So, what's up with this chick?

Washington DC is a strange land of tall buildings, where politicos are celebrities and celebrities become politicos. The District, as I'm coming to find, has rules. It's not for the weak of spirit or mind.

I'm a California girl trying to figure out how the hell humans live in temperatures under 50 degrees. I'm a Chico State student, but most importantly, I'm in Washington as a wannabe journalist. And if you're not Brian Williams, so are you. An equal combination of writer's block, procrastination and overall exaggeration exhaustion has prevented me from blogging at, arguably, the most important time. Until now.

In the past week, I've seen President-elect Barack Obama (my roommmate, Emily is a baller for throwing up her camera and getting this shot), walked past future Secretary of State Hillary Clinton in the Capitol and "Droopy the dog" impersonator, Joe Lieberman (yeah, I took this). I've seen Roland Burris sworn in by -- that's right -- Vice President Dick Cheney. Much to my dismay, he didn't go "meeeh," after a word or make that quacking sound.

Oh! And my personal fave sighting just might be from the Vermont (and Dark Knight) senator, Patrick Leahy. While a buncha journalists were waiting to see Barack, press-types and other Capitol staffers were walking down the hallway where he was scheduled to appear. With all the PJs (see: photojournalists) taking test shots, these extras often got caught in the crossfire. Good 'ol Pat, however, decided to duel.

"Two can play at that game," he muttered, and took out a (surprisingly nice) Nikon SLR taking photos of the ragtag troop of photogs. As it turns out, he used to be a PJ. Mad props, yo.

Pat lost the battle. Chin up, sir. You got the war on lockdown, journalism's dying.
(Just kidding, journos! Kindof.)