Jen and I spend a great deal of our friendship venting about the latest news story that goes unreported in the mainstream news. We also like to reminisce about the Clinton/Gore administration. Yes, I have problems with some of the Big Dog's policies (don't ask, don't tell; NAFTA; DOMA). But generally speaking, I sometimes wish that Clinton could have been the Prez forever. Or maybe he could share a rotation with Gore, Hillary, and "Ba-rock the house" Obama. I liked ol' William J all right when I voted for him, but the more I think about his presidency, the more I feel like he's an imperfect but fundamentally principled man. I long for the days when a president's lie was about a none-of-our-business extramarital affair rather than, you know, entering a misplanned and unnecessary war against the urging of the most of the world.
And so that is why Jen and I pulled ourselves out of our respective beds at six a.m. yesterday, waited in the morning drizzle, and finally bathed ourselves in the aura that was Bill Clinton on Oprah. We managed to snag second-row seats in the right wing of the audience, which probably would have garnered a joke had we not been so bleary-eyed. We were very excited to attend the taping, and I was in such a giddy mood that I was willing to mostly forgive the woman directly behind me who provided running commenary throughout the whole hour. I think she's one of those people who talks at the movie screen, you know? Like, "Oh no, don't go through that door, Vin Diesel! Uh-uh. Oh dang! Now you know that guy's just faking dead! Watch your back!"
So anyway, Oprah looked radiant when she walked out. A few minutes later, when Clinton walked out wearing his natty pink tie, I lost any semblance of composure. I held my breath to try to keep it together, but nope, it was too late. I started clapping and crying and doing the choked-up-throat thing usually reserved for proud fathers at summertime Little League games. I felt honored to be a few yards from Clinton, proud in a sort of patriotic American way that I didn't really think was possible. The show airs today, and if you have keen eyesight, you will be able to see Jen in the first few minutes of the show (a closeup, right after Oprah enters the studio) and me in the background later (wearing a striped short-sleeve sweater, looking very pale and shiny and toothy). What times were those? That's right: good times.
And so that is why Jen and I pulled ourselves out of our respective beds at six a.m. yesterday, waited in the morning drizzle, and finally bathed ourselves in the aura that was Bill Clinton on Oprah. We managed to snag second-row seats in the right wing of the audience, which probably would have garnered a joke had we not been so bleary-eyed. We were very excited to attend the taping, and I was in such a giddy mood that I was willing to mostly forgive the woman directly behind me who provided running commenary throughout the whole hour. I think she's one of those people who talks at the movie screen, you know? Like, "Oh no, don't go through that door, Vin Diesel! Uh-uh. Oh dang! Now you know that guy's just faking dead! Watch your back!"
So anyway, Oprah looked radiant when she walked out. A few minutes later, when Clinton walked out wearing his natty pink tie, I lost any semblance of composure. I held my breath to try to keep it together, but nope, it was too late. I started clapping and crying and doing the choked-up-throat thing usually reserved for proud fathers at summertime Little League games. I felt honored to be a few yards from Clinton, proud in a sort of patriotic American way that I didn't really think was possible. The show airs today, and if you have keen eyesight, you will be able to see Jen in the first few minutes of the show (a closeup, right after Oprah enters the studio) and me in the background later (wearing a striped short-sleeve sweater, looking very pale and shiny and toothy). What times were those? That's right: good times.
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