It's the Friday before the Oscars, which means the Beverly Hills Hotel ballroom is stuffed full o' publicists and a scattering of celebs and journalists. It's the epicenter of the entertainment universe, albeit briefly. Yes, kids, it's the annual self-adoration snoozer known as the Publicists Guild luncheon. I'm not saying the boredom teetered on painful, but the Marquis de Sade would have been ecstatic.
I'm kidding. This year's event - with its usual female-to-male ratio equaling that of a dental hygienist ...