I’m in DC for a reading, and I gotta go buy a clean shirt before I head over to the bookstore. But two things came to mind on the way to my hotel room that I wanted to Slog…

My cab took me past the White House on the way to my hotel, and driving by I couldn’t help but speculate about the clenched butts inside the building. The tension created by drip, drip, drip of Fitzgerald’s investigation into the outing of CIA agent Valarie Plame is almost unbearable for observers—can you imagine what it feels like to be the target? Well, I can. I was indicted once too, Karl, and while the charge wasn’t treason during wartime or obstruction of justice or perjury, being on the receiving end of a felony indictment is like getting an ice-water enema. It’s a shock to the ol’ system. The skies here are gray and the whole city feels like either something dreadful or, depending on your party affiliation, something absolutely wonderful is about to happen.

Also, you can smoke in Washington National Airport? WTF? The place looks a lot like JFK—ugly, gray brutalist—and when I got off my plane I walked into a wall of smoke. Smokers can apparently light up in the bars that line the narrow hallways that lead to baggage claim. Ugh. Then I got to my hotel—a Sofitel, a lux chain owned by the French. My room wasn’t ready, so I had to wait in the bar area… which was filled with smoke. You know how the French are. And it wasn’t just cigarettes. People were smoking cigars. The whole lobby was filled with smoke.

This, of course, put me in mind of the proposed smoking ban and the debate in the forums about our “noâ€� endorsement on the proposed smoking ban.