A decade or so ago, the Washington press corps included bureaus from far-flung newspapers. In the digital age, most bureaus are defunct or depopulated. But there are more reporters than ever covering Washington. The Post remains the largest news operation, with a newsroom staff of just over 600, hundreds fewer than a decade ago. NPR, also based here, has 283. Here are the top ten other news organizations (excluding TV) and the size of their editorial staffs.

Hennenberger's new blog topped the Post's site in its first month. Photograph by Erik Ueke.

The number of Washington Post blogs has topped 100, which raises a question: Has the Post ever seen a blog it won’t publish?

The New York Times gets by with 62 blogs. The Wall Street Journal publishes 53, the Los Angeles Times 30.

When Post national editor Kevin Merida brought on Melinda Henneberger this winter to write about national affairs from a woman’s perspective, blog number 108 was born. She the People was launched in January with 25 contributors, including 11 from the Post.

Simon Doonan in his carnation throne built for a queen. Photograph by Jeff Martin.

The late Gianni Versace once told Elton John that when he died he wanted to go to heaven and not only be gay, but be “super gay.” Simon Doonan can relate. He’s made being gay into a side profession, in addition to his already successful careers as creative ambassador at large for Barneys New York and as a writer. His new book, Gay Men Don’t Get Fat, was celebrated in Washington on Wednesday evening with a très gay soiree on the rooftop of the W Hotel, featuring pink patent wing chairs, loads of pink flowers, pale pink skinny “boy” margaritas, “power gays,” drag queen Heidi Gloom—and Doonan, of course, in his trademark flowered shirt, trilling. The deejay was Shea Van Horn, who sometimes performs in drag, though not on this night; he went preppy instead.

Bromance in action: After awards and remarks, Clint Eastwood and Senator Patrick Leahy take a seat to watch some film highlights. “We have a lot in common,” said Eastwood. Photograph by Jeff Martin.

Even though they are ten years apart in age, director/movie star/icon Clint Eastwood and Vermont senator Patrick Leahy could be brothers—or at least bros. Not only are they somewhat similar in height and appearance, but they both speak in that creamy rasp that’s instantly familiar to Eastwood fans. And they were practically inseparable Wednesday night when Eastwood was honored at a gala at the Smithsonian National Museum of American History. Leahy, a member of the Smithsonian’s Board of Regents, presented the Oscar winner with the James Smithson Bicentennial Medal for distinguished contributions in film.

Eastwood arrived in town Tuesday, and he and Leahy had dinner that night. What the senator came away with was that “the trait Eastwood most detests when he encounters it is racism,” a theme that threaded through Eastwood’s 2008 film Gran Torino. Praising it, Leahy said, “That movie alone would be enough for any moviemaker.” Okay, Senator, we asked, but do you think you could be his stand-in? Or at least loop his voice? Leahy became the diplomatic man of the Senate that he is: “Oh, he’s fine on his own. I don’t want to go there.”

Can Brady’s lead feet conquer the Giants’ pass rush? Photograph by Flickr user Jeffrey Beall.

It’s supposed to be all about the quarterbacks. Tom Brady bested Dan Marino’s record-setting 1984 season, and he didn’t even lead the league in passing. Eli Manning declared himself one of the league’s elite, and he backed it up by coming within a few of his no-look bombs of breaking Marino’s record himself.

The defenses, which ranked 27th and 31st in the league during the regular season, were just along for the ride. Yet in the playoffs, the teams who have gone up against the Giants and Patriots have averaged under 14 points per game.

That brings us to the most pivotal story lines heading in to Super Bowl Sunday.

Photograph by Flickr user xxjoyceeyxx.

Maybe it’s the approach of Valentine’s Day, or the pseudo-spring weather, but it seemed a good time to check in with the “Missed Connections” on Craigslist. They’re alternately weird, entertaining, and even endearing. It makes one wonder: Is Washington a city of lonelyhearts? Or has OKCupid become our love lifeline? Regardless, we pulled a collection of standouts, and will have more as February 14 approaches. All ads appear as posted (spelling errors and all).

Photograph courtesy of Brett Haber.

It wasn’t by design that I spent two extra days in Australia by myself. Let’s call it a travel SNAFU. My wife had intended to join me down under for some leisure time during and after my work at the Australian Open. But when a work commitment scuttled her trip, I found myself staring at a $5,000 fare difference in order to move up my return flight from Wednesday to Monday. As much as I love my kids and wanted to get home early to see them, I would need to have several dozen children to sufficiently amortize the cost of their affection against the $5,000 fee. (It’s right there on the standard actuarial tables—check for yourself.) And that’s how I wound up in Oz for two extra days.

But it afforded me the chance to do something I’ve always wanted to try, in a place that’s famous for it: surfing.

I rented a car (I could write a separate column about the perils of driving on the left) and ventured to a town called Torquay (pronounced “tor-KEE”). The tiny seaside village sits about 60 miles southwest of Melbourne at the gateway to Victoria’s Great Ocean Road. Torquay is to surfing what Cooperstown is to baseball—it may not be the precise birthplace of the sport, but it is the source and guardian of much of its culture.