Just last week he found himself in more trouble, when an Arkansas court ruled he was guilty of contempt of court in the Paula Jones case, and all of a sudden there was talk of a mistrial. But straight away he jumped up in front of the White House denying categorically that he ever had sexual relations with a Miss Trial or indeed any other beauty contestant. But I don't want to make fun of him. God bless him, he's doing the best he can; I happen to know he's not happy about the situation in Kosovo, this is the truth. He's very unhappy about it. He said only last week, "I am not a man who likes to use force. Usually a couple of drinks do the trick". And we still don't know how long this whole thing will continue. All the White House will confirm is that that it will last longer than the air strikes against Iraq, but will be shorter than the Academy Awards.
But Clinton is always busy with new ideas and new policies. He's just the opposite of the other Teflon President, Ronald Reagan, who, by the way, was probably the greatest president who ever lived. That's right. And if not, who could tell? Ronald Reagan was a new type of president. That's why I never made fun of him. This was the first president who didn't get involved in politics. It wasn't his business. No matter what happened, it wasn't his field. He jumped on his horse, he ate jelly beans ... a whole new kind of president.
And I'll tell you something else, every president we ever had aged in the job. In a second, they looked nauseous and miserable. Carter looked tortured, agonised. Nixon was haggard, Bush was confused, but Reagan just laughed. Clinton's the same, and I found out why they were both so happy. Neither could believe they got the job. And everybody loves them both. Because like Reagan, Clinton does nothing better than anybody. That's their field.
Meanwhile there's a whole other way of doing nothing, and that's going to a fashion show. Right now in New York it's fashion week, and the garment industry is displaying all the latest designs for the new season and every designer is on show. From Ralph Lauren to Moschino to Gucci, Pucci, Smoochie, they're all here. And if you're a New York Jewish wife who substitutes the name of a designer for the name of an item of clothing - "This is my Versace" or "Hand me my Valentino" or "Pardon me for scratching my Armani" - then this is the place to be. A Jewish woman loves gentile names on clothing. You would never hear her say, "Please hang up my Finkelstein for me" or "How do you like my Rabinowitz?".
Anyway, legs are apparently the Body Part of the Season and all the magazines and tabloids are filled with photographs of extremely skimpy designer outfits that look terrific on your typical supermodel weighing slightly less than a box of pretzels, but which make any normal woman look like the Queen of the Hooker Rhinoceroses. Why women should wear these things, I don't know. All I do know is, when you meet one of them you're busy reading labels for an hour and a half, and next to her is the poor shmuck who has just spent half the annual budget of Mexico on a piece of lingerie the size of a pistachio.
Still things aren't all bad, we've just heard the weather forecast, and the outlook is sunshine and warm breezes for the next two weeks; yet another reason to thank Bill Clinton; the man's talent knows no bounds.Reuse content