Several years ago, my mother and I took the Coast Starlight from Los Angeles to Seattle. Walking through L.A.’s lovely old Union Station, I imagined Hedy Lamar, resplendent in furs and a smart hat, hurrying to catch a train. Or Tyrone Power, all masculine beauty and elegance, doing his patriotic duty and heading to Marine boot camp in San Diego in 1942. Movie stars. Hollywood history. Glamour. I felt positively gorgeous myself.

The 80th Academy Awards are on this Sunday ( 8 p.m. ET on ABC, if you’re interested), and I’ll be glued to my television. And that’s not just because my man George Clooney is nominated for Best Actor this year. I never miss the Oscars if I can help it, even if I haven’t had a chance to see most of the movies. All those beautiful people in fabulous clothes and jewels. Seeing the cinematographers and the directors and–yes!–the writers who make movies happen. Getting teary-eyed when they flash the photos of all the movie people who’ve died since the last Academy Awards. I even like the dance numbers. For a little while, I’m part of Hollywood, almost an insider.

So I’m starstruck. Yep, shamelessly so. It’s fun to see actors I recognize. Once, Jackie Chan was on my flight to Los Angeles. I smiled at him as I passed through first class to steerage, and he smiled back. I passed Tony Shaloub walking along in L.A.’s Larchmont Village. In “X-Files” days, a friend who worked on the show introduced me to David Duchovny. In Park Slope, Brooklyn, I saw John Turturro eating a bagel and reading the paper in a coffee shop. It was even thrilling to see Paul Winfield come out of a store in the Beverly Center in Los Angeles, clad in a yellow caftan.

And it’s all because I love movies. Hollywood may be artifice, but the movies, they’re magic. There’s nothing profound or original about saying it, but it’s true. And that’s why I love the Oscars. They honor the magic and the magicians.