A wonderful night for Oscar: Favorite moments, my best-dressed musings

My favorite parts of tonight's Oscar show:

* Christopher Plummer. First of all, he's always reminded me of my father. Something about his face. And then in his speech, he used phrases I think my dad would use. He was so darned classy. And then he mentioned his daughter, Amanda, who co-starred in one of my favorite movies, "So I Married an Axe Murderer."

* The Christopher Guest & Co. bit as the "Wizard of Oz" focus group. Have you seen "Waiting for Guffman"? Go rent it. Go rent it now.

* The "Bridesmaids" stars. Gorgeous and funny. They didn't try too hard and were still absolutely hilarious. I so wanted Kristin Wiig and Annie Mumolo to win for best original screenplay. At least Dean Pelton from "Community" won (for adapted screenplay, for "The Descendants").

And now Kate's best dressed list, in no particular order:

Wendi McLendon-Covey, of "Bridesmaids." Gorgeous color. Loved the lace and bodice work. I always appreciate a dress that's super-feminine but not too frilly, not too simple.



Penelope Cruz: Wow. Penelope defines Hollywood glamour here. A color no one else was wearing -- I love blue-gray. I also love organza. A simple, off-the-shoulder gown by Giorgio Armani. An elegant train. Nothing frou-frou. Her hair and makeup are sheer perfection. I imagine she will be atop everyone's best-dressed list this year.



Natalie Portman: Red with black polka dots. Pinch me, because I must be dreaming. She's like a 1950s Barbie doll in vintage Dior. When she walked on stage, I said out loud (to my TV), "She looks stunning." She didn't overdo the makeup, like some actresses would have. It was perfectly executed. Excellent work, Natalie.



Robin Roberts of ABC's "Good Morning America." She was one of the first celebs I saw tonight. I thought she looked fabulous. That sparkly dress fits her like a dream, and she has the figure to pull it off. I adore that cowl-neck necklice. What a perfect choice.



The fashion faux pas ...

So glad that Robin didn't go the route of her TV-talk-show counterpart Nancy O'Dell. (Is it fair to lump journalist Robin Roberts into the same TV category as Nancy O'Dell? ... Nevermind.) This is one of my least-favorite gowns of the night.



Egad. The truth is, I would have LOVED Nancy's dress if it weren't canary yellow. It would've been gorgeous in a medium brown or ivory or a steel gray. Maybe even a copper.

OK, now what were your favorite parts? Your best (and worst) dressed?

What I believe: Making my donations count

Here's my 2 cents on this whole Susan G. Komen / Planned Parenthood deal.

When I want my money to go toward breast cancer research, cancer prevention and to people living with cancer, I find a charity that uses my money for that -- and just that.

When I want to give money to fund breast exams for women, I give it to an organization that specifically provides that service.

I am very particular about where I donate -- mainly because I want to make sure my donation is going where I intended and supports causes that I believe in.

I stopped donating to Komen a few years back because I researched where my gift was going, and it didn't sit right with me. I found other organizations -- some national, some local -- that supported cancer research as well as the women, men and children who are living with cancer and fighting the good fight. I joyfully made donations to support those charities and good works.

If you really support the right to choose, then allow an organization like Komen to spend its funds in the manner it chooses and in the ways that best match its mission.

I've worked at a nonprofit, and we were constantly assessing where our dollars were spent. We had to make tough choices, and they weren't always popular. But we made our decisions carefully and prayerfully and with the best interest of the community we served at heart.

I can guarantee you that Komen is still fighting for a cure and fighting to save women's lives -- and there are other ways to do that than by making a donation to Planned Parenthood.

Feeling like I have something to prove

Some days I feel like I need to wear badges that tell people that I'm smart, what I've accomplished, what I read/what I study/what I can do.

You know, like I need to wear my resume pinned to my chest like a kindergartener taking a message from school home to her mom.

I think people look at me and say, "She's loud and funny and doesn't take life seriously." Maybe folks think I'm not focused or driven.

And that pisses me off.

Me? Not driven or competent or smart or dedicated?

Here. Let me pin this to my chest.

I graduated cum laude from a small liberal arts college. I earned degrees in English and theatre. In fact, I was the first theatre arts graduate from my alma mater.

I directed two plays -- a one-act and a full-length. I wrote a senior thesis on playwright-author David Mamet.

I've studied Irish literature and playwrights, poets from the 1700s to the present day, classic American lit, contemporary novelists, the psychology of human sexuality, Math in Modern Culture, journalism, libel & slander, acting, music theory, how to coach novice writers. I did not just dabble in these subjects; I studied them, immersed myself in them.

I helped resurrect my college newspaper and served as editor. At a small liberal arts college, that means I wrote articles, edited other writers' work and laid out the paper. And then I drove it 20 miles to the printer.

I've been a theater and writing teacher for a kids' summer program. I've answered phones, made coffee, babysat, helped real estate agents, sold produce, written press releases, acted in commercials. I've been a development director at a low-income Catholic school -- a job that meant asking for money, motivating volunteers, answering phones, bandaging knees, helping in the lunchroom. I've been an obituary writer, a news reporter, a copy editor, a TV editor, a religion columnist and a jack-of-all-trades in a features department. Now I use all of those skills as a home page editor at a daily newspaper.

I've tried out for "Jeopardy!" I've sung the national anthem at sporting events. I take freelance editing jobs on occasion to make extra money.

I know the "trends" in my field. I know the studies on how people read newspapers (both in print and online), and I read a lot (probably too much) on how people use Twitter and Facebook to get their news.

I don't like being wrong. I hate misspellings. I make a mean batch of from-scratch brownies. I'll kick your ass at trivia. And I'll pray for you each Sunday at Mass.

And you know what's funny? I somehow think it matters what people think of me. Seriously, I care. I care a lot.

I am overly sensitive. I am constantly worrying whether people think I'm doing an outstanding job -- as a mom, as a wife, as a worker, as a friend. I feel like I operate on the defensive almost all of the time. I get irrational. I cry after work.

And I take things personally. I do. My boss' missive about Subject X not being done properly? I'm pretty sure he means that about me. Even when I rationally know it's not.

And as I sit here typing this at 2 in the morning, I also accept that it should not matter to me.

Do I want you to know I'm smart and accomplished -- that I wasn't born yesterday, that I have a strong resume and a bunch of random talents? Yes. Does it hurt when I think that people make assumptions about me, my brain, my background? Yes.

But I realize -- at 2 a.m. -- that what really matters is a little red-haired boy sleeping down the hallway. He's my greatest accomplishment. He's the spark, the joy. He's what makes the rough days OK. His needs are way more important than anything else. Is he fed and healthy and thriving? Most definitely.

Plus, he's adorable and funny and kind.

If I can get his snuggles and his words of love, then maybe I need to let go of the other angst, the need for approval from the rest of the world. My resume doesn't matter to a (almost) 3-year-old. I matter: my presence, my love, my devotion, my care.

Ouch, that pin is starting to hurt. I should take this badge off.

Thanks, readers, for letting me work this one out.

Of music, dreams and obituaries

What's on my mind this morning ...

Gone too soon: Listening to Amy Winehouse today and just reveling in the richness of her voice. She died so young. What a loss.

Oooh, Barracuda: Heart didn't make it into the Rock 'n' Roll Hall of Fame this year ... but Guns N Roses did. In fact, several uber-talented acts didn't make it -- Joan Jett & The Blackhearts, Rufus and Chaka Khan, The Cure. Well, they're all still eligible next year. Very bummed, though, that Heart was passed over. The sisters from Seattle are some of the original "grrrrl rockers." (Then again, Nancy Wilson told the San Diego Union-Tribune: "If we actually get inducted, I'll eat my hat.")

Dream a little dream: Last night, I dreamt that I was sent to South Carolina to attend a training conference for work. I got on the plane with just my purse and what I was wearing. There was no suitcase, no change of clothes, nothing. Our first training seminar was getting under way when I realized this. It was also during this seminar that I realized many of the people there were former Olympian colleagues and people I'd had other training conferences with before. But all I could think about was finding a mall where I could buy pajamas and a change of clothes.

And lastly: I hate obituaries for really young people that don't include how they died. Don't start an obit for a 28-year-old woman, "She was taken from us suddenly and tragically" and then not explain. I Googled the woman from today's obituary page and found nothing about her sudden, tragic death. I did learn, though, that she got married in July and that her now-husband was in a terrible skiing accident in 2004, was paralyzed and then sued Snoqualmie and was awarded $14 million.

But the young woman's sudden, tragic death? Can't find it anywhere. Not on my work website, not on the Times' website, not on any of the TV stations' sites.

Maybe I am too snoopy, but I think it's weird to write an obit like that and not explain.

OK, back to my vacation, listening to Amy Winehouse and buying Christmas presents.

Don't stand so close to me

I have space/claustrophobia issues. And tonight at Mass, the young woman sitting next to me pushed my boundaries.

She followed right on my heels into the pew, and then stood right next to me. I turned to her and said quietly and with a smile, "Hey, hold on. Trying to make sure we all have room." She laughed and nodded. And stood there.

Then she kept inching closer and closer throughout Mass, even though there was at least 3 feet of space on the other side of her. At one point, she was sitting closer to me than John was.

I sensed that maybe she had a developmental disability. But that didn't stop the raging panic that washed over me. Sheer anxiety. I don't know what I thought would happen, but I felt like she was sitting on top of me and that there was no air in the church.

I felt trapped in the pew -- there was a couple with their small son on the left of John, the encroacher on my right and another family to her right -- and I couldn't speak because I was afraid I'd yell at her, something like, "Can you move? Can you move like one foot over?!?!"

John couldn't move farther over; he was practically sitting with the family next to him.

I knelt down at one point and buried my head in my hands. I was so panicked and upset.

I keep asking myself what I could've done differently. I tried to stay focused on Mass, but I could sense her sitting so close to me. As I said, I made an attempt to leave at one point, but I didn't want to climb over John or the families on the ends of the pew. It would've made a scene.

And I thought, "Oh, I'll ask her to inch over." But I knew it would come out angry and, perhaps, also cause a scene. I also worried she wouldn't understand.

So I prayed and tried to offer it up. But it was really unsettling.

Anyone else battle these sorts of issues? Any advice?

Really random musings

This "reboot" of "Days of Our Lives" is really, really, really cornball. I laughed so hard last night watching what I'd DVR'd. My husband probably thought I was watching a sitcom. (Of course, I set the DVR to record my beloved "Days" for the rest of the week.)


Good things to start my day: Springsteen’s "Badlands" on the iPod, running into my niece and brother-in-law at Starbucks this morning — and getting a *huge* hug from my niece.


This one is for Noreen. Listening to my iPod this morning I had this moment of, "Holy crap. I met Marin Mazzie. I met Marin-freaking-Mazzie. How did that happen?"

Happy Wednesday!

Keep the customer satisfied: Simon & Garfunkel musings

The Washington Times posted its list of the top 10 Simon & Garfunkel songs (in honor of the 30th anniversary of the duo's concert in Central Park).

Paul and Artie are among my very favorite musicians of all time, and I am so glad I saw them in concert a few years back. There are several singer-songwriters from that era I never got to see or never will see, like Cat Stevens, John Denver and Jim Croce.

I have to give thanks to my sister Ann and my brother Rich who introduced me to Simon & Garfunkel as a wee one. There are certain S&G songs that transport me to childhood moments. Listening to anything from "Bookends" reminds me of sunny afternoons with Ann in her VW Rabbit. When "Cecilia" comes on, I am transported to my family's living room on a Saturday afternoon, singing and dancing with my sisters.

Anyway, my list differs a bit from the Washington Times'. Here's my top 10:

1. Bridge Over Troubled Water

2. America

3. For Emily, Wherever I May Find Her

4. The Boxer

5. Kathy’s Song

6. April Come She Will

7. The Leaves that are Green

8. My Little Town (recorded 1975, post breakup)

9. I Am A Rock

10. Punky’s Dilemma

What's on your list?