I don't care what anybody says; I don't even care what Dave himself says. David Letterman did a fine job emceeing this year's Academy Awards ceremony. He managed to inject into the proceedings a hitherto-absent sense of irony and levity. I found it a relief. Highlights:

Dave (yes we are on a first-name basis) decided that it would be pretty damned amusing to introduce Uma Thurman and Oprah Winfrey to one another from the stage. "Uma," he said, "Oprah. Oprah, Uma." Later in the week, he revealed that he had a heck of a time actually finding Uma and Oprah, but never mind. It was funny. Uma, Oprah. What a card.

Maybe you had to see it for yourself.

Letterman also managed to annoy Tom Hanks, much to my delight, by bringing him up on stage to unroll a carpet for the Dog that Spins to Applause. When the audience clapped, that pooch just went round like the acceptance-speech timer. It was a hell of a crowd-pleaser, not so much of a Tom Hanks pleaser. He, apparently, had a more dignified evening in mind.

Life may be like the now-proverbial box of chocolates, in that one never knows what one is going to get. But the Oscars are another matter entirely. By the time the actual event rolled around, it seemed everyone had pretty well caught on to the fact that Forrest Gump was going to clean up. In this regard (quite frankly), the Academy Awards were more like hard candy than like a box of chocolates, in that both of them involve sucking.

I've had much difficult explaining to do about comments I've made about Forrest Gump, and I want to make something clear. I didn't hate Forrest Gump. In fact, I kind of enjoyed it at the time. But it's just a movie. If it changed your life, think about getting over to the public library more often.

Much of our view of the things around us, I would opine, is colored by our professions. Spend a summer working on roofs, and it changes forever the way you look at houses. Spend two years teaching high school, and you'll pay good money to never again go to a mall on a Friday night.

The person who cuts my hair mentioned the other day that she didn't like Pulp Fiction. When I asked why, she said, "Well you'd think they could do a better job with Travolta's hair. I mean, he had that little pony tail thing going in the back, but then those wisps of hair were all sticking out along the side. They could've just tucked them into the pony tail." She couldn't comment on Travolta's performance one way or the other. The hair job distracted her from noticing.

What about Samuel L. Jackson's hair extensions? I asked her. How did those measure up? "They were all right," she said. "I thought he was pretty good."