Barbarians at the Gate

Ten days or so ago, at the end of the annual Conservative Political Action Conference, I found myself at a party. I’ve been to these sorts of things before, and more often than not they have been insufferable affairs: sweaty frat basements reeking of stale beer, bright young men outnumbering bright young women whose attention they desire. Starry-eyed, badly-dressed, trying way too hard — the essence of DC.