I've only seen her in person once. Absolutely true story:

When I was working at Stanford, she came to campus with Chelsea when she was checking the place out for her daughter. She was on the quad, surrounded by admirers. Didn't look all that fat, certainly not like the photo, but had ankles like a rhino. There were, of course, Secret Service men all over the place, but the student crowd was right up around her. I squirreled my way in until I was right behind her. I mean, RIGHT behind her. Two feet, tops. Certainly, I could not have escaped Secret Service notice. I was definitely inside Hillary Clinton's personal bubble of space. I was carrying nothing, my hands loose at my sides. Obviously, I apparently did not look like a dangerous person.

Here is where a person's future life flashes before his eyes, where the road of one's existence assumes an obvious fork:

I could be "The Man Who Goosed Hillary Clinton."

I'd be wrestled to the ground, busted four ways from Sunday, and spend months in court. Certainly, goosing the First Lady has to be some sort of crime. They busted protesters for making wise-ass remarks. No doubt fines would raise their ugly heads, and it would go on my Permanent Record. But, come on. Nobody would throw me in jail for goosing Hillary Clinton.

I would be in the papers! The news! The Drudge Report! Limbaugh would declare me a god! The Man Who Goosed Hillary Clinton! Complete nimrods have achieved a lot longer than fifteen minutes of fame for doing stupider things. How hard would it be for someone with a few brains to lever that into stardom? Okay, Durward Kirby stardom, but you take what you can get.

...Nah, not today.

I watched her and the crowd for a while, and stayed put while she and the mob moved away. Goodbye, Leno. Goodbye Larry King. Goodbye guest host of Saturday Night Live. I diminish, and remain Brosz.

For the record, although Chelsea eventually attended Stanford, I never saw her there.