Rudy, Cuomo, Kate and Clemens.
Rudy Giuliani is never going to be president. And he's smart enough to know that.
The former mayor gave a revealing answer to Time's Amanda Bower in the June 30 issue when she asked if he'd like to occupy the Oval Office. Giuliani said: "I've never really seriously sat down and thought about it. [And the Mets will win the World Series this year.] I almost think it's arrogant, something you just don't do unless there's a realistic possibility."
Translated, Rudy understands that a pro-choice candidate who's also an outspoken advocate of gay rights has no chance of winning a Republican presidential primary. Those are simply the facts of political life in the United States today, despite the residual admiration (and lucrative speaking fees) Giuliani enjoys among the public in the aftermath of Sept. 11. The same rules apply to Democrats: There will never be, at least in the near future, a nominee who's opposed to abortion. In both parties, the core constituencies wouldn't allow it.
The 2008 showdown is five years away, but it's no secret that Florida governor Jeb Bush?who's limited to two terms and will be out of office in '06?is already running. Senate majority leader Bill Frist, just seven months ago considered a leading contender, has lost any luster after a rocky start in his new post. If George W. Bush wins reelection, it could be a catfight between his brother and Sen. Hillary Clinton.
But if the president's winning a second term falls into the "big if" category, so does Clinton's securing a second term as New York's senator. Which brings us back to Rudy. The GOP nomination for either governor or senator is a virtual lock for him in 2006?barring bad health?and it's my bet that Giuliani is relishing a run against Clinton and the chance to retire that rotten apple from politics.
When asked by Bower to evaluate Clinton's performance as New York's junior senator, Giuliani diplomatically evaded the question while at the same time offering a telling rationale for opposing her. He said: "[Clinton] has a very different philosophy, a very different approach to government... For example, I am a very, very big supporter of a reduction in capital gains tax and a reduction in taxation to stimulate the economy... Lower federal tax rates mean more dollars in the New York economy because we send a lot more money to Washington than we get back. I think our senators have to be fighting for getting more of those tax dollars back into the New York economy."
That answer indicates that Giuliani has no desire for the relative obscurity of Albany and instead is planning on pursuing a national stage, just as Clinton did in 2000 when she methodically defeated an unprepared Rick Lazio.
Pity the Cuomos
Granted, the bread and butter of the few tabloids still publishing in the United States is sensationalism, in addition to sports and gossip, but Post editor Col Allan has really hit the overkill button in his coverage of the Andrew Cuomo-Kerry Kennedy marital split. I don't agree with the politics of either spouse, but have no interest whatsoever in their impending divorce. In fact, the gross invasion of privacy justifiably elicits sympathy for the pair and their three young daughters.
Even more ridiculous is the paper repeatedly invoking Edward Klein's The Kennedy Curse. Huh? Let's get this straight: No one died in an accident, was murdered, abducted, sexually abused or maimed. In a family as large as the Kennedys', divorce and infidelity are common, just as they are in the rest of the country. Unlike Bill Clinton, whose weird dalliance with Monica Lewinsky was legitimate news because he lied to the nation while performing as commander-in-chief, Cuomo is not a public servant; nor is his wife. Their domestic problems are nobody's business but their own, and while the fame attached to the names Kennedy and Cuomo perhaps legitimates a one-day story, the continuing front-page "scoops" are stomach-churning.
I like the Post, mainly for the conservative politics, correspondent Deborah Orin, its unswerving support of Israel, Keith Kelly's media tidbits and even Page Six, and I appreciate the need to sell newspapers, but this is matter of right and wrong. I'd gain a lot of respect for either op-ed columnist John Podhoretz or political reporter Fred Dicker if one or both of them disassociated themselves from this gross lapse in scruples.
On the subject of marriage, I found myself in rare agreement with the Washington Post's paleolib pundit E.J. Dionne, who wrote on July 1 about the Supreme Court's rational decision to overturn Texas' antiquated ban on sodomy. Dionne does lay it on a little thick, writing: "Using the word 'gay' in a public utterance, including a newspaper column, is in my experience more incendiary that invoking the word 'Clinton.'"
Oh, c'mon. I can think of at least a dozen words more "incendiary" than "gay," starting with nigger, gook (although John McCain gets away with it), spic, wetback and kike.
Nevertheless, I agree with Dionne that gay marriage is hardly the biggest problem facing this country today. What law-abiding citizens do in private is none of my concern, and it's a harmless step to make homosexual unions legal.
Dionne's conclusion is on the mark: "By all means' let us strengthen the family. But let's not make gays the victim of culture wars among consenting, heterosexual adults. Those of us who live in (for lack of a better term) old-fashioned families could begin by attending to our own problems, and our own obligations."
Lost Calendar Pages
KathArine Hepburn was a splendid actress, and I still watch Adam's Rib, The Philadelphia Story and The African Queen at least once a year. But upon her death at 96 on June 29, editorial writers across the country pushed the hyperbole buttons on their computers and wallowed in excessive nostalgia.
Verlyn Klinkenborg, for example, in the July 1 New York Times, gave Hepburn a sendoff that was worthy of Meir, Einstein, Gandhi or Eisenhower. He wrote: "She seemed to have an unswerving conviction about how life should be lived, without regrets, which could bother people who were busy swerving. It was, in the end, a conviction that enlarged the lives of everyone, male or female, who watched her movies."
Hepburn "enlarged the lives" of "everyone" who watched her movies? That's an extraordinary feat for an entertainer, no matter how talented. It's a silly claim, and though Klinkenborg was obviously enraptured by the gorgeous and quick-witted Hepburn, I think he's unintentionally speaking for himself, perhaps watching the remaining days of his own life click by with increasing speed.
Celebrities and politicians have been dropping off at an unusual rate these past six weeks, an odd coincidence that's nonetheless keeping the atrocious U.S. obituary writers busy. One such death that gave me a moment to pause was Barry White's on July 4, who succumbed to kidney failure at the premature age of 58. White's goopy r&b, which Washington Post critic Richard Harrington called "crushed-velvet pillow talk," left me entirely cold, an example of pop music gone to seed in the early-to-mid 70s.
Still, I remember one September afternoon in Baltimore in 1974, riding in a banged-up white convertible with my roommates on the way to a suburban mall to pick up some furniture for our rented house, when White's "Can't Get Enough of Your Love, Babe" was on every radio station. The five of us were in an uproarious mood, chugging cans of Schlitz while my friend Tom McQuilling was at the wheel; and with the wind whipping our long hair, and that damn song playing over and over, it was one of the most memorable days of my college years. For a brief period?those few hours?Barry White was King, and I temporarily tossed aside my preferred current playlist of Bowie, Roxy Music, early Springsteen and silver-age Dylan. As Tom banged the steering wheel in time to the tune, loudly singing along with Barry, it was so infectious that we all joined in.
It certainly didn't "enlarge" my life, but it's a pretty cool memory.
Back to Texas, Rocket
The deadline for this column is an hour before the Yanks-Red Sox finale at the Stadium, and one expects a tight match-up between Mike Mussina and Pedro Martinez. Even if the Sox's bullpen blows another decision for Martinez, it's a huge relief that the Bombers didn't sweep the series, which would've left Boston a crippling seven games back in the A.L. East.
But here's one insight I gleaned over the weekend: It really is time for Roger Clemens to retire, no matter how persuasive George Steinbrenner might be in the off-season to convince the Texan to play one more year. Clemens, judging by comments to reporters after his 10-2 loss on Saturday, belongs to another era. In the second inning, Clemens hit Kevin Millar on the hand (probably retaliation for the Sox hitting seven homers against David Wells in Friday's game) and then complained it was Millar's fault.
"Guys don't get out of the way anymore," he said. "They're just hunting balls so hard and they have so much plate coverage." About David Ortiz, who hit a homer in the fourth, Clemens continued: "I'm going to have to make adjustments the next time I see him. He's got too much plate coverage." Times reporter Tyler Kepner predicted as much in Sunday's paper, writing that Ortiz "should expect to be brushed back the next time they meet."
Clemens' beef sounds like one of a grumpy old man. Has he ever noticed how Alfonso Soriano, the Yanks' MVP, stands so close in that his spikes almost touch home plate? I like Clemens?despite his preposterous vow that he'll enter the Hall of Fame wearing a Yankees cap, when he won 192 games for Boston?but it's time for him to watch his kids grow up. And I hope that he racks up a bunch of victories in the season's second half, on the condition, of course, that they don't help New York win the division.
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