NEW YORK --
even for those who've earned their fame penning clever phrases
for the hungry masses, this item seemed almost too perfect to be real:
Happy champagne socialists gather in Pravda on May Day!
If you weren't in the British town of Sedgefield listening to Prime
Minister-elect Tony Blair expound on the country's "decent values," then the
place to be May 1, Thursday night, was in the dim concrete basement of
Pravda, one of Manhattan's trendier Lower East Side bars. There, the Labor
Party's 100 or so New York exiles drowned nearly two decades of bad memories
with (French!) champagne, ending years when most have slunk around this
little island, rather than their own, having nary a good word to say about
their home.
As Britain's Independent Television News flashed Labor victory after Labor
victory
on the television screens around the bar, the atmosphere
in Pravda became positively tearful.
New Yorker editor Tina Brown parked herself in a corner for most of the
night, telling every journalist who'd listen how "alienated" she'd felt from
Britain all these years, and how at that moment, she was gripped with an
intense feeling of homesickness. Left unsaid, perhaps, was a slight twinge of
unease from the less-than-flattering portrait in her magazine last month of
her new prime minister, written by "Primary Colors" author Joe Klein.
Alongside her was her husband, Random House editor Harold Evans, who acted as
a kind of unofficial celebratory host, making the rounds with a
large Labor-red rosette pinned to his lapel.
"I've lived through many elections and always been very independent," he
said, as if to remind those too young to know that one of the most powerful
U.S. publishers was once one of the most powerful British newspaper editors.
Then, dropping his voice, he confessed that his father, a die-hard Laborite
who'd been a steam-train driver, had been appalled that he'd once voted
Conservative. "Now I feel in touch with my roots more than ever," Evans said.
Others rediscovering their roots included British comedian and television
actor Robbie Coltrane ("Cracker") and Harper's Bazaar editor Elizabeth
Tilberis. Times of
London correspondent James Bone offered a handy tip to the bouncers, anxious
to keep some underage Brits outside in the very-British rain. "Ask them if
they remember the last Labor government," he said. "If the answer's yes,
they're old enough to come in."
So where were the Tory expats this night?
"There aren't any," said Ian Williams, a freelance British journalist in New
York. "At least not that we can find." He should know: Williams said he and
Vanity Fair writer (and regular Salon contributor) Christopher
Hitchens had spent weeks attempting to organize a televised debate
against Conservatives in the United States. They tried National Review
editor John O'Sullivan, Williams said, but when O'Sullivan
canceled, they ran dry. "We couldn't find anyone else."
And what led Lauren Hutton to bounce through the doorway late in the evening,
breaking the little-black-dress code with leggings and a purple blouse? No
one remembered her having a British accent.
Hutton laughed when asked. "Cumbria, you know. Before 1717. Then, we all
wound up in Mississippi, but there are still 27 English hamlets called
Hutton, so I feel connected. Maybe all the bullshit there will end, and
things will be better." Then, mulling over her British roots, Hutton blew
smoke in my face and added: "I also had two British lovers for a long time
who I'll love forever ... although they took quite some training."
By the time Tony Blair appeared on screen to declare victory, the air had
totally fogged with cigarette smoke, and two bleary-eyed men slumped against
a door post, one in a red bow tie, toasting the moment with half-empty glasses
of beer.
Shooting a glance at them, Williams said: "I have a dreadful suspicion I'm
going to turn out to be a champagne socialist."
exit, pursued by cops
With "The World's Scariest Police Chases," parts I and II, the Fox Network has transformed high-speed lunacy into an extreme spectator sport -- and picked up some 100 mph ratings.
BY G. BEATO
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