Did everyone see the preview for next week’s Project Runway? I feel off my bed. Tim Gunn, “It’s sort of Sgt. Pepper-ish.” Blayne (that’s not a name, it’s an appliance!), “I have no idea what that means.” Um, shellow? What? I know I spent quite a bit of time in Beatlemania in my life, but not knowing who Sgt. Pepper is has got to be like not knowing who Marilyn Monroe or Charlie Chaplin or Liberace or the Pope is. He doesn’t know…I just can’t fathom that. I think that had to be staged, no?

And I don’t even want to write the words — you know the ones — but if that is repeated on the show again, season five will be forever tainted for me. Let’s just keep “make it work” and pretend that other phrase never happened.

A word on Emily. While I really thought that she should have stayed — the hem alone on Miss Plain Jane’s frock should have gotten her booted — what are these people thinking? Have they not seen the show before? Do they not understand who Tim Gunn is? When Tim says, “Emily, I’m concerned. I’m worried the judges will be very disappointed in seeing this dress at this point in the competition,” unless Emily wants to go home, she better change that dress rapido. Instead, she says to the camera, “Tim gave me a bit of a mixed review” and proceeds to tell us how stunning her dress is and how completely confident she is in it. There is really no learning curve there. Also, I didn’t really see how hers was THAT much worse than Blayne’s, which also had that weird boa-like contraption attached. I don’t know why anyone would want to wear an attached element like that, but apparently two designers thought peeps would.

Which brings me to the final two. I did think Kenley’s was fun — I love the tulle and thought it was really creative. Plus, when she won and shed those genuine tears, I was really, truly happy for her and, ultimately, in the result. But that doesn’t mean I don’t think Leanne should have won. If for no other reason that she did a 180 from last week — learning curve! But more for the reason that that skirt was — in the words of Klummers — IMPECCABLE. That thing was just gorgeous. I think it was the most stunning thing to walk down that runway. At least my fave made it into the real judging portion this time, instead of just being dismissed.

How many more episodes do you kids give Stella?

[Also, The Brett Favre Situation (BFS), as Mike McCarthy is apparently calling it, is a DISASTER.  I know I've said it before, and I'll say it again: this is a total mess.  Favre is the Bill Clinton of the NFL.  Clinton had all this good will & political capital and he spent it by going totally nuts.  NPR last night said Hillary isn't a VP choice because the Obama camp has no clue on how to handle Bill.  Favre could have been president of Wisconsin -- were there such a thing -- and now no one really wants anything to do with him.  Disaster.]

In what may be my most controversial post yet (not a lot of competition for that title, I realize), I have a few words to say about two subjects: BF who is no longer my BFF and mayo.

Today I was walking around the square when I was essentially accosted from some number 4-sporting uber-nerds who had just exited an Illinois-plated minivan decorated in high-school-state-competition-bound-green-and-gold paint with sayings like, “Save Brett.”  As if, I said to self.  Though, I admit Brett may need some saving from himself and Greta Van Susteren’s grip, I suspect this is not the saving the FIBs intended.  Annoyed and suspicious about the idea of Illinois “fans” coming to the Square to rally folks around Favre, I told myself just to walk by and not get involved.  After all, it was really just a few weeks ago that I was ready to welcome him back with open arms and prepared to say, “Aaron who?”  But today’s a different day and Favre’s said some things since then that I can’t really see him being able to undo.  I was actually ok — at first — with the brazen idea that he tell “his side of the story.”  I became more skeptical when I learned that it was Deanna who had emailed Van Susteren seeking such an opportunity.  Deanna has GVS’s email address?  This can’t be good.  Oprah?  Hell yeah!  Katie Couric?  Sure.  Meredith Viera?  Ok.  Tyra Banks?  Fine.  But GVS?  One of only two current archenemies of mine?!?!?  Egads.  This is not going to be good.  If skeptical, I still was open.  But as soon as terms like “bluffing” and “pressure” came out, I was out.  And day two and three of the interviews, and the days that have followed, have only confirmed my feelings.  So, when the suburban Chicagoan asked, “Are you Packer fans?” I enthusiastically answered, “Yes!  And that’s why I’m not signing your petition.”

Let me be clear.  I LOVE(d) Brett Favre.  When I was in high school, I remember my dad calling him stonehead and said he had a head full of rocks (this is a negative thing).  But I defended him.  He was so cute and so passionate and who doesn’t love a football player who runs around picking up his teammates and slinging them on his back in moments of sheer joy, as oppposed to the players who do some sort of odd choreographed dance work?  He was impossible not to watch and impossible not to delight in.  I watched the Superbowl in January 1997 in a discotheque in Florence in the middle of the night and took some really rude harrassment from the few Pats fans in the room.  My exuberance could not be contained.  I remember my friend Heather Keyes (a Minnesotan and really not much of a football fan either way) sending me stateside pics of the Wisco capitol proudly waving the Packer flag.  This was about the Packers, but Favre really WAS so much a part of anyone’s love of the team then.  And that was true until about last week or the week before.

We have been Packer fans before Favre and will be so long after Favre.  I don’t think there was a dry eye in the state as we watched him announce his retirement decision.  Recognizing how hard a choice that was for him to make, we tried so very hard to respect him for it.  We tried to understand it and to emotionally move on to what it will mean to start a Packer game without him.  This has not been an easy process, but one I think we have really tried to make with grace and acceptance.

So now, here’s Brett, months and months later complaining that he has not been accepted back by the team, the town and the management that has done nothing but adore him for years and years.  He made a decision.  He told us he was serious.  He promised it was real.  Ted and Mike went into the draft with the understanding that that decision was final.  Aaron has been preparing because he, like all of us, was told that that decision was final.  Aaron has patiently and respectfully waited his turn for years now, knowing that it was unknown when his starting days would begin.  He has been impressive in the few games he has played, but even more impressive for his enthusiasm on the sidelines for a team and a town that has yet to really embrace him.  But now it seemed they had.  But today there are Illinois-ites on the sidewalk of Madison trying to shove him away.

And maybe that’s part of my problem with all of this, too.  For all of our — and the country’s — love and admiration of him, Brett has always seemed to remain half-Mississippi, half-Wisconsin.  Though he’s undoubtedly handsome, he hasn’t had the off-field career that, say, Peyton Manning or Tom Brady have had.  We witnessed his attempt at acting in a comedy and while it was hilarious, not really for the right reasons.  He’s got the sort of everyman charm of Manning, but he can’t act so he can’t do those type of commercials.  And while he’s very good-looking, no one is going to buy cologne from seeing Brett in an ad for it.  It’s easy to believe Brady primps, but Favre?  Anyway, so I think so much of what we’ve loved about him has been his, for lack of a better word, humbleness.  Not that he doesn’t have ego, but he doesn’t run around and shove it in our face.  Until now.  It just seems so un-Wisconsin-y and un-Mississippi-y.  I’m now left wondering who Brett Favre really was all those years.  Maybe we just wanted him to be humble so we decided he was and looked the other way when he wasn’t.

Most of us don’t have the luxury that Favre has — to make a decision that we come to regret so we go on national tv and whine about it and have a couple of folks start a petition on our befhalf.  And while I appreciate everyone’s passions run high on these matters, I really hope that I would never act as he has acted in recent days.  Even if I had the luxury to do so.

I think Favre could have avoided this whole debacle by asking to come back, taking a seat as a back-up and coming in and saving the day when Rodgers breaks a nail in his first start.

As for mayo, I just don’t like it.  And when it came me on my Cafe Soleil take-out sandwich today (despite ordering it without the condiment and watching the counter person write it down just as such, “no mayo”), I admit I teared up.  It just always feels personal.  As if the chefs know how much I hate it, and just don’t care.  Or worse, put it on there just so I won’t eat the sandwich.  As if to say, “Yeah, we saw you ordering and you don’t deserve/need lunch.”  Is that as self-centered a feeling as Favre’s disbelief in how he’s causing all sorts of trouble in Packerland?

Turns out, a big heart can be a bad thing.  My uncle Mike passed away on Friday, July 4th, suddenly and wholly unexpectedly.  He was 64 years old.

My mom and Severa and I went up to Rhinelander on Saturday morning, taking Friday to try to process what had happened and get things in order, not knowing how long we’d be gone.  What this really meant, of course, was staring blankly into space and looking through old pictures.  I don’t know that there is a way to process the death of a loved one who has left you without saying goodbye.  Spending the last five days in Rhinelander was necessary, painful, comforting and strange.  I’ve never been to Rhinelander before when Mike wasn’t there.  At times, time went so slowly.  Maggie and I counted down fifteen minute blocks at the three-plus-hour open casket visitation (three down, nine to go).  The mass though, while two hours, felt like the shortest time I’d ever been in church.  I thought maybe I’d find some comfort in the rules and order of the mass, maybe trying to see the church through Mike’s faithful eyes would help me, but it really didn’t.  The church was packed with friends and family.   There were pews reserved for lawyers and boy scouts, more pews than Maggie and I thought could possibly be necessary (”How many lawyers could this town have?” asked Mags), but we were very wrong.  The eulogies — except mine (a Yeats poem that was probably left better unread) — were inspired and inspiring.  The classic stories of Mike’s tardiness, his love of the Cubs (I still don’t understand where this comes from), his appreciation of a good stout and his ability to make any event into a story worthy of publication are things we all knew too well, yet thirsted to hear from as many mouths as possible.  No one could ever be heard to say that my uncle lacked personality.

What he did lack, though, was some common sense.  For an incredibly bright and curious man, I will never understand his complete distrust of doctors and modern medicine.  I remember him once saying to me something about how because I have my law school diploma on the wall, I am to be trusted more than doctors whose diplomas may not hang in every patient’s room.  I was incredulous that this was a piece of asserted logic coming from the mind of my dear uncle.  For a man of supreme faith, I will never understand his total derth of trust in doctors. 

We will never know, of course, whether more regular — or any — trips to the doctor could have saved us from having to bury my uncle while we thought he was still in his prime.  Look at Tim Russert.  But, from the medical report, we now know that he had had a previous heart attack and that his heart was enlarged and that he was suffering from narrowed arteries, which caused his great fatigue. 

I know that the survivors need to ask these questions — could he have been treated, could he have stayed with us longer, can we be angry with him — but I hope my family and I don’t dwell on these queries too long.  I want us to remember Mike with love and affection and, occasionally, remembering how damn stubborn and bull-headed he could be.  I don’t think it’ll be possible to remember Mike as any other way than he was: loving, loyal, passionate, bullying, gregarious, bright, frustrating, and always late.

Except when he was too early, which he certainly was last Friday.

I thought coming home again would be good for me.  I thought getting back into a routine would be soothing, finding all the familiar things around me comforting, not having to look at any more green bean casserole.  But I miss Rhinelander and being surrounded by family who felt just as I felt.  I find it kinda scary being home again — everything is the same, except it just isn’t.  And I have friends around me who know I’m in pain, but can’t possibly feel it.  It was so nice to be up north because we could all laugh together, knowing that laughing wasn’t forgetting our sadness, but coping with it.  Here, I’m scared to laugh because I don’t want to forget.

As my aunt called it, this re-entry isn’t easy.

As everyone knows by now, Tim Russert passed away last week. When I first heard the news I was so shocked and so sad. If you haven’t seen this, you really must. I cannot imagine speaking of someone I adored days after their surprise passing with such humor and poise. Especially not at 22, but really, not ever.

I wonder if it’s the faith that Luke speaks of that allows him to do that. I don’t know. I do know, though, that I can be so very jealous of folks who have a deep faith that can bring them comfort in times of great sorrow. Usually, I am suspicious and critical of religion. But on days like today, when Tim Russert has left us much too soon, or when Ali has had to put her beloved Ellie down, I wish I could be a believer.

Why do we like scary movies?  Sarayu, don’t answer that.  I took a film class in college on horror movies.  We watched movies like Cat People, Halloween, The Exorcist and Beetlejuice.  We studied patterns in the genre and talked about the sound bus and other conventions.  We talked a little about different philosophies of why these movies can be so appealing — ideas like, we generally live very safe lives and these movies satisfy some deep need to turn on our fight-or-flight instincts from time to time.  All that aside, and for whatever reason, I do like a good scary movie now and then.  Or at least I think I do.

Last night I was truly scared.  I saw The Strangers.  Ben said that he wasn’t interested in seeing it because he thought that a movie about people being terrorized by masked killers wasn’t so much a horror movie as it was just a gross movie about torture, which is a fair argument, I suppose.  But I read the reviews, saw the previews and wanted to see it.  It sure looked loads better than Vacancy.  I walked into the theater already scared, but ready to brace myself.  There were a bunch of other people in the theater, which was good, as long as they didn’t sit directly behind me.  There was also a guy who was pretty vocal with his laughter and cries of “No!”  In Out of Africa, I would have been furious; during The Strangers, I was grateful.

The movie starts with what I thought was very cool imagery: sort of moving snapshots of a street with homes that get further and further apart, leading you into a clearly more and more remote area.  Then there are snapshots of two Mormon-like young lads slowly entering a house, shots of blood spatter, and the sound of a 911 call in which the caller states that he doesn’t know where he is, but there’s blood everywhere.

Cut.

Ben (as I will call him because Heather did, though, yes, I realize his name is really Scott Speedman and his movie names is James, Jamie or Jimmy) and Liv are driving a Volvo (very horror movie car — safe, reliable, Swedish), she’s crying, he’s looking Ben-like.  They’re returning home from a wedding to what was described in the opening narrative as Ben’s family’s summer home.  Just an aside here: this is a totally weird summer home.  It’s a 1950s or 60s ranch that is stuffed to the gills.  I mean, there are knickknacks everywhere.  I guess some folks would use their summer homes to unload junk from their everyday homes, but there was nothing in this house that said hey, sit, relax, unwind — you’re on summer vacation!  It looked more like someone’s grandparents’ house.  Additionally, although its location was clearly remote, it still seemed to be in some sort of suburban neighborhood.  I don’t know.  Something about the house just didn’t seem to fit for me.  And that there was Corona in the fridge of the summer home in February.  And that Ben got the mail from the mailbox even though he’d been there earlier that day.  Anyway, that’s neither here nor there, though it’s obvious that I was distracted by it. 

The movie did a nice job of providing some tension between Ben and Liv without delving too deep.  I think it’s important to know a little about the characters you’re about to want desperately to survive the terror.  So, we find out that he’s just proposed and she clearly didn’t jump at the offer.  But she’s sad, he’s embarrassed.  He still takes care of her by unzipping her dress, lighting her a fire, and going to buy her cigs when she says she’s out (another interesting bit: the cigs.  In this age where groups seem to be threatening Hollywood with their anti-smoking zeal, we see super-sweet Liv chimney smoking.  Not that I’m worried about the tobacco lobby, but I was surprised by the Marlboro plugs).  I suppose the cigs were needed to get Ben out of the house so our heroine can begin the super scary stuff alone.  Which is what happens.  He leaves, and weird stuff starts.  Well, not entirely true.  Someone pounds on the door before he leaves and says, “Is Tamara home?” or something like that.  Not only did this person interrupt the great Wilco/Billy Bragg song on the record player — as well as Ben and Liv about to consummate their non-engagement — but it’s truly FREAKY.  It’s 4 am.  Do not answer the door when someone pounds on it.  Plus, this girl’s voice is enough to send me to the phone to call 911.

Freaky girl:  Is Tamara there?

Kate: [frantically dialing 911]

911 Operator: What’s your emergency?

Kate: There is a totally freaked out girl at my door asking me if Tamara is here.

So, Tamara is not home, girl has the wrong house.  Nevermind that it’s 4 in the morning and the girl is outside your damn super-isolated/suburban summer home in February with no car.  I mean, hello?  What the hell is she doing there?  And Ben is all, should I go after her?  People get lost out here all the time.  On foot?  At 4 in the morning?  In February in a supposed summer home area?  Argh.

Now I know that horror movies are meant to be frustrating (don’t open the door!  Turn around!  Don’t go out there!), but I must comment on the frustration because that’s sort of part of the whole experience, isn’t it?  Afterwards — and during — saying to yourself, or out loud, “If only….”  If only they hadn’t answered the door, if only Ben hadn’t gone for those cigarettes, if only he’d listened to Liv when she said a damned masked man was at the back door, if only she’d accepted his proposal…

The thing about this horror movie, though — if it can legitimately be called horror (more on this later) — is the sheer random-ness of it.  There is no Michael Myers who’s stalking his sister and her friends (or whatever that was about) or Freddie coming around to get revenge or even the devil himself taking aim at a little girl and the Church.  This is without reason.  When asked, “Why are you doing this to us?” the answer is, “Because you were home.”  And it’s said with such pure honesty.  There is no reason.

Whether that’s some comment on postmodern postmodernism, or some other ism, it’s damn scary.

As for whether or not this is horror movie, well.  In class, we were taught the prevailing theory on what constitutes a horror movie is that the movie must have, among other things, a monster.  The monster is something that isn’t human.  And it can’t just be a dog or something, either.  It has to be not-of-this-world, or out of sync, like the anachronistic dinosaurs in Jurassic Park.  I think you could make a case for The Strangers being a horror movie.  Those masked psychos were soulless.  And what’s less human than that?

Oh! I wanted to add that I thought the movie did some great nods to its predecessors — the bath scene was a little Psycho-ish (and actually the beginning in the Volvo reminded me both of Janet Leigh driving to the hotel, as well as a little Beetlejuice with Alec and Geena driving back from town), the closet scene was all Jamie Lee in Halloween and the end was sheer Carrie.  I find these allusions strangely comforting — while they’re scary because they remind us that there’s terror out there, they also remind us that we’re watching a movie.  I like a little reminder like that when watching a horror film.

The consolation I had while trying to sleep last night, in addition to the bunches of wine I consumed to calm my nerves, was that there was a very scary thunderstorm.  I told myself, as well as puppy, that scary ax-wielding masked intruders don’t like to get wet.

 

Kate

Look what I did! Just like Joshua in War Games, I’m learning.

Can you believe this woman is 34? That’s what US Magazine told me last night. 34. What?

Oh, shoot. That didn’t really work. Go to the second picture in the gallery.

Ok, and whoah.

I biked into work today on my little 3-speed bike.  Only it’s not little and I think the cute basket alone adds 10 minutes to my ride when there’s a strong head-wind.  And by strong I mean any sort of breeze.  Basically, I need to get in better shape.  I almost didn’t wear my helmet this morning because I was so upset by our union meeting last night, but I caved at the last minute because if there’s one thing I learned from AmeriCrap, it’s safety first. 

Union meeting.  Ugh.  As some of you know, I’ve been actively annoyed with our union situation as of late.  It’s so hard to talk about without feeling like I sound really greedy, but getting a raise once in awhile would be nice.  With our union, the basic problem is that the top folks (over 50% of our union) move further away from us at the bottom (under 20% of our union).  This is too boring and frustrating to talk about here.

But guess what?  It happened again!  I had an interview two Saturdays ago for a server position at Vin Santo, a really great, small Italian family-run restaurant in Middleton.  I thought it went really well — we laughed a lot, talked about all sorts of stuff, she gave me a menu to take home, blah blah.  She called me about five days later to tell me that she’d hired someone else, but would give me a call if that didn’t work out.  I was fine with it because, truthfully, I don’t want to make a second career out of waiting tables and she made it clear that they want someone long term.  I didn’t really know how I should handle it had I been offered the job because while I wanted it, I didn’t want to screw them over by leaving when we got a raise here (which, of course, isn’t really going to happen given the Union debacle — isn’t this such a symbiotic post?).  At Sundance, or a corporate place like that, I don’t feel that guilt.  But at a smally, family-owned restaurant where none of the chairs match and look like they may have been salvaged from Ogg Hall before the wrecking balls came, I feel more responsibility.  Ok, so my point is, when she called to tell me they went with someone else, I was mostly relieved. 

And then today I checked Craig’s List and, guess what, Vin Santo is looking for a server.

I had my first tennis match of the season last night, having not picked up a racket since last summer.  One of my teammates was complaining she hadn’t played in two weeks.  The thing is, I am the youngest person by at least twenty years on my team, which isn’t a problem, but me not playing a lot probably is.  I thought I could win my match anyway, but it didn’t work out that way.  I lost 7-6 (9-7), 6-3.  I thought I put up a good fight and probably should have won, but it turns out there’s a level of fitness required in tennis and two hours was a bit much for me.  Embarrasing.  I’m hoping I can turn this around.

On the way home, though, Sister Christian came on Charlie and I felt ok about things for a bit.  It took me back to a time when Kristin, Heather and sometimes Ben and I would head out to the Wisco for cheap beers, grilled cheese, yahtzee and jukebox.  Simple times.  Good times (at least when they wouldn’t unplug the jukebox on us, and ok when they did as long as they gave Heather her quarters back).  Post-AmeriHell, pre law school.  Pre real world, really.  We had a cute apartment (esp since we didn’t discover the mice for a good year, though the raccoon was a bit creepy) and I had probably my best roommates ever.  We all had silly jobs — Heather at Victor’s working nutty morning hours; Kristin working with cokeheads at Mickey’s, coming home with more change than I’ve ever seen; and me at Luigi’s, telling folks they can’t smoke on our outdoor patio even when they’re the only ones on it.  But we made enough money to pay for our cheap, sunny apartment and enough to go to the Wisco several nights a week and enough to have a party now and then.  That was a fun summer.

I think Sarayu lives in the Valley.  I don’t exactly know what that means (ok, yes I know what a valley is), but I’m told it’s not cool.  Since Sarayu and not cool go together like oil and water, I find it hard to believe, but lots of things in LA seem backward to me.  Like that $25 soup Sarayu was talking about.  Anyway, I assume that the Hills are somewhere near the Valley, making it the Valley, but much, much cooler.  Who saw last night’s season finale and wasn’t disappointed?  I need this show to step it up and spend less time on long shots with no one talking…Heidi staring blankly at Spencer, Lauren staring blankly at Audrina, Whitney staring in wonder at everyone’s drama…Step it up and dance already!  Ok, not dance, but something.  If they follow these kids around as much as they seem to, I expect a little more in an episode.  That aside, let’s talk about the little substance the show contained.  Lo is the most obnoxious person on the planet and I have no idea why Lauren likes her at all.  She’s boring, whiny, manipulative, fake and really not funny.  “This soup is yummy!”  “I’m hungry!”  “Our puppy has two mommies!”  SO ANNOYING.  Why Lauren, who seems to have pretty decent instincts, doesn’t kick this one to the curb, I do not understand.  Maybe Lo is paying the whole rent on those awesome new digs the gals are sharing.  How amazing is that place?  Anyway, Lo is awful and I love that Audrina FINALLY called Lauren out about it.  That was way too long in coming.  On another note, why during the intermittent Aussie coverage of the show did that woman keep insisting we all want to see Lauren and Stephen together?  I don’t want to see them together.  I think their friendship is fine but I feel like they have about zero chemistry.  I feel like Stephen exudes zeroness.  He seems like one of those made-up celebrities that are manufactured by a studio that teenage girls are told is super cute and adorable.  Only he’s really pretty average and normal.  This is only amplified by having him stand next to Lauren.  Jason radiated sex appeal.  Stephen looks like he might be able to sell you a good retirement plan.

Obviously, I am ignoring the elephant in the room: Heidi.  What in the &^%$#@*^% is going on with her?  Why she even has this job is beyond my comprehension, but then to walk out on it when Spencer saunters in and humiliates her?  Why oh why?  Heidi goes to Colorado, saying she wants space and to clear her head.  Spencer shows up and she flips out about it, saying he doesn’t respect her and it’s always all about him.  He leaves.  They do nothing but fight and not see each other for the entire season.  Heidi tells Stephanie that she needs to go to Vegas for work because it’s a great opportunity, she wants to move up in the company and she needs to clear her head.  Putting aside the obvious — why this airhead needs to clear her head makes no sense and why she has this job at all is AGAIN mystifying — fine, go to Vegas, Heidi.  She tells Steph not to tell Spencer.  Stephanie tells Spencer; he “makes” her go with him to Vegas; he shows up at a “drinking meeting” with Heidi and Bosses, saying that he needs to talk to her outside; Heidi gets very angry; Heidi leaves him, citing the importance of her job, goes back to the table with Bosses; everyone leaves; she hangs her head.  Cut.  Heidi doesn’t show up for work the next day and doesn’t answer her phone.  Shot of her heading down a very long escalator with Stephanie, Spencer and suitcases.  What in the hell is going on?  I know she wants more attention from the Hills so maybe Spencer just explained that moving to Vegas isn’t going to get her there, but this is damn ridiculous.  Get this girl her own show so she can get off of my Hills.

Maybe.  At least to me it is.  I am so furious about this whole Brittany Zimmerman/911 debacle that my head is about to explode.  This tragedy has been made only worse by the County’s reaction to the possibility that they may have really screwed up.  How hard is it to admit wrongdoing?  Why is everyone so afraid of it?  I am so angry with Kathleen Falk for not firing John Norwick that I will not vote for her again.  Well, we all know I probably wouldn’t have anyway, given what she did to Peg and the people of Wisconsin.  But this is really it.  As in most grand-scale debacles, it’s not the actual mistake that has me so angry (that has me incredibly sad), but it’s the cover-up.  How dare he say that no apology is necessary?  And how dare he act as if the police couldn’t have done anything with the information in the phone call?  And what about this whole sending the police on a wild goose chase while they pursued the callers who called the 911 center after Brittany?  This is really a royal mess and I just wish someone would stand up and take some responsibility for it.

And the thing is, this is so damn common.  If Clinton had just admitted to the affair, there would have been no impeachment.  I’m not sure the same can be said for the whole Watergate fiasco, but it was certainly escalated in its severity due to the cover-up.  And Sarayu, you know how I feel about your cover-ups.  Geesh, folks, let’s just learn from this and, when caught, admit what we’ve done. 

On another note, how insulting is it that Otto’s keeps posting for a server position several times over months now when they pretended they were going to hire me and didn’t?