Quick hits on the 79th Academy Awards telecast:

Commercials were more entertaining than at the Super Bowl.

Probably cheaper, too.

Lose the Celine Dion song and you’ve got an almost perfect telecast.

Still, the most intimate Oscar broadcast in some time, perhaps ever.

That’s in large part to Ellen Degeneres’ down-home style and ease of delivery. Real nice job.

And let’s hear it for Jennifer Hudson’s dressmaker. That one breast kept trying to escape, but the frock kept it in check despite its yearning to be free.

Tom Hanks was in the right it’s-a-party frame of mind. And he was funny.

Al Gore was, too.

And speaking of Gore: He won’t run in the upcoming election, unless the rest of the party crashes, but he should.

If liberal Hollywood had voted anything but “An Inconvenient Truth” as best documentary it would have been a major upset. (Not that others weren’t deserving.)

A couple of touching speeches. Forest Whitaker’s stands out.

Very happy about “The Departed” and Scorsese; best film of the year and most deserving of the director’s award - and not just because he was due.

Good for Alan Arkin, one of my picks. He was the glue that held together “Little Miss Sunshine.”

Sad about Peter O’Toole’s loss - again - but so it goes.

Jack Nicholson and Diane Keaton looked good together. Mutual affection and respect after working together in “Something’s Gotta Give.”

Interesting how Jack dominates events even when he’s a minor part.

Classy act with Steven Spielberg, George Lucas and Francis Ford Coppola giving the anatomically incorrect Oscar to their friend Scorsese.

No one looked more stunning than Beyonce; my god she’s gorgeous. And - she can sing.

Cate Blanchett’s the epitome of elegance.

Meryl Streep would be fun to hang out with.

Ditto Hanks.

Impressive segment on Sherri Lansing, once John Wayne’s co-star, then studio head, now volunteer-for-humanity extraordinaire. Excellent speech, too.

Best moment: Ellen having Spielberg snap her picture with Clint, then asking him to take it again with her and Clint more centered.

Everyone seemed to enjoy the event - except O’Toole after he lost again.

Impressive cinema montages, especially the foreign-films retrospective.

Happy to see “Pan’s Labyrinth,” the second-best film of 2006, after “The Departed,” grab a couple of Oscars. Visually amazing, emotionally resonant.

Would have been nice to see it win best foreign film, but “The Lives of Others” is deserving.

All in all a most-pleasing show with excellent flow. B+; would have been higher without Celine.

Hint for the 79th time: Lose the musical interludes at the 80th annual go-round.

Nothing against the Academy Awards; they’re there, we watch them, we nod, raise our eyebrows or shake our heads in disbelief.

And we go ho-hum and question our sanity for watching the inanity year after year.

And the Oscar for best song goes to …

Wouldn’t it be great if the presenter paused, tossed the evelope over a shoulder and said, “Who cares?”

Never happen. Ah, but if it did …

What might happen one day, to stimulate interest and create some fun, is the introduction of new categories.

For instance: “The nominees this year for best performance by someone under 5 feet tall are: Abigail Breslin, `Little Miss Sunshine’; Shareeka Epps, `Akeelah and the Bee’; Dakota Fanning, `Charlotte’s Web’; and Lassie, for `Lassie.‘ ”

“And the winner for best performance by someone under 5 feet tall is … Lassie!”

I guarantee it would be a short acceptance speech.

Another new category: best expressiveness by someone with at least one face-lift.

And the nominees are: Michael Douglas, Mary Tyler Moore, Burt Reynolds and Joan Rivers.

And the winner is …

And that would be just the beginning.

Britney opened the door at my knock.

Her place was a mess of diapers, white socks and pizza crusts.

“I’m not wearing underpants,” she said. “That OK with you?”

“Works for me,” I said.

It was our first date since the divorce.

We were a typical 21st-century couple; no necking, no foreplay, just “I do,” a weekend of whoopi, then back to “Start,” do not pass “Go,” do not collect alimony.

This time we were “just going out” - to a simple soiree at the Trumps.

“We’re taking Baby Jaden,” Britney said.

“No problem,” I said, using the no-underpants comment as a kind of mantra. “You look great, by the way.”

And she did - in a sweaty, minimalist kind of way.

“OK if Jaden and I drive?” she asked.

No underpants. No underpants.

“Maybe later,” I said with a shudder. It would be a cold day in hell when I let her and the kid behind the wheel.

When we arrived at the Donald’s, he welcomed us with open arms and Champagne.

“I hate Rosie,” he said.

“Let it go, Don,” I said. “She speaks fondly of you.”

“Really?” he said.

“Psych!” Britney said.

Brad and Angelina laughed. Madonna was too busy being Madonna.

Britney put Jaden in a room set aside for the adopted babies from Africa and a random tot or two.

“Look, there’s Lindsay,” I said, pointing out Lindsay Lohan holding court with other backless, frontless, slit-dress types.

“The bitch,” Britney said. “Don’t look. I hate her.”

“Too late,” I said.

“Britney! Oh, Britney?” Lindsay shouted as she walked over. “Kiss kiss,” Lindsay said, embracing her.

“Kiss kiss,” Britney said with an icy smile.

“Hi to you too, big guy,” Lindsay said to me. “You look yummy.”

We’d had a brief fling, Lindsay and I. She was freaky; always sang after sex.

Not terrible, in and of itself. But all she knew were Mickey Mouse Club songs.

The Goofy mask did me in.

“Hey, Linds. You still know how to flatter a guy,” I said.

“Don’t ever talk to her again,” Britney said after she left. “That was disgusting. You were all over her.”

“Hardly,” I said. “Nobody’s perfect. Hey, there’s Gavin Newsom.”

Britney didn’t care. All she wanted was another glass of bubbly, which she drained in one gulp.

That was when Paris Hilton spotted her and waved.

“Omigod,” Britney said. “Can the evening get any worse?”

“Kiss kiss, girlfriend,” Paris said, hugging her.

“Kiss kiss,” Britney said, returning the stiff embrace.

Paris was wearing two rubber bands - and a lot of space for camping. Sadly, I’d left my tent at home.

“We have to have lunch and catch up,” Paris said.

“Love to,” Britney said. “I’ll call you.”

“E-yew,” Britney said when Paris ambled off. “I want more bubbly.”

“Here we are,” Donald said, “a little drink for my favorite little girl.”

“Oh, Donald,” Britney said, giving him a mushy hug as he whispered in her ear, “I hate Rosie.”

The evening evolved into a swirl of bright colors and bitterness.

Britney and I got sloshed.

“We’re in no condition to drive,” Britney said. “What we gon’ do?”

“Where’s Baby Jaden?” I said. “He can drive.”

It was a cold night in hell.

And Britney wasn’t wearing underpants.

Here’s all you need to know: Only one person walked out during the closing credits.

Early criticism from colleagues: Film’s too cutesy, Hugh Grant’s too old for Drew Barrymore.

Response:

Cutesy can be OK if it’s handled well and fits the tenor of the piece. It does in “Music and Lyrics.”

Other response:

Older man younger woman, older woman younger man; who cares if it works for them, and it’s good?

It’s one of those “judge not or ye shall be …” sorts of things.

Story line: He belonged to a hot ’80s pop group. They split up. He wound up playing county fairs, ’80s reunion parties and amusement parks. He still does.

The world’s most popular singer recalls him and his music fondly. She tells him if he can write a love song for her, she will include it on her tour - as a duet with him - and on her new CD.

The catch: He needs to write it within the next two days.

The problem: He can’t write lyrics, only music.

Enter Barrymore’s nutty character. She waters his plants and is a natural at rhyming.

A leads to B and the rest of the alphabet is yours to fill.

The film starts awkwardly after a funny look at Grant in an old music video with his former group. He’s no Justin Timberlake but he can carry a tune.

About a third of the way through, the movie turns into a charmer.

Grant’s likable (and one of my all-time favorite interviews).

Barrymore’s likable (never interviewed her but want to).

On the surface they seem a mismatch.

The story probes deeply enough into their characters while still maintaining their natural awkwardness (the characters’, not the actors’) that you enjoy them even more.

No surprises but a definite crowd-pleaser.

And the best date movie of the year, so far.

It’s all hearts and flowers on TV, in ads and on DVDs.

The message: Men, buy something for women for Valentine’s Day.

The other message: This is a day for the women, not for you, so suck it up.

After all, the idea of giving simply for the joy of it - while not expecting or desiring anything in return - is a cobblestone on the rough-hewn road to enlightenment.
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Consider this sampling of the many new Valentine’s Day-oriented DVD box sets:

- “Romantic Tales Collection” (”Moulin Rouge,” “Romeo + Juliet,” “Ever After”)

- “The Matthew McConaughey Collection” (”Failure to Launch,” “Sahara,” “How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days”)

- “The Girls Night In Collection” (”Just Like Heaven,” “How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days,” “What Women Want,” “Forces of Nature,” “Win a Date with Tad Hamilton”)

There is no balance regarding the opposite sex, the overlooked sex, the lesser sex when it comes to celebrating The Day.

And if there were, we might see such Valentine’s Day-oriented sets as:

_ “The Bullets and Bloodshed Collection” (”The Departed,” “Blood Diamond,” “Kill Bill,” “Kill Bill 2,” “Reservoir Dogs,” “The Marine”)

_ “The Men’s Night In Collection” (”Road Trip,” “Road House,” “Old School,” “Die Hard,” “American Pie 5: The Naked Mile”)

_ “The Paul Walker Collection” (”Running Scared,” “Flags of Our Fathers,” “The Fast and the Furious,” “2 Fast, 2 Furious”)

- “The Romantic Stooges Collection” (”The Three Stooges: Volumes 1-10,” “The Three Stooges Go Around the World in a Daze,” “The Three Stooges Meet Hercules”)

If only …

Civil War veteran Liam Neeson chases bearded Pierce Brosnan across the Southwest for nearly two hours, and by the time you finally learn why, you still don’t care.

“Saving Private Ryan,” “The Thin Red Line,” “Black Hawk Down.”

War is hell.

And it’s great not to be in the midst of it, but watching from a distance instead.

Popcorn goes down easier than bullets.

It’s less painful.

And if you leave out the butter and salt, it’s healthier (but pointless).

War movies are swell for people, especially of the male persuasion, who want to experience the horror and the heroism second hand.

Which is why the subject has been a studio staple since “Wings” won (Howard Hughes an Oscar for best picture in the early ’30s (you saw it all in “The Aviator”).

People are curious. People like the catharsis. People like to identify with heroic actions, learn a little history, get inspired to appreciate what they have.

And come out without a scratch.

Clint Eastwood delivers the best of those possible worlds with his Iwo Jima homage - “Flags of Our Fathers,” out Tuesday on DVD, and the Oscar-nominated “Letters from Iwo Jima.”

The two offer insight and perspective while raising awareness and generating empathy - for both sides of the World War II battle.

With his sensitive direction, Eastwood humanizes war and its combatants.

He avoids cliches.

In “Flags,” he creates some of the most horrifically realistic battle scenes since “Saving Private Ryan.”

Like all action-driven war films _ or all action films for that matter - the two also provide a release for pent-up aggressions that leaves people calmer and, strangely, more receptive to others.

Soldiers shoot, blow things up, and survive.

The movies let us experience it all from the comfort of our stadium seats.

The best war movies make us see things differently - and do so in a way that lasts well beyond the closing credits.

That’s known as a lot of bang for the buck.

One more aspect: War movies are male-bonding movies.

Many have no female characters.

Some, such as “Flyboys,” provide little more than one or two walk-ons.

As such, the films focus on testosterone-driven men parading their masculinity in an appropriate environment - and safe from the distraction, and in some instances, from the judgment of women.

War is hell. War movies are handy.

My friend Rebecca sells ads for Sacramento magazine and she sends me free monthly copies.

Mostly they’re thick, ad-heavy glossies.

This one, the Feb. 27 issue, has a piece called “20 Great Dates.”

Among its suggestions:

- Rock-climbing together at a sports club or rock-climbing facility to build teamwork.

A better choice: Sit and watch others do rock-climbing.

- Paint or sculpt together at one of those paint-and-sculpt places that seem aimed at kids and teens.

I don’t know; you’ve got to be with the right person for that.

And remember, they don’t serve drinks at those places.

- Go running together.

And get all sweating and gasping?

Better to take a long walk, and the more liesurely the better. Or take a hike.

- Go bowling.

Haven’t in years; never liked the shoes.

- Eat well.

The article suggests sharing a “karma-enhancing experience” with healthy fare.

I suggest pizza and ice cream.

- Go to a comedy club.

They serve drinks. Why not?

- Go wine-tasting.

Duh.

- Volunteer together, like at a charity feed.

I hadn’t thought of that. Not a bad idea. With the right person and in the right mood.

- Take a cooking class together.

Anything that involves food can’t be all bad.

- Share a massage at a spa.

It’s less threatening than the do-it-yourself variety, though not as much fun.

- Take yoga together.

No thanks. I’ve tried. My body refuses.

For an alternative, refer back to the rock-climbing entry.

Contact highs do apply.

The article also offers some “first-date don’ts.”

Among them:

- Don’t wallow in negative energy.

Can I hear an “amen”?

- Don’t spend the whole conversation talking about yourself (even if you think you’re the most fascinating person in the universe) or dominating the conversation.

Amen.

- Don’t talk about past romances.

Ditto. I’m not interested. Can’t imagine she’d be, either.

- Don’t forget to laugh.

Ha!