Politics, open government, and safe streets. And the constant incursion of cycling.

Month: September 1998

The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth . . .

Yesterday, I wasn’t too happy with Clinton’s prospects. Relying mostly on summaries and reports, I thought it looked like a lose-lose situation for Clinton. I took the perjury charge rather seriously. Appropriate subject matter or not- you don’t lie under oath.

But now I’m watching the video of the August Clinton deposition. If the House starts an impeachment inquiry over this, I’ll have wished that gunman got a little farther. It’s pretty clear that Clinton is acknowledging a very inappropriate relationship with Lewinsky. He words it to stop just short of sexual intercourse. That much is clear.

So why people insist on crucify him for using “legal” language in fending off closer attacks is beyond me. This man is still threatened with criminal legal action. If you’re ever in court, “legalistic” terms are going to be pretty damn important to you. “Legalistic” terms are why people can get out of “read my lips- no new taxes” and the like. This city, and most of American business, *thrives* on this language.

And now we’ve come to this. Wrecked the already precarious “balance” of the grand jury process. Overturned a century of presumptions about the conduct of those surrounding the President. Undermined the security of the office. And turned impeachment into just another (albeit bigger than usual) stick in the political weapons closet.

So, like everyone else, here’s my take on the matter. Clinton should come on television tonight. Make it clear that he is sincerely and honestly apologizing to the nation for allowing them to be mislead. And make it clear this is the last time he’s going to apologize. Then he should point out that even more important, he has his wife and daughter to contend with for the rest of his life. And then he should look straight into the camera and tell Ken Starr to fuck off.

And then he should get back to the business of being the President.

Starr Report

I’m so disgusted. Like everyone else, I read (most of) this Starr Report today. Umm, let’s see, it has now been shown that Clinton was mackin’ in the Oval Office, that he has incredibly poor judgement with respect to women, and that he isn’t as smooth as he/everyone thinks he is. For this, no doubt, he deserves to be beaten soundly with a wet noodle.

But maybe that’d end up in the report, too.

Do we *really* want to tear our country apart for this? Do we?! Yes, it’s reprehensible. Yes, it’s something to look on the man with disgust about. But did it surprise anyone? Certainly not. So when folks (especially former supporters) are throwing out terms like resign and impeachment right and left, pointing towards Clinton’s lack of moral
character and wrongdoing, I’m even more disgusted with them than him.

Why? Well, it all seemed okay when it wasn’t up there in the limelight. Don’t ask, don’t tell. It’s like rats from a sinking ship.

Oh shit, I don’t know _what_ I think. I’m just as disgusted with myself. Why? I don’t *care* that he might have lied under oath- I still want him to remain as President. How fucked up is that? Somehow, in my head, I’d much
rather see him remain in office, albeit weakened (tho’ that’s debateable), than wreck foundations of our government even more than they already have been.

And don’t give me that “but is this the kind of example we want to set for our kids?” shit. If that reasoning actually amounted to jack, Dan Burton wouldn’t be in office, 95% of the televangelists would be flipping burgers, and Clinton never would have been elected.

But Starr . . . . . that little bastard. Spend 4 fucking years, three jillion dollars, and all he can give us is a Harlequin romance novel!?! Give *me* 40 million and I promise you a better story than this.

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Lifted straight from the pages of Infinite Jest (yeah, I’m a couple years late to the party but you should *really* read this book):

But there’s this way he drums his fingers on the table. Not even like really drumming. More like in-way between drumming and like this scratching, picking, the way you see somebody picking at dead skin. And without any kind of rhythm, see, constant and never-stopping but with no kind of rhythm you could grab onto and follow and stand. Totally like whacked, insane. Like the sounds you can imagine a girl hears in her head right before she kills her whole family because somebody took the last bit of peanut butter or something. You know what I’m saying? The sound of a fucking mind coming apart. You know what I’m saying? So yeah, yes, OK, I sort of poked him with my fork. Sort of. I could see how maybe somebody could have thought I sort of stabbed him. I offered to get the fork out, though. Let’s just say I’m ready to make amends at like anytime. For my part in it. I’m owning my part in it is what I’m saying. Can I ask am I
going to get Restricted for this? Cause I have this Overnight tomorrow that Gene he approved already in the Overnight Log. If you want to look. But I’m not trying to get out of owning my part of the, like, occurrence. If my Higher Power who I choose to call God works through you saying I’ve got some kind of punishment due, I won’t try to get out of a punishment. If I’ve got
one due, I just wanted to ask. Did I mention that I’m grateful to be here?

I might have copied this from the author’s pages, but I swear he listened in on conversations I’ve heard.

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