What a perfect way to express the contempt in which the Senate is held by the Executive! What institutional putrefaction! A Senate seat can now be doled out to a favorite with the same ease as a Third World ambassadorship! What’s worse: a senate seat in the northeast — that region whose senators constituted our House of Lords. It is the South’s revenge on the North.
Thanks, Mr. Anderson! When I saw the subject line of your message (“Hillary as Diocletian’s Horse”), I nearly fell out of my chair laughing. Let the imperial games begin!
I certainly had a chuckle at the screaming headline of the March 28 tabloid Globe: “Hillary’s List of Gay Lovers — What her rivals are threatening to expose.” Inside, amidst much heavy breathing, were butch photos of Secretary of Health and Human Services Donna Shalala and New York lawyer Susan Thomases but little else aside from an improbable tale of a female model’s in-and-out “tryst” with the first lady in a “posh L.A. home.”
As I told the New York Post two years ago when these old rumors surfaced (thanks to smarmy former White House advisor Dick Morris), my gut instinct as a lesbian is that Hillary may well have experimented a bit in college, but everything about her since then screams Refrigerator Woman, cut off at the neck except when her faithless husband plays Huck Finn penitent and turns up the heat in the sugar shack.
Like McCain with the melting, simpering, tittering reporters, Hillary does know how to work and pump the homoerotic game to bind breathless, dazzled flunkies to her breast in the political pecking order. It’s an opportunistic art as old as the buzzing court of Darius. Jennifer Wise reports an interesting epiphany about “Our Lady Hillary”:
My friends and I may have stumbled across a clue to her personality on New Year’s Day, while watching her and President Clinton offer televised New Year’s wishes to the nation. We noticed with horror that Hillary wasn’t blinking. At all.
The room erupted with cries of, “BLINK, DAMMIT, BLINK!!!” “SHE’S NOT HUMAN!!!” We’ve all voted Democratic all our lives, and not one of us would want that woman even considering a run for office in our home states, especially as she could quite possibly be an android.
Yes — an android programmed with bureaucratic clichis of exquisite banality, falling like interstellar cinders on the hapless voters of New York.
One of the worst cases of campus censorship in years may have occurred last week at Georgetown University. I am grateful to the Independent Women’s Forum for alerting me immediately on the day that Robert Swope, a 21-year-old senior and government major from California, was summarily fired from his position as a columnist on the Hoya, the university newspaper.
The immediate cause was Swope’s attack on Eve Ensler’s femi-nazi extravaganza, “The Vagina Monologues,” which had just been performed on the Georgetown campus. The Hoya’s editors refused to print the column while it was still timely and gave a series of feeble excuses about why publication had to be deferred.
Swope, whom I contacted, allowed me to examine the record of his exchanges with the editors, including their contradictory and shifting responses leading to his dismissal. I conclude that the newspaper, probably reacting to multiple outside pressures, caved in to the forces of political correctness and violated Swope’s academic freedom.
While I haven’t reviewed all his prior columns, I did find Swope’s Feb. 11 critique of women’s studies on href="http://www.thehoya.com/viewpoint/021100/view3.htm">the Hoya Web site. “Women’s studies is a disaster,” he declared, calling it an “intellectually bankrupt academic fraud” that has been propped up by “cowardly”and “weak-willed” campus administrators. (Sounds right to me!) Asserting that women’s studies creates “an industry of professional victims,” Swope daringly called on alumni to protest by withholding donations from the university.
On Feb. 15, the Hoya published a lengthy rebuttal from a female associate dean, who accused Swope of purveying “misinformation” and complained that “20 inches of Hoya space” had been wasted on his views. Nothing could be clearer: The Hoya should grant ample space only to voices conforming to orthodox feminism.
Evidently, there have been voluminous other attacks on Swope, who was denounced last fall by the faculty advisor of the Women’s Center for his column questioning the political rationale of such centers on college campuses. That column, in her words, did not “represent a legitimate contribution to campus debate.” Again, nothing could be clearer: the only “legitimate” debate is one whose conclusions have been preordained by feminist overseers.
America, wake up! This incident is just the tip of the iceberg. On too many campuses, our students are in intellectual chains. How striking that at Georgetown University, a Catholic institution, the thought police and bullies are all on the left.
Indira Jacob asks what happened to “Camille Does the Oscars,” my annual camp fest for Salon since 1997. Well, after grumpily taking eight pages of notes as I yawned through last week’s boring, boring, boring Academy Awards ceremony, I said, “The hell with it!” and went to bed. I thought Chloë Sevigny and Ashley Judd looked great, as did Jane Fonda and Vanessa Williams in their own mature, seam-busting way. But that’s it.
How far Hollywood has fallen since the ecstatic evening in 1961 when a divinely radiant Elizabeth Taylor won her well-deserved Oscar for “Butterfield 8.” I will nurture those burning memories forever and try to blot out the depressing present, when a gimmicky grease monkey like Kevin Spacey (who belongs to the Daniel J. Travanti Sonorous Nosebone School of Ham Acting) takes home the gold.
Jay Cushman wonders why I have also been deafeningly silent about HBO’s lesbo polka, “If These Walls Could Talk 2,” repeatedly rebroadcast since its March 5 premiere. It’s because I’ve never gotten through the damned thing, with its lugubrious bathos, historical inaccuracies and sophomoric vulgarities.
I sampled all three parts but kept escaping to better things on other channels — such as Hurd Hatfield as Oscar Wilde’s beautiful ephebe hauntingly playing Chopin in “The Picture of Dorian Gray” (1945), broadcast on Philadelphia’s PBS channel, WHYY. “What a relief to get back to the style, verve and class of gay men!” I trumpeted to my partner, Alison, that night, and she wholeheartedly agreed.
Now my all-star pop moments of the past three weeks. First, the smart, sexy and enchantingly luminous Jacqueline Bisset as bitchy Jackie O. in “The Greek Tycoon” (1978), broadcast on the Romance Classics channel. Second, the rampaging Tallulah Bankhead hilariously playing herself on Nickelodeon’s “Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour,” one of my most cherished episodes in TV history.
Third, the volcanic Eric Roberts brilliantly capturing a real-life homicidal slimeball in Bob Fosse’s unnerving “Star 80″ (1983), broadcast on Bravo. Finally, blond-maned Melody Thomas Scott (willful, voracious Nikki for 20 wonderful years on “The Young and the Restless”) regally and enigmatically presiding over the nation’s grocery check-out lines from the cover of the March 28-April 11 issue of CBS Soaps in Depth, a pagan bible for our time.