The recent writer’s strike threw this town into a tizzy, and definitely affected the economy (which was already doing fine at having problems of its own, and didn’t need much help when it came to slumping) around here. It made a difference last month, at the Golden Globes, when the annual extravaganza devolved into a news conference, sans stars, parties, food, etc.

Luckily for us movie mavens, the strike is over, and Hollywood is stabilizing for now (or at least until June, when the contract is up for the actors– Hollywood Strike Redux…?).  For Tinseltown and the rest of us, that means the Oscars are on. Yep, they’re just around the corner– this Sunday, February 24. This year is the 80th edition, which means there’ll probably be some sort of retrospective, especially since they didn’t know for sure they’d have writers for the show. But fear not– there’ll be the usual blather, the usual Vera Wang designs, the usual gushing and preening and fawning– in other words, just what you’d expect this time of year.

One of the things that’s great about living in this town at this time of year (other than avoiding the snarled traffic around the Hollywood area that night) is looking in the paper. This is one of the few towns nationwide that really hands over its entertainment section to the film industry. We get full-page, color ads hawking the nominated movies; sometimes these ads are blowouts in the form of two-page spreads.

This year, we got some interesting extras. Two booklets, one for “There Will Be Blood,” with movie stills on each page, along with the requisite gushing quotes from reviewers. The front page simply has the words “8 Academy Award Nominations: Best Picture” in faded gold, on a black background. Definitely cost a pretty penny, that.

The second pamphlet, of a similar size, was a bit more interesting. It’s for the Pixar film “Ratatouille,” and is also self-celebratory. But among the clipped comments from critics is a cookbook with recipes. The front cover looks like a fancy restaurant menu, and indeed, at the bottom of the front cover it says “Le Menu.” Inside are real recipes, from Goat Cheese Mousse (adapted from The French Laundry Cookbook) to Flatiron Steak with Herb Butter (adapted from Bouchon).

I’m not sure how the Academy voters received these kinds of materials; for me, the “There Will Be Blood” brochure was fairly standard– something I’ve seen along those lines before in previous years. The “Ratatouille” recipe menu, on the other hand, was more inventive, and in line with the creativity I’ve seen from Pixar ever since they set up camp years ago.

There’s the usual spate of articles these days too, most from critics and columnists offering their guesses and predictions. This year, I’ve only seen a few of the nominated films (”Michael Clayton,” which won’t win, but is definitely a great film; “Ratatouille,” which was outstanding; and “Persepolis,” which should win for Animated Film (the award will go to “Ratatouille”)).  I’d like to see “No Country for Old Men,” “Atonement,” “Juno,” and “There Will Blood.” I have “Gone Baby Gone” sitting on the counter right now, and we’ll probably try to watch it this weekend if we can. So since I have no idea what the films are and the individual performances are like, no predictions from me.

I’m not even sure if we’ll be watching on Sunday, or where we’ll be at that time. In recent years, our Oscar plans have been fairly last-minute. If you’re a movie buff, who do you think will win? Who would you like to win? For those of you that are unsure of who’s even nominated, here’s a list. For those of you who want to hear what a critic has to say, check this.

In the meantime, here’s my idea of a perfect personals ad for Oscars season: “Bald Octogenarian Seeks Egotistic Talent for Rewarding Partnership.”

Years that end with zero or that are commemorated with precious stones tend to be celebrated, sometimes overly so, by lots of people. A couple years back, quite a few of our friends turned 30, and that occasion merited large parties, with all the trimmings. Businesses, movies, and films that reach certain milestones get the red carpet treatment. But aside from birthdays, I think one of the happiest times to celebrate such landmark dates are wedding anniversaries.

Today is one such red-letter day: 75 years ago, on Friday, 17 February 1933, Blondie Boopadoop married Dagwood Bumstead. A year later, they had their first child (now one of the world’s oldest teenagers), Alexander. Given Dagwood’s appetite, Blondie’s job, and two teenagers (sister Cookie came along later), I’m surprised they haven’t gone bankrupt, what with rising food costs. But that’s fantasy for you…

Anyway, happy anniversary, Blondie. Here’s to another 75 years!

As most of you know, I live in a little place called Los Angeles. Once upon a time, this semi-desert town was just a lonely garrison, complete with church, situated between two missions: San Fernando and San Gabriel. It was settled by mestizos, and slowly grew, attracting a wide mix of peoples over the decades. For some time, it was considered a lawless town, and only grew by the leaps and bounds in the wake of the California Gold Rush. Even then, San Pedro and San Diego were the two towns in the southern half of the state that mattered more: for one thing, both cities had excellent ports.

But then it changed. Where the 19th century had been all about San Francisco and the ascendancy of Northern California, the 20th century was the rise of Southern California and the expansion of a sleepy Spanish/Mexican village into a Pacific metropolis. Along the way, the Age of Oil transformed the city into the capitol of the automobile.

Nowadays, any mention of Los Angeles, and people think the following: Hollywood, beaches, warm weather, smog, cars, movie stars, freeways, cars, O.J. Simpson, Britney Spears, Baywatch… and oh, did I mention, cars? This is the Land of the Automobile, folks, and I don’t know about you, but I’m reminded of it every day I step out my door.

I used to think I was fairly anal about all the lousy drivers out there (an assessment I think a certain permanent roommate would share), until I spotted a new blog while doing some online research. After reading “Every Day Death-Defying,” my envisionment of road rage has changed a little, and I’m gratified to see there’s someone else out there who’s even more outraged about bad driving than I am. It’s an interesting (and terrifying!) look at what the roads are like here on the Westside.

I do have to wonder though: for someone who claims she’s blogging because she wants to hold up a mirror to other drivers, isn’t Drivin’ Mamma a bit distracted from her own driving/walking each time she whips out her Treo? Nevertheless, I do know I spent some time anxiously scanning her photos to make sure I didn’t do anything foolish!

Still, it does generate an interesting question: is driving an entitlement, or a privilege?

I don’t really watch TV (part of it is we have a lousy connection, which is amazing considering you can throw a stone and hit several studios if you just stand outside), so I didn’t see the interview on “The Today Show” featuring Jane Fonda and Eve Ensler, and the resulting brouhaha when Jane Fonda used a particular four-letter word for female genitalia. I did, however, read about it later online.

I just dismissed it as the usual hand-wringing by the media and by oversensitive individuals who have no problem with Rambo but get all indignant when any mention of human sexuality makes its way onto the airwaves. I also found it ironic considering Ensler’s play, “The Vagina Monologues”, was written to demystify the female sexual experience and bring it home to all of us. It’s a play that has been performed tons of times all over the nation, and has been done successfully in the deaf community (my walking partner was in a benefit performance up north in Sacramento a few years back, sharing the stage with the likes of Shoshannah Stern and Nathie Marbury).

However, I later read an outstanding post on the topic, written by Bev Sykes at Funny the World, which is one of my daily must-reads. As Bev notes, “cunt” isn’t the only four-letter word out there– there’s also “rape.” The main reason why Fonda and Ensler were on the show at all was to talk about the fundraising Ensler is doing on behalf of rape victims in the Congo. As Bev articulately states,

We hear a lot of dialog about “family values” these days and you can just bet that there are whole groups which will recoil in horror when speaking about Jane Fonda.   What will those people do about the rapes in Congo?  Will they even think about them?  Or will their sensitive ears be so offended by hearing a bad word that this is all they hear?  Will they be so busy vilifying Jane Fonda that this little matter in Congo will be forgotten?

She’s right. Go read her post in its entirety, and then tell me and come back what we really should be horrified about?