I believe Hugh Jackman is the only person singing at tonight's Academy Awards, so that's bad news if you're into picking on voices. Dude can flex the golden pipes.

But you may see a few Tatiana-style meltdowns, if Mickey Rourke goes medieval on Angelina Jolie or something. Naw, the Oscars are classier than that, which is why they're becoming obsolete.

Sad, when you think about it.

But we'll leave the melancholy to Heath Ledger's ovation tonight when his name is read by an Oscar presenter onstage. It's easy to be cynical about a lot of show biz. Every once in a while something comes along that makes you think there's something real under the artifice. Rare, but it usually happens at the Academy Awards.

We're here tonight, a few minutes before the 8:30 p.m. start on TV. Stop by after the Deal Divas get finished shredding the red carpet fashions. A few regular readers have RSVP'd.

Welcome to Cat and Marissa and Michael and anyone else the Daly-Spears cartel has steered my way. I've always depended upon the kindness of those stranger than me. Welcome all. I figure I'll make a few friends and as many enemies, who in true Godfather fashion I keep closer. Poke around the archives and you'll catch on.

Princess Di will be the right side of my brain (as always) and a second set of hands (not as often) for this excursion. If you don't know Princess Di yet, she's the beacon at the end of my tunnel, the wind beneath my wings, the reason cavemen started drawing on walls. Mail order gets it right sometimes.

Post your thoughts, I'll be on my PC blogging for the professional stuff. M'lady will be on the laptop (stop snickering, Daly) for the real show, adding whatever wit I can toss over my shoulder on deadline. At least that's the plan George Peppard gave me. Can't always trust those 80's guys.