About Oscar...

My favourite event of the entire frigid, non-holiday season has come and gone: THE OSCARS! If you read this blog with any regularity, you'll know I have a slight predilection for lunacy on Oscar night, which includes dressing up real fancy and serving yummy nibbles with a bottle of something bubbly. I've been meaning to post this for over a week but I think I had an Oscar hangover. Am I getting too old for my annual, stay-up-till-the-bitter-end-and-drink-2/3-of-a-bottle-of-champagne-by-myself ritual? Egads.

The Prep
After nearly eight years of marriage, D has accepted my Oscar-related eccentricities, although he continues to look bewildered when I flounce down the stairs in my gown and heels. He never dresses up, but he never drinks my champagne either. Plus he could care less about movie stars so he barely talks during the show. He's a perfect date.

One thing he finds especially bemusing is my insistence on making rich, indigestible hors d'ouvres to eat during the show. "Whatcha making tonight?" he asked as he got ready to go to the farm and help with chores. "Let me guess. Olives and eye of newt." I ignored him and continued to stuff mushrooms with parmesan-infused cream cheese. D had promised to be back in time to let me watch the opening number unhindered by children; he was welcome to his sarcasm provided he kept up his end of the deal.

Miraculously, I made the hors d'ouevres, fed the kids, and tucked them into bed and donned my Oscar finery just as D stomped through the door at 8:24 p.m. I think this was due in part to the fact that I treated myself to an extra-special dirty martini while the kids ate supper, but he doesn't have to know that.

Tipsy Toodles
The kids had experimented with all my ice cubes during the most recent stormy day, so after I measured the gin, opened the jar of olives and found the ice cube tray tragically bereft of ice, I was forced to think faster than an Oscar host after a winner drops an F-bomb. The only thing worse than a luke-warm martini was no martini. Then I remembered the smug hipsters giggling in snowbanks in an old Baileys TV commercial:

Screw you, ice cubes! Icicle martinis from now on! (Well, in the winter, at least.) At least the Prosecco was cold.

Nibbles
For some reason unknown to me, nearly all my hors d'ouvres were cheese-based this year. Maybe all these years of living within a 2km radius of my dairy farming in-laws is warping my taste buds.

Similar to the Oscar broadcast, my nibbles weren't anything spectacular, just some tried and true recipes from the Alisa Feick school of entertaining, along with a few of my own creations. I even made extra in case Carman showed up, which he didn't, because he still remembers the time I yelled at him for eating the Nacho Dip right off the serving plate. It was the one and only time Carman ever tried to watch the Oscars with me. I guess getting yelled at in his own living room by a crazy lady wearing an evening gown wasn't his cup of tea. Oh well. Nacho dip is always good for breakfast.

Who are you Wearing?
It's been a very happy winter for me for a change, which means I am also fatter than usual. When I'm unhappy or ill, I tend to look like a skeleton, all bones and angles. The better I feel though, the plumper I get. Squishy and happy or skinny and miserable? Hmmm…I think I'll take squishy. There's a treadmill around here somewhere, right? Anyway, being happy and squishy means my wardrobe choices were somewhat limited this year. I allowed the children to have a say in my choice and did a fashion show for them, which ended up, as it usually does, with both of them naked nudie and clomping around in my high heels. I went for a classier look this year, donning my silk jacket from San Francisco Chinatown and my favourite black pants. I finished the look with my mother's antique jet beads and tarted my face up considerably with more makeup than I wear at Hallowe'en. Jade was impressed; Dylan looked scared.

I know. I'm a bit silly. But couldn't everyone's life benefit from a little more silly? Oh, and I cut all my hair off. JUST LIKE J-LAW! It's totally going to get me in People magazine. Or at least the Kincardine News.

The Flicks
I managed to see several Oscar movies this year, and I'm glad that Dallas Buyer's Club was honoured appropriately, and that Sandra did NOT get best actress for Gravity. The movie itself rocked, but ugh to her performance, which was pretty much just heavy breathing and whimpers. And what's up with perfect waxing jobs in space, anyhow? Nebraska was a lovely, quiet little film and it deserved to get something just for being so hilarious and heartbreaking in such a non-explosive way. And June Squibb made me howl. With Nebraska, Alexander Payne created a handful of meaty roles for actors of a certain age, something I didn't see in any of the other films, and I'm glad he did.

Oh yeah, the Actual Show
What can I say? It was a rather mellow affair this year. Ellen was her usual pleasant and benign self. She's like the labrador retriever of hosts: kinda goofy and eager to please, hoping to get asked to sit on someone's lap. Like Douglas Adams might say, mostly harmless. I don't dislike her - how can you hate that face? - but I wasn't thrilled by her either. I suppose she's the middle ground between Billy Crystal's ancient schtick and Seth MacFarlane's acidic barbs. I just thank the Oscar gods that Anne and James will never, ever, ever be asked back.

Well friends, another year, another Oscars. See you in March 2015! Hopefully I can fit into a fancier gown by then.

PS: For a hilarious, spot-on review of the show, including fab photos and witty commentary, check out Hick Chic: http://hickchic.blogspot.ca/2014/03/2014-oscar-blog-report.html

'Twas the Night of Oscar...

...and there I was, decked out in my finest frilly dress, champagne clutched firmly in hand, ready to nosh and giggle and eye-roll my way through the ceremony for yet another year. Little did I know it would mean wearing my primrose pink three inch heels and thin cocktail gown for THREE FREAKING HOURS!!! Yowzah.



My Oscar date this year was a non-plussed D, who fell asleep somewhere around the announcement for best actor. He's never been much for Oscar night, apart from appreciative gawks when I come downstairs all dressed up. I stuck it out though. It's my February tradition, and I'll be darned if I'm going to let a weirdly-charming-but-completely-tasteless host or long-winded speeches or a horrific appearance by Barbara Streisand throw me off my Oscar game.

Plus, it was good to finally feel well enough to drink bubbly alcohol, eat roasted garlic, stay up late and feel kinda sexy. I mean, I got to wear the dress I wore on the day D realized he was in love with me (or so the story goes). I haven't fit into that sucker in a few years, and when I found it buried in the back of my closet, I gingerly plucked it off the hanger and slid it over my head thinking No way in hell this is gonna fit, but not only did it fit, it felt great. Which meant I had to dig out the aforementioned pink heels, bought on a complete whim in Halifax while I was there on business eons ago. Those shoes have seen a lot of Ripley arena and wedding hall dance floors; the soles are practically worn off. A woman walks a certain way when she wears heels. You have to have confidence and a sort of nonchalance to pull it off, and I was out of practice, but after a few clicks up and down the hallway, it all came back to me.

I couldn't help but feel a little stab of joy as I peeked in the mirror to fasten the emerald necklace D gave me for Christmas a few years ago. Gone was the gaunt, hollow-eyed waif with the limp hair and stooped shoulders. Back was ME - the real me, the recovering me, the sexy me. Thank God. And thank Oscar, too. He gives me a reason to flounce around in a fancy outfit at least once a year.

Hullo again, Oscar

Chris Rock presented, Sheila E percussed, J-Lo nipplegated, Clooney kissed Crystal, French dudes kissed each other, James Earl Jones smiled, Tina Fey glamourpussed...now THAT was a good show.

Yup, it's that time again. MY time. My goofy, long-awaited, eagerly anticipated, make-D-shake-his-head-but-admire-my-legs night: the OSCARS!

I didn't have time to run out to the store to buy anything fancy for my hors d'ouevres this year, so I had to make do with what I had in the fridge. So the menu was as follows:
- roasted sugared almonds & walnuts
- roasted garlic and apple wrapped in hungarian salami
- cheese & grapes
- olives
- veggies and baba ganouj
- chinese dumplings and sesame chicken
- teeny tiny leftover valentine's cookies

And of course the requisite champers, sipped (okay glugged) from my hand-painted Perrier-Jouet glasses. Not an overly fancy spread, but delicious all the same. I'd include a recipe, but it's all pretty easy stuff. Except the cookies but they're a family secret. Although I do highly recommend Canadian garlic if you're going to bother roasting any - the sweetness is leagues above the imported Chinese stuff.

Best of all, I had an excuse to wear the new silk coat D brought me from San Francisco Chinatown. It's so glamourous - shot silk, blue in one light, green in another, embroidered with tiny rosebuds. Paired with my old black dress, it made me wish for a red carpet.

Another Oscars, another night of silly fun.

Anti TVite

Don't hate me for what I'm about to reveal: we have a TV, and it's a dandy one, but....we don't have cable. Or satellite. Or even two fuzzy channels from bunny eared antennae. Nope, ever since we moved to Someday, our TV has been used as a dust collecting DVD viewer only.

When we moved in, we decided not to get TV for the summer; we didn't miss it, and so here we are, over a year later and still decidedly TV-less. I think that we're an anomaly in this day and age of media saturation; I only have one other set of friends who don't watch TV. And my husband and I aren't even super smug granolas. I facebook, we both email and my husband needs to be surgically removed from his blackberry. But when it comes to TV, it boils down to this: 1) we're kinda cheap (we can't get cable here and satellite is over $75 a month!), and 2) we try hard to find better things to do than melt into the couch for hours on end in front of the squawk box.

There are a million and one things that need doing when you live in an old house on a rural property. Lawn mowing alone takes over 3 hours a week in the summer, and don't get me started on snow shovelling in the winter. There are gardens to tend, dogs to walk, leaves to rake, garages to paint and mutant dust bunnies to chase. Add a baby to the mix and who the heck has time for TV anyway?

I will admit that I miss shows like Dancing with the Stars and House, and before Jady came along, I'd sneak down to my brother-in-law's to watch them. But I can catch shows like Glee online, and when D and I really do have a few hours to chill, we rent a DVD and enjoy every minute of it. I like that we have to make a conscious decision to make the time to watch something, instead of just having the TV on endlessly in the background.

All this being said, I think our TV-less state has finally started to wear on my husband's nerves. He missed one hockey season last year, and I think he's getting sick of my dad calling on Saturday nights to mock us for not being able to watch the game.

My dad, by the way, has a gargantuan big-screen TV and every sattelite channel imaginable. When he comes to visit us, he's lost, because he's forced to (gasp) talk and listen to music. He was here last week and he walked into the living room, stared at our black, dusty TV and shook his head forlornly. "Geez, you kids," was all he said.

I know that when I lived in the city, I used to have the TV on quite a bit, sometimes just as background noise, not because I was actually watching anything. I suppose TV kind of becomes a habit. For example, I recently went away for a weekend with a couple of friends; we had a lovely hotel room with a beautiful view and a fireplace, but the first thing my one friend did was walk over and switch on the TV. Having been TV-less for awhile, I found the noise jarring and unwelcome. But to her, it was the natural thing to do.

At this point, I've told D he can go ahead and get sattelite if that's what he really wants. I do feel bad that he's missing out on hockey, cause he loves it and I think watching a few games a week is pretty harmless. But I honestly think he just wants to get some channels so we seem more "normal." I think he's tired of explaining to friends and relatives who stare at our blank screen in puzzlement why we don't "have TV."

So we'll see...by this time next month, I could be a converted TV queen instead of an anti-TVite.