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An Open Letter To Monica Lewinsky
By Tim Siggia
May 20, 2003
Just about the time we all thought she was gone for good, she's back. So I thought it was about time somebody gave Monica Lewinsky a reality check, and have forwarded the following open letter -- just in case she may accidentally click onto Radiofree West Hartford:
Dear Monica,
You don't know me, and before you're finished reading this I can guarantee you won't want to. But if you can open your eyes, your ears, and perhaps even your mind, old Uncle Tim has some friendly advice for you:
It's over. Give it up.
You're intelligent enough to know what I'm talking about. Oh, I know the reporters still give you all the column-inches you want, and the television talk show hosts still fawn and gush over you, and treat you like the celebrity you've come to believe you really are. But you haven't sold Mr. and Mrs. Average America. To say that you've overstayed your welcome in our living rooms would be an understatement at best. Far more accurate would be to say that you crashed the party: nobody invited you, but you showed up anyway.
You're not a great talent, you're not a great writer, and you're not a great personality. Your book bombed, and so did your television show. All you are is a legend in your own mind, and that's putting it nicely. The sad truth is anyone who knows who you are also knows what you are -- including Katie, Oprah, and all the rest, even if they're too polite to come out and say it.
Now you write self-pitying op-ed pieces whining about all the grief your mother's getting from the courts over your Oval Office escapades. Well, Monica, who's really to blame for that? Who was it, after all, who flew to Washington D.C. bragging about "presidential kneepads"? For that matter, who else other than you would have considered that something to brag about in the first place?
You really ought to take a page from your old friend William Ginsburg. You remember him, don't you? He's that friend-of-the-family lawyer you fired because he was too much like you, that is, a media hound more intent on making a big name for himself than on doing the job for which he was hired. And it's true, for the brief time he had our attention, he milked it for all it was worth, and made quite the fool of himself in the process. But you know what, Monica? Of the three of you -- you, he and Bill Clinton, that is -- he just may have proven himself the smartest after all. For after you fired him, he finally realized his fifteen minutes of fame were up and it was time for him to get off the stage -- something you and your former client apparently still haven't learned with regard to yourselves.
What I'm trying to tell you, Monica, is the public is sick and tired of you, and it's time -- long past time, in fact -- for you to pack up and go home. Or, if you prefer, go to Amsterdam or Copenhagen or some other such place where it's legal for somebody like you to make a living doing what you apparently do best. Better still, you might even consider getting yourself an honest job -- as a waitress, say, or maybe a sales clerk. It wouldn't pay much, but it would give you a first-rate education on how the Other Half lives. You know, those people you've only heard about -- the ones who don't drive Mercedes-Benzes, who don't shop on Rodeo Drive, and who don't have vacation homes on Martha's Vineyard. The ones you've always believed exist only to serve people like you. Those people.
But whatever your next career move may be, how about doing us all a great big favor this time and keeping it to yourself? Skip the trumpet fanfare, forget the press conference. We the People have long ago grown bored with your banal self-promotion and your endless attempts to cash in on your past notoriety. Just do whatever you're going to do, and do it quietly, just for a change. Mainstream America isn't interested, and doesn't want to know about it.
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