No one with any sense of perspective believes that Real America — most of the nation, fly-over country, everywhere but the coastal cities, whatever you want to call it — gives a quarter of a shit about the White House Correspondents Dinner. What, then, is Kim Kardashian doing there? Did U.S. Weekly commission a six-page spread — half Bieber, half breasts?
Sure, it seems pointless to question the culture surrounding the annual event. As your Runnin’ Scared frontman Foster Kamer put it, the “[New York Times] doesn’t hit #NerdProm because it’s a crooked, clusterfucked shitshow. Also remember: They’re not wrong.” But, damn, are the photos great! And with half an imagination, a passing knowledge of Politico and a few episodes of The Hills under your belt, it’s something like media voyeur dreamland.
Still, the world is falling apart, or otherwise nearly blowing up, and our president and Jay Leno are taking turns teabagging each other. We’ll wallow in it for a few more minutes, then we’ll all take a shower and read a real book:
Let us first acknowledge the conflicted emotions aroused by such a senseless showing of insider decadence and indulgence. The event is advancing nothing. And this year in particular, after an initial survey on the morning after, puts others to shame in regards to useless starfucking, schmoozing and showing off. As far as we can see, there’s nary a piece of real news to be found, but plenty of pics and a hell of a lot of tweets.
In a completely unscientific observation, no element of the weekend’s festivities was more buzzed about than the presence of Kim Kardashian (followed closely by Justin Bieber). Maybe Barack Obama‘s jokes? He is the first black president of the United States; she has a large butt and a sex tape.
To indicate the levels of absurdity, please enjoy more assorted, arbitrary observations to follow:
If you’re interested in the president’s passable jokes (“To the Jonas Brothers, who Malia and Sasha love, two words: ‘Predator Drones.'” Okay, fine, B.) check out the Daily Beast or Gawker. You can laugh about it tomorrow with that woman from accounting while she warms up her leftover tortellini!
Rachel Maddow spent some time bartending:
For more candid shots, Newsweek‘s specialized White House Correspondents’ Dinner Tumblr has the goods. Brought to you by the iPhone?
Here’s more Kardashian, this time with Demi Lovato. Who? You’re old, that’s who.
Vanity Fair, meanwhile, pretty much corroborates everything above in their rundown of their own party in association with Bloomberg:
After a year of bruising battles, Rahm, Axe, Orszag, and co. looked a bit paler in comparison with the impressive array of movie stars (Scarlett Johansson, Morgan Freeman, Anna Kendrick, Rosario Dawson, Bradley Cooper, Gabourey Sidibe, Zach Galifianakis, Jeremy Renner, Michael Douglas, Ashley Judd, Jessica Alba), TV actors (Chace Crawford, Adrian Grenier, Chelsea Handler, Jimmy Fallon, Matthew Morrison, and The Wire’s Dominic West, Michael K. Williams, Sonja Sohn), directors (Kathryn Bigelow, J.J. Abrams), athletes (Donovan McNabb, Tony Romo), designers (Donatella Versace, Jason Wu), and musicians (Jon Bon Jovi, the Jonas Brothers, John Cougar Mellencamp, T-Bone Burnett).
You get the idea — A-listers and everyone under them — but didn’t we just have the Oscars? Can’t we just move them to the East Coast every other year?
Though it’s undeniably the year Hollywood drowned the D.C./New York contingent, the media insider and political gossip will doubtlessly come, too. If you can stomach anymore, keep your eyes peeled for John Koblin and Felix Gillette‘s Observer reports, which we’ll likely see by morning.
Last year, the economic crisis kept the notorious John McLaughlin Sunday brunch from its usual venue on the roof of the Hay-Adams hotel, but the Media Mob duo nailed the recap, with the paper’s trademark borderline cynical, fly-on-the-wall approach. This year, the party’s back where it belongs, and we hear the omelettes were to die for.
For years, the Observer team has provided the most informative and insightful coverage by dropping all the names and still managing to cut through the bullshit, revealing just enough of the joke. A saving grace, if you’re masochistic enough to get involved at all. This time around, they have their work cut out for them.