And the winner is...

I was 5 for 8 on my Oscar scorecard last night.

I saw 9 out of the 10 Oscar nominees for Best Picture. I’ll shamelessly admit I did not see ‘True Grit’ for no other reason than the fact that I loathe Westerns and guarantee I would've been snoozin in the cinema. And unlike a certain friend of mine, theater time is not my usual nap time.

Let’s start with the big award of the night going to “The King’s Speech.” I like Colin Firth; he’s a great actor. But the movie was not at the top of my list of films this year. Sure, I had moments of sympathy watching the struggles of the King’s stutter especially as an instructor of speech, but the empathy with his character was never built and I wasn’t made to feel any type of connection with him. This transition from sympathy to empathy is what divides the average from the best. “The King’s Speech” had its moments where Bonham-Carter offered a witty line or Rush before his time, made us laugh with jokes of nicotine being harmful to the body, but nothing to withstand my respect for an Oscar for Best Actor and certainly not Best Picture.

Like the premise and claim of the Winklevoss twins, “The Social Network” got robbed.

A friend of mine who wasn’t as big of a fan of ‘The Social Network” as me, made the comment, “it’s not hard to play an asshole.” However, Eisenberg’s character transcends this simple label and he is much more multi-faceted than this. He’s a genius. He’s a co-ed. He’s seeking acceptance. He’s an innovator. And even though he committed what some of us would deem inexcusable acts for forgiveness, I got it.

How often is it where we have a main character that represents the protagonist and antagonist? Heroic in the sorts of having this billion dollar idea that has reshaped the entire way people communicate, build, create, maintain and sever friendships, relationships, and kinships? And in the same body, Eisenberg manifests this carelessness toward those who assisted him in getting to this place. His performance is equal to Zuckerberg’s IQ: Genius (or whatever numerical score would be the equivalent).

It was outstandingly done.

This, plus the UH-MAY-ZING score of “The Social Network” = Best picture. Apparently not for those occupying seats of the “prestigious” academy. I’m curious to know the youngest member that sits on that board.

[I bet if there was a biopic on Alexander Graham Bell, it would’ve won.]

Other noteworthy moments:

-The opening sequence. Where they used the score of 'The Social Network' (just saying) and Alec Baldwin.

-Anne was radiant and could’ve held down the show solo. Too bad James Franco was sneaking herbal refreshments not of the Lipton family, backstage and made us all feel awkward and question why he was there.

-Kirk Douglass probably shouldn’t be presenting awards anymore. Betty White is an exception for Hollywood senior citizens and just because she can, doesn’t mean Kirk can.

-Sandra Bullock always makes me smile and looked fantastic.

-Also fantastic? Halle Berry. What is it that she is drinking, eating and moisturizing in because I need a life’s supply. Maybe the box of girl scout cookies I ate while watching her speak are not the first steps in the direction of the golden goddess. At least the milk the cookies were dipped in was fat free.

-Gwyneth, stop singing. I can’t believe your husband who is a phenomenal musician hasn’t advised you of the same advice if for nothing else, to save himself from embarrassment. I really hope your dream collaboration with Jay Z doesn’t happen. I think Hova would have more sense than that. He already has 99 problems.

-Celine?

-Melissa Leo, I wanted you to win. Your speech sucked though. I know I have no idea what it might be like to win an Oscar, but repeatedly saying “ummmmm” and “uhhhhhh” is not only annoying, but it prolongs the already 180 minute presentation. You’re an actor, improv. Better yet, being nominated allows you to write something down. The animation guys had better speeches.

-It was Natalie’s year. She was magnificent but I was a bit sad she didn’t mention her cast in her acceptance speech.

I long for the days where Cuba Gooding Jr’s feet left the stage in between whoops and hollers of yelling people’s names he wanted to thank. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cnCMqr1QRQw.

Where two strapping young boys took home their first Oscar for “Good Will Hunting.” Where Tom Hanks spoke of angels who were victims to AIDs when he won for “Philadelphia.” Where there was this palpable joy felt between actor and audience. Where there was sincere gratitude for what this honor meant.

The show is getting stiff in the voters and the speeches. Throwing a [Winter’s] Bone in there for Sundance and Indie’s sake but not really considering them as victors of the night, is cheap and annoying. Selecting young hosts for the evening doesn’t make the Oscars “young” “hip” and progressive” if the votes don’t echo the product placement.

The needle has been found.

The most amazing thing happened to me today.

I rummaged through the haystack and it wasn't as easy to find as the obvious 1960's needle that pokes through Seattle's skyline. Apparently you can't type "fabulous apartment in my price range and in an ideal location" into your GPS system to lead you to "home." And funny enough, there is no yellow brick road to take you to Oz in the Emerald City.

But I found it anyway without Liza (my GPS voice) or Dorothy.

I found a place to live.

About 5 weeks and 1 day ago, I made a decision to leave my beautiful hometown Portlandia for another city. It’s not that I haven’t enjoyed Portlandia’s company; the times we’ve had together are innumerable and priceless. It’s just that I want to see what else is out there. It’s not you, it’s me. I promise.

[Note: This sign now reads "Portland Oregon" but I have sentimental value with the old way. After all, this reads true for me. Minus the "Old Town."]

This move wasn’t “planned” per se, but the bed bug of moving has been biting me for the last five years ever since I graduated undergrad. And boy is s/he a bitch. Maybe that’s the culprit of my insomnia.

I started looking for jobs elsewhere and a Master’s program fell into my lap. Not to be one to say no to free schooling, I took it.

Two years later, thesis written and defended, I searched nationally as well as locally and was offered a job in a private business in Oregon. Not to be one to say no to good money and benefits in a failing economy, I took it.

When that economy took its toll on my company, I again was on the hunt for a job. That’s when OSU rang like the orange & black fairy it is and asked me to teach. Not to be one to say no to my awesome alma mater (+health care/benefits), I took it despite its required 150 mile commute, 3 days a week.

You see where this story is going.

In these 4 years where I kept Oregon as my home, I’ve scratched at said bug with an inordinate amount of travel. New York x4, Palm Springs, Vegas x3, Disneyland, Boston, Philly, DC for Inauguration, Park City for Sundance x2, Hawaii, Whistler, Cabo, and a couple cruises. But I still come home tossing and turning. [For the record, my bed is incredibly comfortable and free of bed bugs. Maybe not the best of metaphors given that these creatures have become somewhat of an epidemic].

Fast-Forward January 2011. Over a delicious brunch of French toast in Bridgetown, one of my fabulous girlfriends and I were discussing changes and moving as she is moving herself come March. I gave her the same response I’d been giving myself for years, “What about a job? What about money?” She told me to just do it.

I come home from brunch and my roommate informs me that our landlord is in the midst of selling our condo and they want us out sooner than our agreed upon lease and are offering a very nice “incentive.” Well, one of my excuses is nil. There’s the money. Timing, you’re funny.

There was still the whole issue of having employment, the chances of finding employment in an unfriendly job market, and quitting my 2 jobs when most have none. What sense did this make? Apparently enough. Being the planner that I am, I like for things to be predictable or at least have a relative sketch of my foreseeable future. I made the very unsettling decision to move without a job. Enter extreme anxiety.

So Seattle, you’re it. Some refer to Seattle as Portland’s brother city…I wouldn’t dare, as it seems inappropriate to leave one family member for another.

Five weeks and two days later, I’m with JOB and a home. I’ve seen the worst of Seattle and then I walked into my home…apartment number 10 that I saw to be exact. It was the first place I felt it wasn’t necessary to pinch my nose to save my body from communicable diseases it could possibly get from invasive aromas and that I could lay in the middle of my living room and fall asleep there watching Friends. This is imperative.

After gleefully signing a lease and sharing hugs with my mom and granny (my apartment hunters of the day), I called my dad who has been supportive but I also believe to be secretly hoping it doesn’t work out so I’ll stay home.

Dad: Wow, you’ve got a lot done in a month.

Me: Didn’t think I could do it?

Actually, I really didn’t think I could do it but I thought if I kept envisioning it happening, then maybe it would become reality. I never give myself much credit for getting anything accomplished as there are always items running into tomorrow’s planner checklist that I wanted to get done today, but today, I am giddy with delight.

I feel like calling for Penny Lane and yelling, "IT'S ALL HAPPENING!"

Exhale.

Turn, Turn, Turn

"A time to be born, a time to die

A time to plant, a time to reap

I time to kill, a time to heal,

A time to laugh, a time to weep."

I am aware that the Earth is in constant motion. That’s what keeps us on our punctual schedule of making it around the great sun in 365 days; 366 days respectively in a leap year. But even though we are forever moving, there are some times when you can really feel it more than others. It’s kind of the equivalent to a smooth airplane ride where you are traveling around 500 mph, yet you don’t feel the movement until you hit turbulence.

Yes, this is the ideal way to describe life as is right now. Metaphorical turbulence.

Yesterday’s date was February 14^th. But yesterDAY was Valentine’s day. In the socially constructed way of how we view Valentine’s day, I didn’t have an “official” Valentine. In fact, the only rose I received was from atop of my Grandpa’s casket after the military paid a beautiful tribute to his service.

To some, I’ve probably depressed you with the thought of not having a Valentine. To others, I might have depressed you with bringing up death which as the living, we have such a hard time placing. But let me explain the beauty in both.

I am not anti-Valentine or pro-Valentine. Do I think it’s a bit ludicrous to pick one day of the year where you shall spend hard earned income on a loved one over all other days to show them how much you love them? Sure. Do I think it’s nicer to sprinkle these acts of kindness throughout the other 364 days (365 LY)? Of course. But is there anything wrong with having an official day of love? Not really.

If Valentine’s day is considered to be the day we show the ones we love how we adore them through the mediums of chocolate and other disgusting assorted candies (Note: I hate most holiday candy, not Valentine’s specific), why is it romanticized? Shouldn’t we take the teachings of the third grade and take this “opportunity” to show love to those who get us through days on the regular? That is what I deem love to be; helping each other during the normal and abnormal, mundane and extraordinary, 24 hours of passing through the week.

Through the month.

Through the year.

Thank you to those who get me through the Earth’s rotation. On the regular.

And due to unfortunate circumstances of my grandpa’s death, I had the joy of spending the week/weekend preceding the day of love with my family. Granny, my dad’s mom, lost her husband of 34 years (to us, he was "Papa"). That is longer than my lifetime, which to me, sometimes seems longer than it actually is. I cannot possibly imagine all the memories created with a person over that time when I feel overwhelmed just looking at the pictures that represent my short time here.

Let me tell you a little about my granny. She is where I get my sass, stubbornness and strong will. Although, she is one hundred times stronger than I. She had to be. She grew up in the cruel South where the world hadn’t made a place for her and she had to make a life with her brothers and sisters. Literally, create life so they could survive. She is 1 of 14 and spent her young days on the farm, soiling seeds that would allow her family to eat. She claims she is the worst cook of her sisters since she was out in the field; I beg to differ. She is the best cook.

Granny got out of the South. She went to college. She became an RN. She raised 3 biological sons and blended two families when she met Papa, who had 5 children of his own. I tease her for her love of Y & R, which I happily watched with her as a child, her love of denim skirts, and how even after lecturing someone she’ll kindly say, “bless ya” as if to say, "no harm, no foul, and even if you have transgressed, there's still a chance you're going to heaven." She teases me because of my will in making words up in Boggle that I persistently persuade her really exist, but mostly she supports me, talks to anyone that will listen about her eldest granddaughter, encourages me (she’s the main reason I went for my Master’s) and loves me.

She’s good at that.

She has loved and taken care of Papa for as long as I can remember and is the example of the word wife. The fact that I had to watch her on February 14^th bury her Valentine tears my heart apart.

I’m awaiting that love that will tear me apart to lose and bring me incredible fulfillment in its presence, that I’ll never want to have to leave it. I didn’t know it was possible to feel all those things from one person. I have now been a witness.

I come from pretty remarkable roots. Distinct personalities, the biggest hearts I have ever seen and so much love that it's a wonder that the Earth can contain it all. Maybe that’s why Papa had to leave. We really feel when one of us is needed.

On Thursday, our family gathered at Granny’s to be together. My Uncle, my dad’s twin brother, fresh from the plane, walked through the crowd that had accumulated in Granny’s hallways and walked straight through it all to find her sitting next to me on the couch. They embraced and for the first time, I heard Granny cry over her loss. I stood up, maintaining my disposition I was certain, and walked to the spare bedroom where Granny and I watched Y & R and Papa and I watched Westerns and WWF. I sat down, covered my face and let myself feel everything. A moment later, my dad and my brother who was carrying baby Olivia, came into the room.

How did they know?

My brother said, "We love you Auntie Teela" and held up sweet little Olivia’s mouth that was busy in its new favorite pasttime of blowing bubbles, to my cheek for the sloppiest kiss I’d ever received, which coincidentally, was the best kiss I'd ever received.

Forty-Five.

I don’t watch the National Football League, lest one day of the year. So I think it’s safe to say, I’m a pretty big fan.

I don’t pick a team to favor based on their color, location or by recognition of a popular player’s name. I really just don’t care.

I also never watch commercials in my daily TV viewing and part of the beauty of having a DVR is that I no longer have to and can watch regular programming uninterrupted, as it should be seen.

So basically, come Super Bowl Sunday, I find myself in front of the TV watching 4 hours worth of…commercials. With football in between.

To recap, on Super Bowl Sunday I spend the day eating tacos and watching commercials.

Eating tacos, watching commercials and drinking a root beer float.

Okay, floats.

How pathetic. And this year, along with the musical acts, the commercials pretty much sucked. I mean, 'Fast & The Furious 4?' What the hell is going on?

So let’s start at the top.

Lea Michele, I used to like you. Before ‘Glee’ existed, I loved you for ‘Spring Awakening.’ You’re amazing and I listen to that soundtrack frequently. But today, you didn’t sound good and Amber C. Riley or "Mercedes" should’ve gotten the gig instead of you. Sorry Rachel Berry.

Really Christina Aguilera? Besides the fact that I no longer find you relevant (I did not and will not see 'Burlesque' where one can assume you attempt to act but really just want to pull focus to your falsetto), you ruined our national anthem. No, seriously, you did. The rockets don’t come until after the perilous fight, which you omitted entirely. Also, every note mustn’t be drawn out. It gets annoying. Related: The Black Eyed Peas.

What the What happened there? Fergie, you cannot sing and should not attempt to. Had I known there was a contest for halftime show karaoke to ‘Sweet Child Of Mine,” I surely would have entered. I think my ears as well as all other viewers deserve an apology. Where is the love? Will.I.am, waitta call out Obama. I’m sure he was listening and will take your lyric to heart. Also, get rid of your superfluous 'peas' that collectively, have 2 lines over the course of 10 songs. Metaphorically, push them to the side of your plate and when mom isn’t watching, shove them into your napkin then dispose of them in a trash receptacle immediately.

And commercials? There were only a select few of you worth storing into long-term memory. From the shallow pool of talent that there was, one can assume that the economy has tied the strings to company’s pocketbooks and can’t freely drop a mil or 2 for 30 seconds of recognition like the good ole days.

1: The Osbourne & Bieber commercial was awesome. I don’t even recall what it was for (so in a way this is an advertising fail) but, it was hilarious.

“What’s a Bieber?”

“I don’t know, but it looks like a girl.”

2: I really liked the Chrysler Eminem commercial. In fact, I got chills. I’m still not really sure what it was about and why he ended up in a church with a gospel choir, but I like mystery. I liked the first cartoon Eminem commercial as well.

3: Montage of Super Bowl themed sitcom episodes. I heart nostalgia.

4: Pepsi First Date Commercial.

Girl's thoughts: I wonder if he could be the one? I wonder if he'll kiss me? I wonder if he likes me?

Guy's thoughts: Will she sleep with me? Will she sleep with me? Will she sleep with me?

I miss the days of the Clydesdale's. And when Kanye West's 'Power' wasn't the theme music of every new motion picture coming out in the next 6 months.

Oh, and "Glee's" Thriller/Heads Will Roll halftime show, put the Black Eyed Peas to shame.