Neil Gaiman beschreibt seinen Besuch bei einer kleinen Filmpreisverleihung: A nobody’s guide to the Oscars.

“I head for the first mezzanine bar. I’m hungry and want to kill some time. I drink whiskey. I order a chocolate brownie that turns out to be about as big as my head and the sweetest thing I’ve ever put in my mouth. I share it.

People are wandering up and down the stairs.

Whiskey and sugar careening through my system, I defy the orders on my ticket not to photograph anything, and I tweet a picture of the bar menu. My fiancee is sending me messages on Twitter urging me to photograph the inside of the women’s toilet, something she did during the Golden Globes, but even in my sugar-addled state, that seems a potentially disastrous idea. Still, I think, I should head downstairs and, in the next commercial break, say hello to Henry Selick. I walk over to the stairs. A nice young man in a suit asks me for my ticket. I show it to him. He explains that, as a resident of the first mezzanine, I am not permitted to walk downstairs and potentially bother the A-list.

I am outraged.

I am not actually outraged, but I am a bit bored, and I have friends downstairs.

I decide that I will persuade the inhabitants of the mezzanines to rise up as one and to storm the stairs, like in Titanic. They might shoot a few of us, I decide, but they cannot stop us all. We can be free; we can drink in the downstairs bar; we can mingle with Harvey Weinstein.

Someone tells me on Twitter that nobody’s checking the elevators. I suspect that might be a trap, and head back to my seat.”

(via Jens Scholz)