needles into their shins

After an inappropriate cucumber comment, the longest minute of my life was over.

So, to Justin Bieber, you beat the odds, you didn't mess up when it was time to lay it all on the line, and, even though I'm a little bitter about that, I admire such traits in your rich, little, non-threatening, sixteen-year-old self.

To King George VI, even though you are dead, you beat the odds, you didn't mess up when it was time to go for broke, and the man who played you will probably get a trophy, which I didn't at that Toastmasters thing.

Yes, I'm a little bitter about that, too.

The Oscars: a year-end T-ball pizza party for adults

I watched all of it. The entire show. In fact, I watched the pre-red carpet show, the red carpet show, and then the Academy Awards, so really, any snarky judgments I make throughout this post should be prefaced by the fact that I watched all of it.

My family and I established an annual tradition, beginning three years ago, of eating meatloaf while watching the Oscars. Why meatloaf? Why not? With my daughters, the power of association can be so strong, that I'm just glad we weren't snacking on Spaghetti-O's the first time we watched as a group, or we'd be slurping those down every year.

That red carpet spectacle is such a bizarre study in human idol worship. The crowd is literally caged-in as the stars stroll by in all of their grandeur. The show's hosts marveled at the way George Clooney broke from tradition by interacting with the unwashed masses outside the red carpet zone, and he was hailed as a hero for actually stooping to mingle with the commoners. As his date walked along a few feet behind him, my nine-year-old pointed out, "That's his girlfriend. They've been together a really long time. Like over a year."

We watched as each starlet posed for the camera. Many looked hopelessly claustrophobic in their mega-tight dresses, like when you're camping and you wake up in a cold panic because your sleeping bag has twisted itself three-and-a-half times around your torso. They posed and strutted, posed and strutted, and finally approached the interviewer. Here's an example of a typical exchange:

"Kate, you look striking."

"Thank you very much."

"So, everyone wants to know...who are you wearing?"

At that point, I really wish Kate would have said, "Don't you mean what am I wearing? Well, in case you are unable to tell, this is a dress. From Target."

Don't get me wrong; Kate Winslet, Helen Mirren, Sandra Bullock and Penelope Cruz weren't exactly hard on the eyes, but a few celebrated thespians looked less than stunning. My daughters were usually the first to point this out:

Zoe: "Look how yellow her teeth are."

Lauryn: "Look how yellow your teeth are."

Nothing like some good-natured barbs between my princesses.

Once the show began, it followed the usual format fairly closely. Each nominee for best male and female actor were lauded on stage individually by someone who had worked with or known them. For instance, Stanley Tucci spoke glowingly of Merrill Steep, since they'd worked on two films together. The person who showed up to hail the nominated star of "Precious," Gabouret Sidibe, was none other than Oprah Winfrey. Upon seeing her, I thought, "That's it. Gabby's got the Oscar sewn up if Oprah's in her corner." Oprah's so influential that if she included Lucky Strike Cigarettes on her list of favorite things, they would become America's number-one stocking stuffer. Gabouret didn't win, and I was surprised.

One other departure I noticed was the return of the phrase, "And the winner is..." as opposed to "And the Oscar goes to..." I suppose the members of the Academy had tired of treating the show like an end-of-season T-ball pizza party, where everyone's a winner and everyone gets an awesome trophy.

But as much as we criticize and make fun of this yearly fest of self-congratulation, who hasn't fantasized about the speech they'd deliver if they were up on that stage, clutching that golden eunuch that is Oscar:

"I'd like to thank the Academy, even though I have no idea who or what the Academy is. I'd also like to thank the folks at Photoshop for making my pores thirty percent smaller on those close-ups. And most of all, I'd like to thank Sally Field, because no matter what I say right now, it will always be considered more coherent than the speech she gave. Now where's my gift basket?"