I didn't get in.
They let in THREE people. Three "huddled masses" type people, I mean. The woman with ticket #4 actually got in because her friend, who had ticket #3, most graciously gave up his spot so she could go upstairs. When I last saw the woman who had ticket #5, she was standing in the lobby of 30 Rock, sobbing.
Meanwhile, Alec Baldwin, Rita Wilson and Steve Martin all went upstairs with entourages, as did Seth Meyers' girlfriend and Andy Samberg's parents. And that's what I'd forgotten: for an iconic performer like Elton John, everybody and anybody was going to pull some strings and make some phone calls. Lots of people from the standby line got in to the dress rehearsal. Only three got in to the live show.
I'm feeling more than a little pissed at the rich and entitled right now. Lots of things have served to reinforce it too. The dude in the subway station who apparently felt that his backpack was more entitled to a seat on the bench than any of the actual humans milling around. Or how about Charlie Sheen and his US tour of arrogance, who, when booed off the stage in Detroit, told the audience "Already got your fucking money, dude!". Though I suppose nothing beats the executives of the company who own the oil rig at the center of the Gulf Coast oil spill giving themselves bonuses for "the best year in safety performance in our company’s history".
Meanwhile, back on planet Earth, holzman has issued a plea for folks to buy items from a friend of his who is facing financial ruin (lady steampunks, take note), and the best news of my day was that I've been deemed eligible for the Emergency Unemployment Compensation extension -- hooray! Four more months of food! Just what I wanted!
Urg. Among the many things that I dislike about New York, the incredibly visible chasm between the Haves and the Have Nots is ranking high on my list these days.