In most offices, you bump into someone and they ask, “How are you?” or “What’s happening?”
At The Washington Post, they ask “What do you know?”
I live in Washington, D.C., where I first came to work as a writer and producer for The Atlantic in 2010 and then covered D.C. transportation for TBD On Foot. Now I report on Congress for Communications Daily.
Just cabbed back from the National Press Foundation awards dinner not long ago. Some Robert Siegel, some Wolf Blitzer, free food and a whole lot of free drinks, the usual. I was at AT&T’s table, which comes with the benefit of AT&T folks supplying extra wine (and some pre-party gathering coordinated with the broadcaster folks, and the after-party). Telecom maniacs, I tell you.
Long, long day, if also good. Also tired given I had to stake out a secret meeting of House Republicans for like two and a half hours in the Rayburn building this morning. Is it spring yet?
It’s days like today I’m grateful for the keurig in my bedroom.
Funny truth—whenever I talked with my lobbyist pals today, I could hear their kids bumbling around in the background. Yet there these lobbyists were, still totally down to dish on policy and Congress. Good times.
Helped some friends move after work. They live right in Petworth, so it was an easy stroll down, despite the pain-level cold. And this part was just packing up a truck and still yielded free pizza and beer. I’ll accept it. We’ll finish the move tomorrow morning.
That’s now left my Friday night to a fate of curling up and reading Alice Munro’s The Love of a Good Woman. Wild times.
Walked into the Metro at Dupont like a half hour ago and saw vomit all over the middle train door. Like, impressively all over. People kept noticing and kept being shocked, which was mildly entertaining, at least.
I forgot to eat dinner again but my appetite might now be gone.
Tonight’s the first time in awhile I’ve done nothing and even then I accomplished laundry. My days and nights have been busier lately, intentionally and unintentionally. I started work early, earlier than I probably had to. I didn’t go to sleep until after 1 a.m. last night, but still sprung out of bed at 6:45 a.m. to make it to the Library of Congress by 8 a.m. There were these public broadcasting awards there, all meant to honor a couple members of Congress. Not to mention the free coffee and bacon and eggs.
From there I ended up dashing to the JW Marriott for more speeches and food and flair. I discovered the best place to corner lawmakers, if that’s a thing you find yourself doing, is on hotel escalators, especially if it requires a couple floors’ worth of escalators for them to get to the building exit. I hopped on after Sen. Klobuchar this morning following her big speech to these local broadcasters and had a nice long chat on her way out of the building.
Last night I and a dozen others snuck onto an island and put together a little bonfire, which lasted until close to 3 a.m. This weather was just too good not to, and I’ve rarely been readier for warmer weather. I’ve spent a lot of time walking this weekend. Yesterday down to Meridian Pint and then Red Derby for drinks, today down to Columbia Heights and reading. I started Alice Munro’s The Love of a Good Woman.
The cold’s supposed to return this next week.