Well, I went into my annual Oscars viewing with high hopes this year. Ellen hosting, Dreamgirls everywhere, Cate Blanchett in the house -- what could go wrong? Four and a half hours later, long after Ellen had nearly vacuumed up Penelope Cruz's dress in the front row, I was zombified and mystified. Why does the dang thing take so long? Every year, they joke about keeping it short. And every year, it lasts longer than most of my relationships.

I jotted a few notes as the show droned on, practicing my penmanship in an effort to stay awake. Herewith, impressions from an Oscars Grouch (har).

• • Observations from the red carpet: Cate Blanchett = wow. Kate Winslet = double wow (so to speak). Naomi Watts = what was that dress? What was she thinking? What was the dress thinking? Yikes, that thing was bad, a yellow belted sapsucker of a dress.

• Ellen's first impression: Whoa, how about that purple suit? She looked like a piece of grape Bubble Yum with white chiclet shoes. I was nervous during her opening monologue, thinking, "Do us right, Ellen, make us proud." By the time she got to the bit about "…at home in my pajamas with a half a box of chardonnay in me," I was worried no more.

• "You just want to win… am I right, Peter O'Toole?" Wooooo. An edgy choice, though O'Toole took it well. But later, after he'd lost, I remembered this line and thought, ouch.

• "If there weren't blacks, jews and gays, there would be no Oscars. Or, anyone named Oscar, if you think about that." Classic.

• "Judi Dench couldn't make it; she's at home having 'knee surgery.' On her eyes." This one made me laugh out loud. Ellen really let the Brits have it, didn't she? Or do you think she was just getting Judi back for playing a crazed, stalker lesbian?

• Melissa Etheridge singing "An Inconvenient Truth." Was it me, or did it look like Melissa and the other band members were a half a beat off in their strumming, like there was a tiny little delay? Weird, I thought they all performed live on the show. Anyway, more importantly, she looks fab and healthy. Hurrah!

• Al Gore's big announcement to "the American people" getting drowned out by the orchestra. Dare I admit it? Though I thought this was funny, I kind of hoped Big Al (literally now, as he seems to have put on a few L-B's) was really gonna announce he was running. I admit it, I'm ready to welcome that droning, lilting Tennessee accent into the campaign season. Bring it, Al!

• Two observations on Cameron Diaz. (1) She looks like someone gave her a home tanning bed for Christmas. Seriously, that is one savage, almost fake-looking tan. And (2) a friend of mine commented that she looked like she was wearing a "flying nun" dress. What was with those "wings"?

• Montage of clips showing writers. Yet more evidence that the Academy Awards show is written by writers. Who else would slip in a whole multi-clip paean to writers, thereby padding an already super-padded show? Heck, this show was more padded than an astronaut's diaper.

• Best costume designer. I loved the fact that the woman responsible for those exquisite gowns from Marie Antoinette came dressed like Colonel Sanders to collect her award. I really couldn't believe it -- until she started talking and I realized she's Italian. That 'splains everything. The Eyetalians know better than we do what's fashionable. Look for Col. Sanders bolo ties on half the actresses next year.

• Gwyneth Paltrow gives a shout out to YouTube. This almost, but not quite, makes up for the fact that she went to such efforts to pronounce all the nominees' names in their native tongues. "Geejermo Navarrrrrro." Roll them "r"s, Gwynnie. That's why you get the big bucks.

• Pilobolus silhouette dance moves. Fantastic. But they were actually shown up, I thought, by Ellen's rendition of "Snakes on a Plane."

• Bad hair choice #1: Jack Nicholson bald. This… is… not… good. Is he doing this for a part? Because I hope he negotiated an extra fee.

• Bad hair choice #2: Tobey Maguire. In theory, this slicked-down, close-cropped cut isn't a bad 'do. Except that it makes him look about 12 years old.

• Bad hair choice #3: Philip Seymour Hoffman. What, you win an Oscar but still can't afford a comb?

• Endless Dreamgirls song cycle. Okay, we love 'em. Beyonce and Jennifer Hudson are beautiful, they've got great pipes, etc. etc. But what was with having six songs, or however many they did in a row? First, the movie was too long, and now the songs are too long for the Oscars, which helped make the Oscars too long. And now, having to write about it is making this blog too long. Where will it end?

• Melissa Etheridge kissing Tammy on the lips, thanking her "wife." What more can we say? How delightful to see a strong, powerful, out lesbian woman in Hollywood. As opposed to strong, powerful, non-out lesbian women. Which is a perfect segue to…

• Jodie Foster. You know what? I love her anyway, whatever she decides to tell or not tell. I almost teared up when she mentioned her recently deceased friend Randy Stone. It was the most unguarded moment I've seen her have... well... ever, really.

• Roose Witherspeen. I wrote this down by mistake when taking notes, then decided I like it better. I hereby rename her.

• Martin Scorsese. This Oscars was all about the women -- until the very end. Then it was all Marty, all the time. Martyball. A Marty of one's own. And that's okay with me. Because by this point, I was asleep anyway.

• Summary: It wasn't the best of times, it wasn't the worst of times. Which reminds me. Now that I've seen my montly allotment of TV hours all in one night, perhaps it's time to read a good book.