American Democracy

The other day, a friend illicitly procured me a VIP ticket for a Joss Stone concert. I hope no serious money or other goods were involved, because it's not as if I'm really a fan; but when someone's truly convinced of their own generosity, it's so difficult to refuse.

Joss Stone was playing on the Today Show. I felt immediately returned to the safe world of British culture, until somebody told me that Today was America's most-watched breakfast TV show, and then one of the presenters emerged to intense whooping, looking tanned and much unlike John Humphreys. We VIPs were herded like thoroughbred cattle into a small pen by the side of the stage. Seperated from us by an iron fence were the unwashed celeb-watchers, who shot looks of icy hate at us, that almost smashed their ersatz Gucci sunglasses. It was 7.30am.

I couldn't spot much difference between the VIPs and the Lumpen, except for the former had fewer placards, and proudly-displayed passes around their necks. From my study, both groups looked similarly malnourished. The placards bore messages: some stated the origin of the wavers with pride, and some made jovial advances towards Joss Stone. Just before the band emerged, the iron fence seperating the two groups was briefly lifted, and the placard-bearers pushed at our backs. Those in the proletariat section could have made their way right to the front, if they had elbowed and gouged enough. It was like a symbol for American democracy. A man with great silver whiskers and a shirt unbouttoned to reveal chest hair that was surely an assortment of velcro patches he had purchased from a utility store, and a huge piece of jewellry that looked as if it it had cost inverse money, turned to me knowledgably, as one VIP to another, and said:

"Andy Warhol, the artist, once said something about people having their fifteen minutes of fame - that's precisly what's going on here."