A lovely Sunday afternoon. Mowed the lawn for the first time since last fall. Finished fixing the fence. Took a long walk with my family. And now it's time for my annual tradition of sitting on my ass and rooting for certain millionaire famous people over other millionaire famous people in a series of awards that, while prestigious, are also usually meaningless at best and shameful at worst.

God, I love the Oscars.

So sit back, relax, and enjoy what may be a series of sad, lonely postings by yours truly. Or, if we're lucky, perhaps some Vidiots with cogent comments or humorous remarks (hello, Lisa and Phil!) will bail my ass out.

In the meantime, as you're watching people walk across red carpets and/or feeding yourself dinner, don't miss Phil's piece about which Best Picture winners men can weep at without feeling too unmanly. And of course, be sure to read author and raconteur Andy Ihnatko's annual Andy Picks On Oscar piece, which is up and ready for your reading pleasure.

We don't go much in for the Oscar pregame hype here in the Schmeiser-Michaels household. The ceremony is long enough -- who needs to watch a couple hours of celebrities stepping out of limos to mouth vague platitudes to entertainment "reporters" who've risen to a position of prominence based on their ability to toss softballs? Besides, everybody always complains about Joan Rivers and her untalented spawn Melissa slobbering all over themselves at these events, but nobody ever does anything about it, when the solution is as simple as turning off the TV and sending Joan back to the corner of Hell from whence she sprung.

So for your pre-Oscar enjoyment, I suggest you read this piece at ESPN.com, which -- in a refreshing break from recent tradition at the Worldwide Leader in Sports' Web site -- is actually good. It's on the 30 worst decisions the Academy has ever made.

("Uh, Phil," you might be asking. "What's a sports Web site doing writing about the motion pictures?" Oh, children... entire religions have arisen on mysteries less complex.)

Anyhow, if I have one complaint about the article -- and when I'm writing, you always know there's at least one complaint involved -- it's that the authors focus almost entirely on the last decade, with the earliest Oscar injustice apparently occurring in 1972 when Bob Fosse (Cabaret) bested Francis Ford Coppola (some mob picture) for Best Director.

This is pure nonsense, of course. Everyone -- even ESPN.com's target audience of men in their early 20s -- knows that the greatest Oscar injustice occurred in 1952 when The Greatest Show on Earth won Best Picture. It defeated, among nominated films, High Noon, which is one the short list of Best Westerns Ever, and, among non-nominees, Singin' in the Rain, which features a Gene Kelly dance sequence of some note. Ah, but how can those films compare to a lighter-than-air circus melodrama starring a scenery-devouring Chuck Heston and Jimmy Stewart as a murderous clown on the lam?

We can only hope that Oscar gives the hobbit movie its just due tonight, and that The Greatest Show on Earth remains the Most Embarrassing Best Picture Winner.

I have no idea why I am watching the people on the carpet. My lovely and reasonable wife turned it on.

In any event, Roger Ebert is interviewing actors, and that's great when he's interviewing people he likes. Shoreh Agadashloo practically got down and kissed his feet for his rave review of her performance. But what happens when he meets someone who he's slagged? Then things get uncomfortable.

That's why it's better if the people on the carpet are blow-dried hacks rather than critics. Then they can just suck up, and it's much less awkward for anyone.

Let's hear it for the blow-dried hacks!

I believe that's also the slogan for the E! network.

Oscar telecast producer Joe Roth tells The Chicago Sun-Times, he'd like to bring tonight's show in at around three-and-a-half hours. Roth would also like world peace, universal health-care coverage and a new pony.

Hey, you want to shorten up the Oscar ceremony? Have the accountants come out in the first five minutes and read off the list of winners; anyone who wants to stick around for the musical tributes to gaffers can do so.

Good news, everybody! It's OK to like frivolous things like the Oscars again! Owen Wilson says so:

The Academy Awards returned to full-glamour mode Sunday after two years in which Hollywood's prom night was muted by world events -- the aftermath of the Sept. 11 attacks in 2002 and the Iraq war in 2003.

Celebrities were strutting the red carpet again after Oscar organizers scrapped its glitzy arrivals area last year in deference to the U.S.-led war effort in Iraq. With the passage of time, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences figured it was safe to make merry again for the 76th annual Oscars.

"Hollywood was hiding for a couple of years," said Owen Wilson, who was strolling the red carpet with Ben Stiller, his co-star in the big-screen version of "Starsky & Hutch," opening Friday. "Hollywood's back. I think that's the story."

If the stars don't wear Armani, the terrorists will have won.

If you have "Nicole Kidman" in the office "Celebrities Who Are Probably Drunk" bingo game, prepare to collect your winnings.

I love how the Oscar pre-show counts down to the start of the ceremony. As if there was something exciting about to happen, like a moon shot.

When it ticks down to :00, does "Let The Crushing Boredom Begin!" flash on the screen?

Really. We're not even through the super-dooper-special-effects "Hey! Billy Crystal is hosting the Oscars again!" montage and I'm already wishing that the evening was over.

Why won't the Academy come to its senses, and let Owen Wilson and Ben Stiller host?

I was about to say that I enjoyed those little Billy Crystal montages when every single one of the jokes weren't about him.

And then, they had footage of Michael Moore being crushed.

That can save a lot things, you know. The producers of Gigli should have tried it.

This may be both sadistic and wrong, but every time I see a pregnant woman at the Oscars, I hope they go into labor and give birth at the show.

Then again, given how long the opening is, it's entirely possible that someone will actually conceive, carry to term, and deliver a baby in the time it takes to get to the best director award tonight.

Boy, I bet Billy Crystal was happy when Pete Rose wrote that book this year. It let him re-use all those jokes he wrote back in 1989!

When Julia Roberts and Johnny Depp can't hide their boredom at the eighteen-minute mark, and they're people who are presumably skilled enough to feign interest in anything, it's not a glowing endorsement for Billy Crystal's emceeing skills.

I may be the only person who remembers this, but there was a pretty funny sketch a few years ago on Saturday Night Live -- a parody of an award show hosted by Billy Crystal, portrayed by Rob Schneider as a mugging, preening hack singing horribly unfunny songs. (This, by the way, marks the first time in a decade that the words "pretty funny" and "Rob Schneider" appeared in close proximity to each other.) Watching Billy Crystal up on stage tonight mugging and preening and singing horribly unfunny songs, I couldn't help but have some severe Rob Schneider flashbacks.

I'm decidedly not in the pro-Billy Crystal camp. I mean, there are worse choices to host the Oscars -- speaking of which, Whoopi's safely sealed off in the airtight bunker, right? -- but all of Crystal's material seems old and tired.

Then again, I enjoyed David Letterman's hosting gig, so it's clear the Academy ain't turning to me for creative decisions.

So we're watching the camera pan across the audience as Tim Robbins thanks all his co-stars in Mystic River, and across the aisle from Marcia Gay Harden, wearing baby blue and a whole lot of mammaries, is some mystery woman in an aisle seat. Whomever is shooting this has framed her from the neck down.

Who is this mystery woman, and what is she hiding in her chest? Inquiring minds want to know.

So Sir Ian McKellen just came out to introduce the first Best Picture nominee, and sure enough, it's The Return of the King. After positing that the appeal of the movie may due to "young friends traveling together" ("So it's road trip movie?" I asked), McKellen let the clip roll ...

... and it's the scene at the end where Aragon's all "You bow to no-one." Which is quite poignant after you've sat through all 3 hours of the movie, but when you're trying to make the Best Picture case in 30 seconds or less, there are better choices. Like any of the Smeagol/Gollum scenes, or the giant kill-the-elephants battle, or Eowyn killing the Witch King, or ... well, anything, really.

The woman in the blue dress is Jamie Lee Curtis!

Phil just did a lap around the apartment, shrieking,"I've seen those! I've seen those!"

Good to see Pixar win an Oscar for "Finding Nemo"; several of the company's films should've been nominated for Best Picture, and although it's great that there's a Best Animated Feature category now, it's sad that it make it almost impossible for an animated picture to be nominated for Best Picture.

Interesting that Andrew Stanton thanked Steve Jobs, who usually stays behind the scenes at Pixar. Also interesting that he thanked the distribution people at Disney. Thanks, and see you later, suckers!

But Disney's got nothing to worry about. After all, they, too, had a film nominated tonight: "Brother Bear." Uh... okay, they're screwed. Pixar's current burst of creativity will one day be recognized as being just as groundbreaking as Walt Disney's innovations in the mid 20th Century. And as for Disney? Well, that "Treasure Planet" direct-to-video sequel will be just peachy.

Phone conversations I like to think took place tonight, shortly after Finding Nemo won:

"Hello? Gates residence."

"Hey, Billy Boy!"

"Sigh... Hi, Steve."

"Hey, you happen to notice who won Best Animated Film tonight?"

"Steve, you know I know that Finding Nemo won ton..."

"Finding Nemo! By Academy Award winner Steve Jobs!"

"Steve, you didn't direct the movie so I don't think you can say..."

"What's that, Bill? I can't hear you with this Oscar in my ear!"

"Steve, this wasn't funny when Monsters Inc. won Best Song, and it's not funny now."

"Gotta go, Bill. I need to call Mike Eisner and wish him luck on Brother Bear 2."

"You're a real jerk sometimes, Steve."

Is the orchestra on drugs?

Tom Hanks was just played out to "Hail to the Chief." And I think Angelina Jolie was played out to "Louie Louie" or maybe "Wild Thing."

Is that Mark Shaiman or Paul Shaffer down there in the pit?

... when Renee Zellweger thanked Tom Cruise for teaching her how to work, and the camera panned to Nicole Kidman. I love it when the in-jokes make it on air.

So Sting is up there performing his Oscar-nominated "Hillbillies in Love" or whatever the hell it's called from Cold Mountain. It's a nice little ditty but it's a bit... oh... I don't know... slow.

I mean, Sting rocked out at some point in his career right? Late '70s? Early '80s? Shortly before "... Nothing Like the Sun." Help me out here.

Non-Oscar-related sidenote: a few weeks Lisa and I were in Las Vegas, and Sting was schedule to perform at the Hard Rock Hotel & Casino. Ticket prices: $100, $300 and $500.

For $500, Sting better work your name into the lyrics.

"Phil...ip -- you don't have to wear that dress tonight!"

So someone taught Liv Tyler to read in time to present the Best Original Song award, and in order to stay in character as a reading starlet, she's got little glasses she pops on every time she needs to read something.

It's kind of cute, but she really needs to just leave them on, as opposed to taking them off between numbers. It's not like Thomas Dolby is about to erupt screaming from the wings, "Good heavens, Miss Sakamoto, you're beautiful!"

So they're reshowing that clip of Renee Zellweger winning Best Supporting Actress -- you know, for all of you who've blacked out in the last 20 minutes -- and the camera lingers on her after her name is announced. So we get to see Harvey Weinstein lean over and whisper sweet nothings into her ear.

And I can't help but imagine, it's something along the lines of, "I made you, and I can destroy you just as easily."

It was very nice of Diane Keaton to stop at the Oscars on the way to her one-woman mime show.

... the nerds are segregated in Pasadena. But at least they got Alias hottie and geek fetish object Jennifer Garner hosting their get-together.

I wonder if the Academy made Garner wear her Elektra costume.

I'm glad that Blake Edwards got his honorary Oscar -- although his clip reel proved to be a visual study in the law of diminishing returns -- but by the end of the speech, I was expecting him to start talking about how he used to go to film sets with an onion tied to his belt because that was the fashion at the time.

Besides, if the maker of S.O.B. and 10 can get an award, that raises the odds the guy behind all those Police Academy movies will get his just desserts.

Did Nicole Kidman and Jude Law get a buy-one-get-one-free bargain at the dermatologist's?

I'm just looking for an explanation for the matching blank expressions.

Sometimes presenters are paired for logical reasons. Like the Stiller-Wilson pairing to promote "Starsky & Hutch." But others are like Oscar ink-blots, brazen attempts to get the audience to guess how the people are connected.

For example, Sandra Bullock and John Travolta, introducing the sound categories. "Sandy, we are humans who make noises." "Yes we are, John." Nope, that's not it. Were they in a movie together? IMDB says no.

They were both in movies directed by John Turtletaub. "Phenomenon" for him, "While You Were Sleeping" for her. But that seems unlikely.

Is there another connection? Is Bullock a Scientologist? Was Travolta once in a movie where Dennis Miller is brutally murdered?

I just don't know.

I had thought that winner of the Best Animated Short, Adam Elliot, was going to win tonight's style award for rocking the red cravat look, but Best Makeup winner Richard Taylor is giving him stiff competition with a streamlined pompadour and Art Deco sideburns.

Let's hear it for the Aussies and Kiwis! Carson and Cojo have much to learn from the folks on the Pacific rim.

I don't know if the Schmeiser-Michaels household is any indication of the way the rest of America feels, but all three people watching from our vast Playa Del Rey estate -- me, Lisa, and our friend Erin -- simultaneously groaned when Julia Roberts walked out on stage to introduce the Katherine Hepburn installment of the "Bring Out Your Dead" montage.

"Traditionally, at the Oscars, we take a look back at the artists our community havs lost," Julia says.

No, that's not a typo -- that's Julia dealing with the difficulty of verb conjugation.

At least, she didn't try and hump Denzel Washington's leg this year. Julia Roberts, I mean, and not Katherine Hepburn. That would have been kind of awkward.

... is that you get to see the lousy seats that anyone who's not Botoxed to within an inch of their life gets consigned to. It's a wonder Marilyn DeLeo isn't deaf from the whir of the computers and soundboards behind her.

The first award that's made me giddy with delight is Errol Morris taking the Best Documentary Oscar. Did you know that up until now, Errol Morris has never so much as been nominated for an Oscar? Gates of Heaven, The Thin Blue Line, Mr. Death -- not even a sniff from the Academy.

(Phil sez: Do yourself a favor, and run -- don't walk -- down to your local video store and rent either Thin Blue Line or Gates of Heaven right now.)

Oh, and Michael Moore -- that's the way to make an eloquent statement of dissent that even your critics can respect. You fat, bearded ass.

We're up to the bring-out-your-dead portion of the evening with the montage, and normally, this kind of sucks because it seems like the really popular people get the most posthumous applause. I was kind of surprised that Elia Kazan got as much applause as he did, considering all the fuss he generated during his lifetime award. Maybe the academy forgives and forgets, I figured.

Except the entire auditorium went dead silent the minute Leni Riefenstahl flashed on the screen.

Well, there goes that theory.

Phil Collins joins his hillbilly crooning buddy Sting to present some of the music awards. "To capture the essence, style and mood of a movie..." Phil Collins begins.

"... is something utterly and completely beyond me," I finish.

I don't care what Lisa says, I think it's great Jamie Lee Curtis brought the twins to tonight's ceremony.

So I'm loving the whole Triplets of Belleville song and set, with the bicycle, and the go-go dancers, and the overall speakeasy-type vibe. But I am confused about one thing: why was Art Garfunkel playing drums?

Having already pimped Owen Wilson and Ben Stiller as potential Oscar hosts, let us also throw the names Jack Black and Will Ferrell -- high-larious presenters of the Best Original Song Oscar -- into the hopper.

You know, just in case, Whoopi Goldberg escapes from her exile on Monster Island.

Since Jennifer Lopez apparently checked into the witness-protection program following her Gigli run at the Razzies, she's not at the Oscars and therefore there's a big, Oribe-shaped hole where the scary hairdo would be.

Except Fran Walsh has bravely stepped in with some multi-level coif that comes with its own landscaping. Brava!

The Canadian movie wins Best Foreign Language film? America Junior? Geez, that's like giving the foreign language award to someone from Mississippi. Just because they talk a little funny, don't make 'em foreign, Academy voters.

Uma Thurman and Jude Law are busy presenting the Best Cinematography award, and the petty, Us-reading part of my brain is wondering if maybe Uma's leaning over her giant, freaky dress and whispering, "I backed the wrong horse in Gattaca. Any chance you and I could meet for drinks?"

Honest to God, this is no knock on Sofia Coppola -- well, not much of one, anyhow -- but she could win Oscars from now until the time I'm a toothless old man, and it ain't never gonna wash away the foul taste of that last scene in Godfather III.

Say what you will about the Super Bowl being TV's biggest advertising extravaganza, tonight's American Express ad with Martin Scorcese put everything that aired during that game to shame.

Charlize Theron is a fine actress, and -- though I haven't seen Monster and won't unless there's a court order involved -- probably deserves her Oscar.

She is also quite orange.

I mean, really orange. Sunkist orange. Jessica Simpson orange.

These stars have handlers, right? They have hangers-on and stylists and personal Queer Eye details of advisers to tell them, "Um, Charlize? Please lay off the spray-on tan stuff."

Also, is it just me or is Adrian Brody wearing the same tux he wore last year? Did they even let him go home, or did he just spend the past year living out of the Kodak Theater?

The Martin Scorcese ad, Wrenn? No, my lanky friend, the best ad of the night was clearly the American Express/Tiger Woods Caddyshack shout-out.

Still, the Scorcese ad was good, too, making it two good ads during the Oscars versus the Super Bowl's grand total of zero.

After they aired the Pirates of the Caribbean clip, Johnny Depp looked like the only way he would be more embarrassed if someone swapped in an old 21 Jump Street rerun.

Between Billy Crystal's weird wrinkle-free face, Susan Sarandon's I-got-a-facial-with-a-belt-sander look, the myriad Botoxed brows and assorted trophy wives, this whole ceremony feels like Terry Gilliam produced it as a way to warm up for Brazil 2.

Sometimes, for all its stupidity, even the Academy Awards gets things right.

I kind of dug this year's ceremony -- after the interminable opening number, it was pretty snappy -- but I am a little baffled as to why the closing credits feature the presenter sequences from the ceremony.

We were just there! It was only three hours and forty minutes long! We hadn't forgetten what we watched yet!

Here at TeeVee, we're thrilled that Lord of the Rings took home the big prize, and not just because we're all a bunch of oily-skinned D&D nerds at heart. Rywalt's the D&D nerd. Boychuk's really more into those vampire role-playing games.

No, the reason we're happy with the Rings sweep is because it's a great movie getting its just recongition. And it just might convince us to keep going to the movies.

Because let's face it -- a trip to the cineplex these days is a double-dog drag. The prices are outrageous -- $10 in the greater Los Angeles area -- and don't change, no matter if you're watching an Academy Award nominee or something that Ashton Kutcher made when he wasn't busy canoodling with Demi. The concessions are dreadful, the cineplex staff indifferent, and the audience all kinds of trouble. You never know whether that matinee showing of 50 First Dates is the same one where the Crips and the Bloods are going to decide to work out their differences or the late-night edition of Kill Bill Vol. 1 is where you going to run into the young couple who've brought their three kids -- each under the age of five -- to share Quentin Tarrantino's unique vision. We'll stay at home, thanks, where the only annoying cell phone ringing is ours, and catch the movie on DVD.

Until a flick like Lord of the Rings comes along. Because this is a movie that demands to be seen on a giant screen and surrounded by like-minded cinephiles. All three movies are a tribute to the art of filmmaking. And they're damn near enough to make us want to keep going to the movies.

Unless something good is on TV that night.