Watching the Oscars last night was in every way wonderful. I stayed in e-mail contact with Dad, Uncle AwesomeComments and Mom (and through her Uncle Bubbles [or...Uncle Sticky, is it now?...nope, doesn't have the right ring to it] and company) throughout, trading back and forth tantalizing and eloquent snippets like:

"Penelope Cruz!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
"Oh come on. You have man crushes. Ioan Gruffud anyone?"
"Skunked again for documentary. The [de Plume]s voted their political choice in No end in sight."
"Johnny Depp is looking good."
"Whoppee."
"Verdict: we don't like this song."
"GEORGE GEORGE GEORGE"

And, of course, upon seeing Diablo Cody, the all important:
"[Nom de Plume], your mother and Uncle B[ubbles] say don't get a tattoo."

The non-virtual conversation was on par. I'd say a group of about seven got together in our dorm's common room (aka the TV room) to watch. It was nice because it wasn't all people I ordinarily spend time with and we had a great time, although they ridiculed my preference of Babe the Gallant Pig over Braveheart.
Nonetheless, StoppardFan showed up just in time at the end to affirm with me for everyone else in the room that the clip of Daniel Day-Lewis they chose to show for his nomination was SO MUCH BETTER in context. In fact, it was the best scene: chilling and hilarious and sad. But out of context it just became him turning red in the face and yelling the same thing over and over. Short version of this: you need to go out and see There Will Be Blood. Right now.