Thursday, June 24th, 2010
1. We, the women of the Washington Life editorial team, just drank an absurd amount of pink champagne right next to Jennifer Garner at the Jefferson Hotel. She was wearing glasses, her hair back, and minimal makeup, so it took us a little while to identify her. But Ali, our editorial assistant, brought it to our attention that we were drunkenly babbling next to JenGar.
2. When we realized that we were next to her and her mysterious blonde friend in a sundress, we did not hold back on doing Center Stage dance moves or speaking in non-indoor voices. We may have in fact offended her when we were screaming like lemurs about how we are the three musketeers and can never work without each other. But she kept chomping on her salad, checking her blackberry, and consuming some sort of three layer shot in a test tube.
3. Before chilaxing with Jen G, we were painting our souls out at our colleague Michael Clements’ brainchild, ArtJamz, held for the first time at the Corcoran Museum. We came up with some pretty interesting expressions of our inner chi, all that will hang at the Corcoran for a few days. Michael’s idea is a sure fire hit, considering it’s fun as hell, held in a major museum, and has free flowing booze. I thought Kelly might actually burst when she started furiously painting a green bush of her homeland, Maine.
Here are some photos of Jennifer Garner’s besties (that would be us) getting artsy: love it!
Ali knighting Michael with her magical paintbrush.
Ali painting my nose with magical paint. I am now of a higher power.
Kelly dodging paintbrush baptism. It's probably her moose t-shirt that gave her the power.
Wednesday, March 31st, 2010
I’m writing tonight’s post from my desk at work. The hour is 3:32 am, which for a deadline night, isn’t half bad. My colleague Kelly Fisher is currently drawing some banana stationary for me to write my post on, because her brain, like mine, is mush after 12 hours of editing, and all she can do is engage in child-friendly activities.
I hate deadline nights. I feel like an endentured writing servant. And why after three weeks of people being able to send me edits, does the world wait till now to moan and groan about things? Inhale. Exhale. Repeat. Luckily, there are a few things that keep me sane, like food. We luckily got hold of the company card around 8 pm and ordered enough sushi from Banana Leaves to feed an army of sumo wrestlers or really strung out editors. I in fact inhaled two entire dragon rolls and some edamamae for good measure. I mean, why not have my stomach resemble the bottom of the ocean? Banana Leaves is this really amazing Thai/Japanese resto near Dupont Circle conveniently located between a strip club, the former Real World DC house, and a bar where the Russian mob tipples. It’s one of our favorite lunch spots, and to avoid gorging ourselves on pizza tonight, we called in the raw fish splendor of Banana Leaves to take us into the wee hours.
So now it’s just Kelly Fisher, Amie and I trying to put a magazine together without going mentally insane. We already uploaded porn by accident. But we caught it. Fewf! Back to the races.
Washington Life's lovely and talented Associate Editor, Kelly Fisher. Also known as blog guinea pig, muse, and my common law wife. Oh, and that is three people's food. Kelly eats like a bird (ostrich), really!
Friday, January 22nd, 2010
Maybe it’s because my father was a book critic, but I feel guilty reading anything that doesn’t qualify as a Penguin classic. Right now I am reading “The Jungle” by Upton Sinclair and it is so graphic that I have gone vegan for the month of January. So when my now red haired colleague Kelly Fisher happened upon “Chicken Fried Beefcake” on Amazon today and declared that it was free for e-readers, I was overjoyed. Everyone needs a little escapism sometimes and this Beefcake book seemed just the thing.
What I liked about it was that instead of Fabio ripping bodices on every page, this book seemed to be penned by a creative mastermind. With lines like “That was before she fell into a tank, and right into Billy’s arms!” I knew I was dealing with visionary erotica.
So who is the woman behind the Beefcake? Turns out she is a wife and mother in the Texas hill country. That just calls to mind good women in lace stockings shinning their shotguns. What could be better! Not much. Except perhaps the description of Gregg’s book ”Fits Like a Glove:”
“When Charlotte Skye was suddenly thrust into the position of CEO of a company that makes condoms, she discovered her late daddy’s company was about to declare bankruptcy. It fell on her shoulders to come up with some new and innovative products that would revitalize sales. All she needed were actual men to do the testing.
Guy Stenson desperately needed the money, and word was this unusual job paid top dollar. But to model and test condoms?
How hard could it be?”
If that isn’t the best book description I have ever read, I don’t know what is. Carolyn, you had me at “thrust.”
I love a book title. It tells so much in so few words. "The Age of Innocence" has always been a favorite along with "East of Eden." But I think "Chicken Fried Beefcake" may just have surpassed them all.
Tuesday, December 1st, 2009
While I am happy to work at a magazine that promotes the finer things in life, the powers that be seem to think it’s a-okay if their employees sit on each other at the office. The person who I happen to squash with my presence day in and day out is Kelly, our Associate Editor.
Freckle-faced and just two years out of college, she has an uncanny ability to subtly read gossip blogs in Google Docs, color codes her dozens of “To Do,” lists in sorority-friendly hues, and works harder than Anna Wintour’s footmen. I appreciate her insight into important cultural phenomena like the stress of reality TV on once solid marriages and the goings on of The Real World, Washington D.C.
Kelly and I like to dream of world domination and a future where we don’t have to strain our backs changing the water cooler. When we are really feeling starry-eyed we think of the cubicles we may one day have and what it must be like to make private phone calls about naked beerpong without having a Siamese twin pulling your hair.
Kelly in our glamorous office burning the midnight oil. We once had to deliver something to a law firm and convulsed with jealousy over their marble halls and private offices. It is unfortunate that journalists work in dumpsters with wifi and a dictionary.