I just sat through the entire Academy Awards telecast (all three-plus hours of it. Oof), and I thought that since I've been kind of negligent in my posting duties lately, and that since it's fresh on my mind, I should say something about it.
However, aside from my delight over the wins of Alan Arkin and Martin Scorsese, I'm too damn tired and sick to say much of ANYTHING. Maybe I'll feel differently tomorrow (probably not), but if not (probably DEFINITELY not) I would like to direct you all to New York Magazine, where the snarky chicas from Go Fug Yourself covered the whole shebang with their usual delightful bitchiness-it's much more entertaining than just reading a boring list of winners, I can tell you that.
So, you all go and read that, and I'm gonna go take a shower and fall into a Nyquil coma, which is basically like my own little post-Oscar party.
Yeah, Vanity Fair ain't got NOTHING on me.
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