i'm sorry, no one cares about you

Because I slept in a little too late today, I decided to use some "enhanced interrogation techniques" to punish myself by checking in with Washington Post's gossip blog, Reliable Source.

And wow. What a form of torture... I became convinced that had someone else forced me to look at this (and had I been important enough for someone to force me to), I would've surely given up a variety of state secrets. But even more upsetting, I also became certain that DC is possibly more ridiculous than I thought.

I've said this before. Several times, actually. DC may do politics well, but it does not do life and style well. So the fact that a "Styles" section even exists in the Post is pretty f*cking dumb. No, I don't care what the latest Ann Taylor Loft pantsuits look like. Nor do I care about how many khaki pleats Rep. Hoof Harted (I-Buttsville) is sporting. And most certainly, I don't care about the White House Chief of Protocol's accidental mishap on some stairs yesterday.



I plan to forget the name Capricia Marshall the second I push the "PUBLISH" button on this here Web log, just as much as you plan to forget the name of this here Web log as soon as you click the red button to close it. Hell, that's how I roll. But not the Post. According to them, the name Capricia Marshall is as hallowed as that of someone the general population actually knows exists. From this morning's Reliable Source:

Here's how you can tell that Chief of Protocol Capricia Marshall has been working White House state dinners for quite some time now -- her exquisite posture, her savvy gown choice (neither clashing with nor copying the first lady's colors)... and her demand, after she slipped and fell, that journalists "Don't use that!!!" Hey, that might have been possible back when she was a Clinton-era social secretary -- but you can't hide anything in the YouTube era. (This has already been everywhere.)

Uh, reality check. I found one copy of this clip on YouTube and, at the time of writing, it had all of 41 views. Now if that count's as "everywhere" then my sad, little vlogs (that have maybe a combined total of a thousand views or so) have circled the world a good baker's dozen times. Yet, still here I sit -- in a bathrobe -- watching The View. Jesus...

But wait! There's more. (And luckily, not about me sitting in a bathrobe watching The View.) The "Reliable Source" goes on to write:

Capricia, remember -- it's the cover-up not the crime. But give her credit for a graceful recovery: Unclear whether the fall was caused by the slippery marble steps or her dress, but she stood back up quickly, seemingly uninjured -- and stepped more carefully the rest of the way down.

Really?! We're going into detail about WHY she accidentally tripped on a stair? Was it the dress!? Was it the marble?! Here's an idea: WHO THE F*CK CARES?! The only way this would be worthwhile to report is if an Al Qaeda operative popped out with some Wile E. Coyote ACME© technology and painted a hole on the ground into which Ms. Marshall could fall.

Look, I'm sure Ms. Marshall has a very important job, but trying to spin her stair snafu as a legitimate f*cking news event is insulting. Capricia Marshall is not Beyoncé. She's not Rihanna. She's not even Bob Dole. (Now that was a fall suitable for reporting in DC.) She's just some chick with a boring job title who gets paid to wear fancy dresses. Yawn, DC. YAWN!