Michael Feldman,

Michael Feldman,

A weeklong electronic journal.
Sept. 22 1998 3:30 AM

Michael Feldman,

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Dear Diary,

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       Under a lot of pressure--I agreed to write about my life and I have about an hour to get one, while the president, who has too much of a life (and too much of that is public), defends his on Fox with the crack news team of hear all, see all, and speak all evil. The president is in the Map Room, not the Oval Office, so Starr won't be able to make him show how he leaned against the wall to save his back. My back is tender in a couple of places not related to national security.
       Nora wants her Mermaid undies. She (being 4) has never known life without a Starr investigation, and I have trouble remembering one myself. It certainly has permeated the national subconscious: At the pool the other day kids were playing Marco Polo by shouting, "Monica!" "Lewinsky!" That Hillary's a trooper. My wife has yet to reaffirm her support through a spokesperson. I can relate to staying together for the good of the country, but when will America ever grow up? The president looks alternately tense, contrite, and angry, the hat trick of male emotions. Makes me want to vote for him all over again. He looks like he's taking his orals. Defending his thesis. A lot of his trouble is cultural, stemming from the fact that, in Arkansas, "sex" really depends on what you mean by "cousin." After all, he did do the right thing and made it stick.
       The girls have expressed no interest in the president or his affairs, but if they do I'm prepared to assure them that kind of thing does not go on under this roof--never has, never will. I've kept the sound really low on his testimony while they get ready for school, but I probably should be more concerned about the Very Brady Sequel they're watching downstairs in which one of the characters is tripping on mushrooms to Brady Bunch tunes--still, you can't be everywhere. Mr. Clinton should have known this video would end up being a party tape for the same reason I never stick my head through one of those cutouts of a woman wearing bathing bloomers. He is sweating less than Nixon did announcing his resignation and doesn't look like he's been beaten about the head with a country like LBJ announcing his intention not to run again, and I feel like going down to the University of Wisconsin Student Union, where I watched the other two for the crowd response and to collect all three. Nothing unusual about the tie, anyway--I mean it isn't wiggling or anything.
       Nora is going to wear the clothes she wore tomorrow. "Yesterday," says Ellie. "Say yesterday." "Yesterday," Nora says. One of Starr's lieutenants is trying to squeeze the president into a time frame as well, and his election theme, "Don't Stop Thinking About Tomorrow," comes to mind. And I'll talk to you then.

Michael Feldman