Best. Oscar. Moment. Ever.

After being rushed off stage without the chance to say thank you, Marketa Irqlova is brought back out by Jon Stewart to have her moment and how lovely was she? How poised and articulate and utterly inspiring was she?

Most especially, when she entreated us to, "make art, make art!"

I also loved when Marion Cotillard won.

Talk about a mix of pure surprise and overwhelming OMG joy with beauty and poise. (Yes, poise ranks right up there for me-- that's why, ugh, Katherine Heigl, so bad. And while I'm mentioning bad-- holy god, did you people SEE Nicole Kidman-- like Norma Desmond's younger sister, Morna, non?)

And Brad Bird? Oh, he rocks my world.

But oddly, (and I haven't read anyone else's take on the show so maybe it's just me) I thought Jon Stewart (aside from his redeeming moment of bringing Marketa back out)-- who I previously might have thought could never do no wrong-- was pretty much a dick.

Seriously. Jon, you get a C+ (and the plus is only because I really do love you-- but man, not last night).

So-- it's just getting light out here. I know I've been absent of late, but that's due to so many things going on, not the least of which is fighting the elements. However, this past weekend was a real breakthrough as we actually got a cord of firewood delivered.

Yes, we live on acres of woods, but had firewood pre-chopped, pre-dried delivered to our porch. For those of you who don't use firewood every day of your long-ass winter, let me put that in persepective for you. It's kind of like having a dishwasher installed when you've been washing every plate, glass, and fork by hand. It's also kind of like going to a full-service gas station instead of just getting out of the damn car and filling the tank yourself. Well, you know, if it took you 3 days to drag, saw and chop a tank of gas instead of having some guy just shove in a hose and fill your tank.

It was an extravagance-- but it bought T three days to focus on all of his OTHER projects. And, oh the beauty of dry wood-- I could write an ode.

*wipes tear from eye*

February, otherwise known as the month in the belly of the whale if the whale was Antartica, seems to be coming to a close. A new month shimmers on the horizon with the promise of a week of holiday and I can hardly wait. Not that we're going anywhere. Not that I won't have a deskload of work, but you know, vacation-- right now, I'll take it in any form at all.

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