A few nights ago, as I watched CNN Headline News, anchor Lynne Russell strayed from her normal objective professionalism to refer to the events of the past 10 months as "the Monica Lewinsky thing." Surprisingly, I thought to myself, the statement was the most realistic bit of reporting I've heard regarding the matter.

The Ken Starr investigation has been called everything from a witch hunt to a critical investigation of the most corrupt president of the twentieth century. The events have formed a muddled, dramatic soup with both Democrats and Republicans boring me to tears as they attempt to out-shout one another. In the end, for the most part, the people who have always supported the president still support him, and the people who have never liked him still don't. Not much has changed.

In the midst of what has become a never-ending episode of Crossfire, we overlook the details that are really of consequence. For example, in a city with 10,000 one-hour dry cleaners, what possessed Monica Lewinsky to store a semen-soaked dress in her closet for a year and a half? When I spill ketchup on my pants, they're at the cleaners within the hour. I'd sooner shred and bury a piece of semen-stained clothing than hang it next to my pressed Oxford, even if it would keep the moths away.

Around the time the independent counsel was ready to issue a subpoena for Monica Lewinsky's semen-stained blue cocktail dress in order to prove that the president is a liar (read that statement again, and if it sounds serious to you now, think of how grave it will sound in 20 years), Paula Jones was getting a nose job. How this is relevant, I don't know except that it took precedence over the crumbling Russian economy in the news. Soon after that, the president's neckwear came under fire for obstructing justice.

Before I continue, let me pause to remind the reader that this threatening, manipulative strand of cloth is a matter of utmost seriousness. A gift from Lewinsky, the necktie incensed Ken Starr because it had not been turned over to him and it might have cryptically signaled Lewinsky to lie under oath. Not since Luca Brasi's necktie was wrapped around a carp in "The Godfather" has an article of clothing had greater communicative power. What bothers me is not the necktie, but rather Starr's chronic, wanton desire to obtain articles of clothing. It's obsessive. I envision Marshall-Fields going to defcon-three during the holiday season when Starr enters.

The new nose, blue dress and necktie aside, my favorite character in this scenario has been Linda Tripp, who tape recorded every phone conversation she had with Monica Lewinsky and turned the cassettes over to Kenneth Starr. Recording phone conversations is almost as strange as sticking a semen-coated dress back into a closet, though Tripp probably has very few arguments that she can't win when the pizza guy screws up her order. Almost as fun as Linda Tripp are Lewinsky's attorneys. William Ginsburg was fun, but I like Plato Cacheris better because his name is fun to say. Plato Cacheris. There, I said it again.

When I thought nothing more could be said for this brouhaha, somebody scraped the bottom of the barrel to release the president's videotaped testimony, along with kinky sex details, into the public domain. It's funny, but I have a feeling that the people who will be most upset by this video hate Bill Clinton already, and will watch it only to fuel their spite.

In the end we see a terrific soap opera featuring the investigation of everything in Washington except the one-hour dry cleaner, Paula Jones' new nose and the president's bowel movements since 1995, all of which likely contain evidence of impeachable offenses and should be looked into immediately. We hear Barney Frank call for restraint and Lt. Gov. Nancy Hollister yelling for the president to resign (though her motives for doing so are quite beyond me). Outside, the world spins as always.

Liotta is a fourth year pre-optometry major who enjoys politics and coffee with friends. He can be reached at cliotta@eurekanet.com.