I didn’t see any of this year’s Best Picture nominees, so it’s hard for me to say exactly how lame it is that Crash won the award. Who knows? Maybe it really is a subtle, complex look at race relations in L.A., and all the haters were just, y’know, haters. I don’t have a lot to say about the rest of the ceremonies either, since it was hard to stay awake for much of it. Thank goodness for beer and livebloggers; how did I ever manage to sit through award shows without them?

It was pretty easy to wake up for the Three 6 Mafia, though: They managed to stay a couple of cuss words ahead of the censors during their interprative-dance-infested performance of “It’s Hard Out Here For a Pimp” (from Hustle and Flow), and were so psyched about actually winning the award for Best Original Song that Jon Stewart had to give them some love while chiding the audience for being so pallid and dull.

Also: It was probably just the reception on my TV, but was Reese Witherspoon’s dress made out of gingham? [Update: Cursed rabbit ears! The dress was lovely, and much less daring than wearing gingham would have been.] She may have been overplaying the Humble Country Girl a bit. I don’t care, though; my love for her is deep and abiding, and I’m overjoyed that her Best Actress award lets her move up from the Kids’ Table of Interchangeable Starlets to the Grownups’ Table of Oscar Laureates.

Finally, I think we can all take two lessons away from this year’s Oscars:

1. The most effective way to combat homophobia is to tell so many lame gay cowboy jokes that people become too bored to care one way or the other.

2. All other media suck, and you should go watch movies in a theater; otherwise, there may not be enough Hollywood left to support next year’s Oscars.