The Washington I Don't Know

It's not that I don't think these "Washingtonians" exist. I encounter them occasionally. They're the ones who do a quick cost/benefit analysis upon meeting me, their eyes scanning the room for someone more interesting, important or useful.

To be honest, I'm a little jealous of them. Sometimes I wish I had a BlackBerry. Or photos on my office wall of me shaking hands with James Carville or Dick Cheney . I wish I was the kind of journalist who had sources he could get too close to. Doesn't anyone want to watch me have an affair?

Maybe I'm out of place in Washington. I'm definitely out of place in "Washington." I don't go to bars to gossip. I go to bars to drink. I don't know how to hobnob and have been invited to exactly one embassy party -- and it was the Swiss Embassy. Yes, a story of mine was once mentioned in a George Will column -- that apotheosis of "Washingtonness" -- but the story was about nude dancers.

I can honestly say that I would rather spend time with a nude dancer than someone from "Washington."

I guess I prefer the company of normal people, although you're not allowed to say "normal" anymore, since it suggests the existence of "abnormal" people. Maybe I should say "real" people.

These are people who, like me, think it's kind of cool to live in our nation's capital, the way it must be neat to live near a candy factory or an amusement park. We try to show an interest in politics, really we do, but our eyes glaze over when the conversation gets too convoluted. Our minds wander, and we find ourselves thinking about day-care arrangements or our leaky toilet or whether we remembered to defrost the ground beef.

That "gossipy little village" seems very far away indeed.

I Spied

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Random images that registered recently on my optic nerves:

I was driving up 15th Street NW when, from the corner of my eye, I saw something plummet from an open window at the top of a rowhouse. A child? An armchair? No, a Christmas tree. That's one way to keep from having to sweep up pine needles.

There's a construction crane a block from my office. As dusk was settling the other night, a great flock of birds -- grackles? -- wheeled around the crane in a mighty, throbbing cloud. Then they all landed, a thousand black birds perched and bristling along the massive horizontal arm.

They looked like iron filings attracted to a magnet.

I'm Your Vehicle, Baby

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Here's your chance to tell me in person what Washington is really like: I'll be at the Washington Auto Show today from 5 to 7 p.m. Stop by The Post's booth, which is just inside the entrance to Hall D at the Washington Convention Center.

Or we could meet in the safety and anonymity of cyberspace, during my online chat, today at 1 p.m. Go tohttp://www.washingtonpost.com/liveonline.