By ELIZABETH SCHUMER
Observer Contributor
Feb. 13, 2008

“Hey baby, what’s your party?”

In Washington D.C., this line is not nearly as uncommon as you might think. Here, in the epicenter of U.S. politics, we eat, sleep, and breathe government. If New York is the city that never sleeps, this is the city that never stops debating.

Is Hillary really the best candidate for the first female president? What does it mean that she wore red to the State of the Union address? Does President Bush’s tie color affect his ratings? What does a Kennedy endorsement mean for Obama’s moderate appeal?

In any city besides Washington, these inquiries would best be left until after the first course, postponed to a second date, or not discussed at all. It is uncouth to expose one’s political leanings, much like religion and socioeconomic status.

Observer photo courtesy of ELIZABETH SCHUMER
Elizabeth Schumer, a Washington Semester student from New York, has become a political junkie since arriving in the District a month ago.

Or is it?

As a journalism and theater major from Buffalo, N.Y., I am one newspaper headline away from being out of the Beltway. My free time is most often spent looking up movie reviews and album releases, not poll results and primary schedules. It would be more within my capabilities to name the top five New York Times bestsellers than the election results from New York, Massachusetts, and Rhode Island. It’s not that I don’t know my way around a political discussion, just that I may not be able to give someone else directions, too.

I used to think I knew what was going on in the world of politics. I could discuss my political allegiances with reasonable aptitude. Although I wasn’t able to recite U.S. foreign policy verbatim, I could follow CNN news without googling more than two or three of the names mentioned.

When I moved here, I realized I know about as much about the inner workings of Washington as Bush knows about the nuances of the English language: enough to fake it, if I’ve got a script. Previously, political discussions were confined to the classroom, or some rare vehement argument with a group of close friends. Now I find myself discussing candidates before I even look at the color of the person’s eyes with whom I debate.

Where I come from, political intimacy is best reserved for a later date. Nice girls don’t talk about their affiliations with just anyone. Politically, this is Blind Date –Vegas style. And Dorothy is a long, long way from home, wearing plain, scuffed Mary Janes.

But I’m learning. Slowly but surely, I’m starting to realize that this strange land I now inhabit has a language, an etiquette, and a set of priorities all its own. My day starts with the Washington Post, USA Today, New York Times, and Express magazine. I find myself frantically reading CNN tickers as I listen to the radio feeding me updates on Obama and McCain.

If I take a break for class or coffee, I start to sweat halfway through, twitching in anticipation of the political pileup being published at that very second. After a month in D.C., I’ve grown used to berating my dinner partner’s politics before my second drink arrives. By the time dinner is over, I know whether I will be able to take the HOV lane home, based on the color of the bumper stickers stuck to my partner’s Zipcar.

As soon as I arrived, I fell in love with the District. By the time I leave, I may even understand it. One thing is for sure: politics inside the beltway is like a good steak dinner from the Old Ebbitt: you can get it almost anywhere, but the quality, the pervasiveness, the unmistakable flavor, is all D.C. By the way, is that an Obama keychain in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?