Jackie Kucinich sports a stylish WashingtonMonument headband. Her cute friend doesn’t want you to know that she’s an intern.
Wednesday night, if you can think back that far, was an absolutely gorgeous evening. We spent part of it enjoying the hospitality of Court TV and Capitol File, soaking in the panoramic views from the Kennedy Center’s roof deck — as well as some sweet-but-not-too-sweet, lemon-flavored libation.
The occasion for the festivities? The opening of Court TV’s Washington bureau, featuring Savannah Guthrie, Fred Graham, and a dozen other staffers.
We said hello to all the usual suspects, hinted to the Court TV folks that we’d love to be on TV — even if it means getting yelled at by Nancy Grace — and loaded up on sushi.
After the jump, pictures from the event (amateur shots by one of your editors, not photos by Liz Gorman, that Super-Hot Girl Reporter). Plus, our report card on the proceedings. Check it all out here.
The Red Carpet line was dutifully mocked (“how many pictures can you get of Chris Wallace before you get bored?” “Ask Capitol File”) and people tried to figure out if that was the mom from
The Gilmore Girls who was it?or not, and if not, then
We drank, we didn’t dance, we tried to find Michael Brown, and finally we were convinced to go check out the dark horse Capitol File party at Cafe Milano. We weren’t the only ones — Coulter, Morgan Fairchild, Antonin Scalia, Ludacris, and a couple other made the same jump at some point, seemingly because it was easier to be heard discussing your newest project at Milano. Coulter had set up a little salon in the back where she sat cross-legged on a counter and enjoyed the slavish admiration of various carefully-unshaven dangerous boys. We told an inappropriate and possibly libelous story about her to our companion while she pretended not to notice us.
We finished up the night there, wondering if the Blue Gin party would’ve been worth it to crash too (Clooney, sure, but what about Jeff “Skunk” Baxter?), amazed at the never-ending stream of alcohol. We were told perhaps five more times that we’d gotten someone or other in trouble with their employer, and Washington Times staffers seemed eager to convince us that they hadn’t “drank the kool-aid.” Jeff Corwin hit on Liz, and she asked him who he was. It was a magical night.
Jeff Dufour’s gettin’ lucky tonight.
Here’s a report from the only person we know who went to Reuters:
Reuters After-party: No one famous. At all. Sarah from America’s Next Top Model kept walking around with her less-than-worthy male beau. Around 2:30am Chan. 9’s Jeff Napshin and and CNN’s Ed Henry arrived from the Bloomberg party to give some much needed star-power. Yeah, that’s how bad it was. Well, actually for us plebe’s there was plenty of free booze, random party favors (including Pixie Sticks and silver-coated almonds), and Reuters Town Cars to drive us home in style. Oh, and the 6 plasma TVs with Reuters news footage on loop added some class… as did the bevy of young women with “Reuters” written in sequins across their chests. If only the pounding house music wasn’t so fucking loud.
Cafe Milano. Scalia’s in the back room chatting with Luda, Morgan Fairchild’s out on the patio, Wonkette’s at the bar wishing we’d told Tucker Carlson to switch to an ascot when we had the chance.
Finally, after the lights came up and the music stopped and the bartenders hid the bottles, we went home, finding, for some reason, that we’d stolen a glass. Which almost made up for our leaving our Bloomberg schwag somewhere in Georgetown. Not that the schwag was that great — slippers, mug, chocolates, etc. Washington needs to work on
“Keep smiling. Coulter’s right behind you and she can smell fear.”
What makes it Washington’s best party might be the way that it’s not depressing until the next day.
d amalgam of fancy and casual that DC still can’t quite pull off.
Still, we had a good time — mostly because the open bar was one the best-stocked we’ve seen so far (Makers! Beam Black! Turkey!), but also because James Carville kind of hit us on the
shoulder and growled something unintelligible-but-maybe-threatening as he passed by us to refill his drink. Our full report, complete with exclusive pictures from Liz Gorman, Intrepid Girl Reporter, after the jump.
As we mentioned — big ugly brick building by a Wendy’s and a FedEx sorting warehouse or something. Seeing valets and rented limos depositing socialites there was a bit disconcerting. But the interior was fabulous, in a futuristic-circa-1998 sort of way, with indirect colored lights and a quiet techno soundtrack. Or maybe it was loud and we just couldn
’t hear it over the din of networking and schmoozing — it was fuckin’ packed in there.
Oh, right — the point of the party was to celebrate the launch of a new XM sports show featuring, weirdly, James Carville and Luke Russert. Because it’s XM, and their motto is “Bored and in love with the sound of your own voice? We’ll give you your own damn channel!” Yeah, yeah, don’t bitch just because your dad got you a car and not a talk radio show for Christmas.
Listen to this dog talk home decor with Mary Matalin three times a week, only on XM!
Anyway, Luke was there (but none of the pictures of him turned out, so just pretend his corner of the room looked like this), and so was everyone who owes his dad money, or maybe just wants to owe his dad money, thus earning Tim’s attention.
“What, this? Yeah, it was left in the office fridge. Look, there wasn’t a name on it, it’s fair game.”
Once again, we missed talking to cute/charming lobbyists, though we did cross paths with the usual number of friendly-if-slightly-over-excited PR folk.
One of the important differences between old-fashioned radio and satellite radio is that satellite radio studios are decorated like hip Thai restaurants.
A bunch of Luke’s college buddies were hanging out too (but no hot bitches, alas) — now, we’re pretty sure that Luke’s a sophomore, and we’re also pretty sure a couple of ‘em were hitting up the open bar. We’re not sayin’ anything, of course.
Looking back, it would’ve been more appropriate if there’d been a keg instead of top-shelf liquor and white wine. Also, every time an either exhausted looking or overly-perky server walked by with a tray of food, it was something weirder than the tray before — seriously, a shot glass of artichoke soup? WTF, Capitol File?
“Why yes, I’ve gained control of the satellites. There’s only one man who can stop me, and I’m afraid my henchmen have him rather… tied up at the moment.”
Hot topics: Donna Brazile’s makeup regimen. “Buzz.” The weird aging cyberpunk-lookin’ guys in Bono glasses. Who got invited to the Bloomberg party. More fun: Hill or Roll Call columnists? How awesome it would be if Chris Matthews got his son a show.
Before you mock, you should know that the glasses are actually prescribed to correct a hereditary disinclination towards goofy-ass haircuts.
The schwag: Even LAMER than the This Week schwag. Seriously, an XM tote bag, a copy of Capitol File, and a “Sports Talk” t-shirt. Xtra large!
A minute after taking this picture, Liz sarcastically said, “Oh, man, I can’t believe I forgot to bring the headshot of Tim Russert I carry around with me at all times.” Then the guy on the left said “excuse me” and walked right past her. Best moment of the night, but then, we were already pretty hammered.
