In the good old days, when a week was as full of gossipy news as this one was, I’d head off to the bar near the National Press Club. There, amid clouds of smoke and the reek of decades of cheap booze, reporters would sit around and spread the dirt in an atmosphere of bonhomie. Now, to watch reporters at leisure I have to go to some damned net cafe where kids fresh out of journalism schools they went to because their grades in area studies stunk and they wanted “to make a difference” hang out. So I went to...