THE BRADLEY DINNER HAS ACHIEVED BEING WHAT THE WHCA DINNER WAS BEFORE IT EXPLODED INTO WHAT IT IS
What's in a name? A lot when it has to do with social life and status. The Bradley Dinner has achieved the status of being known as simply "The Bradley Dinner." The only other event of the White House Correspondents Association weekend with the same clout is the "Vanity Fair party." This is fitting because, at the moment, these two stand out as the principal parties everyone wants to attend during the three days of fêtes. There are others that are tag-alongs, also rans and wannabes, but the Bradley Dinner and the Vanity Fair, or simply the VFP, remain at the top of the hill. For now.
DURING COCKTAILS BEFORE DINNER. SUSAN GAGE DID THE DINNER, MICHEL RICHARD MADE THE CANAPES.
Gaining ground this year is the renegade "Buzz Feed Party," which is a counter-dinner to the goings on at the Washington Hilton. It has a lot going for it -- Jack Rose Dining Saloon (meaning cool location) and barbecue (meaning cool food) and a guest list that actually breaks from the Eisenhower era. I wish BuzzFeed a big success, and that they don't let it go to their heads, and that they do it again next year. They could own a significant piece of real estate if desired.
KATE BENNETT AND A FRIEND AT THE DINNER
There's also the "McLaughlin Brunch" but it's no longer that because this year John McLaughlin got booted from his own creation. It's now solely the Thomson Reuters brunch, which lacks some branding zing, but I'm hoping this brunch is a big turnaround from, frankly, the boring event it had become. It was the go-to for the has-beens -- never a great formula for a party. They've added celebrity chefs and, hopefully, spiced up the guest list. If it works, it could become known as the Hay-Adams Brunch, which is not a bad brand name.
RON BROWNSTEIN OPINES ON WASHINGTON AFFAIRS
There is the the brunch at Katharine Graham's former home, now owned by Mark Ein, but it jumped the shark a couple of years ago. I don't say that because I got invited and then disinvited this year, indicating, I joked to friends, that the event planner used the Salahi Guide to Party Planning. These things happen when parties are in the hands of amateurs.
THE SCENE OUTSIDE POWERHOUSE AS GUESTS ARRIVE FOR AN AFTER-PARTY
After the Bradley dinner the high-flying party crowd headed to Georgetown and the Powerhouse for the National Journal/Atlantic/OurTime after party called the "Making News Party." A bold statement. I doubt any news was made, except for the grumbling among some guests that there was an "upstairs/downstairs" class structure to the affair. Those with the A-wristband got to hang out upstairs with lots of bars and food and The Bumbys on-hand (brought in from the Cosmopolitan in Las Vegas) to provide millenial-generation "appearance appraisals." Anyone with a B-wristband had to stay down in the bowels of the building, unless they needed the potty, which was up in A terriroty. The A-guests could lean over the railings and look down upon the "B's," down below looking up. Crazy. All that was missing were water balloons.
LOOKING DOWN TO THE B-LEVEL AT THE POWERHOUSE
UP ON THE A-LEVEL IT WAS ALL CHAMPAGNE, COOL VIBES, ELITES RUBBING UP AGAINST ELITES
THE BUMBYS TAP OUT CARDS WITH INDIVIDUAL PERSONALITY ANALYSIS
I stopped by to see the Bumbys and to get evaluated, based on nothing more than standing there looking at them as they briefly looked back at me. No words were exchanged. No information provided. It was a pitch perfect representation of an era when people have almost ceased verbal communication. Thus commenced their tap tap tap tap tap on what looked like IBM Selectric keyboards. "Gill" handed me a card that gave an "overall rating" of 9.4 (no scale given) and these words: "I feel like if you had a mutant superpower, it would have something to do with organizational skills. When your friends' lives are falling apart, you know how to turn on the mojo and blast some sense into them, whether that means recommending your tax guy or body-slamming them into some work-life balance."
WAITING FOR WHATEVER
Then it was time to head out -- midnight or so -- wait for the car, watch the autograph hounds collected in a gaggle across the street. For what celeb, though? Maybe there's a market for the signatures of wonks.