Some thoughts about the Oscars:

I want to marry Adrien Brody.

I was so happy when he won the Oscar for best actor. Tears came into my eyes, and they kept coming back into my eyes over the next 20 minutes because I couldn’t stop thinking about his moment of glory. His kiss of Halle Berry; his dignified comments about the dehumanization of war; his mention of his buddy in Kuwait; and, most wonderfully, his ability to silence Stick Man’s exit music with a simple, relaxed, “Cut it out.” I’m glad Gil Cates knew to relax the time limit for the sake of a beautiful moment.

Marry me, Adrien. We’re both 29 years old and we were both born in New York City, so there’d be no generation gap and no cultural gap. I know it’s sudden, and I know you’re not gay, but just think about it, okay? Plus, a friend of mine thinks you’ve got the sexiest nose.

Although I loved Bowling for Columbine, I had mixed feelings about Michael Moore’s speech, primarily because he’d given the exact same speech the night before at the Independent Spirit Awards. Say it once, it’s witty. Say it more than once, it’s schtick. On the other hand, it was refreshing to hear someone be so direct and unafraid. “Shame on you, Mr. Bush, shame on you.” Loved it. I was disheartened and surprised by all the boos he received for speaking his mind. Since when has Hollywood been so afraid of offending George W. Bush?

There was something loopy about fag-loving Barbra Streisand awarding an Oscar to fag-hating Eminem, whether or not his fag-hating is real or ironic or poststructuralist or whatever. And I loved how his co-winner kept referring to him as Marshall. Doesn’t it take away from his mystique? You can almost hear his mother: “Marshall Mathers, turn off that television set and go clean your room!”

At least Eminem’s non-appearance cut about five minutes off the broadcast, since his nominated song wasn’t performed. Roman Polanski’s no-show cut out another two or three minutes. I wish more had been cut, though. I really didn’t need to sit through seven minutes of past Oscar winners. I would have been happy with just the oldest of the old, such as Olivia de Haviland (didn’t she look great?) and Luise Rainer (93!), instead of sitting through that self-congratulatory we’re-in-the-club-and-you’re-not thing, and then parading out the four newest winners like they’ve just been initiated into the Yale Skull and Bones Society or something.

It was kind of strange to have those Peter Jennings interludes. “War in Iraq.” People were killed today. Thank you, and now back to Steve Martin! It’s odd that Peter Jennings and the annual Oscars broadcast are emblematic of the same TV network, and yet they represent totally different ends of the spectrum.

I liked the montage of past musical numbers. I just wish they’d shown the Snow White fiasco. It was neat to see Isaac Hayes, though. I’d love to watch an entire Oscar broadcast from the late 70s. I bet it would be a blast.

After The Pianist won best adapted screenplay and best director, I thought there was a chance it might actually beat Chicago to win Best Picture. Oh well. It’s not that I didn’t like Chicago; it was done terrifically well. It’s just that it didn’t speak to me like The Hours and Far From Heaven and The Pianist did. The Hours and Far From Heaven were my two favorite movies from last year, and I’ve already downloaded both of them onto my new computer.

The broadcast itself seemed zippier than in the past. Thank goodness for the time limit on speeches. Pedro Almodovar would have yammered on for 10 minutes without it. I actually saw Talk to Her yesterday afternoon, and it was wonderful. I hope to write screenplays as creative as his.

And then I can make lots of money, and Adrien Brody and I can move into a beautiful brownstone out in Park Slope.