Felicity Huffman on the red carpet: breaks down crying when the interviewer shows her footage of her Desperate Houswives co-stars wishing her good luck.  Then she appears to get genuinely angry that he sprang this on her and caused her to ruin her makeup.  Unnerved, the interviewer stammers, “Well, good luck to you, Felicity.” Felicity is upset that she displayed actual genuine human emotion!  In Los Angeles they lock you up for that kind of thing.

Damn, I really thought Matt Dillon was going to win best supporting actor.  Sorry, Tex.  And now you have to listen everyone say “Hey man, I saw you ‘Crash’ed and burned.’”

I can’t think of anyone who needs be as brunette as much as Rachel McAdams does.  Her blonde thing just doesn’t work.  If only she would return my emails.  I’ve tried , and several hundred other variations. I know at least a few of them have gone through.  She’s playing hard to get.

Morgan Freeman projects the warmest, most trusting personality on the planet.  You listen to him and you want to help him save Tim Robbins from life in prison, or hire him to narrate a documentary on penguins.  How does he do that?  I think it’s because in his free time, he throws kittens against the wall.  I don’t trust this guy.

IT’S A GHOST!!!  No wait, it’s just Lauren Bacall.  I could have sworn she was dead. 

Goddamn it, I can’t believe March of the Penguins won best documentary.  I just saw Murderball, about quadriplegics who play rugby, and it was a much better movie.  It made me want to get in one of their steel-reinforced chairs and mow those damn penguins right down.

Funny bit with the fake political campaigns for best actress.  They’re not kidding with the gag about Keira Knightley’s cheekbones being sprinkled with God Dust.  I could do an Olympic ski jump off of them.  And then land on Charlize’s.  Hmm…there’s an action movie in that idea.  Time to dust off my old screenplay software.

I’d be laughing more at John Stewart’s jokes, but I’m flaming out in my Oscar pool. I haven’t done this poorly since I wrote “Rob Schneider” for all the entries one year.

Oh, I finally got one right: Brokeback Mountain got Best Score. Heh!  Best score—eh, forget it, even I’m tired of Brokeback jokes.

Thank God for “It’s Hard Out Here for a Pimp.” I grant you, it’s no feminist manifesto.  But usually the nominees for best songs are sung by some big-nosed Canadian for a Jim Cameron movie, or some bald nightmare from the ‘80s doing a Disney ballad.  At least this song has a little juice.

Wait, it has too much juice for the Oscars.  They’ve swapped out the word “bitches”: “You’ll have a whole lot of witches jumping ship.” Suddenly it’s a song about Harry Potter.  Oh well, at least it won.

A split decision?  Brokeback takes Best Director and Crash takes best picture.  Pathetic--Brokeback should have taken it all.  I haven’t seen schizophrenia like that since that guy at the office wore two different colored socks.  Whatever.  I haven’t had faith in the Oscars ever since The Lost Skeleton of Cadavara failed to win Best Picture.