Explanation.

You may be wondering where that post on Rayburn style I promised you yesterday morning is hiding.

Truth is, in typical Washington form, my event was postponed an hour before it was supposed to begin, and I never had a chance to see if my suspicions that the good-looking interns live under their bosses desks and that the rest of the them almost perfectly match their boxy Ann Taylor Loft twinsets to the the beige walled, beige floored and beige doored corridors were actually true.

Another time, I promise.

Rayburn style.

Rayburn House Building style.

Don't know what it looks like, but from 11:30-1:30 today, in between seeking out Michele Bachmann for advice on how to be crazy and still get elected and letting the all-the-Chinese-are-spies rantings of a China "specialist" go in one ear and out the other, I'm dedicated to finding out if 'Hill' style is any different - any better - than its ConnAve counterpart.

I was going to write up something on what I encountered yesterday at Bolling, but let's just say the crowd was so far gone with flaky unmoisturized, unmakeup-ed faces, red and white snowflake-printed tube socks stuffed into brown block-heeled square-toed buckled boot-shoes and literally, every other female (I can't bring myself to say, "woman") with untended-to, half-wet, product-free hair pulled back into a waffle-textured scrunchie, that last night, when I sat down to write, I thought, "What's the point, really?"

I'm crossing my fingers the JV skinterns give me something more to work with.