Left to my own devices

The Oscars are one week away, so what better time for the 21st annual  Matt Awards ? I've always loved movies, and have always disagreed -- to a greater or lesser extent -- with the choices of the Golden Globes and the Academy Awards. Therefore,  The Matt Awards  are here to showcase what I consider to be the best in cinema every year. 2017 was perhaps one of the best years for movies in quite some time. With so many solid films to choose from, we were really spoilt for choice. I highly recommend the following selections, everything on the Top 10 list (though, admittedly, they may not be everyone's cup of tea), and especially the Best Picture winner. So, without further adieu....

Here is Oscar nominee Timothee Chalamet, nominated for his awesome performance in 2017's Call Me By Your Name . Here's wishing him luck at next week's Academy Awards.

T wenty-eight years ago today was, of course, another Valentine's Day. It was also the day that a great ice storm swept through Champaign County, laying waste to the urban centers of Champaign-Urbana. I was a resident of Champaign at the time, and remember it (mostly) well, though certain exact details are now lost to memory. February of 1990 saw me living on the north side of town. Mom and I (and her then-partner and step-kids) had moved over to a house in north Champaign. My maternal grandmother, Gummy, having recently moved back to town from Wisconsin, rented a small, cozy house in Urbana. My father still lived in Champaign, in a condo in the south part of town.

"Recently, I've become aware that there are fewer days ahead than there are behind." - Jean-Luc Picard Back in December, I pontificated on what my 42nd birthday meant to me at the time. Turns out those were more immediate thoughts. During the intervening month-and-half since that birthday, a more long-term state of mind has come to the fore. Thoughts of life and of death, time behind and time ahead, have been been swirling in my mind of late. At this point, it is unclear if they are temporary, or if they're here to stay, perhaps needing to be dislodged by some sort of life-decisions? My father died aged 52. I was 21 at the time, and remember -- during those hazy days between his death and the flurry of visitation and funereal proceedings -- that would give me another 31 years, if I were to make it to his age before life ended. It's one of those things we can't help but do, comparing ourselves to our parents, in all our -- and their -- facets.