The Washington I Don't Know

By John Kelly
Friday, January 27, 2006

I don't know how many times British actress Helen Mirren has been to Washington. She evidently has spent enough time in our fair city -- most recently for the Kennedy Center Honors -- to have formed some rather strong opinions of it.

When she was in Italy last month for the Capri-Hollywood International Film Festival, someone asked the star of "Gosford Park" and the "Prime Suspect" TV shows what Washington is like.

Washington, said Mirren, is a "very gossipy little village of people all going to the same bars . . . all watching each other having affairs with each other."

My reaction on reading this was to feel left out once again. Somewhere is a list of bars where Washingtonians are supposed to go and gossip, and my name isn't on it.

And the affairs! Not only are Washingtonians having them, they're also watching each other have them ! With each other!

And me? I'm on my couch at home, falling asleep to Channel 5's Sue Palka . (Notice that I said "to" Sue Palka, not "with" Sue Palka.)

I keep reading about a Washington I've never been to. It's in books by people such as Jessica "Washingtonienne" Cutler and Ana Marie "Wonkette" Cox . It's evoked in the stump speeches of politicians who delight in saying how awful "Washington" is -- then do all they can to move here.

This "Washington" is a city of political junkies who when they're not stabbing backs are rubbing them with edible massage oil. It's an incestuous city where elite members of the media cozy up to their sources and where that breeze you feel is the whir of a gigantic revolving door, as public service metamorphoses into private gain.

It's a city that prompted this observation from Ana Marie Cox in a recent interview with U.S. News & World Report: "The most important thing for anyone in Washington is to be recognized and thought of as important."

You know how it is in other places: People hate being important. They spend their lives striving to be unimportant little slugs so vaporous that they barely register on infrared film. They grow their bangs so they won't be recognized. Not in "Washington."

"In Washington," Cox said, "people's work, personal and social lives overlap so that no social invitation should be overlooked for how it's applicable to your work life."

I think of how pathetically I've managed my own social life. Fool that I am, I've been trying to spend it with people I like.

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

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

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.