A US that Chooses as Its Sweetheart a Billionaire Heiress Notorious for Hardcore Sex is No Place to
Be.
by Emma Forrest
A malevolent conga line of recent events has made me wonder if, after eight years, I am still glad to live in America. Some were
political: of all the terrible imagery to come out of hurricane Katrina, perhaps none was as distressing as the photo of Bush hugging
two African-American victims.
Some were 'cultural': actress Denise Richards explaining how she had to wean her newborn early in order to get her breasts in
shape for the cover of Playboy.
Some were financial: when Citibank started sending overdue notices on a credit card for which I hadn't been approved. In June, they
said I owed $75 and then in July $91. The bills started arriving around the same time my health insurance was canceled. I find
myself crossing Fifth Avenue with exceptional caution, certain I am about to meet my insurance-less demise, distracted by things I
want to buy with the credit card I don't own.
And I'm middle class. No one at government level stopped to consider how people who were too poor to own cars or credit cards
planned to get themselves out of New Orleans.
So it is a curious dichotomy that in this libertarian time of no 'hand-outs', we nominate a billionaire heiress as the nation's
sweetheart. There she is on the cover of this month's Vanity Fair, Miss Paris Hilton, whose ascent from drunken hotel heiress to
drunken multimedia star is not the final nail in the coffin of my American love affair. The nail is the celebratory manner in which the
esteemed publication portrays her.
http://www.commondreams.org/views05/0918-21.htmmore than you want to know, but sadly need to.
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