Boy, those musical numbers are really going to go a long way in making people think Hugh Jackman isn't gay, aren't they?
(More later, possibly, if I don't fall asleep.)
UPDATE (10:04 AM Monday) - Holy Bob Hope, was that a boring night. Lots of predictable and undeserving winners, which was par for the course, but the producers didn't offer anything to make up for it. And most of the speeches were so scripted and awful (still, anytime Penélope Cruz wants to hook up with me, I'm free -- and if I'm not, I can get that way in two seconds flat), with the exception of Dustin Lance Black's, which was the best and most moving of the night.
The insipid New Age-y/Oprah-style "We Speak Your Name" nominee ego-stroking in the acting categories was also problematic; only a few of the presenters (Eva Marie Saint, Whoopi Goldberg and Robert De Niro come to mind) were able to pull it off. Next year I propose having Steve Martin hand out all of the awards. Yes, my love for him is known far and wide, but he excels at taking the piss out of the same pretentious, self-congratulatory nitwits whose approval Hugh Jackman so nakedly desires. And so what if Jackman's a song-and-dance man? Anyone who has seen "Pennies from Heaven" and "All of Me" knows that Martin can cut a rug with the best of them.