
Even the lesser rich get their perks: The Ritz-Carlton in Georgetown is giving all of its guests Democrat-blue iPod Shuffles with Obama's favorite songs. (If guests can't figure out how to operate the device, they can call the hotel's "iPod butler" for assistance.)
While hundreds of thousands of Americans spent hours in the cold to enjoy the "We Are One" inaugural concert Sunday at the Lincoln Memorial, a clutch of Obama's top donors could watch from a heated tent near the performers, courtesy of the president-elect's Inaugural Committee.
Visitors who hadn't raised hundreds of thousands of dollars couldn't get closer to the performance. "Excuse me! You got tickets? If you don't have tickets, you have to go to 'General Population,'" shouted a guard at an entrance near the memorial, gesturing with her arms to turn around and head back away from the show.
The concert was supposed to be part of "the people's party," said Shawn Paterniti, who had come with his wife Mia from Columbia, Md., to see the show. "But still, you have the VIPs who want their front-row seats. So I guess they get their tickets no one knows about," he said, as he and his wife headed to join the "general population," far away from the performances.
"It seems odd to have a VIP section for a concert about unity," quipped the local blog DCist.com. The blogger, Kriston Capps, suggested a new name for the event: "We Are One, but Some Are More One Than Others."
On Tuesday, millions are expected to brave the weather on the National Mall to be a part of Obama's inaugural parade and swearing-in. Meanwhile, businesses and law firms with offices along the parade route are inviting moneyed clients and lawmakers to view the parade from warmth and catered comfort. And of course the inaugural committee handed out fistfuls of tickets to both events to its high-rolling financial backers. It also gave out 10 tickets to other Americans through an essay-writing contest.
The real inaugural partying happens in the evenings, in lush ballrooms and well-appointed homes. Corporations, unions and interest groups plow tens of thousands of dollars into lavish inaugural balls and parties, while the city's power brokers throw invitation-only soirees in private homes.