That Sinking Feeling

By Tony Kornheiser

Sunday, March 22, 1998; Page F01 

Enough already with the Titanic.

The boat sank 86 years ago. Let's move on.

I don't understand this nostalgia for a shipwreck in which a thousand
people died. Coming soon: "Bubonic Plague: The Musical!"

But it doesn't stop. There are Titanic documentaries, stories about Titanic
survivors, a bestseller list awash with Titanic books. "James Cameron's
Titanic," "Her Name, Titanic," "The Discovery of the Titanic." I'm told that
Frank McCourt's next book will be "Angela's Ashes on the Titanic."

There's even a Titanic cookbook, "Last Dinner on the Titanic."

Who wants to eat that?

Here's what happened to the people who actually ate it: First they heaved.
Then they died.

You want the last dinner on the Titanic? Put on a wet suit. It's still down
there.

(What's coming next, the Titanic Happy Meal? Filet-O-Fish on a bed of
iceberg lettuce?)

And Celine Dion -- for the love of God, woman, shut up!

I'm not saying the movie is bad, I'm saying it's long. It's one of the few films
I've ever seen where I thought someone ought to come by after a while
and put a chocolate on the seat.

The worst moment in the movie occurs just after they hit the iceberg --
about seven hours in -- and Titanic's builder tells the captain the ship is
sinking.

"How long do we have?" the captain asks.

"An hour, two at the most."

I sat there thinking: TWO at the most!

I'd have taken the lifeboat right then.

I can't believe the Carpathia couldn't get there in time. I felt like the
Mesozoic Era could have gotten there in time.

What is the fascination with "Titanic"? If my 15-year-old daughter spent as
much time studying Spanish as she has seeing this movie, she'd be the
ambassador to Paraguay. It can't be the plot. First of all, you know the old
lady isn't getting on that helicopter and going to that research boat. You
think she has good memories of her last cruise? You think she's a regular
with Kathie Lee on the Carnival Line? Second, the plot revolves around
the necklace, and Gloria Stuart knows she's holding the necklace. The hole
in the plot is so big even Kate Winslet could squeeze through it. And
please, don't tell me Kate Winslet is 17. If she's 17, I'm Marilyn Manson.

What's the fatal attraction of this DiCaprio kid? Tell me you don't take one
look at this skinny pisher and think: pillow shams, maybe something in
puce.

Excuse me, Tony, but are you not going to mention Monica Lewinsky at all
today?

Actually, I probably should. She has been a busy honeybee. She went to
Larry King's book party, and she sat behind the players' bench at a
Wizards game. Monica was chatting up everybody, posing for pictures.
She's her own float in the parade now, and she's cruising. I wouldn't be
surprised if by the end of the month Monica were judging the Cherry
Blossom Queen pageant. Or joining the Cabinet as undersecretary of
human services.

Friends of mine who saw Monica said that her skin was so beautiful, she
was almost glowing. Maybe notoriety agrees with her. Or perhaps Rahm
Emanuel injected her with a radioactive isotope that will kill her before she
testifies.

I decided to bring the Lewinsky Bandwagon to a bump-and-grinding halt
last week, believing that people no longer want to read about Monica. But
apparently I suffered from premature evacuation. Barbara Murphy of
Alexandria writes: "The End of Monica??!! Say it ain't so." And Barbara
Gems of Reston argues: "There's still plenty to write about Monica. Like
just exactly what is her relationship with Mr. Ginsburg? All their lunches
and dinners together. I don't think he ever got over kissing those pulkies."
(This just in: William Ginsburg has actually said: "I think I need to back off
quite a bit now. I think I'm overexposed." You, counselor, overexposed?
You mean because across the grid the TV listings on the Sunday morning
news shows simply say: "Bill"?)

And what better metaphor to use for Monica and her relationship to the
president than the Titanic? At this point, Mike McCurry is simply
rearranging the deck chairs of the administration. The ship of state gets a
little lower in the water with every passing week. Except instead of some
guy in the crow's nest screaming "Iceberg!" every day there's another
woman claiming "Grope!" (An even greater affront to the office of the
presidency is "Primary Colors," in which Bill Clinton suffers the ultimate
indignity: He's portrayed as a tubby sybarite by former grinning sweathog
imbecile Vinnie Barbarino.)

Some people would say that Monica deserves to be carved onto the
prow, the figurehead of the Clinton administration. But I don't think so. I
think to be fair to this administration you wouldn't have just one figurehead.
The president doesn't seem to be able to fix his attention on just one female
figure. If you had Monica on the bow, then you'd have to have Kathleen
Willey on the stern, and Gennifer Flowers port, and Paula Corbin Jones
starboard, and that high school flame in the engine room -- and pretty soon
all the cabins are filled, and the ship is carrying way too much weight.

Then, of course, you're back where you started.

Worrying about leaks. 
© Copyright 1997 The Washington Post Company

The Tony Kornheiser Unofficial Home Page