America, You Sexy Bitch (22 page)

I have never cheated on a boyfriend, ever. I grew up with three rules from my parents: “Don’t lie, cheat, or steal. Everything else is fair game.” I think part of the reason why I never went through a “rebellious” phase is because my parents were very lenient and understanding with me—as long as there wasn’t any lying, cheating, or stealing involved. This is why, for me, it is a completely black-and-white situation: President Clinton cheated and lied. You can argue all you want, but he cheated on his marriage vows, he cheated
on his role as an employer, and he cheated the country from many months of what should have been personal-conflict-free governing. Don’t even get me started on the lying. How anyone could argue that his misbehavior did not affect our position on the world stage is incomprehensible. The core actions—seducing a young woman and having her get you off—alone are deplorable, but then the way he went on to play the victim was ultimately worse. On top of everything else, this all took place in the Oval Office of the White House. Sure, I’ll go to President Clinton’s shrine, but don’t ask me for a minute to say what he did was no big deal. To an impressionable, patriotic fourteen-year-old, it was—and still is—a
very
big deal.

 

Michael:
The Clinton library looms up ahead of us. I don’t know if I really love Bill Clinton or if my good feelings for him are based on the fact that Republicans hate him so much. Man, do they hate Bill Clinton. Now that he’s been out of office for over a decade, it’s easy to forget just how much vitriol was hurled in his direction when he was president. Okay, an intern blew him. I’m sure a lot of other women did too. That guy probably collected blow jobs the way I used to collect comic books. Outraged Republicans couldn’t understand why Democrats didn’t care. The answer is simple: because we didn’t. Yes, given the choice of having our commander in chief getting hummers in the Oval Office or not getting hummers in the Oval Office, most of us would probably answer “not,” but it’s nothing to get too worked up about. I doubt W. ever got so much as a light ball cradling in there, yet I’ll take the Clinton presidency over the W. presidency any day of the week. Peace and prosperity always trump faith and fidelity.

That’s something social conservatives don’t understand about the general voting population. For moralists, America’s bedrock is biblical. They believe when you start hydrofracking that foundational stone, all sorts of terrible things happen. Men start kissing men, children start practicing wizardry, and soon we are all swimming in lakes of fire and wondering where it all went wrong. That’s not how people like me see our country. For us, it pretty much comes
down to a good economy and safety. That’s it—lights on, bills paid, kids clothed and educated. Nobody blowing my shit up or breaking into my crib. Morality doesn’t even really enter into the conversation except insomuch as we do not want our presidents to be actual crooks (see: Nixon, Richard M.). Or, even if they are crooks, at least be smart enough not to get caught. Clinton, for all his faults, is not a crook. He’s not corrupt. He’s just a guy who likes to get his dick sucked by ladies other than his wife. Not my business.

And say what you want about his sexual mores, the guy was a good-to-great president. One could argue about the truthfulness of the phrase “greatest peacetime economic expansion in American history,” and one could argue about who is ultimately responsible for said economic expansion, but the fact that the argument even exists at all is a testament to the presidency of Slick Willy. Any way you slice it, America did well during his eight years in office. How much of that was his doing? I don’t know and I don’t care. When we look back at our history, we don’t remember the Speaker of the House or the Majority Whip. We remember the president. Presidents, fairly or unfairly, receive the lion’s share of credit and blame. Clinton was president during the nineties, and the nineties were pretty good. So I’m excited to go pay my respects to the man’s administration as we turn off US 65 towards 1200 President Clinton Avenue.

 

Meghan:
Ex-presidents are usually looked upon with much more admirable eyes out of office than in. President Clinton is no different. As Michael says, “peace and prosperity” trump “faith and fidelity.” Among the reasons why the nineties were not entirely a peaceful and prosperous time, the actions of President Clinton and his subsequent impeachment trial are high up on the list. It was a very tumultuous, complicated, and embarrassing time for the country, and in many ways the final last days of the president having respect for the White House.

Michael may look back at the Clinton years with fond memories and nostalgia, but I look back on them with embarrassment and cringe. Maybe Clinton is to many Democrats what Reagan is to
many Republicans. A somewhat glossed over and heightened icon of a time gone by where each party was in a sort of heyday—although Reagan never had a sexual affair in the Oval Office and was never impeached. I’m just saying. Also, Michael may be fond of the nineties because it was a great time for his career. Don’t get mad, Michael, it’s kind of true.

I don’t know what I originally expected from the Clinton library, but it looks out of place in comparison to its surrounding landscape. That being said, I don’t think the Clinton Foundation or the Clintons themselves would want to necessarily build a structure that looked like an old log cabin, but I wasn’t expecting it to look so much like a structure from the future. It has all
The Jetson
’s stylings of what people in the 1960s imagined buildings would look like in 2040. Much like the Brad Pitt housing in the Lower Ninth Ward in New Orleans, the Clinton library is not cognizant enough of the surrounding landscape, and seems more interested in making an architectural statement. My personal aesthetic may lean more towards traditional styles, but even so, this place doesn’t even look like a library.

 

Michael:
The main building is almost a perfect architectural metaphor for Clinton. Like the man, the library (excuse me: “Presidential Center”) is boxy and outsized and modern in a nineties sort of way, all steel and glass that gives the illusion of transparency. Upon closer inspection, however, you discover that the gleaming glass is tinted a milky white, obscuring the building’s inner workings, and the views inside are actually quite limited. The building is part riverboat, part USS
Enterprise
. I heard somebody say it looks like a double-wide, which is true, but if so, it’s the most grandiose double-wide in the history of white trash.

Cousin John drops us off at the front and retreats to the far reaches of the parking lot for a sweaty nap. Unbelievably, the center is featuring an Elvis exhibition. The comparisons between Clinton and Elvis are legion, and accurate. Both were poor white southern kids who came from nothing to achieve the greatest heights of their chosen professions. Both had enormous, insatiable appetites for
things they knew to be bad for them. Both could bite a lip and tear an eye in a genuinely sympathetic way. Elvis was a gifted musician.

Clinton loves Elvis. How could he not? They’re basically the same guy. The exhibition is called
Elvis at 21
, and the first thing I notice upon entering, apart from the air-conditioning, is the iconic white polyester Elvis jumpsuit bedazzled with American flag beadwork and topped with a huge double-American-eagle belt buckle. It is America in all its chintzy glamour. I can think of no better symbol for the nation or the man who used to run it.

To the right is Clinton’s limo, an armored Cadillac. Up close, the trappings of presidential power don’t look nearly as impressive as they do on TV. Basically the car is just a car. It’s a big car, but there’s no footbath or hot chocolate machine or anything. Honestly, I’ve been in Corollas that seemed almost as nice. At Reagan’s library, they’ve got the actual
Air Force One
he used housed in a specially designed airplane hangar. You can tour the plane, and the thing that struck me about it was how normal it seemed. Yes, it’s
Air Force One
, yes it’s a magnificent symbol of American power, but inside it’s just kind of an airplane.

One of the few things I’ve learned about wealth is that money can only buy so much. The food I eat doesn’t taste all that much different from the food the richest man in the world eats. The chair in which I sit isn’t so much different from any other chair. Houses are, ultimately, houses. Boats are boats. To me, the only reason to be president is for the toys, but seeing them up close I realize the toys are impressive but not
that
impressive. They don’t blow me away. The fact that I could order a grilled cheese on
Air Force One
whenever I wanted one would be cool but not cool enough to take on being president. Being Elvis, on the other hand, would be awesome. You get around-the-clock grilled peanut butter, banana, and bacon sandwiches, for starters. The rest is gravy. Boatloads of beautiful sausage gravy.

 

Meghan:
It is a little embarrassing to admit how excited I am that there is an Elvis exhibition going on. I am an Elvis fanatic. I love
Elvis! I love his music, I love his style, I love his legacy. I once got into a small scuffle over Elvis in London while studying abroad in college. A random Englishman said he thought Elvis was overrated and the real “King” was Mick Jagger. I’m told that I called the Rolling Stones pansies and firmly stated that Elvis was and always will be “The King!” For the record, I don’t think the Rolling Stones are pansies at all, but I prefer Elvis any day of the week. Besides, Elvis was just one hunky guy—the Rolling Stones are four men, just saying. I’m delighted to know that while I’m not enjoying my tour of Clinton’s shrine, I will at least be able to see some cool Elvis costumes and pictures.

Parked in the lobby is the limo Clinton used while president. Michael, Stephie, and I stand around it taking cheesy pictures, and then split up to tour the center. Listen, the center is well done. It is exactly what a presidential library should be: a complete and utter whitewash of the life of a guy lucky enough to have an affable alternative like Ross Perot chew at the Republican base enough for the other guy to be elected to lead the country. No disrespect to the highest office in the land; it’s just that I get a little tired of all the revisionist history that happens the minute a flawed human being gets to be in control of his past misdeeds. I’m looking at you, WJC.

We watch a video about the life of President Clinton, we take a tour of giant pictures of the president throughout his life, we view political collectables on display such as bumper stickers, buttons, banners, bandstand-style hats with CLINTON written on them. I can’t believe how young both Bill and Hillary look in all the pictures. The ridiculous displays of campaign memorabilia make me laugh a little, because our home looks a lot like this, without the giant cantilevered building to wrap it all in. The same type of stuff, buttons, hats, bumper stickers, bobbleheads, T-shirts. I guess it just comes with the territory.

Am I a changed person after walking through this place? Not really, but there are some points of interest: a display of beautiful gowns that Hillary Clinton wore as First Lady, a somewhat decent history lesson, and a catalyst for a debate with Michael over
whether or not fidelity is an important factor in presidential politics. I still maintain that it is important and a large indicator of character. Michael doesn’t care, which seems a bit ironic given how important marriage and family values are to Michael in his personal life.

 

Michael:
It’s not like I had really high hopes for this library to live up to some presidential standard, but I have to admit I’m disappointed that it’s little more than a massive shrine to the forty-second president. It’s got the replica Oval Office, the de rigueur NFL-style highlight film of the presidency, the timeline showing all his legislative accomplishments. But nowhere do I see the words “impeached,” or “Whitewater.” Nowhere do I see the names “Kenneth Starr” or “Monica Lewinsky.” These are significant historical omissions in a place designed to remember history, not rewrite it. Of course, the thing about these presidential libraries is that they are funded by private donations. They can do whatever they want with that money, so if they choose to make the place into an exercise in hagiography, they can. Even so, I’m peeved. I’m a grown-up and can accept that one of my political heroes wasn’t perfect. This place sucks.

Any self-delusion I harbor about the differences in Meghan’s and my respective ages is shattered by the following conversation:

 

Her: “How old were you during the impeachment trial?”

Me: “Well, it was what? Ninety-eight? So I was twenty-seven.”

Her: “I have very little memory of it. I was very young.”

 

She wasn’t
that
young, I remind her. She was thirteen or fourteen. But still, the idea that one of the most seminal political events of my lifetime barely registered on her teenage consciousness is a little disconcerting.

 

Her: “Do you think he should have been impeached?”

Me: “For getting blown in the West Wing? No. For this place?

Hell yes.”

 

Meghan:
Between the depressing paving over of recent history and the oppressive slamming of the hot, moist day as we leave the library, all of us are depleted and I just want to shower all of it right off as soon as I can. We pull into the Red Roof Inn in North Little Rock, noting the less than quaint surroundings as we pass two gas stations and a Waffle House dotted by the kind of low-shouldered housing with burnt-grass front lawns that speak to a lean economy. One of the things Michael and I have in common is that we have very low standards when it comes to hotels. Sure, I love a five-star, super-fancy hotel as much as the next person, but I find that I always end up spending fifty dollars on a Coke from the minibar and the Internet service inevitably sucks. Cheaper chain hotels normally have great Internet access, a breakfast spread for free in the morning, more to offer when it comes to the kinds of characters lurking around and more opportunity for a more interesting experience or adventure. I have spent so much time on the road in my life at cheaper chain hotels, and the most memorable things that have happened to me were at a La Quinta Inn, not a Four Seasons.