What fun to have virtual breakfast after a few real-time lunches in Cambridge. (You always say you’re happy to have an out of building experience and leave the Globe office in Boston, but I think it’s the allure of the International Newsstand in Harvard Square that gets you here.) Anyway, only for Slate would I arise this early … so good morning!
Since our mission (and we’ve chosen to accept it) is to be news-addicted (addled?) online, we might as well get The Issue out of the way first. Unless and until our President admits he’s a sex addict and about to become a 12-stepper, I’m afraid we’re stuck with all the news we’re stuck with. Now he “regrets” the tone of his apology, no doubt prodded by some polls. The whole thing is becoming pathetic and I am fatigued (though not uninterested) in the daily commentary on our lame-dick President. I don’t know if vindication is the right word, but I knew from the get-go, spelled N-e-w H-a-m-p-s-h-i-r-e, that his, uh, habits would be his downfall. I am amazed at the number of people who thought he would change his ways while residing at 1600. Like his libido was gonna take a rest when he became the world’s most powerful man? Alas, it was reported, forgive me, in the Boston Herald that the President (the President!) was literally sleeping with Buddy in an outbuilding at the Vin. And right now they’re debating in all the media about the President’s possible mulligan, I mean second apology-speech. I really think the guy’s only hope is to say, “Hi, I’m Bill…”
But there is other news–though to quote my favorite aunt, none of it good. Here are some short takes, to go with my attention span: The Yeltsin Watch of course continues. Leaders are seeming more like accidents, aren’t they? As that funny guy, Bob Hirschfeld, wrote on his website, Yeltsin’s hopes are now on Powerball. Of course you’ve noticed that Diana’s dying again, I suppose for the benefit of those who missed it the first time. I, however, am skipping tonight’s NBC show marking the Princess’s first year not among us. I will wait, instead, for their tribute to one year without Mother Teresa, which I am sure is in production, as we speak. I know I’ll be hearing from you the minute you park your car after trekking back on I-93. The cybervine has it that you spent the weekend on a New Hampshire lake … you dog, you. In the meantime, I will polish off Sunday’s papers and dig deeper into Monday’s.