Hey, bitches. How fucking cool is it that Steve Martin is hosting the Oscars? Fuck yeah. I mean, Billy Crystal has done a good job and all, but Steve Martin has been making me laugh for years and while he's disappointed me many times, he's a consistently funny live performer (SNL appearances and such, of late) and is one of the few of that era who have really evolved. He doesn't do stand-up now, but he writes plays and articles and, yes, does shitty movies, but he challenges himself artistically, and he's smart and thoughtful and relevant. I couldn't be more pleased.

To make this an all-movie entry, I wanted to quickly comment on the handicapped people suing movie theatres who are making stadium-style seating. At first I thought it was a case of them wanting all of us to be punished and see this new great seating trend stopped just because they couldn't also take part, and that pissed me off, but now I see that the new seating scheme gives them nothing but space in the very front. I don't quite see how that needs to be the case, but I'll give them the benefit of the doubt. Just don't fuck with stadium seating for those of us who can navigate stairs. Don't.

We went and saw What Women Want this weekend, and oh, man, this movie makes me more and more mad as time goes on. Sure, there were some very funny moments and Mel is goofy and fun and all, but they didn't have to make it quite so formulaic. Really. One Big Fucking Formula. There wasn't a single surprise in the whole movie. It was really the worst of what Hollywood does - take a potentially interesting or at least fun movie, and flatten and homogenize it beyond recognition. Mel is good but I swear he had to have been drunk for most of the shooting. Helen Hunt is always "good," but I hear she's such a bitchface that I can't like her. She's ruined herself for me.

Oh, and I guess this is film-tangential, but scab Elizabeth Hurley was fined 100,000 by SAG for breaking the now-over commercial strike. And even now, bitchwhore is claiming that she didn't know about the strike. Even fucker Tiger Woods said that it was a difficult decision and he had contracts with Nike and blah blah blah. Hurley is still claiming ignorance. Actually, come to think of it, she is a fucking stupid bitch, so she might not have known about it. (Yeah, I don't know where this hatred is coming from exactly. Just work with me, people.)

So the end-of-year awards have started to be announced. Last year I tried to follow them, but got slightly overwhelmed. Well, I'm going to try again. I love this season. I really do. I love Top 10 lists and nominations and awards. I like yelling at an omission and feeling that thrill when someone feels the same way you do about some movie you hold dear. It's all well and good to like a book, say, that no one else knows about and you get to slowly turn people on to it, but then when a member of the media recognizes it as well, there is a sort of vindication. And pride. And pure happiness for the artist. Recognition, in a perfect world, would be unnecessary and not hoped for, but we do. We need it.