Present Imperfect

He's Not Sorry | May 27, 2004

Today, I shall tell the story of How I Was Humiliated for Television.

I wasn't going to, because I think mentioning Morrissey on my home page (That song really was playing on the radio when I wrote it. Honest.) and then in two blog posts in a row might give one the idea that I am a crazy Morrissey stalker, and puleeeze...I haven't been one of those for a good, oh, 13 years now.

Anyhoo...On Tuesday, Jennifer and I drove to CBS in Studio City to be in the audience of Pepsi Smash! (I'm not sure if there is an exclamation mark in the title of this show, but there should be, really.), the latest attempt by the WB to cash in on those crazy kids and their love for the "rock-and-roll" musics.

We went because I discovered, purely by chance, that Morrissey was supposed to play a coupla songs there, and that a mere 700 people would get in. I thought this would give us a good chance to be spat upon by Morrissey, and I owed this to my 15-year-old self. She did save my life in Calcutta that one time, after all.

Although we did have free tickets in hand, we were a bit worried that the show staff would not let us in because, according to the Pepsi Smash! Web site, "YOU MUST BE AT LEAST 16 YRS OLD AND APPEAR TO BE NO OLDER THEN 25 YRS OLD." It occurred to us that merely dressing in every piece of clothing we had ever purchased from Urban Outfitters still wouldn't cut it and that the security guards would just look at our IDs and and turn us away, in a strange reversal of the traditional bar bounce. We were also concerned that, since "tickets are issued in excess of capacity," we would be turned away if we didn't get there very, very early.

Instead, we got in with no problem (other than having to remove my studded leather belt [stop laughing] to go through the metal detector), were issued black wristbands and were told to stand in the section marked with a black sign. We were there so early that we got to witness the parade of color-coded kids and spent a great deal of time trying to decipher what each wristband might indicate about the person wearing it.

Naturally, I assumed that black wristbands meant "put me as far away from a camera as possible because I am old." I was only partly right: The black wristband section could have been a casting call for Freaks and Geeks: The Next Generation. As more people began to file in, it became clear that the guestlist divas had issued black wristbands to The Overweight, The Tragically Acne Afflicted, The Over-Enthusiastic Yearbook Staffers (ah, memories...), The Bizarre Even By Southern California High School Standards and Cool Kids In Vintage Clothes We Can't Sell on TV. At first, I was saddened. But after about an hour and a half, I began to think I wouldn't want it any other way. 15-year-old me certainly belonged in the black wristband section, and I was doing it all for her. In fact, 30-year-old me belonged in the black wristband section, if only because there was no gray wristband section for Women Who Suffer Lower-Back Pain When They Stand for Too Long.

Some of the other sections were a little hard to peg, but it looked as though yellow wristbands were for Scantily Clad Girls, purple wristbands were for Hot Asian Girls and dark blue wristbands were for Girls Who Could Be in Diesel Ads.

To make an already very long story short[er], we waited outside the studio for three hours, until the production staff started escorting people in by their sections. The black wristband section was last, which concerned me, as I was sure someone would just announce that the studio was full and all the black wristbanded people would have to take their sorry, freaky asses home. But no! Not only did we get in, we were escorted to the floor, right next to the stage. My teenage dreams of Morrissey spittle were about to come true.

Or so I thought.

When the overly tanned emcee came on to "hype us up!" and encourage a lot of "high energy!", he also made a point of telling us what artists would be performing that night...and the list (which we all knew already) did NOT include Morrissey (which we most certainly did NOT know already).

I was told much, much later that evening by the guy who walked us to the parking lot that they had posted signs about Morrissey's same-day cancellation, but I told him that amongst the myriad of public "high energy!" announcements made both outside and inside the studio, one of them could have been "oh, P.S., Morrissey is a no-show." It was pretty clear (at least in the black wristband section) that there were plenty of people there to see Morrissey who did not get the news, either. How about the girl in the "Viva Moz" jacket? Or the girl who held up a little "MORRISSEY!" sign when the cameras started rolling? Did they think that was just a funnily spelled tribute to Alanis Morissette (who also played that evening, and to whom I gave a lot of fake props because Camera 6 was on me the whole time and I have to give my fans my very best performance. "Remember Jennifer and Bronwyn from Season Two of Pepsi Smash!? They were awesome! Why don't they bring them back?!")

Phantom Planet was also there, and since I remember them from before they could buy beer, it wasn't a total loss. I wish I could have incited the Moz crowd to start chanting and breaking things, but we're a peaceful lot overall. Instead, I sold out and smiled and cheered and tried to look as under 25 as I possibly could.

See for yourself: You can watch the whole sordid affair on the WB, June 10th at 8 p.m. (7 Central!)