This was the time when Americans renew their hatred of Washington and Washington wallows in a bittersweet cocktail of self-love and self-loathing.

Which is to say, it was White House Correspondents Association weekend, with the dinner Saturday night amid a galaxy of pre- and after-parties. Attendant to these events is the also-annual handwringing about the dinners value.

Those questioning, of course, are the media, who create the problem, then examine the problem, then suggest ways to solve the problem (that we dont really believe is a problem) and then go on to repeat the problem.

The rest of the world couldnt care less about the dinner except perhaps to note Washington is out of touch with regular Americans and that journalists are too schmoozy with officialdom. Most journalists would agree, but who would want to miss the scholarship awards? Oh, you didnt know about those?

What we all hate most is the attendance of so many celebrities, who undermine the noble purpose of this convocation. Moreover, they tend to make journalists, who have spent considerable time looking their red-carpet best, feel like last weeks tulips.

The buzz-killer crowd, however, is quickly forgotten once inside, where an avenue of cameras and lights awaits stars passing along the red carpet. Note to future newbies: Your entrance is upstairs. Otherwise, you risk a probable humiliation that the lights will suddenly go dark and your grand entrance becomes a soul-killing walk of shame past a gantlet of fish-eyed fans of other people.

This experience can be helpful, on the other hand, as you summon the requisite pose of perpetual self-awareness. Your thinking should follow this vein: Its not that you want to go to the dinner. Its your job to go. Whither goes the president, so go the media. And of course, the media did invite him, as well as all those celebrities we find so disruptive. Theres a circularity to all of this that suggests an apt metaphor.

Almost no one present fails to note his or her ambiguity toward the dinner and the parties that most are dying to attend. There are exceptions to this club-think, notably The New York Times and Tom Brokaw. The Times stopped sending its staffers several years ago, saying the media shouldnt be partying with people it covers.

Brokaw made headlines when he protested the celebrity-driven nature of the evening, specifically following Lindsay Lohans overshadowing presence the year before last. He lamented that the purpose of the evening to allow journalists and politicians to mingle in a lighthearted, relaxed environment had been hijacked.

He was right about the Lohan spectacle. I was standing nearby visiting with Lohans hostess, Greta Van Susteren, when none other than Rick Santorum brought his daughters for a snapshot with the starlet. Brokaw is also right about the superficiality and misplaced emphasis of the evening. For this reason, many of us swear well never go again. But since most of us do attend again, I hoped Brokaw might relent and asked him to be my date this year.

More:
Kathleen Parker: White House Correspondents Dinner an excercise in self-loathing