My Balogna Has A First Name, It's O-S-C-A-R

-Oscar Mayer Balogna song

Last night I was in the (unfortunate) mood to watch the ever-so-boring, self-backpatting Oscars. As usual, my thoughts afterwards were more along the lines of "Why in the heck would mere mortals watch this bunch of crap". Normally it’s for the fashion, but man, I must say, this year I really was not impressed in that department. Nothing show-stopping, nothing out of the ordinary. Evidently, Chris Rock’s commentary was enough to assuage me into watching a little more, and some of the highlights for me were seeing Morgan Freeman win, just cause I love listening to his voice and I’ve always enjoyed his work, and Jamie Foxx’s touching speech (how can you not love a man that can sing, play piano, act, look good AND love his grandma.

But who really took the cake, was the nauseatingly revered Beyoncé. Don’t get me wrong, Beyoncé is a bootylicious woman by all means, but as many of my friends will attest to, I’ve been pretty much sick of her for the last year, I mean talk about overexposed! I was confused for a second, was I watching the Oscars or The Beyoncé Show? For all you Beyoncé fans out there, you might not want to read what I’ve written next, but here goes anyways...she is a mediocre singer. All that octave-hopping voice-fluttering does not impress me into thinking that she can actually sing.

Much to the total, complete, utterly mortifying embarassment of the songwriter of the French song from Les Choristes, I’m sure all of France in the wake of last nights performance is going " What up wit dat?" Who’s bright idea was it to get Beyoncé to sing in French. Franchement! Just because you put an accent to decorate your name does not, by all means, make you fit to sing in French. Being a fluently french Blogueuse, I really strained to understand the words, and only made out like 3 of them. For crying out loud, she sounded like she was singing in the imaginary language of Cirque du Soleil more than anything else...maybe she should go to Las Vegas and apply. I mean if they really wanted to present a French song while still appealing to the American public by getting a singer that is familiar to them, get Céline for Christ’s sake (I can’t believe I’m actually endorsing her!) And if Céline’s pricetag is too heavy, there’s always Lara Fabian, or even Vanessa Paradis (who looked mindnumbingly bored everytime the camera zoomed in on her and Johnny....

At this point, I’m really starting to think that they just wanted to get the hiphop crowd interested in watching the Oscars, which traditionally tends to attract stuffy, white, cinema snobs. Between Puffy, Jay-Z, Beyoncé, and Chris Rock its was like watching the Soul Train Awards. Listen, I’m all for making the Oscars hipper but I draw the line at having a Texan hootchie-mama sing a french song really badly. Is Oscar Mayer hiring anyone to sing their baloney (or is it bologna) song? I hear Beyoncé will sing for just about any paycheck. Now that’s something I’d wanna see!

Take Me Out To The Ballgame

For it's one, two,
Three strikes you're out
At the old ball game!

I thought to myself, how can I be a Montrealer and not comment on the first ever (in the history of all sports) cancellation of a full hockey season..For those of you who don’t know what Montreal is...Montreal IS hockey. Pretty much all Canucks are hockey-obsessed, but being the undisputed legends of hockey (with 24 Stanley Cups), Montreal is definately suffering more than its share this year. First it was the loss of the Expos, and now this!

Hockey here is beyond politics, beyond religion, beyond even family. It is in the very makeup of the people. It is their oxygen...and without it there is no life...at least that’s what it seems like for someone like me who’s always been immune to the affliction.

Pacino, on the other hand, he has Hockey in his Molecules. He is the poster boy for addicted hockey fans. He grew up with the game flowing in his veins. Since the beginning of fall, he’s been watching old games that are being re-broadcast, listening to the press conferences all these months, resigned to the possibility of a cancelled season, yet in him there stoked a glimmer of hope that someway, somehow, his beloved game would be saved. Alas yesterday, his hopes were dashed and he looked like a little forlorn boy who lost his favorite toy as he declared yesterday to be forever know as "Black Wednesday" (Yes, I really did have to stifle a giggle when he said that!).

The fact that no Stanley Cup will be awarded this year (the first time ever - besides like 100 years ago when there was a plague or something to that effect) is so sobering to him that I couldn’t help but feel guilty for the millisecond of joy I felt for not having to endure an entire season of playoffs again (did I mention I don’t watch sports on TV, and that in the past, sports has superseded anything else that I might have wanted to tune into for my viewing pleasure).

The way I see it is that they’re all a bunch of rich and spoilt men acting like a bunch of babies over who gets to rule the playground....and who suffers in all this...the devoted fans that made them who they are today by shelling out the dough for tickets and merchandise. The fans who grew up watching them, wearing their jerseys and hats, collecting their cards, idolizing them, and in the process making their coffers full. Without these fans, they wouldn’t be able to live in their fancy homes, wearing their fancy duds as they drive their fancy cars. What a way to thank their bread and butter...didn’t their mothers teach them never to bite the hand that feeds?

i smell Sex and Candy

- Marcy Playground

In my own parallel universe, I’m Bill Murray in my version of Groundhog Day (the movie), but instead I’m reliving Valentine’s Day over and over again. Every year Al and I try to get it right, but it just doesn’t happen, so we don’t even bother trying anymore. In fact, it was about three years ago that we decided to boycott "traditionally commercial" Valentine’s Day after many years of useless disappointment.

Remember when we were kids, we’d sit around a knee high table in kindergarten, cutting out craftpaper hearts, pasting stickers on them and decorating with, I love you Mom! Those were the good old days. Making Valentines for your family was fun and creative....Then, later on, we grew into our teenagehood, where we pined for a Valentine of our very own, someone who would buy us chocolate and kiss us awkwardly or passionately (depending on our level of experience). Since reaching adulthood, I have to fess up that Valentine’s Day has pretty much bombed in my book, and not for lack of trying either...

Where can I start, My first year with Pacino, he completely forgot about Valentine’s Day and ditched me to practice for a pool tournament. I was livid that year. It was my first Valentine’s Day in a relationship and expectations ran high. But then again, being a metal-head tomboy and never mentioning those expectations to my equally metal-head boyfriend (who assumed I had a disdain for all things girly, and you can’t get any more girly than V-Day) was pretty much a given, and hence began our hate-affair with Valentine’s Day. There was that one year when Pacino’s Dad ended up being rushed to the hospital for emergency knee surgery, or the year that I had 3 midterms on Feb 15th. What about the year that Al had the chicken pox, or the one when we both had a gastro/flu thing happening. I guess puking in unison could be considered more romantic than puking solo, but I digress...Oh, and my favorite was the year we decided to go to one of our favorite haunts, a popular Schechuan restaurant for a nice V- Day meal. Even with reservations, we waited an hour and a half to be seated, another hour before our order was taken, and yet another hour before we got our appetizers...Needless to say, by the time our Wonton soup showed up, we were cranky, starving and morose to the point that we swore never EVER to officially celebrate Valentine’s Day again. Cupids be damned.

Actually, the last 2 years (since vowing to not celebrate) were our best V-days ever....The first year we were married, we decided to make our own feast (no mores restos), so we surfed FoodTv.ca, picked out some recipes, then slaved over a fantastic peppered roast which we devoured with a great bottle of wine, which got us giddy and giggly and really allegro. And last year, we picked up some takeout, rented a couple of movies and cuddled up on the couch for some quality alone time....Which proves my point that all the flowers and cards and chocolates and lingerie in the world does not make for a romantic evening. In fact, since boycotting Valentine’s day and all its acoutrements, in our pursuit to totally avoid those superficial displays of affection which greeting card companies thrive on, we’ve actually managed to remove that performance stress associated with it and as a result, we’ve ended up actually spending romantic, idyllic evenings together.

I think we’ve started a revolutionary new movement but we’ll have to keep it underground for a while cause Hallmark would probably send a couple of fat Italian cherubs wearing sunglasses and trenchcoats, driving a red Mercedes after me. Taking a cue from Alice in Wonderland, Happy Un-Valentine’s Day everybody.

Mercedes Benz

Oh Lord, won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz

- Janis Joplin

The winter February blahs have officially set in today. Although the temp’s been kind of warm these past few days, the bleakness of the dreary gray panorama as I stare out my window at work has me dreaming of pool-side margaritas with little umbrellas in them, brine-encrusted hair and a sarong that flaps against my thighs as I stroll on the sandy beach....

Yes my friends, I have beach withdrawal. I’ve been checking out travel packages on the net, hoping to find a sweet deal on a tropical destination. On the other hand, I’ve also been daydreaming about frolicking about the French capital . Picture it mes amis...la Blogueuse à Paris. Eating baguettes, sipping a good Beaujolais, gorging myself on cheeses and pastries, taking a promenade through the shops that line the stylish streets. How to decide.....turquoise waters as far as the eye can see and a honey-golden tan that will make your friends green...OR...kickass food, drink and shopping....Why must I choose, why can’t I have both...If only I could win the lottery... I know, I know, I’m being spoiled and whiny. I admit I want the finer things in life....does that make me a bad person?

If I Had A Hammer

- Peter, Paul and Mary

The renovations continue my friends. This weekend we’re supposed to begin the painting of our basement...finally! You’d think after having moved in 7 months ago that the painting and renovations would have come to an end by now, but alas, I must regrettably admit that we are not even halfway through....

When we first moved in, the prospect of doing renovations was so exciting, after all, I had been looking forward to this for years. It would finally be my turn to "makeover" my space. Years of watching Trading Spaces, Debbie Travis and a slew of HGTV shows had me primed and trained, ready to tackle any project. Ad to that the fact that having grown up with do-it-yourselfer parents, I was very gung-ho at the idea of sanding, painting, nailing, screwing, hammering, staining and drywalling my way to my house beautiful. But now, as the dust (from all my sanding) has settled into every nook and cranny of my home, as I rinse the grittiness of it from my mouth, I realize that I have become obsessed/addicted with renovating my home. I look ahead beyond the completion of the project at hand, and see projects lined up for years to come. Walking into a home hardware store is like walking into a treasure vault. I walk up and down the aisles, admiring the glint of hardware as they reflect like jewels under the dingy industrial lamps in the store. The whiff of lumber tickles my senses (I swear I must have been a beaver in a former life), the rainbow of colors at the paint department both confuse and excite my retinas, while the rows and rows of powertools beckon to me...BUY ME they chant...

Last year, on the day that we passed from the notary’s office to finalize the purchase of the house, Pegs had invited us over for supper afterwards. She told me something that day which has completely come true...She said, and I quote "Now that you have a mortgage, you'll never again be tempted to buy a gorgeous Lejaby $100 bra... because you'll opt for the electric drill... or circular saw instead!!!"

Man was she right about that...I go to the mall to buy clothes and for each dollar I spend I think about how I could have spent it buying crown molding or something to that effect....I have to curb this obsession of mine or else I’ll become one of those people that are perpetually in renovation. Those people that have learnt to live with the dust that lightly covers all their china, that have electrical wires peeking out of cutout holes in the walls and ceilings, floorboards and moldings missing, dropcloths strewn across the floors....hmm, now that I think of it, it sounds exactly like our place. We gotta get a move-on. Watch out Debbie Travis, there’s a new girl in town!