“Whatever happened to Jenn,” you muse, perusing these pages in vain, “One minute she was slurping down mussels preparing for a Parisian adventure, the next she’s MIA, some 29 days since. What gives?”
Well, dear readers, contrary to desire, I did not get whisked away by some Gallic patron to a Loire chateau. No, I returned to DC to be sucked in to that dreaded vortex known as the Ultimate Circle of Hell, or the Gauntlet of Doom. I mean of course, the DC convention.
For those of us who work in DC for national associations, this means frantic weeks of progressively stressful organization, mired in impossible logistics, in fearful preparation for the week when your loving members descend on you from all corners of the USA, to burrow down in the depths of a soulless downtown hotel, to be force-fed endless rounds of policy, politics, and cheese. Lots and lots of cheese.
This post appeared in its original form at DC Metblogs
It’s certainly fascinating to step outside the Beltway Bubble and carry on conversations with Iowans and Alaskans and so forth. Members come here starry-eyed and easily impressed, lacking the jaded resignation that residents have regarding the political machine in our midst. For them, DC is only about politics. I found myself explaining the “Taxation Without Representation” license plates to several people. All of them were shocked – they had no idea that DC residents pay high federal income taxes but have no vote in Congress. I convinced them to go back to their home states and tell everyone – instead of pushing the organization’s message for the convention, I was pushing DC. How did that happen?
Lately I’ve been finding myself saying negative things about DC. That it’s a city desperate for middle class acceptance, too scared to dream higher, begging hat in hand to any two-bit developer that can promise a Target.
Lately we’ve been thinking about leaving the city we’ve spent half our lives in, for someplace more cosmopolitan, exciting, vibrant – perhaps even for the greatest city in the world.
And though I still feel that way, and feel like a Judas for it, this week has revived my fierce protective love for our misunderstood, misrepresented town. Expounding on her beauty, her history, and her culture to people who never dreamed there was a DC outside of Capitol City, well, that’s kept me going through the Convention Circle of Hell. And I’m grateful.
So, it all ends tomorrow, and I’m going to jump back into DC wholeheartedly to celebrate my survival, and toast her with renewed vigor.
This post appeared in its original form at DC Metblogs
As one of the founding editors of We Love DC, Jenn’s passions are theater and cocktails. After two decades in the city, she’s loved every quirky, mundane, elegant, rude minute of her DC life. A proud advocate for DC’s talented drinks scene, she’s judged the Corcoran Gallery of Art’s ARTINI contest, the DC Rickey Month contest, the Jefferson Hotel’s Quill Cocktail competition, and is a founding member of LUPEC DC. A graduate of Catholic University’s drama program, she toured the country as a member of National Players, and has been both an actor and a costume designer before jumping the aisle to theater criticism. Writing for We Love DC restored her happiness after a life-threatening illness, and she’s grateful to you, dear readers. Send your suggestions to jenn (at) welovedc (dot) com and follow her on Twitter.
