Hillary yawner
never gets to the good part
Chicago Sun Times
BY MARK STEYN SUN-TIMES
COLUMNIST
June 15, 2003
Who is Hillary Rodham Clinton? We all know her husband. He's a
hard guy to be non-intimate with. Early in his presidency, he was
asked on TV what kind of underwear he wore and chatted away
merrily about how he mostly preferred boxers but occasionally
wore briefs.
Pandora's boxer shorts, once opened, are not easily buttoned
up again. He remains the only president to have his, ah,
distinguishing characteristics officially examined by a U.S.
Naval surgeon when they became a matter of legal dispute. And not
long after that his, er, DNA wound up getting analyzed by the FBI
crime lab.
Now go back to that early, almost coy revelation: boxers or
briefs. Imagine asking Hillary what kind of bra she wears,
underwired or not. You can't do it. In inverse proportion to her
pants-dropping husband, Sen. Clinton has become ever more swathed
in protective clothing, ever more veiled. For years we've
wondered: What's she really like? What's going on deep inside,
under that inscrutable exterior? Now in this searingly intimate
memoir, the most intriguing woman of our time finally tells all.
You'll marvel at her painful candor as she reveals:
*France's Bernadette Chirac is ''an elegant, cultured
woman''!
*Nicaragua's Violeta Chamorro is ''an elegant, striking
woman''!!
*Pakistan's Benazir Bhutto is ''a brilliant and striking
woman''!!!
*Canada's Aline Chretien is ''intelligent, sharply observant
and elegant''!!!!
. . . but Russia's Naina Yeltsin is merely ''personable and
articulate about children and their health care needs.''
Hmm. As for Gennifer Flowers, Paula Jones and Monica Lewinsky,
they aren't in the least bit elegant, cultured, striking,
elegant, brilliant, elegant, striking, elegant, sharply observant
and elegant, so Sen. Clinton has less to say about them. And
Kathleen Willey and Juanita Broaddrick and all the rest aren't
even personable and articulate about health care needs, so they
don't get mentioned at all.
Presumably if you looked hard enough you could find someone
somewhere on the planet who's been scouring the bookstores in
search of 500 pages of woozy platitudes on foreign dignitaries
he's barely heard of. But that demographic would hardly cover the
8 million bucks Simon & Schuster shelled out to Mrs C. Hey,
it wouldn't even cover the cost of that five-word description of
the prime minister of Canada's wife, for which, by my
calculations, her publishers paid Hillary $200.
But S&S are betting that there's a larger market out
there, and that torpor is Sleeping History's unique selling
point. Hillary's constituency doesn't want soul-baring--that's
playing on Ken Starr terms. They want dullness--the dullness that
reassures them that Hillary, once you dig her out from the cigars
and Gap dresses of posterity, is still the serious thinker and
feminist icon they told us she was in 1992.
''The woman is stronger than Queen Elizabeth I of England, a
greater strategist than Catherine the Great of Russia, braver
than Boadicea or the Amazons of old,'' wrote Erica Jong--just
this week!
I am woman, hear me . . . recite long lists of overseas
receptions I attended. As it happens, there's as little in her
book about the specifics of Hillary's health care plan as there
is about the specifics of Bill's pick-up technique, but no one
will ever know because no one who isn't being paid to will get
that far.
Hillary's fans will buy the book, open Chapter One, and read,
''I wasn't born a first lady or a senator. I wasn't born a
Democrat. I wasn't born a lawyer or an advocate for women's
rights and human rights. I wasn't born a wife or mother . . . ''
and think, well, that's just like the early bits of the Old
Testament, all the begetting, or in this case all the things she
wasn't begot as, so I'll just skip ahead to Chapter Two, and I'll
bet it's really crackling along by now.
And Chapter Two begins: ''What you don't learn from your
mother, you learn from the world' is a saying I once heard from
the Masai tribe in Kenya.''
And you think, well, isn't that just wonderfully diverse, and
she heard it from an actual tribe in Kenya! Any tribesman in
particular? Or did they all yell it out in unison as her
motorcade passed by? Either way, it's the sort of soothing
multicultural sentiment that separates an enlightened progressive
from rabid knuckle-dragging redneck Clinton-haters, and that's
all you need to know. So you put the book up on the shelf and
never open it ever again.
The main victim of this approach is Bill Clinton. From the
moment they met, she knew he ''had a vitality that seemed to
shoot out of his pores,'' but none shoots out in Hill's leaden
prose. I'll bet he had a better time reading Monica's Story,
which captures Bill's oozing pores better than his wife's book
does. Monica's version at least captures the boy president at his
most endearingly adolescent, as his girlfriend's continuing
contacts with her previous adulterer drive the president of the
United States into paroxysms of jealousy: ''He's such a jerk!''
rages the leader of the free world over his rival, high school
drama teacher Andy Bleiler. In Hillary's version, you feel only
the absence of Bill's much vaunted ''passion.''
Monica's Bill is the Lounge-Act-In-Chief: ''He undressed me
with his eyes.'' Hillary's Bill is a clunky wonk: ''While I was
challenging discrimination practices, Bill was in Miami working
to ensure McGovern's nomination.'' Monica says, ''The irony is
that I had the first orgasm of the relationship.'' In Hillary's
book, there are no orgasms, ironic or otherwise.
As for the two-paragraph ''controversy'' of this 500-page
yawn, who cares? Either Hill is Bill's co-conspirator, and, in
the furtherance of their own ambitions, they used the Democratic
Party the way Bill uses women. Or there's this book's version, in
which she's the last person of the planet still willing to
believe Bill's version of events--not exactly Catherine the Great
or Elizabeth I, but a gullible shill who by rights should have
just put herself out of the running for president.
But time and again the Clintons have survived setbacks that
would have clobbered lesser politicians. And if using gregarious
Bill as the advance man for chilly Hilly's own ambitions wasn't
the original plan, it is now.
Whatever she says, I can see her running, and, in certain
circumstances, I can see her narrowly winning. Another Clinton
presidency, and a disaster for the country. History repeats
itself, but in defiance of the usual order: first the
trouser-dropping farce, then tragedy.
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