Last year, we bought a house for two main reasons: we were sick of moving, and I wanted a better kitchen. We were living in a flip house that had been designed by a contractor with a rather spotty work ethic, and some very strange ideas about what makes for gracious living. (Wine fridge in the kitchen--and less than three feet of total counter space. Two jacuzzi tubs--and a hot water heater the size of a thimble. Frightful things going on in the walls, which were revealed when the house flooded, and we had to move out.)
Any long time reader knows that for me, a good kitchen is important. And while we'd reached a sort of uneasy truce with the flip house, by dint of purchasing a kitchen cart and an island to supplement its storage, our wedding basically shattered that fragile peace. Even before we'd sent out the invitations, casseroles and platters were pouring through the breach in our defensive lines and setting up forward positions on the book shelf that divided the dining area from the living room. By the time of our wedding, the entire downstairs had been overrun, and it seemed to me that the soup bowls were eyeing the stairway with a thoughtful air.
So we started looking at row houses. The husband wanted central air and habitability. I wanted something as lightly renovated as possible; I had no intention of paying for some contractor's builder-grade kluges, and then ripping them out when they broke. Three weeks after we got married, and one week before we were flooded out of the flip house, we found the house we wanted to buy. It had central air. It did not have four feet of ikea cabinets and cheap stainless steel fixtures. It had gorgeous ten foot ceilings. And . . . well, a very odd mix of other improvements.
It transpired that the previous owners had purchased a wreck, and then begun renovating it, only to be transferred overseas in mid-renovation. Their taste ran to very dark walls and very lazy contractors (though to be fair, they may not have been here when much of it happened). Paint was slopped all over the trim, which was itself shoddily applied--when we finally painted the cave-like grey hallway, the painter's tape took the single layer of white paint off the doorjambs in large chunks.
Thankfully, our inspector assured us that aside from one bright laddie who'd decided to cut a 4 inch chunk out of one of our floor joists in order to run some wires through, the basic work like plumbing and heating was in pretty good shape. But the rest ran from "adequate" to "hot mess".
There were some semi-high end fixtures, like a higher end washer/dryer combo, a decent gas stove, and a claw-foot tub. There was some remarkably low-quality work: the aforementioned paint; vents without covers, a toilet in the half bath that wasn't really attached to anything.
There was the stuff that hadn't been worked on at all: a front yard with a crooked fence and about 70 pounds of lava rock; a back yard that is better not spoken of, except to say that the only thing wanting to complete the look is a rusted-out pickup truck on blocks.
And there was the stuff that had clearly been slapped in at the last minute when they figured out that they were moving: a few scrawny kitchen cabinets, a foot or so worth of laminate countertops that were already peeling, one miserly drawer too small for a full-sized cutlery organizer, and a refrigerator just a half-step up from the ones we used to keep in dorm rooms. It barely came up to my chest.
We--okay, well, I--longed for one of those lovely kitchens you see on television or in nicer homes--acres of cabinetry and counter, broom closets and drawers and six-burner stoves with hoods that actually vent smoke, rather than swirling it more briskly around the kitchen. However, being journalists and newlyweds, rather than 55-year old hedge fund managers, we were not exactly overburdened with the necessary.
And really, it wasn't the worst kitchen in the world. There are starving people in Africa, and for that matter, affluent people in Peoria, making do with less space and storage.
So we coped with the shortcomings. The day we moved in, friends helped us install Ikea Grundtal shelves and rails, which double as potracks. We also installed our assortment of extra kitchen islands.
Over the next few months, we did a few things that we (almost) had to do--the dishwasher broke the day we moved in, and since the appliance store offered us a decent discount, we replaced the too-tiny fridge as well. But mostly, we ignored the shortcomings. The only sizeable change we made was when our contractor came to reinforce those improperly cut joists; while he was there, we had him move the laundry downstairs, and rip out the sloppily-built laundry-cave that had been installed just off the kitchen. This didn't look very good--naturally, they'd installed the washer-dryer first, and painted only up to the edge. But with a couple of bookshelves added, it at least gave us some extra storage. And the change alleviated the funereal effect of a dark grey wall jutting out into our hallway, blocking off a great deal of light.
We also had him run a water line for our fancy new fridge. For the first time in my life, I enjoyed the convenience and ease of Door Ice.
But after that, I declared that I was done. Unless something broke, we would put no more money into the kitchen until that distant day when we had actually saved enough money to renovate. That's where we stood in January of this year. Then our dishwasher tried to kill me, and I decided that maybe we should Do Something about the kitchen after all.
It was the day after New Year's, and the dishwasher was very full. Also, my arm was very sore, due to some unspecific, slow-healing rotator cuff injury that had been exacerbated in the frenzy of getting ready for the previous night's dinner party. I sleepily stumbled into the kitchen and opened the dishwasher so that I could unload it and put the rest of the dishes in.
Unfortunately, as they'd informed us when they installed the dishwasher, our counters weren't level, which meant that one screw holding in the appliance was under more strain than the other. Sometime in the winter of 2011, it had ripped out of the cheap laminate, at which point its colleague decided to go on strike too. Every time we opened the dishwasher, it tilted towards you, and the racks slid forward.
Perhaps sensing my languor, on New Year's Day 2012, the racks decided that the time had come to finally make their break for freedom. Just in time, I threw my aching left arm in front of the drawers, and stopped them from leaping across the floor with all our good china inside.
I also nearly stopped my heart--I haven't felt such a sharp burst of pain since I ripped up a bunch of ligaments getting thrown into a fence by a horse. I must have emitted some interesting noises, since my husband, normally a late sleeper, came trotting downstairs.
"[Expletive deleted]" I said calmly. "We're replacing this [bleeping] counter or I will [censored]."
But replacing the counter had Implications. If we were taking it out, we might as well replace the annoying black sink that was impossible to clean, and put in a backsplash so that I didn't have to spend so many happy weekend hours furiously rubbing our walls with a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser. And since we didn't want to install anything fancy in a kitchen that we eventually want to get rid of--I adhere to the principle that one should either buy expensive things that will be loved forever, or cheap things you won't feel bad about throwing away--the counters we could afford probably wouldn't match the cabinets, which meant they might have to be painted.
However, my steely resolve did not extend to tapping our emergency fund, or borrowing money. And even if it had . . . well, the Official Blog Husband is himself a man of formidable will. Which left us a quandary: how to do a minimalist kitchen renovation that would give us more storage, without costing more than we could cash flow?
The answer, for those of you who are interested, is below the jump: how to do a semi-renovation for a few thousand dollars that adds space and makes the thing look sort of all right. It wasn't exactly cheap, but it wasn't entirely out of reach of the average family, either.
I don't want to overpromise. This is not one of those $2,000 HGTV specials where, by the magic of not paying for labor, a couple gets a new-looking kitchen for practically no money. No one is going to walk into our kitchen and ask for the name of our designer. But it's functional enough to contain me, my mother, and my sister all cooking at the same time, without bumping into each other, or piling every flat surface high with used bowls and pans. We have enough storage for everything. And it looks . . . basically okay. Intentional, even.
If you're still interested, read on . . .
To start with, you'll want to know what our kitchen looked like. Unfortunately, I didn't think to write this blog post until we'd already started the renovation, and the people who sold our house quite wisely did not include photos of the kitchen in the listing. To the right is the only photo of the area they did include, of our dark grey laundry cave. I assure you, it was even darker looking when you were actually standing in front of it.
Note the quality paint job ending just where the washer-dryer start. And yes, before you ask, there's still a little paint on the washer-dryer.
However, just after they took off the cabinet doors, I got into a discussion with a commenter about renovations, and I remembered that some of my readers really like kitchen posts. So I hastened to the kitchen and took a few pictures before they went any further. Below, what our kitchen basically looked like, except with some of the doors removed.
This is also essentially what the kitchen looked like when we moved in, except, as I mentioned, with doors on the cabinets. And the dishwasher that we had to replace because it leaked all over the kitchen the first time we used it.
This is the view from the other direction. Unfortunately, you cannot see the edges peeling off the laminate, but you can see where the improperly attached filler panel next to the stove came off, leaving us with a darling hole:
On the other side of the kitchen, there was nothing but the tiny refrigerator, which the husband and I referred to as the "My First Fridge". Oh, and a garbage can. We kept the garbage can. The refrigerator had to go . . . although, before it went, it did give us hours of enjoyment arguing whether it was the largest dorm fridge on the market, or the absolute smallest regular model.
By the time we decided to semi-renovate, we'd already ripped out the laundry cave and stuck some mismatched bookshelves in that area. And on the empty side of the kitchen, we'd put in our carts: a large island from Target, an unfinished Catskill Craftsman kitchen cart, and a little unfinished cart from Ikea were all there when the above picture was taken. It was eventually supplemented with some plastic drawers that we'd had in the old house. The plastic drawers stuck, and looked awful. I'm not very sorry that I don't have any pictures of them.
A few months after we moved in, the new fridge arrived. This is how things stood until the semi-renovation.
As with so many things in modern homemaking, our semi-renovation started with a trip to Ikea. We investigated fixed cabinets for the laundry area, which would have been nice, but cost at least $2000, including installation. My heart said yes, yes. The little personal finance guru who lives in my head reluctantly vetoed the expenditure. Husband quite sensibly sided with the personal finance guru.
Instead, we bought paint for the hallway, a freestanding cabinet, and shelves to make a sort of butler's pantry. We also bought yet another unfinished kitchen island/counter, and a $99 set of silver-and-plastic drawers to replace the sticky plastic set next to the refrigerator.
While we were there, we priced sinks and countertops. We easily agreed on wood counters, both because we like them, and because our handyman could cut and install them himself. But we didn't buy until he could come by and give us an estimate.
Meanwhile, we painted the hallway and spent about seventy hours building our drawers, and our freestanding cabinet. The result was not perfect--the drawers are not quite flush. But it looks much nicer than the laundry cave.
We put all the serving dishes that we use every day out here, as well as our "set and forget" appliances. The prep areas are in the kitchen.
Then we got the greenlight from the handyman for the larger project. Back to Ikea we went!
We had decided on birch counters, to match all our unfinished wood. Bad news: lots of people are apparently attracted to the low cost and convenience of Ikea wood counters; almost everything was backordered. They only had oak, and only in one length: enormous. We had to purchase $350 worth of counters, instead of the $200 we'd been expecting. Also, the oak was going to look decidedly weird with our maple cabinets, so we'd have to paint the cabinets white.
The sink also added unexpected expense. We decided on a nice white farmhouse model that was wide and long, but there was a little problem--it only had one hole, and you couldn't drill another. We either needed a new faucet that combined taps and sprayer, or we had to give up the sprayer. Luckily, the husband found a nice model on deep discount--chrome apparently having gone out of fashion, they were selling it for a fraction of the price of the same model in brushed steel.
We chose subway tile for the backsplash, not even because it's cheap, but because that's what I grew up with. But happily, it's also quite cheap.
When our handyman removed the counter, we got a big surprise. Now we found out why the counters weren't level: whoever did our kitchen had used a wall cabinet on the floor. It was substantially shorter than the sink cabinet, so the counter sloped. It wasn't even attached to anything.
I assume they bought these surplus. I'd love to see the kitchen someone was remodeling with two corner wall cabinets, and only two floor cabinets.
Our handyman shimmed up the cabinet to level with the others, and built a sort of bracket to attach it to the wall. And he put in a brace for the dishwasher to attach to, pictured below.
After that he installed the counters, the sink, and the backsplash, and painted the cabinets. We stained the counters ourselves, since that's about the only thing I know how to do around the house, besides assemble Ikea furniture. We chose a darker oil-based stain that complemented the oak nicely, and finished with high gloss polyurethane--about 70 coats, if I recall correctly. It's easy to keep clean, and I can always slap another coat on from time to time.
Here's what it looked like when we finished the last layer of poly:
And here it is in working order. The whole kitchen seems much brighter with white cabinets, an effect I had not anticipated.
Another effect I wasn't anticipating was how this would make the other side of the kitchen look. We had four islands, made of different woods: the cart was birch, the two Ikea pieces were unfinished pine, and the Target island was some sort of eco-friendly tropical wood that was solidly finished. The collection looked even more motley next to this. We tried putting a left-over length of counter atop the Target island, but it didn't help much.
The solution was obvious: sand and stain. But sanding and staining a bunch of furniture is a very different job from doing a flat countertop; it's time-consuming, fiddly, and tedious. We dithered. I averted my eyes from the sight. Then we bit the bullet, with a small compromise: we let the finished piece alone, and just left the extra counter on top. Since we're both tall, the extra height was actually a plus. Added bonus: the extra length covered our previously exposed garbage can.
Do you own a detail sander? Because we own a little detail sander, and I'd never realized before this how much I love that thing. I'm not saying I'd leave my husband for a detail sander, or anything. I'm just saying that I'm very glad I don't have to choose.
Because the wood of the cabinets was lighter than the oak, we had to do a pre-stain with something close to the oak before we layered the color ("English Chestnut") on top. I knew it wouldn't be perfect--and it was even more imperfect than I expected, as I discovered that the body of our kitchen cart was an undistinguished pine. This was a fun opportunity for me to learn what happens to pine when you don't use a filler before you apply the stain.
I'm telling people that it's a tiger stripe pattern, and implying that it was deliberate. The whole thing has a sort of rustic air, if "rustic" is a code word for "people who aren't very good at applying stain."
Nonetheless, it does look more pulled together, even as if someone might have almost planned it that way. Here's the final result, as best as I can photograph in a relatively constrained space:
I spent about ten minutes the first night just opening and closing the dishwasher door, and relishing the way it did not tip forward and try to kill me.
The coffee maker moved to the left of the fridge. As you can see, our kitchen is optimized for tall people; my husband and I, both 6'2, can just reach to get stuff on and off that top shelf. My mother has to use a step stool.
We have our glasses in the top drawer of that drawer unit. Door ice has never been more convenient!
The other side of the fridge. The toaster oven has moved to replace the coffee maker Yes, I have a lot of pans:
It doesn't pay to look out the window. We haven't gotten around to the yard yet. And since broken glass is still working its way out of the ground after a year and a half of conscientious removal efforts, we probably won't get around to the yard until we can get someone to bring a backhoe--or at least a bobcat--in to dig out forty years and several college students worth of neglect.
Like I say, it will never be on HGTV. But we're very fond.
Overall, we saved hundreds of dollars by doing the work that we could ourselves. But we saved even more by compromising, and accepting that it was not going to look like a showplace. Open shelving instead of cabinets; a lot of stuff that doesn't quite match, and an aesthetic that leans towards functional rather than elegant.
That's not for everyone. I like having things in the open where I can reach them, but it takes a lot of work to keep it looking neat--work which, as you can see from my jumble of pans, we have not entirely completed. Finished wood surfaces do not stand abuse as well as granite, or even Corian. (Though I'll put them up against porous stone like Carrara marble any day). And we're well aware that the paint on the cabinets will probably scratch, and need to be touched up.
But lots of people could do some variant of this: upgrading or installing a few items, rather than re-doing the whole thing. The kind of kitchen renovation we would still frankly love to have would have cost us tens of thousands of dollars and involved moving our badly-placed and too-large half-bath. Not including the appliances, which we would have had to replace anyway, this cost us a few thousand dollars, even with labor included, and I expect to be happy with it for years. And if we needed to sell for any reason, I'm confident that we'll more than recover the money we spent. (I mean, after we move out my crazy array of appliances and pots and kitchen islands. I'm well aware that my taste in such things is somewhat, um, singular.)
Unfortunately, they never show you things like this on television. Instead they show you what you can get with $2,000 if someone throws in tens of thousands of dollars worth of contractor labor for free. I suppose that's fine if you're a swell all-purpose handyman, but most of us aren't. Nor, in this fast-paced world, can we necessarily learn in time to corral our rebel appliances and save our walls.
So I thought it was worth offering this as an alternative to house-porn. Call it house-PG-13: something that should be accessible to most people, provided they are properly chaperoned by a good handyman. No one is going to catch their breath in admiration when they walk into a kitchen like this. But hopefully, that will just leave more admiration available for the food you produce in it.
The comparatively less flashy, less spirited former First Kid managed to show her mom’s softer side at the DNC on Thursday.
Yes, yes, yes. Chelsea Clinton is not the most charismatic orator—as the Twittersphere was happy to point out during her brief address on Thursday night. She is like her mother that way. There’s something not quite natural about her self-presentation. She’s not stilted, exactly. But she can come across as too cautious, too reserved, too conscious of other people’s eyes upon her.
But, let’s face it, as the lead-in to Hillary’s big nominating speech, a little bit of boring was called for. Unlike some of this convention’s high-wattage speakers, there was zero chance Chelsea was going to upstage Hillary with a barnburner or tear-jerker. Chelsea wasn’t there to pump up the crowd. Her role was to comfort, to explain, to cajole, with an eye toward giving Americans a glimpse of her mother’s softer side.
In her acceptance speech, the Democratic nominee took on her Republican rival by throwing Donald Trump’s own words back at him.
The unicorn of American politics, the “real Hillary Clinton”—the Hillary Clinton I’ve known for nearly 30 years—that Hillary Clinton likes to wear low-heeled shoes to a butt-kicking.
“A man you can bait with a tweet is not a man we can trust with nuclear weapons,” she said of her Republican rival, Donald Trump, while accepting the Democratic presidential nomination, the first woman in U.S. history to head a major-party ticket.
It was a sound bite for the ages, searing and on point.
“Do you really think Donald Trump has the temperament to be commander in chief?” she continued. “Donald Trump can’t even handle the rough and tumble of a presidential campaign. He loses his cool at the slightest provocation. Imagine, if you dare, imagine him in the Oval Office facing a crisis.”
The father of a Muslim American who died in Iraq confronts Donald Trump.
Khizr Khan began his speech at the Democratic National Convention on Thursday with words I wish he didn’t have to say: “Tonight we are honored to stand here as parents of Captain Humayun Khan and as patriotic American Muslims—as patriotic American Muslims with undivided loyalty to our country.”
I wish he and his wife didn’t have to stand there as the parents of a 27-year-old Army captain who was killed by suicide bombers while serving in the Iraq War. And I wish Khizr Khan hadn’t felt the need to declare his patriotism and loyalty to the United States of America. Those truths should have been self-evident.
The state of the union is not strong when an American feels compelled to clarify such things. In better times, Khizr Khan, who was born in Pakistan and moved to America from the United Arab Emirates, might have begun his speech with what he said next: “Like many immigrants, we came to this country empty-handed. We believed in American democracy—that with hard work and [the] goodness of this country, we could share in and contribute to its blessings.”
Chris Morris’s brutal satire aired its last and most controversial episode in 2001, but its skewering of the news media feels more relevant than ever.
A sex offender is thrown in the stocks, presented with a small child, and asked if he wants to molest him. A mob of protestors is thrown a “dummy full of guts” that is stomped to pieces within seconds. A radio host insists that pedophiles have “more genes in common with crabs” than the rest of humanity, insisting, “There’s no real evidence for [that], but it is scientific fact.”
It’s hard to pinpoint the most cringe-inducing moment on “Paedogeddon,” a special episode of the British TV satire Brass Eye. But 15 years after the episode aired, it remains a totemic, terrifying satirical vision. Few comedies since have dared to cross the boundaries of taste with such impunity.
“Paedogeddon” aired in the U.K. in the summer of 2001, a year after the murder of a young girl had sparked national hysteria over the country’s sex-offender registry. Britain’s most-read newspaper led a campaign to publish the names and locations of all 110,000 convicted sex offenders, prompting a riot in which an angry mob ransacked the home of an ex-con. Brass Eye, a parody of a 60 Minutes-like newsmagazine show, had been dormant after airing one season in the UK in 1997. But it returned four years later for this surprise broadcast, one that saw its furious (fictional) anchors barking from a dark studio about the plague of seemingly super-powered child molesters stalking the nation, holding a funhouse mirror up to the climate of paranoia and fear that had built up around the country. It was a bold, wildly insensitive piece of comedy, but one that captured the growing madness of the 24-hour news media and foreshadowed some uglier aspects of its future.
The Fox host’s insistence that black laborers building the White House were “well-fed and had decent lodgings” fits in a long history of insisting the “peculiar institution” wasn’t so bad.
In her widely lauded speech at the Democratic National Convention on Monday, Michelle Obama reflected on the remarkable fact of her African American family living in the executive mansion. “I wake up every morning in a house that was built by slaves. And I watch my daughters, two beautiful, intelligent, black young women, playing with their dogs on the White House lawn,” she said.
On Tuesday, Fox News host Bill O’Reilly discussed the moment in his Tip of the Day. In a moment first noticed by the liberal press-tracking group Media Matters, O’Reilly said this:
As we mentioned, Talking Points Memo, Michelle Obama referenced slaves building the White House in referring to the evolution of America in a positive way. It was a positive comment. The history behind her remark is fascinating. George Washington selected the site in 1791, and as president laid the cornerstone in 1792. Washington was then running the country out of Philadelphia.
Slaves did participate in the construction of the White House. Records show about 400 payments made to slave masters between 1795 and 1801. In addition, free blacks, whites, and immigrants also worked on the massive building. There were no illegal immigrants at that time. If you could make it here, you could stay here.
In 1800, President John Adams took up residence in what was then called the Executive Mansion. It was only later on they named it the White House. But Adams was in there with Abigail, and they were still hammering nails, the construction was still going on.
Slaves that worked there were well-fed and had decent lodgings provided by the government, which stopped hiring slave labor in 1802. However, the feds did not forbid subcontractors from using slave labor. So, Michelle Obama is essentially correct in citing slaves as builders of the White House, but there were others working as well. Got it all? There will be a quiz.
The Democratic nominee for United States president made a play for progressives, moderates, and Independents alike during her address in Philadelphia on Thursday night.
“America's strength doesn't come from lashing out,” Hillary Clinton said Thursday, delivering a harsh rebuke to Donald Trump as she accepted the Democratic nomination for U.S. president.
Clinton’s speech capped the Democratic National Convention in Philadelphia, where she made history as the first female presidential nominee of a major party. While Clinton did not skip over the historic aspect of her nomination, she spent most of her hour-long speech emphasizing two, interlocking themes: the importance of community and togetherness, and the fundamental unfitness of the Republican nominee for office. It was not so dark and ominous a speech as Trump’s own acceptance speech a week ago in Cleveland, but it was a negative speech: a warning against the danger posed to America by a Trump presidency.
Narcissism, disagreeableness, grandiosity—a psychologist investigates how Trump’s extraordinary personality might shape his possible presidency.
In 2006, Donald Trump made plans to purchase the Menie Estate, near Aberdeen, Scotland, aiming to convert the dunes and grassland into a luxury golf resort. He and the estate’s owner, Tom Griffin, sat down to discuss the transaction at the Cock & Bull restaurant. Griffin recalls that Trump was a hard-nosed negotiator, reluctant to give in on even the tiniest details. But, as Michael D’Antonio writes in his recent biography of Trump, Never Enough, Griffin’s most vivid recollection of the evening pertains to the theatrics. It was as if the golden-haired guest sitting across the table were an actor playing a part on the London stage.
“It was Donald Trump playing Donald Trump,” Griffin observed. There was something unreal about it.
Psychologists have long debated how flexible someone’s “true” self is.
Almost everyone has something they want to change about their personality. In 2014, a study that traced people’s goals for personality change found that the vast majority of its subjects wanted to be more extraverted, agreeable, emotionally stable, and open to new experiences. A whopping 97 percent said they wished they were more conscientious.
These desires appeared to be rooted in dissatisfaction. People wanted to become more extraverted if they weren’t happy with their sex lives, hobbies, or friendships. They wanted to become more conscientious if they were displeased with their finances or schoolwork. The findings reflect the social psychologist Roy Baumeister’s notion of “crystallization of discontent”: Once people begin to recognize larger patterns of shortcomings in their lives, he contends, they may reshuffle their core values and priorities to justify improving things.
Hillary Clinton accepted the Democratic nomination in Philadelphia, ratifying a promise made there 240 years before—that all are created equal.
PHILADELPHIA—“Daddy,” my daughter recently asked me, “Why are there no girl presidents? Is it because boys are stronger than girls? Because they’re smarter?”
It left me speechless.
On Thursday night, in the city where the Founders declared all men created equal, I found my answer. It’s because no major party has ever tried nominating one before.
“Tonight, we’ve reached a milestone in our nation’s march toward a more perfect union: the first time that a major party has nominated a woman for president,” Clinton said as she accepted the nomination. “Standing here as my mother’s daughter, and my daughter’s mother, I’m so happy this day has come.”
It wasn’t the theme of her speech. But it was the unspoken subtext that ran through it. And Clinton took pains to frame the achievement not as the triumph of some subset of Americans, but as a victory for all Americans. She proclaimed herself both “happy for grandmothers and little girls,” but also “happy for boys and men—because when any barrier falls in America, it clears the way for everyone.”
The State Department is reopening its investigation into Hillary Clinton’s emails, just as she puts a Justice Department investigation behind her.
Hillary Clinton is out of the frying pan and into the fire. On July 6, Attorney General Loretta Lynch announced that the Justice Department would not pursue criminal charges against the presumptive Democratic presidential nominee for her use of a private email server at the State Department. But the following day, with that criminal investigation closed, the State Department reopened its own probe into the emails, the AP reported.
State Department spokesman John Kirby told the AP that it would be looking at potential mishandling of classified information by Hillary Clinton and her top aides. Former officials could face administrative sanctions, including a loss of their security clearances—a step that would be both politically embarrassing for Clinton, and complicate efforts to staff a national-security team should she prevail in November.