So Japanese fishermen are banned from U.S waters. Whales rejoice, environmentalists celebrate, Texas Gov. George W. Bush loses a point, U.S., President Bill Clinton drafts a chapter for his memoir called "After Monica: Whales!", I grieve.
I must confess a disturbing case of emotional coldness and detachment. I feel no empathy toward whales whatsoever. To me, they look just as impersonal as the tuna fish that I order in restaurants. Their huge hulls have definitely encouraged the invention of a submarine -- a device that I wholeheartedly detest.
Occasionally, they happen to be hazardous to oceanic transportation, they easily get suicidal, plunging themselves ashore to die there in masochistic agony, which is too much for my taste. Of course, they have also inspired Herman Melville's famous novel "Moby Dick," and I am grateful to them for that. Yet now Clinton has attached new meaning to them and I cannot help being impressed. I have never fancied tasting whale meat before but now I feel I must. However, probably I will wait for my first whale steak until Clinton publishes a memoir about his White House years.