By now everyone is talking about the Golden Globes, and who wore what and who made an ass of himself and who popped out of her dress and what it all means for the Oscars: Will it be Helen and Forest, Eddie and Jennifer again next month? And so on.

But the pressing questions I'm left with are more rarefied, at least when measured on a Hollywood scale. What was with the blue jigsaw puzzle piece every other celeb was sporting? A bit of online sleuthing during the seemingly endless commercial breaks told me that puzzle pieces are a symbol of support for autism awareness, but I haven't been able to find any particular word about this being the new charity du jour among the fabulous folk. But hey, why not? After all, Hollywood's prior support for, say, breast cancer -- primarily indicated by the wearing of pink ribbons -- has resulted in the complete eradication of the disease, so with one major problem solved, it was time to move on to something else. Perhaps one way to raise some money for this new Important Cause would be for all the famous owners of pink ribbons to auction them off, with the proceeds going to autism research.

But what really bugged me was the reappearance of that other new fad: cutting winners' speeches off with obnoxious swells of orchestral music. Is this not supposed to be a celebration of the impressively creative people who entertain us all year? Isn't this night supposed to be about them? Why not let them talk for more than 30 seconds? And surely, the less famous a winner is, the fewer opportunities a winner has to take the spotlight for a few moments, the more generous we should be with them, no? When some poor schlub of a screenwriter or a composer or a costume designer wins a statue and has this one chance to stand alongside the superstar actors and directors who will not be shutting up about their wins for weeks, and will be granted the soapboxes of chat-show appearances and gossip-column quotes to thank their mothers and God, surely, this is the moment to let those schlubs have more than mere milliseconds as the center of attention.

Plus, as Tom Hanks so ably reminded us in his introduction to Warren Beatty and Beatty's win of the Cecil B. DeMille thingie, the alcohol is flowing at the Globes. This is our chance to hear everyone tell us what they really think about their fellow celebs. So let's encourage the producers of the Globes next year -- and those of the Oscars next month -- to have the balls to let the winners speak for a full minute. And by balls, of course, I mean producerly fortitude and professional grace.

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