Who would hold an awards ceremony in the middle of July? ESPN did on Wednesday night, for its annual ESPY Awards, which blocked off many streets in the heart of Hollywood and snarled my eastbound commute home from work. Clocking in twice as long, with as many detours, my drive allowed me only an hour to chill in my little pad before I had to hop back into my car and battle traffic going in the other direction to cover a party. I usually make it a rule to arrive at a work event where there is an open bar within an hour after its scheduled start. None of the important folks will arrive any earlier. But this time my rule worked against me. Pulling up to the hotel's valet just before 8:30 p.m., I saw the hotel employee cut his throat with his hand. That's the universal valet signal that the lot was full. I checked out two other parking lots on the Sunset Strip. They were also full. Exasperated, I didn't bother to check another garage. Instead, I hightailed it home, where I indulged in some English toffee ice cream and the latest copy of W magazine showcasing the unbelievably ripped abs of Becks, a.k.a. David Beckham. Yes, his wife Posh, a.k.a. Victoria, also pouted on the cover with the soccer stud. But I strategically placed my ice cream bowl on top of her face. Who wouldn't want a bikini body with an ice cream head?
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