A scene from The Paper, one of my fave newspaper movies.
A few weeks ago I rounded up some friends — at the last minute — to take part in the pub quiz at The Argonaut, an H Street bar that’s annoying to get to and yet always packed. My sorry teammates will probably never forgive me for sharing this, but of the 12 teams that took part in a seven-round pub quiz, our team — Quantitative Pleasing — placed last. We blame the small size of our team (four players compared to the 10 plus that other teams boasted), and two ridiculous categories: “Name that Cat Breed” and “Comic Books.”
The ignominious “prize” for coming in last place is the losers get to choose a category for the next week’s contest. We chose “Movies About Newspapers” and quizmaster Michael was nice enough to send me the questions, even though our team was unable to make it to see these questions presented live. See if you can answer them. In true pub trivia fashion, no cheating with your mobile devices!
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.
SAN ANTONIO — Anywhere there are hundreds of state lawmakers you will find just as many special interest groups. (American Society for Nude Recreation, anyone?) Here at the annual summit of the National Conference of State Legislatures, not only can you find lobbyists galore, you can also find plenty of the swag they give away to subtly (or not so subtly) communicate their brands.
My besties April, Blake and Justin helped me show off my favorite swag of the conference:
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.
Holy S, my Hollywood fantasy is coming true in a film to be released this fall, The Ides of March. And it’s about the drama of dueling presidential campaigns. My head is going to burst.
SALT LAKE CITY — I spent my weekend here, a gorgeous place nestled in the mountains with notably wide streets. I didn’t much explore much, for I was here for the National Governors Association summer meeting. Our NPR StateImpact project has just started its soft rollout, so I came to network with governors and staffers and other people who orbit state government.
There is scant news made here. So there’s been plenty of time to bond with new friends.
On the governors: New Jersey Governor Chris Christie was probably the weekend’s most sought-after governor, at least by the Newark Star Ledger, which sent a reporter and a photographer to come follow his every move. Christie totally denied his home state journos, though, not saying a word all weekend.
Hickenlooper and Balz
I sat in on the WSJ’s one-on-one with Iowa governor Terry Branstad, who just loves talking politics and gave us an earful about how powerful Iowa is in the presidential contest. “We made him, we can sink him,” he said of President Barack Obama. And that night, while having some late night drinks with my new press corps buddies, Governor John Hickenlooper of Colorado invited himself over for beers.
Making new friends through Murdoch: I was marginally concerned about coming all the way out here where I knew no one. But I have the News Corp phone hacking scandal to thank for introducing me to one pal, who then introduced me to a merry band of brothers. This is how Murdoch brought us together:
ME, to SUDEEP, on the phone: Dude, is your paper gonna get sold? Your publisher resigned! [Conversation continues for a few minutes, then I hang up]
GUY NEXT TO ME IN PRESS ROOM WHO OVERHEARD MY END OF THE CONVO: Were you talking to a Wall Street Journal reporter?
ME: Yep.
GUY: I’m a Wall Street Journal reporter. It’s pretty crazy what’s going on. [He introduces himself.]
“GUY” was my new pal Jonathan Weisman, a longtime political reporter who also happens to know more about the Mormon faith than any non-Mormon I’ve ever encountered. That night, after we were kicked off an event bus by the hosts, we met up with another new friend, the Chuck Babington, and visited the Temple Square. Weisman gave us a detailed tour, natch.
Since there were only about six American journalists in town — nothing compared to the dozens of Chinese journos who came to cover a US-China Governors Forum — we stuck together. Shared many a meal. Mingled with staffer sources in the lobby. The boys wrote stories. Babington and another vet, Dan Balz, busted my balls for my whining about the bus incident. I taught Dan how to tweet a photo from his phone. And on our last night, The Times’ Michael Cooper joined us for dinner and drinks and told us all about the quirkly Utah liquor laws. It was a pleasure to make some new friends from whom I can learn so much. Like about how you can’t order doubles at the bars, and that the Mormon guardian angel is Moroni.
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.
Andy Brown, planking in Big Bend National Park. Good god.
What else is there to say? We were with some of our favorite people, possibly my most organized friend (Hannah) and in perfect weather all weekend.
By the Numbers
Total Miles Driven in Remote West Texas: 663
Person to Bathroom Ratio in Our Marfa Rental: 6 to 1
Afternoons with Fresh Guacamole: 3
Pairs of Dollar General Shoes Purchased (after leaving real shoes on a ranch): 1
Miles Hiked: 5.1
Highest Elevation: 6700 feet
Bear Sightings: 0
Number of Times Andy Brown Was Photographed Planking Something: 7
BORDER PATROL [after I blew past the checkpoint and was whistled back]: Where you in such a hurry to?
ME: Marfa.
BORDER PATROL: Marfa ain’t a place you need to hurry to get to.
On the interstate in Far West Texas, en route to Marfa
MARFA, TEXAS — Austin is already considered a cool town, but Marfa is the place which Austinites consider cool. A place where everyone waves hello at you. A place with a population the same size as my high school graduating class. A place where eight close friends can escape urban hustle-bustle for a holiday weekend, stay in a one-bathroom house together, relax in a sprawling backyard of pecan and apple trees, make homemade breakfast tacos after a morning jog and spend most the days doing nothing.
Nothing besides eating, that is. Friend Hannah, who organized all of us here with her trademark aplomb, happens to be the founder of Supper Underground in Austin. Homegirl knows her food and can cook a mean meal, but even luckier for us, so can her boyfriend Jed, a fisherman/grilling master. Nom nom nom nom.
Cell phone service is spotty, or else I’d be instagramming and tweeting more. But Marfa Public Radio comes in clear, so we’ve been amused while driving around this little town, listening to our coworkers on the radio. But mostly we are enjoying each other and the stars that guide us home at night, as this is also a place without street lights or street signs to show you the way. Sometimes you have to get a little lost to find your center.
Assignment Editor Kim Deal, me and Andy Still. Had WYFF's then-news director Andy not given me the chance to cover the legislature and campaigns, who knows what I'd be doing today.
GREENVILLE, S.C. — Television news is inherently a team sport. Reporters are nothing without their photographer partners, and the visual stories created in the field are nothing without the teams of producers who craft them into something larger — a newscast, a series, a documentary.
One of the most high-functioning and family-like teams on which I’ve played was in my early twenties, in South Carolina. It was on that team that I was first given a chance to cover politics with regularity. And South Carolina is a place that’s shaped my perspective in indescribable ways.
I moved away five years ago after a couple memory-packed years here, and hadn’t returned until yesterday.
Yesterday would have been the 40th birthday of Chris Gulfman, a talented and reliable photographer who was an even more reliable friend. His gruff exterior masked one of the kindest hearts, a heart that is still beating somewhere, in the recipient of one of Gulfman’s many organ donations after he died suddenly half a decade ago. An undiagnosed brain tumor ruptured in his brain overnight, and more quickly than we could say aneurism, he was gone. Continue reading “Return to the 8-6-4”→
