Ndy I-Day

I SPENT most of 1998 trying to keep the press out of my apartment. In the beginning—Week One of Monica Madness—I permitted The New Yorker’s Jane Mayer to come sit on my couch. Foolish. I wasn’t happy with the article that followed, or with her media tour to promote it. Later, when the attacks on me were getting ultra-personal, I let CNN in, with lots of equipment. That didn’t accomplish much. But they did remove all the furniture from my dining room, revealing more dust bunnies than could be found in your average college-dorm room.

As Impeachment Day approached, CBS called. They Wanted To Send Over A.

LG

About the Author

Lucianne Goldberg

I SPENT most of 1998 trying to keep the press out of my apartment. In the beginning—Week One of Monica Madness—I permitted The New Yorker’s Jane Mayer to come sit on my couch. Foolish. I wasn’t happy with the article that followed, or with her media tour to promote it. Later, when the attacks on me were getting ultra-personal, I let CNN in, with lots of equipment. That didn’t accomplish much. But they did remove all the furniture from my dining room, revealing more dust bunnies than could be found in your average college-dorm room.

As Impeachment Day approached, CBS called. They Wanted To Send Over A.