It Just Isn't Fair

Wandering along now, seeking more. Josh Brolin, check. Javier Bardem, check. There is a traffic jam over at the Coen table, which is piled with golden idols, like some kind of altar to Sid Mammon, one of the agents over at Endeavor.

Plenty of room at the bars. No crush. No line. Which isn't really a good thing, is it? At a good party, you gotta fight for a drink. Here comes DDL express delivery. "Watch out for the Daniel Day-Lewis train!" someone calls out. They're all holding hands. He is a very angular man. Abe Lincolny, but with earrings. And as he goes by, people pet his arm.

All this is happening in the center of the room while along the walls there is a tremendous munching sound. The platters of spuds are being replaced with rare slabs of Wagyu beef to the many Tables of the Ancients. We've found the Country for Old Men. Who are you? Producers and players from Oscars past, in their pastures, grazing contentedly. We're thinking if you shouted "G-49!" one of them might say "Bingo!"

Way in the back we find, naturally, the writers, hunkering down over their chocolates like naughty schoolboys. And we're not kidding about the boy part. In their tuxedos, the entire writing staff of "The Daily Show" looks like a gay men's chorus. Anyway, we buttonhole decades-long veteran Oscar joke-writer Bruce Vilanch, who says he thinks the night went well. Vilanch thinks Stewart made history by inviting Mark¿ta Irglov¿ back to the podium after the orchestra blocked her acceptance speech for her song "Falling Slowly." "That was a first," Vilanch says. His other impressions? "I kept thinking, when are some Americans going to win?"

Amy Adams has fantastic shoulders and little teeth.

We go outside to find the restrooms and along the way there's a sign that reads "SMOKING." We peek in. There is the coward Casey Affleck and the preacher boy Paul Dano and Viggo Mortensen, who is wrapped in a flag that reads, we think, "Una Passion." Viggo is still talking up his director, David Cronenberg. Is "Eastern Promises" your favorite film? "I think it is a great, great film, and David Cronenberg -- I love him. I think he's a genius." It is 10:28 p.m. In years past, we would be idling in the valet line to get into the Vanity Fair party, but at GoBa? They. Are. Serving. Coffee. Swear to God.

At 11:02 we're following the dead-enders out the door when we spy John Travolta. We have been looking for the Vulcan all night. The hair. We can now confirm: It is like a velvet helmet, like hair, but better, smoother, more protective.

* * *

Another scene, the Elton John party, held in Taj Mahal-size tents outside Pacific Design Center off Melrose. Ever the pessimists, we gird ourselves for letdown.

It's the 16th year Sir Elton has done this, and good on him. People donate thousands of dollars to the Elton John AIDS Foundation (a record $5.1 million was raised this year, organizers said) and for that they get seats at the dinner and they watch the Oscar telecast. Later, the guest list expands and there's a concert featuring Elton on piano and assorted guests on everything else. There's always an auction -- Sharon Stone this year donated her black '74 Corvette -- way to make room in the garage! Ashton Kutcher and Demi Moore have custom-designed pairs of sparkly Chopard sunglasses. Yours, for a song!

A publicist leads us past the scrum of photographers, who stare at us with what Eric Carmen called "Hungry Eyes." We brace for the worst, only to get in and find . . . fun! Strong drinks! Patty Hearst!

She's sitting with her BFF, John Waters. We are immediately moved to tell Patty and John about a funny coincidence: In college, we did term papers on each of you. We did one on Patty for our "Women in American History" class, and one on John for a mass media class.