The wall

It happens every year about this time. I hit the wall.

That's when I've had it with big bulky sweaters and over-large coats. That's when I'm sick of scraping windows, warming up cars, driving on slippery roads and ice-rutted streets. That's when I've reach my fill of shoveling snow and finding lost mittens.

This year it is compounded by a dreadfully scary winter driving incident and the fact that I sprained my ankle last week after falling down our front steps.

Yup. I've had it.

I've done rather well this year. The fact that we've had a beautifully mild winter has helped. Nothing sends me hurtling toward the wall faster than a few weeks at -40. (A few years ago, after an especially cold January-February-March, I threatened to Fed Ex myself to Florida. I kid you not.)

I was born and raised in Saskatchewan where winter resides about six months out of every 12. And I'm a wimp. I admit it.

You know that pride most Canadians develop? They live in a barely hospitable climate and they're darn proud. Yeah, well, I don't have it. Not me. I stare longingly south starting about November 1.

Now please don't suggest I move somewhere warm or more temperate. You see with warmer climates come other things I don't like... namely larger more poisonous insects. Eek! Or earthquakes. Like hello? Who voluntarily signs up to live on land that could open up and swallow you at any moment? Or hurricanes. Um... no thanks.

So I brave the cold, the snow, the ice and unbearably dry air as my yearly penance.

And every year it happens... I hit the wall.

So if you happen to see me with my eye twitching, muttering incoherently about the weather, don't worry. I'll be ok come spring.

More on movies...

Here's a great round up of some fabulous films from last year. Although, I disagree about Madagascar. I thought it was over the top and dreadful, personally.

http://www.crosswalk.com/fun/movies/1383225.html

Please rent one of them.

Lights out!

Alternate title: Jennifer's belated Oscar rant

I used to love the Oscars. The annual awards show was like appointment T.V. for me. It was complete with snacks and a notebook to take notes to see how closely I came to predicting the winners.

I loved the gowns, the red carpet, the sappy tribute to by-gone stars and the oh-my-gosh-he's-still-alive moment when an actor I thought had long since passed away hobbles through the press gallery with a young starlet on his arm.

Or the giggle and tear producing moments like Roberto Benini's chair hopping trip to the stage.

I love movies. The glamour days of old Hollywood still absolutely fascinate me. And I dare say few other art forms have the power to entertain and move us like the silver screen.

Not this year. I couldn't stomach them.

(Alright. Alright. I admit it! I tuned in just in time to see Jack Nicholson announce Crash as best picture. The shocked silence was almost worth it.)

How could anyone stomach a bunch of overpaid, spoiled, lazy, narcissitic snobs congratulate themselves for being on the "cutting edge of society"?

In a year that saw the movie-going public doing anything but, these twits actually think they pulled off a success!

This from the troupe whose chosen top five movies of the year (in the best picture category) dealt with gay sheep-herders (I refuse to call them cowboys!), a glorification of racial tension, and a movie about transgender chaos. Gack. Who wants to watch smut like that?

They preached all Oscar night about how wonderful they are for celebrating a song about pimps and prostitutes so full of vulgarity they couldn't even play the full clip at the ceremony.

Cutting edge? More like the edge of the abyss.

How long do you think it will take before they realize that it's not they who've blazed a trail for the rest of us, but American ticket-purchasers who've realized what Hollywood's offering, they don't want to buy.

This is serious. As a fan of cinema, this a big time serious. At no other time in our history were so many other forms of entertainment so readily available. And yet to compete Hollywood offers morally bankrupt stories about characters so shallow they look like paper cut outs. They are so bankrupt of moral fiber, one would have to be a contortionist to find any redeeming value in the entire industry.

(The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe would be a happy exception!)

I am afraid Hollywood is about to pontificate itself right out of existence. Would the last person to leave Hollywood please turn out the lights.

Renovations Mag is on stands

Hey. Just thought I'd update y'all... The Renovations magazine article I wrote is on newstands now. Pick yours up today! (At Safeway and I have no idea where else...)