The Annual White House Correspondents' Association Dinner – an exclusive gala celebrating the work of the nation's top-flight journalists who cover the White House and the President of the United States – was soon to begin. That night, before traditionally humorous speeches from the President and a featured comedian, the Association would bestow prestigious awards for the year's greatest achievements by members of the White House press corps.
Before the formal festivities commenced, a less-noticed, but just as important ritual would take place: the orgiastic merging of streams of A-list invitees, including the hottest celebrities and most powerful politicians, all mingling amongst the honored journalists and their colleagues. This being their event, the media attendees would necessarily maintain the utmost professional poise, upholding the dignity and independence of their vaunted public role even as one marquee name after another strode into the hotel, all dressed in black tie and formal gowns.
Casually lounging at the open bar, Ed Henry of CNN, Savannah Guthrie of NBC News, Mike Allen of Politico, and some of their press colleagues struggled in vain not to watch the door. They were, after all, supposed to be steely-eyed bearers of the storied legacies of Edward R. Murrow and Walter Cronkite, having far more important objects of concern than whether the cream of Hollywood deigned to grace the "nerd prom" with their presence. This immovable journalistic coolness, this unflappability in the face of power, fame, and fortune, was the reason for their elite status and compensation.
Two bodyguards wearing earpieces and wraparound shades entered the ballroom. They stood at either side of the doorway. All seemed to go quiet.
Striding in after the bodyguards, in ultra-slow motion, was rapper "will.i.am," followed by reality TV star Kim Kardashian. Their aviator sunglasses brilliantly reflected the flashes from the banks of photographers flanking them on either side. They panned their mirrored gazes across the room, then stopped to pose. In perfect unison, still in slow motion, they removed the sunglasses from their faces and turned meticulously honed, gleaming smiles toward each cameraman in a left-to-right sweep.
Ed Henry scoffed into his glass of single-malt scotch and shook his head. Was he supposed to be impressed and captivated by these tawdry, temporary objects of the public's fickle imagination?
Savannah Guthrie nearly dropped her cosmopolitan. She gawked at Kim and will.i.am. "Oh my God, it's really them," she gasped. She grabbed her bewildered, pudgy NBC colleague by the wrist and dragged him with her to the celebrity pair. Ed Henry snorted again.
Will.i.am turned to Savannah as the snapshots around him began to die down. "Oh, hey," he said to her, pointing. "You're that hot reporter from... oh what channel was that..."
"NBC News," she said, blushing violently. "I am just a big, big fan, will.i.am." She leaned in to whisper in his ear, "Your 'Yes We Can' song during the 2008 presidential campaign gave me chills."
"All right, all right!" he said, nodding at her low-cut, red satin gown.
Savannah's colleague stood quietly in his rented tuxedo, eying Kim Kardashian with clammy intensity. "Hi, Kim," he mumbled, waiving at waist level.
Kim didn't notice. She was busy signing Admiral Mike Mullen's copy of her hot pink book, Kardashian Konfidential.
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