Desperately Seeking Buzz
The definition of hell, a CEO once told me, is four, two-hour meetings a day. And the six folks gathered around a conference table in the Los Angeles high rise where I'm sitting are living it: One is snoring audibly; another is harvesting unspeakables from his ears, eyes, and nose; another falls dead asleep, his forehead bouncing on the table. The door opens, mouths gape. In struts transvestite diva RuPaul--seven feet tall in a teased big-hair blonde wig and a pythonesque green and blue dress. "This meeting is a real draaaaaag," he snarls with a sassy flick of his neck.
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