Expletive-laden Golden Globes screed

A squad of trained chimps could run the Golden Globes more competently than, of course, the Hollywood Foreign Press Association, and probably with less scat thrown. When it comes to making life utterly miserable for those covering the event, no detail has been overlooked.

One had to arrive in the morning to pick up the press credentials, stranding you in formal wear in a gridlocked Beverly Hills for five or more hours before the show would begin. While I was picking up my credential - true story, a group of three guys with indeterminate accents were complaining that they couldn't get their credentials. When they were asked where they were from, they said, "Channel 5." They didn't have any camera equipment, but they each sported backpacks. When they were asked whether they had come last week to get photographed for the credentials, they said they didn't know that they had to.

Perhaps I watched too much "24" last week, but that assemblage of facts -- how could anyone from a legitimate media outlet not know they had to come to be photographed? -- and their general surly nature suggested only one thing: Terrorists. Of course, a publicist swept them into the hotel.

Later, the short (in terms of distance) shuttle ride from the Beverly Hilton -- still somehow standing, unbuffeted by a terrorist blast -- took 40 minutes. Forty unblessed-by-God minutes. Apparently, no one had explained to the shuttle driver that he was allowed access on the streets that were closed leading to the hotel, so he sat -- and his passengers sat -- in traffic as what should have been a five-minute drive stretched into a nightmare on deadline.

Once it became clear that he wasn't going to be able to turn left from Wilshire into the hotel, it was full-scale mutiny, with all the passengers demanding he just pull over and let us out of the van. "Let's re-enact 'United 93!'" I called out. Ultimately, our aggregate wrath intimidated him and he complied with our demands, whereupon a battery of cops started hassling the guy for blocking traffic.

And, finally, I have received improper credentials. I'm stuck in a tiny, cramped room elbow-to-elbow with other sweating, tuxedo'd men. I'm not in the backstage area where the winners will show up and burble happily about how their lives have been changed. My credential is so impotent I couldn't even get into the room where the headsets offering the broadcast feed are available. Which means, essentially, I'm wasting my time, even moreso than I do during TV press tour.

*UPDATE* Another reporter just shared his most recent indignity at the hands of Globes security: He told a security officer he needed to go to the Versailles Room. He was told, "There is no Versailles Room." The man was standing 10 feet from the Versailles Room. "What a chickensh!t operation," he opined. When it was announced that copier problems may delay the transcripts of acceptance speeches and backstage press conferences, the reporter asked, "Has this entire operation been outsourced?"

*UPDATE 2* The headsets that're supposed to deliver both feeds from both the show and the interview room? Only doing half their job. The broadcast, loud and clear. Interview room, not so much.