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2 months ago | 
washingtonian.com | Sylvie McNamara |Andrew Beaujon
Now that Kimberly Guilfoyle and Don Jr. have broken up (with Trump exiling her to Greece as its new ambassador), MAGA is in need of romance. On Tuesday Page Six matched earlier reporting by TMZ that Colorado Congresswoman Lauren Boebert was seen with Kid Rock during inaugural celebrations for President Trump—and claims the pair left a party together at 2:30 AM.
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Jan 23, 2025 | 
washingtonian.com | Sylvie McNamara |Patrick Hruby |Ann Limpert |Jessica Sidman
This page describes the contents of an issue of Washingtonian magazine. Subscribers get exclusive early access through our print and digital editions. Most of our feature stories are later published online and linked below. Buy a Single IssueSubscribeOr Manage My SubscriptionFEATURESSearching for John Hinckley’s Record StoreThe man who shot Ronald Reagan is seeking redemption–this time, in a Williamsburg strip mall. By Sylvie McNamara.
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Dec 20, 2024 | 
washingtonian.com | Sylvie McNamara
Francis S. Collins is an illustrious physician and scientist—former head of both the Human Genome Project and the National Institutes of Health. But lately, he’s become passionate about bridging political and cultural divides, which is a subject of his new book, The Road to Wisdom: On Truth, Science, Faith, and Trust. In his personal life, Collins is a devotee of music. He spoke with us about how he and his wife have been bringing people together through song.
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Dec 11, 2024 | 
washingtonian.com | Sylvie McNamara
Dr. Christine Trankiem’s hands are big and graceful, nails manicured a delicate ivory, steady as they move through the air. She’s a trauma surgeon, so her hands save lives—the victims of stab wounds, folks who have been hit by cars. In 2017, when Representative Steve Scalise was shot at a practice for the Congressional Baseball Game, Trankiem was on the surgical team that treated him.
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Dec 11, 2024 | 
msn.com | Sylvie McNamara
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Dec 11, 2024 | 
washingtonian.com | Sylvie McNamara
Late Monday night, the president-elect posted a curious missive on Truth Social, expressing great pleasure at having dined with “Governor Justin Trudeau” of the “Great State of Canada.” If you find this oddly belittling to the Canadian prime minister—who is, in fact, the elected leader of a sovereign nation—that’s the point. By now, the Canadian statehood thing has become a running gag.
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Dec 9, 2024 | 
washingtonian.com | Sylvie McNamara
On Friday afternoon, I found myself Ubering through Colonial Williamsburg—past wood-barrel trash cans and spilt-rail pens of dirty sheep—en route to an address that had been tweeted by John Hinckley, Jr., the man who shot Ronald Reagan in 1981. Outside the town center, I cruised a forlorn strip of auto-related establishments, then disembarked at a low-slung building of whitewashed brick.
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Dec 6, 2024 | 
washingtonian.com | Sylvie McNamara
On Thursday, the Washington Post released its annual holiday cookie package, a collection of 10 recipes (including one elaborate “cookie project”) meant to delight even the Grinchiest guests at your holiday party. This year, the package includes recipes for five-spice cranberry thumbprint cookies, gingersnap and orange cream sandwiches, and a showstopping quilt-inspired sugar cookie. Becky Krystal, the Post’s recipes editor, spearheads the holiday cookie package. It’s a monumental effort.
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Dec 5, 2024 | 
washingtonian.com | Sylvie McNamara
AAt the beginning of September, I found myself on the back-acreage of a magnificent church—among oak trees and shrines and grottoes and birds—completely alone with my thoughts. The Franciscan Monastery of the Holy Land in America is home to a busy hive of Catholic friars, but I never met them. I was there spending 46 hours as a hermit, a person living in solitude, contemplating the mysteries of God. I am not a religious person. I don’t pray.
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Nov 24, 2024 | 
washingtonian.com | Sylvie McNamara
It’s 1:45 PM, and the youths are swarming Meridian Hill Park, covering each and every ledge by the dry concrete fountain, clustered in small packs—mostly women—all of them squinting into the fierce November sun. “Hey girlfriend, are you vomiting?” a young woman shouts into her phone, then pauses and gives her head a little shake. “No, there’s no Jacks yet.
