I do not accept your apology, Gov. Spitzer. I voted for you.
If you haven't already heard, read what the NYT has to say here.
I will now resume my regular blog programming: I have a migraine, and I am searching the house for a three-dimensional rhombus and something that is "not a polygon" so that Henry can complete his homework.
How I brighten a crappy day
5 comments:
A paperclip?
A rhombus is by definition two-dimensional. Perhaps you are looking for a regular parallelipiped.
I don't know about a polygon but I think Spitzer is "prolly gone."
Of course it's more complicated than this, but: huh? his wife's a total fox. Was it a male-only evening ...
But no. I suspect Mr. Spitzer has had this problem for longer than his children have been alive.
Plus - the hotel he got nabbed at? When I worked in DC in the early nineties, I had a night job, and my boss knew a high-level prostitute personally, not in a working manner (I remain forever stunned from the day I met her - she was wearing a Sonic Youth t-shirt) -- he had been a roommate. Soon after, I saw her one night, in the window of the Mayflower Hotel, having dinner with G Gordon Liddy.
Client 9 -- definitely what went wrong!
Gov Spitzer spent all of that time going after the music industry to rid them of payola, drugs, and hookers. I guess he kept some of it for himself.
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