“His shirt read “ARMY,” his hat read “10th Mountain Division,” and his license plate read “Disabled Veteran.” Five bullets rattled on his dashboard as he swerved around another car with his right fist pressed against the horn. “Come on,” he said. “Go. Just go!” It had been five years since he returned from 16 months at war, and some days he still acted like he was back in Afghanistan. Many days, he wished that he were.”

Just thought it was another reader email, but turns out it was way more than that.

So how are things at the Post these days? I worked there for five years back when the Linotype machines were being phased out, and it remains one of the highlights of my life. Met Ronald Reagan and Mrs. Graham there, and she remains one of my heroes. 

Briefly, I worked there between 1976 and 1980 as a contractor with a company called Autologic, here in Newbury Park, Ca., who made the fastest phototypesetters in the world at the time. 

The Post, at the time, was a focal point for all kinds of protests and other activities. For years, a self-styled minister would put up a sign outside the building, wave a Bible at the building, and whistle, yes, whistle constantly. He’d do that for about two hours, then leave. The Iranian students in the area were a constant presence prior to the overthrow of the Shah of Iran, wearing masks, and yelling, “Death, death, death, to the Shah.” Every political opinion was given voice outside the building, and sometimes, too, in the bar called “Durdy Annie’s” next door in the Pick-Lee House hotel at 15th and L, long since demolished and replaced with some other building.

Mr. Reagan came to the Post for an interview with the Editorial Board, and I made a point of greeting him in the lobby as he entered. He was remarkably approachable and friendly. I live just a few miles from his Presidential Library and burial site.

Then, as now, I suppose, the elevators were the common meeting place, and it was quite common to see Mrs. Graham, Messrs. Bradlee, Woodward, and Bernstein mixing with printers, pressmen, photographers, and all the rest of the folks who produced that paper. I even delivered it as a boy growing up in Loudoun County, so I have a special fondness for the organization. To this day, I have never met more interesting, vital, and exciting people anywhere.

It is my fondest hope that Mr. Bezos does well with the Post and its people. And good luck to you, too. I hope your career there is successful!

“You’ve heard this thing, right, about how I’m an idiot?”
— One senior web developer to another, in trying times
“Imagine that, a Washington Post reporter being awarded ‘Best in Class.’”


Journalist 1: Today is the Pulitzers!

Journalist 2: I mean, I’m not getting one. So who cares? 

Pick your battles

Journalist 1: Hey, what’s going 

Journalist 2: Nobody likes kale, OK? It’s disgusting. 

Good morning

Journalist 1: How do you feel? 

Journalist 2: Like a Disney princesss. 

Early afternoons

Journalist 1: Oh, are you leaving at 4 p.m. again

Journalist 2: Yeah, I think spending a couple months on the front lines in Crimea means I can take some early afternoons. 

When it’s after 5 p.m. on a Friday and your coworkers won’t move to the bar

Journalist 1: What are you guys doing over here? 

Journalist 2: [loudly laughs] Talking about shoes!

Journalist 1: [also loudly laughs] I like talking about shoes! [deadpans] I’d also like to be talking about shoes and drinking. 

Why we need to keep talking about ‘rape culture’


There’s no arguing that America has a rape problem: Someone is sexually assaulted in the United States every two minutes. But the problem extends beyond the crimes themselves to the culture that allows rape to thrive.

Read more of jessicavalenti's piece in the washingtonpost here

Thank you for sharing this piece, beyondxy! We’re also huge fans of jessicavalenti's work and we can't wait to see what she does over at the guardian

“I don’t know why I’m here. Do you? Do you know why you’re here?”
— Overheard at The Washington Post
“I don’t believe in anything.”
— Journalist at The Washington Post