I had already taken a big swig of the pervasive Washington culture cocktail of press+politicos at the White House Correspondent’s Dinner over the weekend, but at least 100 of those Washingtonians were still game to party on Tuesday, when I co-hosted a soiree to fete our pal Robert’s new book at columnist Kathleen Parker’s Georgetown abode. There, I witnessed a Washington tradition for new books: People turning straight to the index to see if their names are mentioned. Coverage of the fete from The Hill’s Judy Kurtz:
Friends and colleagues celebrated the release of Robert Draper’s new book about the inner workings of the 112th Congress, Do Not Ask What Good We Do: Inside the U.S. House of Representatives, on Tuesday … Draper, a freelance writer, spent a year following the veterans of the House and the newly elected Tea Party members, to get a behind-the-scenes glimpse of life inside the Capitol.
The place is gorgeous-gorgeous, with an expansive courtyard and a roofdeck, and dozens of Draper’s pals showed to toast his new book. More photos, by our NPR intern Julia Ro:
Show Foreground: BLT canapes. Back: BBQ pork sliders.
The stairs to the courtyard.
The spread.
Robert’s book jacket as a small poster.
Scott Conroy, Elise Hu, Peter Hamby
Author Draper with political reporters Scott Conroy and Pete Hamby
Jennifer Hing, Paul Kane, Brendan Daly
So much signing
Mixin’ it up with Cap Hill staffer gals
Robert Draper speaking with Judy Kurtz of The Hill
I remember Todd, right, from way back when he worked for John Cornyn
Draper has lots of friends.
Kevin Madden, Paul Kane, Jennifer Hing, John Scofield and Brendan Daly
Draper signin’ books
Sloan Harrison (Robert’s longtime book agent) and Robert Draper
WaPo publisher Katharine Weymouth with pals and Kathleen Parker (with the poodle, Ollie)
Cohostesses – Lara Andre, Kathleen Parker, me, managing to look less preggo in this one
My friend Patrick Terpstra wrote this of his year: “2011 was like riding a tilt-a-hurl after eating seven corn dogs. But it sure beats watching from the ground.”
I can’t disagree. I did plenty of plane riding, which is the most consistent memory of this year, besides saying goodbye and hello to a lot of people I really love. To rewind:
The Year I Flew Around the World, Twice:After saying goodbye to Texas and The Texas Tribune, I spent 99 days this year away from home, logging 78,931 miles in the air to 29 locations including places like Warsaw, Poland (for fun) and Boise, Idaho (for work). Not proud of the carbon footprint but I can now glide through security like Ryan Bingham.
Don’t Look Back in Anger (I Heard You Say): It felt like a pretty angry and destructive year, didn’t it? My second favorite emotion*, outrage, seemed to abound. I write this as tens of thousands of Russians protest in the streets, Egypt, Tunisia and Libya take their shaky steps toward self-rule, and socioeconomic dissatisfaction continues at home. We said goodbye to Osama bin Laden, Amy Winehouse and Steve Jobs (none of whom were picks in my clearly talentless celebrity death pool), an earthquake-tsunami combo led to radiation disaster in Japan, and we experienced a rare earthquake in my new hometown of Washington, D.C.
Favorite Video of The Year Is Also My Favorite Song: “Ching Chong (It Means I Love You)”
After a UCLA student went on a crazy rant about Asian people in the library, she faced a backlash so large she had to quit college. But Jimmy Wong turned his rant response into art — one of the catchiest songs of the year, and an instant viral video. It will get stuck in your head, so if you haven’t seen this, you’ve been warned.
Speaking of Asians, My Most Memorable Welcome to Washington: The Crazy Guy in Starbucks There was one morning after the devastating Japanese earthquake when I went into Starbucks in Chinatown, natch, when a random guy off the street wandered in, started yelling at people in line, stopped at me, and said this, to me: “Fuck you, go home. You deserved the earthquake.” Then he told the rest of the line we were all going to die. Yep.
Justin is one of my besties. The Bert to my Ernie. My work-husband, even though I worked (and work) with my actual husband. We toiled together as a reporter-photog team at KVUE-TV, from 2006 to 2009. Then he joined us at The Texas Tribune, where he remains a multimedia producer today. But mostly we’ve involved ourselves with shenanigans, buffets and long nights that journeyed into daylight. There was one summer when we were obsessed with going to Cool River Cafe, a.k.a. “Cougar River” or “Cougar Town”, to dance to one-syllabled cover bands like MAXX or SUEDE with women who were old enough to be our moms, or Liza Minnelli.
Here I was, going into the 51st minute of a conference call about charter schools, when I started feeling a tremor beneath me. At first I thought it was just some effect of the footlong chili cheese dog from lunch, but when the slight tremor turned into a steadier rocking, I looked over at my colleague Ken, who was so panicked that he slammed down his receiver and took off. “Don’t use the elevator,” he said, as he rushed out the door. I took the time to say goodbye to my conference call-mates, find my cell phone and camera, and then went down stairs.
Outside, we were a hapless group of journos standing in the middle of downtown DC, awaiting instructions on what to do next and trying to stand close enough to the building to stay connected to wifi. I found All Things Considered host Robert Siegel reading his Blackberry and learning we were indeed in an earthquake, it measured 5.8 on the Richter scale and centered in Mineral, Virginia, which was about 100 miles southwest of us. And it was he and the rest of the ATC staff that was let back in the building first, since they had an earthquake to consider in time for the broadcast.
ATC Host Robert Siegel was also evacuated.
This fairly-significant quake reminded me of the “best” quake memory I have. It was Easter 2002, and I was with mom in a department store in downtown Taipei, awaiting a dance performance from the Chinese hip-hop boy band I was living with at the time. But all of a sudden there was a rumble, and we were all rushed out into the streets. My journal from that time:
“on Sunday, minutes before Ed and Kenny were going to dance at FNAC (an electroncis store), an earthquake struck, and weeny Kenny blew out of the building….well, everyone else did too, i guess, but anyway, the point is i never got to watch the boys perform. oh well, i guess i get the privilege of seeing them do headstands and funky stretches around the house all the time.”
The whole roommate crew plus my mom found one another near National Taiwan University later that day, and ate a bunch of mango shaved ice. It was awesome. So today, after the earthquake, I immediately craved ice, which, like other great Asian food, can’t be found in DC’s Chinatown.
Since I am a hopeless nostalgic, I figured I oughta capture my feelings about my first summer in DC, a place I always said I would never live unless I was rich. Rich is relative. I feel rich in experience and spirit.
Trading in my typical summer activity of co-hosting baby showers for hosting happy hours.
Getting to know a lot of awesome new friends. And reconnect with old ones, like my besties Sudeep and Beam, who comprised half my bridesmaid brigade at the Amsterdam nuptials of 2010.
Walking around outside since it wasn’t too hot to be walking around outside.
Having some Tangy Sweet yogurt whilst getting a pedicure at my new nail place, Golden Nail (singular, not plural. I have no idea why)
The great debt ceiling crisis and the visit to the Senate Cafeteria (which Politico’s Mike Allen calls the Dirksen Bureau), getting awkwardly flirted with by Kent Conrad and overhearing Jon Tester on the phone saying “They’re not putting any pressure on these guys!” What was he talking about? Congress or someone who does his lawn? I will never know.
Spending July 4th in remote West Texas after a blustery winter and spring in a town full of people who walk fast, aren’t that nice to strangers and take themselves way too seriously.
Dragging my ass to Pilates reformer classes and having Tami the trainer react with sheer bewilderment when I and the others were not able to do her “mermaids” or other tricky moves that required muscles.
Spending every other weekend out of town, going to random places like Salt Lake City and San Antonio.
Learning Saidee didn’t have doggy cancer.
Cookouts with my cousins when my little brother was in town, which was a lot, even though his home is in Beijing.
My irrational obsession with seeing Crazy, Stupid Love for Ryan Gosling, and then finally seeing it and feeling a bit let down. Expectations were too high.
Pool time in Crystal City with the Beam, where even though we were just lying there for a few hours, we wound up famished at the end of our time in the sun and had to go gorge at nearby Chik-Fil-A.
Friends Reeve and Dan are both in town from Texas this weekend. It’s a happy consequence of living in Washington that I get to have a reunion with a Texas friend who happens to be in town at a rate of nearly once a week. So far I’ve been treated to separate reunions with friends April, Robert, Jeff, Wade, Corbin, Stacey, Carlos, Darrin, Thomas, Pete, Andrew and an attempted reunion with Connor (who I missed due to being in Texas myself). These reunion meals and happy hours may be the best part of living here, besides Tiny Desk Concerts and getting to eat lunch in the Kogol Courtyard at the National Portrait Gallery whenever we want.
So if you are like Dan or Reeve and are planning to come and visit, here’s an annotated map of the places I’ve been eating and drinking and getting entertained, so far. I try to keep it updated but life happens, so it might be missing some good stuff. But my favorite bars here so far — The Passenger, Solly’s U Street Tavern and the W hotel rooftop — are on the map and recommended. So is lunch at the Portrait Gallery, pizza/sliders at Matchbox and any time you can carve out to visit me (or Matty) at NPR.
My little point-and-click camera is not the best in low light, but here’s a view from inside the crowd of revelers at on Pennsylvania Ave., after the big Osama news.
Outside the White House with a fresh sign
Unless you’ve been in a cave, you know the news. Special forces killed public enemy number one, Osama/Usama bin Laden this morning and recovered his body. A spontaneous crowd flooded to the front gate of the White House and just after President Obama’s address to the nation, we started seeing some shots of the revelry on the T-V. So, being the news junkies that we are, Mr. Hu-Stiles and I drove the three miles to 1600 Pennsylvania Ave., illegally parked and literally ran to check out the action. The air was thick with the smell of winning and weed. The crowd was dominated by drunk, fratty types and what appeared to be foreign journalists. We heard lots of “U-S-A, U-S-A” chants and an occasional rendition of the national anthem.
Revelry. I don’t know how they had a flag handy. Proof I was there.
I believe it is the great American sage called Oprah who preaches the mantra of living your best life. And if I recall correctly, to live your best life you should be grateful for all the love and kindness and free food that come your way. (Or something along those lines. I don’t watch Oprah but have read a few of her magazines while out by the pool.)
So today in my Oprah-brand “Gratitude Journal” I’d be grateful for my work cousin/guide/bestie Matt Thompson, who, after my $20 bill went flying into 5th Street NW, heroically jumped over a spiky four foot fence that enclosed us into a bar patio before running partially into the street, chasing the airborne Andrew Jackson until he was able to retrieve it in front of cheering bystanders. Thank you Matt, and thank you fellow fence jumper meandering dollar-chaser Patrick for bearing witness to this for the historical record (as I couldn’t scale a fence on a windy day in a loose skirt).
Armed with a $20, I’m now on my way to living my best life.
If you’re receiving this message, you have been designated “essential personnel” in the event of massive drinking. Pursuant to federal statute, your attendance is therefore required at our housewarming party tomorrow evening.
Warmly,
Personnel Office
Department of Inebriation
