For a long time I’ve been wondering how the romantic myth of book publishing has persisted, especially with the “death of publishing” chant persistently penetrating the ever-darkening atmosphere surrounding “old-fashioned” and “traditional” books. This isn’t advertising, with exec Don Draper popping up on AMC every week. Or magazine publishing, with the scary yet mesmerizing Meryl Streep commanding the entire fashion world from her editor-in-chief high horse. Or, best yet, CSI or the NYPD or LAPD or whatever crime department is currently a la mode on cable.  This is book publishing!  Not only is it not glamorous, but we’re all nerds! (Come on, admit it–even under our super cute and professional NYC exterior.)  So why does the entire world think that we still have 2-martini lunches and throw lavish book parties overflowing with champagne and caviar?

Last night, it became clear to me.

I watched “The Proposal.”

(Yes, that movie.  It was streaming on Netflix.)

And THIS explains it:

Damn you Sandra Bullock!

Enough said.