Atlanta Wedding Weekend 2011

So the inspiration for my blog has a blog of her own. Here is the link to it: http://www.withbearhands.com/. Be a good person and check it out. She is an example of a productive person so she has some links to other things she does, like art, so maybe check those out too. Thanks.

Speaking of people I know that live in Knoxville, Tennessee:

What was the best night sleep I have had recently, you ask? I would have to say the one in which I slept on the overnight Megabus down to Knoxville. I am not sure why that is really, but I think the answer to your question there is going to change soon though. It is getting colder out so I no longer sleep in a sauna. Also, we now have a foosball table at the house. Don't lose me here. This is relevant in that when you play a few games of foosball right before bed, or at least as intensely as I do, you are extra ready to sleep well. We may not utilize the pool table as much as we should, but I have a good feeling this foosball table will be used to the max. Or at least until I throw it out the window because I suck too much.

I love Knoxville. It is like the perfect little town. A friend asked me this weekend why I don't live there now then. Well, the 'little' part of the sentence above is the reason. I could barely get a job in DC so there is a pretty good chance I never would have found one in Knoxville. And it was great to live there and experience it for the five years I did, but I probably would have grown restless there. I especially would have after living in a moderately large city like DC. But, if I may say so like 40 years before the fact, I think I will want a more laid back locale for retirement so I'll move back then.

I lived in Knoxville for most of August 2003 through July 2008 so you would think I saw pretty much all there is, right? Kind of wrong. Point and case: Knoxville Museum of Art. I think that's because when I lived there you had to pay, but when I was there this past weekend it was free. So there was that.

It actually was almost like 8 years exactly since I first went to UT, so driving around campus with the familiar fall semester weather was pretty weird. But so much has changed on campus since then. And since I left a couple years ago, really. For example, there is now an amphitheater outside of Alumni Memorial in front of the stadium, whose facade is pretty much all new as well, in case you were wondering. Again, this weblog is about me not you so try to keep that in mind when wondering why you would care about the above paragraph. I don't expect you to. But thanks for reading though.

O hey perfection (this is me waiting for my friend to meet up for lunch. you probably can't tell here but this little snack achieved the near impossible feat of providing just the perfect amount of chips for the salsa. remarkable):

this is one of my favorite gastronomic experiences in life: chips 

and salsa with a porter from Downtown Grill and Brewery

I don't know why, but I had the idea to go to McKay's--which is about the biggest used book store ever--after lunch. I thought I would be inspired maybe to expand my personal library; however, it had pretty much the exact opposite effect on me. I didn't purchase anything for myself and decided that I no longer care about having enough books in my possession to fill out a stately mahogany personal library, unless they were gifts, of course, or could be used as a coffee table book. So, if you would like some used books let me know. I'll send you a couple. And just like that life became simpler. 

North Knoxville: Closer to what you think of when you think Tennessee than what you will find downtown or near campus. On our way back to my friend's house this little gem of a blogworthy photo popped up:

that is a lot of pride you must have in 

your name to put it on your storefront

Another Knoxville staple I never experienced while living there: Sonic. Oh yeah, so the point of this trip down to Knoxville was to meet up with people to drive down to Atlanta for the wedding of one of my college friends. On the way we stopped to eat at Sonic, which I had never done before. Nothing really to write about but there's no turning back now. I'm really bad at making decisions so I regrettably asked for a Dr. Pepper when I really wanted a cherry limeade, which they are known for. So the roller skating waitress food deliverer lady comes up and on the way drops my Dr. Pepper, which I replaced with a cherry limeade. So I had that going for me. 

After three hours of what felt like five hours of driving we were in Norcross, Georgia. I'm sorry, I lied when I said the wedding was in Atlanta. It wasn't. Here is pretty much the story of most of my experiences with my college friends and, coincidentally, Friday night as well: we sat around and drank a lot of Natural Light. Next thing you know I am spending like $20 on munchies from Walgreens and we're eating frozen chicken wings at like 6am. 

Let's talk about bad ideas, shall we: eating at a chinese food buffet the day you are attending a wedding. There is very little more to do than go to sleep and regret expanding your stomach so much after such an experience. So, yeah, if I could do it over again I would have chosen Mellow Mushroom over the chinese buffet. Who am I kidding though? My most insurmountable vice is probably my affinity for chinese buffets. All was well by wedding time though, which was at a delightful, old mansion with wood-paneled walls.

I think most people think at weddings, "I am so happy for this couple. The romance makes me want to cry. Now I am crying. I must dry my eyes." Personally, weddings make me realize how void of any real emotion my life is. Which would be sad, except that's one of the emotions I don't have. Now this might be because I live a moderately uneventful and uninterpersonal life. Or it could mean that I just don't have emotions. Probably a little of both. The most emotional experiences I have nowadays are when I listen to Harry Potter at work. I know what you're thinking, "you must mean the harry potter soundtrack because you cannot listen to the actual Harry Potter books on disc at work." Incorrect. That, in fact, is one of the best ideas I have ever had. 

And then there is the documentary, Senna, that I saw recently. It's about a race car driver. I don't know why I went to see that based on that premise, but I had heard it was like the best sports documentary ever. Spoiler alert: you get to know this guy, like get to see him up close throughout the whole thing, and then he dies. Just like that. Such is life though, right? That was depressing, which is an emotion. It is nice to know you are capable of feelings every once in a while. 

Anyway. 

Then the wine and cheese appetizers came out. Maybe I feel I have no emotion because I have replaced real emotions with the feelings I get from eating delicious stuff. There's a good chance I am going to be obese one day. And then I made a goal for myself to be able to run a six minute mile by winter time. These are probably conflicting interests. And eating is so much easier than running. I should set more realistic goals.

It's no secret I am an awkward person, as you know since that is kid of the premise of this blog (I thought about changing the title to "Jeff is Such a Fucking Awkward Person. Here is How."). So when there were no place cards on the tables at the wedding and I was supposed to be sitting with one of the bridesmaids at a reserved table that were swiftly filled with people that were not bridesmaids, who were upstairs waiting to be introduced, I believe this situation affected me much more adversely than normal people. But it all worked out in the end, which I was thinking for a time would have to be me hiding somewhere until I saw my bridesmaid friend sit down like everyone else. Close one. 

A few plates of delectable food and about a dozen glasses of wine later and the show was over. Next thing you know I am back at the hotel drinking Natural Light out of a Hulk hand. At one point it was asked how I knew the bride or groom. My college friend was the bride. I told the story how after the party on the night I met her--and half my college friends, actually--she rode down the street in a shopping cart yelling "I'm free, I'm free, I'm not a slave anymore," which I thought was funny. A little background: when telling this story this weekend I was one of only like 3 white people in the room. Apparently this story could be interpreted as something other than funny. Who knew?

When I was in college I went to Moe's almost every Sunday, and that is hardly an exaggeration. There are few things in life I enjoy more than a Joey Bag of Doughnuts with steak, no beans, rice, cheese, salsa, cilantro, onions, fresh jalapenos, and vinaigrette. And if you believe Chipotle is better than Moe's there's a good chance I will think less of you. Because you are wrong. And probably lacking competent taste buds. Anyway. Moe's was born in Atlanta so I couldn't leave the area without having one of the above described burritos. This need was satiated in the airport. 

That there is a good weekend.

Summer's Just About Over 2011

For about nine years straight, my time was measured in semesters. Life was so much easier and simpler then. Upon attempting to recall an event in my life between the years 1999 and 2008 all I needed to do was turn to my mind's eye and place myself in either spring semester, fall semester, or in either fall/summer between/after freshman/sophomore/junior/senior/last year of college/highschool. For example, "remember the one time you studied abroad?" Yes, spring semester of junior year of college. "Remember when we used to sneak into the outdoor pool in the middle of the night and jump off the high dive?" Yes, spring of/summer after sophomore year of college. "Remember when Tennessee had a respectable football program?" No. That one doesn't fit into my semesterly mental time catalog.

Now time is so fluid in the "real job/post education" world that one cannot help but feel days/months/years are slipping by. Slow down there, time. You know I am not good at making decisions, so the faster you go by the greater the repercussions. At least slip me an epiphany or something once in a while.

I've been writing this weblog for over six months now. If I had not been writing this blog for over six months now I would not be able to tell you what I have been doing for the last six months ("Jeff, what have you been doing since I last saw you before the second weekend in February in the year 2011?" "Oh, friend, I am so glad you asked. I have been keeping just that type of information at this website: jeffleavesthehouse.blogspot.com. Check it out. Unless my friendship with you depends on me being an interesting, social, accomplished human being. Then, either don't look at the website, or know that a friend of mine that you don't know writes it regardless if he uses my picture in the profile."). Time, will you please slow down? The seasons here in DC are so abrupt it is difficult recall when you left one and entered the next. Por ejemplo, average temperature in July in DC: 700 degrees; August: 83. That type of abrupt change is not healthy. Maybe that is why we had a fucking earthquake in Virginia yesterday. At least with life on the semester schedule we had finals week to let us know that times were a'changin.

Disclaimer: this was a pretty uneventful weekend so the previous three paragraphs are direct products of feeling the need to write more than twenty words here. But don't fret, dear reader, I will be traveling to distant cities the next three weekends so, hopefully, there will be plenty to write about in this here blog about Jeff leaving the house.

OK, I think I have digressed enough to call this post a success. Do you agree? Doesn't matter actually.

Speaking of tourist activities in DC, let's continue that conversation with the topic of Jumbo Slice from Adams Morgan. Jumbo Slice is exactly as it sounds: it is a jumbo slice [of pizza]. Most people--myself included--will tell you you can't visit this staple of a DC tourist attraction (it was on TV) while sober. So this one is not child friendly. After a relaxing night of moderate binge drinking on Friday, I decided I must leave the house and go to this tourist attraction.

Have you ever been to Adams Morgan on any random weekend night? Have you been to Mardi Gras? Well the former is oddly similar to the latter, minus the beads but similar in having reputations for being blues music-heavy locales. I've been to both. After arriving in Adams Morgan Friday around midnight I felt as if I were missing out on some great festival given the number of reveling young people and equal number of cops. You know I don't like feeling like I am missing out so, while sitting on the curb eating my toddler-sized piece of cheese pizza, it was as if I had wasted my entire night hanging out in my house while this grand celebration was going on just a mile away. Then I realized, as I have every time I have gone out in Adams Morgan since fall semester of senior year of college, that it really is just a hullabaloo that is not really an enviable place to be on any weekend unless, at the age of 26, it is your desire to find a bar where you will be by far the oldest person in the house.

But the Jumbo Slice? Even though I was in one of those inebriated states where all I wanted to do was run home, I know that pizza could be enjoyed sober. Boom. Now it's a family establishment for kids of all ages. No its not. Parents, do your job. Keep your kids out of Adams Morgan during Jumbo Slice's operating hours.

What did I do Saturday, you ask? So I am going to be applying to law schools soon. One of the parts of the application is the personal statement where you have to write things about yourself that will convince others you are an upstanding, responsible, accomplished, decent person capable of big things that is deserving of paying them to teach you about law and such. Or, as I see it, the exact opposite of this weblog. When most of the things you write about are entirely self-deprecating in nature, it is hard to switch gears. Do you think I could convince an admissions officer that I am deserving of going to their school by saying things like "I am uber convicted about a lot, including the mundane and unimportant, but borderline completely mediocre on all things related to ability. Oh but people do say I have a peculiar sense of humor. Please let me in."?

So I didn't get too far on my personal statement Saturday when I sat down to work on it.

Speaking of being a mature, responsible adult, a friend had wanted to visit a few bars that we had not been to before near U St. entitling the adventure a 'hipster bar crawl'.

Let's talk about misnomers. There is (was?) a bar in Knoxville called a yacht club that was actually an arcade bar and was very much a hipster bar. The American Ice Company (not actually an ice company) and Dickson Wine Bar are not hipster bars. In my opinion, PBR must be sold and it must cost under $3.50 for it to be considered a hipster bar. Six dollars for a beer (DC Brau) that is brewed less than five miles away pretty much disqualifies you as a hipster bar.

So after a couple drinks at the above bars it's time to dance. Well, for me, it was time for a hot dog. So while the others move on to a dancing bar, I stop for a hot dog for obvious reasons (satiating hunger). When I finally get to the dancing bar the line is like 30 minutes long. For me this is the epitome of a terrible situation: waiting in line to go stand awkwardly along a dance floor drinking an overpriced macro beer. Somehow my friends get in quick while I was eating the hot dog and convince the bouncer to let me in, but not until after a little deliberation by the bouncers and blatant apathy (oxymoron?) on my part. One of my friends suggests I should give some money to the one bouncer that swung the decision in my 'favor'. There is no fucking way I am bribing someone to let me into the demise of my good mood, and I let the bouncer know this much (see, law school people, I told you I am very convicted).

So I didn't get into that bar. And after a shot of tequila at the bar next door that was about it for being out of the house on the weekend.

But there will be so much leaving of the house in the upcoming weekends, if you are still reading.

The Basilica For Real This Time 2011

So I get to Lou's first again for Friday happy hour and it's up to me to get us (a few of my roommates) a table. I tell the hostess somewhere I can see the Phillies game. She takes me to a high table and asks if that's OK. I tell her it is. She has very familiar eyes and I react as such. She notices this and asks again if the table is not OK. I insist it is. And I think it will be. The sign outside said the game would be on at 7 but it turns out it came on at 730.

And that was about it for Friday.

Saturday during the day happened a lot like the previous one, so, for the sake of saving you time reading about how I played soccer in the rain, I won't get into it. It's just not worth it.

None of my roommates or other three friends in DC were around Saturday evening, so I decided to head to the local coffee shop to read the internet and feign the appearance of a productive Saturday. I mean the weekends coming up are going to be hectic so I earned the right to take this one off, right? What does that even mean? Let me tell you, dear reader. I've a blog to maintain and readers, such as yourself, to satisfy, so I need to go out and immerse myself in blogworthy situations. You are the greatest motivator I have ever had. I hope you feel you need me like I need you.

Anyway.

So I am sitting there perusing the internet, broadening my intellect when a co-worker of mine comes up and takes a seat at my table. He asks me, "what's up?" I tell him, "not much," and how I am trying to save money by taking it easy this weekend because I am going to be traveling in a few weeks coming up, which is a half truth but if you round it up that counts as being honest. Then I say, "what are you up to tonight?" and he says he has to wake up early for brunch with family so hes drinking the opposite of alcohol tonight, caffeine, to avoid a hangover/ensure he wakes up in time. I say, "that makes sense," because to me it does. I have learned from watching other, talentedly social people that in order to converse well one might begin by bringing up subjects they have in common with the others in the conversation, which in this case means work. For sanity's sake, I have a strict separation between work and outside of work, but I've committed myself to making this situation as unawkward as possible and thus the subject of work is broached. 


Well, conversations on government finance can only get you so far, so we being talking about how we ended up at our agency and if this is where we imagined we'd be when we were in college. No one imagines working for an obscure Treasury agency when they are in college, but that is almost certainly because they did not know it existed. I say I imagined myself just about everywhere and nowhere at the same time once college was over that it is hard to remember what I had intended, if an intention existed at all. He said the State Department as a Foreign Service Officer. I wonder aloud which is worse: ending up nowhere in particular after planning as much or intending on somewhere specific and ending up nowhere near there. He says, "I don't know, but at least we've ended up somewhere. Times are tough out there and when I graduated [in 2009] the economy was just about worse off than it had been in 80 years. After growing up in the 90s and prior to 2008, I feel like our generation suffers from a sort of collective naivety in that we believe because we pay to learn about whatever we choose in college it is our right to be hired where we want and dreamed we should be. I think I, and we, will be better off for being humbled by being forced to take something other than our 'dream job'. That would be a terrible thing for everyone to be spoiled by getting to do whatever they want for most of their life. People might wrongly assume, even more than they currently do, that anyone with a job, regardless of how terrible or mundane it is, is doing it because it is what they most enjoy doing, rather than due to the inevitable lack of 'dream' jobs." Or that's how I remember it. But I wouldn't say I ever had a 'dream job' so I couldn't relate. But it kind of made sense to me and I am definitely better off for having ended up where I am (or at least I tell myself that as that is a completely unverifiable notion--how could one possibly know if he is better off with what did happen over what did not? one might have met a nice sugar momma in an alternate history. besides, that's what the future's for.).

But Sunday, oh Sunday, how quintessentially blogworthy it was (at least for this blog).

So I woke up at 11 and by 130pm I was out the door to meet up with my friend from home that just moved here. There was an exhibit at the Portrait Gallery/American Art Museum that I wanted to see so we were to meet there. (I've said this a million times and I will say it a million more, the Portrait Gallery is the best of the Smithsonians because it is basically a whole museum of trivial facts of American history, which just floats my boat so tranquilly. Imagine you are walking downtown in DC and you are without smartphone but really want to know something about an at least moderately important person in American history. If you were with a smart phone, you could easily just go to wikipedia and look it up. But without a smart phone, like the good old days, you could just hop on the metro to Gallery Place, go to the Portrait Gallery, and find your historical figure and read about their life's accomplishment under their portrait. How neat is that?!)

My friend is coming from Virginia so there were inevitably delays on the metro getting into the city. So I go to Urban Outfitters to kill the time while waiting for her orange line train (if you are moving to DC, lesson #1: don't live along the orange line, unless you like hanging out with fratty/sorority-y type white people as their older selves in the metro waiting for your delayed train). I don't know if you knew this but they sell not only trendy clothes there but trendy books. According to Lonely Planet, Pyongyang is a more desirable place to visit than Miami, Florida. Oh, you never heard of Pyongyang and never had the thought of visiting there? Well, unless you are captured by the North Korean army, you almost certainly will never make it to Pyongyang and, if by chance you do, unless you get Bill Clinton to come get you, you probably won't be leaving. By the transitive property, I therefore will not be visiting Miami.

So we finally get to the Portrait Gallery and, while searching all around for the exhibit I was looking for, we come across a portrait of Shaquille O'Neal, or Shaq colloquially. Now, I wouldn't expect a Smithsonian person to be that into sports, but I would assume they understood the definition of the term 'rookie'. His little bio explained how he was drafted in 1992 and won the rookie of the year award in 1999-2000. Unless you are Mormon or in the armed forces, by definition, that is impossible. In fact, Shaq won the rookie of the year award in 1993 and I found an error at the Portait Gallery. [See: Jeff patting himself on the back.] If only I had a post-it note with me, this error would have been acknowledged. Maybe next time.

The exhibit in which I was interested is called The Great American Hall of Wonders. I thought it was going to be an exhibit with a great hall of American wonders. But it was not so much. In actuality, it was about things like buffalo, which I love, and trains, which I also love, but I was summarily unimpressed. And not because it wasn't interesting, but because I expected a hall of great American wonders, not a Great American Hall of Wonders. However, shout out to PA, there was a quite idyllic painting of a railroad bridge in Lanesboro but, as I later researched, Lanesboro is for all intents and purposes New York. Not even my dad heard of it and he was born right by it in Binghamton, NY. But have you ever felt the fur of a bison? It's soft as the dickens. So it had that going for it.

Speaking of being mislead by names, the neighborhood of Brookland in DC is nothing like the borough of Brooklyn in New York even though they sound so similar. But, really, I didn't expect it to be. I just thought that was a nice segue. I did think there would be more to it than the Catholic University of America because it's a college campus and kids have to eat and party conveniently, right? Wrong. Well, I am sure they still eat (not sure about the partying since it's kind of religious), but I am not sure where. Correction, had you asked me while I was exploring the campus I could not have told you but, logically, after I got back to my house I looked up the neighborhood of Brookland to see what all is there and there are places to eat on the opposite side of campus we were looking. Words of advice: when visiting a place, it is often best to look up attractions or points of interest before walking around aimlessly and ending up disappointed. Otherwise you might end up where Shel Silverstein wrote about:

actual spot on Catholic's campus

I was there for two reasons: 1) to explore a part of DC I never had and 2) an unofficial law school visit. Have you ever been lied to by a priest? Yeah, probably not because that covenant with god implies no lying. Well, we were unsure where the law building was so we asked a passer-by who happened to be a clergyman and he said "that way." Well, it was not quite "that way." So that happened. But we did eventually find it. I have a pretty neutral opinion of it, if you must ask, but I never really had any intention of going there anyway.

Do you remember how in like the second post ever of this blog I wrote, fictionally, about how I was going to the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception? Well, this edifice, is supposedly the eighth largest religious structure in the world. And on the inside you definitely get the feel you are in a top ten church in the world, size wise. It is unbelievably grand. 

And, on the bus ride home through neighborhoods and streets previously unknown by me, I could feel my mental map of DC being filled in like one of Bob Ross's canvases, which is nice.

August 9, 2011

Is hindsight really 20-20? I say nay. Partially because it's a cliche idiom (redundant? sorry, if so.) and I despise those. But really the world isn't so black and white that everything when looked back upon is perfectly clear as if you were peering through metaphorical eyes/glasses/contacts with "perfect vision". Can you even be said to have 20-20 vision if you are color blind, seeing the world in such black/white contrast? And isn't there vision better than 20-20? Additionally, how about we talk about the concept of forgetting? The fact that people forget things blurs that "vision" and negates their claim to be able to see in the 20-20 form. That's like saying you have 20-20 vision but have part of your vision obstructed by something, such as your hair over your eyes. Whoever made that up needs a better optometrist. And don't get me started on hindsight bias. Or maybe you should because then I could use my undergraduate psychology degree for once in my life.

Here's why I wrote that previous paragraph: I had written an 'S' on my hand this weekend at some point to remember a funny incident that I would then relay to all of you, my dear readers, but all I remember is that I wrote an 'S' on my hand and not what that 'S' stands for.

But you don't come here so loyally to read about what I can't remember from my adventures outside of the house on the weekend, but quite the opposite, right? I don't know. Really, I don't care because I am going to write this even if no one reads it because Blogger has this thing where you can get your posts printed into a book and when I stop writing this I am going to take advantage of this feature and have me a nice little journal from my weekends in DC. If you were just thinking "Boom. I have an idea for a present for Jeff." I say "great idea. please just wait until I have stopped writing this blog though." And now if you are thinking "NO! Ever since Scrubs went off the air I have been searching for something as witty, entertaining, funny, and reaffirming of my purpose in life and finally found it with Jeff Leaves the House on Sunday/the Weekend. Please don't take it away from me." I say "I am sorry, but it is a burden being this witty, entertaining, funny, and life-purpose reaffirming every week." And I plan on going back to school eventually and, hopefully, it is time-consuming enough that I can't keep up with this. If it's not, know that my school experience is not worth it.

Have I ever digressed this much before? Probably not.

The weekend (do you remember when The Black Eyed Peas had a song called 'Weekends' that was actually good music, which, in all likelihood, was because they did not yet have that black hole of respectability that is Fergie? No? Yeah, well, your music probably sucks then.) Sorry. On with it, even though I feel like this has been a pretty large success so far:

Friday, after another hole-punching happy hour at Lou's, we went back to the house and played Monopoly. In high school, one of my good friend's step-great grandfather, Charles Darrow, invented Monopoly. Or something like that. As a kid you invariably hate Monopoly because it takes forever and is complicated. Well, kids are dumb so this goes away when you are older, but most peoples' impression does not. Play the game with intelligent people and it's fun and lasts about 1.5 hours, which isn't that long, when you think about it. Not now though. Concentrate on this post now. One winter break in college me and a few friends played Monopoly like every night and they were the best of times. This instance of Monopoly was not one of those times. And that is all you probably care to hear about my Monopoly story, which, btw, took place in my house so it should not have even been written about here. Yeah, you're right. But it's staying(ed), obviously.

I played soccer for the first time in a while Saturday. Did you know kicking a soccer ball with all your might hurts that area where your shin and foot bends together? Well, sometimes it does. Probably especially if you have not kicked a soccer ball in some time like I hadn't. So it started raining and DC dropped to a temperature it hadn't in like 6 months, which was nice. Then we started playing with a couple little +/-10 year-olds. Some anecdotes: my friend had had the tendency to kick penalty-like kicks over the cross bar so the one was like "please just don't kick it over the bar" during the game we were playing. Well, she did. I was like "she didn't listen." And he was like "yeah, she disobeyed me." I had a chuckle but sympathized for his future gfs/wives. And then one time I was trying to cross the ball and ACCIDENTALLY kicked it off one of those kids' back. Sorry, child. I really didn't mean it. I'm just not that good at soccer/with kids.

Little Miss Whiskey's. Thanks for making it look like I was productive Saturday night. I mean I really needed it after staying in and playing Monopoly on Friday night. Now this is the type of place, though, that would be appreciated even if a blogworthy moment weren't desperately needed. Downstairs is a nice, laid-back area with decent music and good beer. Upstairs is terrible music, dancing, and good beer. We met up with a friend of a friend and he said that they played the music downstairs--that I would consider decent--for the "street cred." I would have thought the Enrique Iglesias (can you believe the vulgarity of the 'real' lyrics to that new, popular song of his?) was for the "street cred." I don't know why I was so surprised to see all these hipsters that I would associate with decent music upstairs in the shitty music "dance" area. I guess I just expect more people to be like me and unconditionally dislike certain music and prefer a stationary seat to standing on an unsturdy floor, shaking with the rhythmless 'dancing' of dozens of sweaty people spilling their Stroh's.

Well, after spending waaaayyyy too much money, that day was finally over.

Ever hear of the Florida Avenue Grill in the U St. area? Well, it's world famous, so either you're uneducated or they're lying. Considering only educated people can get my writing and, if you have made it this far, you must get my writing, I will just assume they're lying because I am sooo educated and I had never heard of it, only seen it riding by. It's your regular old diner-looking hole-in-the-wall from 1944 that serves deliciously greasy southern comfort food with autographed photos from famous people lining its walls (although I am pretty sure the photo of Queen Latifah next to our table was taken straight out of a magazine). I know what you're thinking, "1944? How did it survive the race riots that engulfed the U St. area in 1968 after MLK was killed?" Well, the menu tells how the owner sat in the front booth with a shotgun to discourage any would-be arsonists, you cynic you. And so if you are ever in DC you should definitely consider this little (golden) nugget of a eatery, especially if the line is too long during your requisite trip to Ben's Chili Bowl.

Then I cooked, and subsequently ate, the bison kielbasa (it's sustainable meat. don't judge.) I bought at the Columbia Heights Community Marketplace, for which I finally was up early enough on Saturday, and went to see Midnight in Paris that night, which tells the story of my life--being unable to be content with life in the present, believing times past and future hold the key to happiness with the fact that life is just not really ever great being the truth--but in a much more imaginative manner.

And then I found $5. Just kidding. But that did happen a little while back and wanted to throw it in this here weblog but I forgot because my hindsight is worse than 20-20.

Now that would be a wonderful way to bring this post full circle (redundant? yeah, I think so. sorry), and had I not had off on Monday I gleefully would end it there. But I saw the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, and the Bill of Right in their original versions on Monday and if that's not worth writing about this whole blog is pointless [cue Jeff realizing he wastes too much time with this blog, especially since he spends the rest of his life trying to figure out where to trim time from other activities to do the things he wants, like finish more than one book a month]. Have you ever seen documents between 222-235 years old? Yeah, for the most part they're illegible. And written in a print only useful if you expect your document to be preserved for 250+ years. Touche, founding fathers.

Let's talk about art. Specifically that which is exhibited at the National Gallery of Art, East and West buildings, which we perused (can you only use that word for looking at words? please advise in the comments section.) yesterday, as well.

Art from 14th-18th centuries in the Gallery: required extraordinary levels of talent but lacked any semblance of originality (this includes the only Da Vinci in the Western Hemisphere). I mean one can only look at so many cupids, plump half-dressed ladies (medieval paintings of which, at least), and biblical scenes and still be impressed.

Art from 19th to mid-20th centuries: this includes impressionist artists, whom I admire most of all. The Chester Dale Collection is a must-see (you only have five more months). 

Mid-20th century to present: there literally is a blank canvas hanging in our national gallery of art as part of an installation with other gray-scale canvases. And colored tiles masquerading as products of something other than an infantile interest to add color to a wall. I understand that to be abstract you must be creative, but does being abstract have to negate the necessity for talent? I wish talent and creativity were required to be shown in our national gallery of art. There's a piece called "Black Plank." Guess what that entails.

DC Was the Place to Be This Weekend 2011

What with my several friends from Tennessee visiting, the Barcelona-Man U game, the Omega Psi Phi 100th anniversary, and the education reform protest.

I think what we need is another world superpower against which the US can compete to make us a greater nation. And by that I mean where we prioritize programs that enhance the welfare of our citizens like Medicare (for all), Social Security, education, etc. rather than stigmatizing and demonizing them as wastes of money. There needs to be another country that rises economically, socially, militarily against which we can measure ourselves and then I imagine we would see to it that all sectors of our society are of the quality that the rest of the world envies us once again. Maybe then we would get out of wars in countries like this, or at least not try to nation-build there until the cultural differences between our countries are less than something like six centuries.

Anyway.

They just don't make songs like this anymore do they? Well, no, they don't because they (Sleater-Kinney) broke up a little while ago. For the longest time I had said that if I were a professional baseball player I would use seconds 14 to 30 of this song as my coming-up-to-bat music. But One Beat could be a suitable replacement. I know I am like a decade late with this song but ooh it is good. Doesn't it just make you want to go light stuff on fire or something? I mean look at these lyrics:

I'm a bubble in a sound wave
A sonic push for energy
Exploding like the sun
A flash of clean light hope
All you scientists can hold your breath
Can I decide to show myself, oh oh

So the first of our people visiting arrived Thursday. An underlying theme of this weekend was taking full advantage of Columbia Heights in entertaining friends. And not getting to bed before 4am. Thursday fits the bill with a trip to Wonderland at about 2am. Who are the types of people that patronize Wonderland at 2am on a school night? People that get a 'gentleman's special' (beer with a shot of whiskey), which was us, and lumberjack looking ladies that, and I could not make this up, take the chewed gum out of their mouth and stick it in their ear. Goodness, I hope that was for medicinal reasons.

The others all arrived on Friday. After sitting all day in a car they were deserving of some cheap beer, which Raven in Mt. Pleasant had with their $2 cans of National Bohemian. Have you ever heard of Google Goggle? Yeah, neither had I. If you and a group of friends are sitting around and you are like, "we need something to make us laugh like little kids," have the one with the smart phone (and every group of friends needs someone with a smart phone) download Google Goggle. Then you have your friends pose and take their picture with Google Goggle. There is a good chance, if none of your friends are recognizable celebrities, that Google Goggle will interpret their face as something like a hyena playing the didgeridoo, a trapeze artist dressed as a clown, a snow covered mountain, or something of the like. Quite entertaining. Do it.

Then the group pho fix was had for dinner. Then there was party at our house for three of the roommates who mothers birthed them between July 14 and August 4.

Do you remember when I told you about how there was a historically black fraternity that had its national reunion in DC this weekend? Yeah, that explains the line outside Ben's Chili Bowl at 2am. So, while JJ's is not as famous as Ben's, it is probably just as, if not more, delicious.

When you have friends that have never been to DC before where do you take them and what do you tell them when they ask about random landmarks? I take them to all the big famous spots and make up stories on the spot. For example, did you know that while the first shots of the Revolutionary War are commonly thought to have been fired at Lexington & Concorde in Massachusetts they were really fired on the land that is now used for Franklin Square in DC? And did you know that the Lee and Blair Houses located right across the street from the White House are used as back-up White Houses when the President and his family get tired of living in what is for the most part an office building and museum? Yup, these are stops on the 'Jeff Matus May or May Not Tell You Facts About Real Places in DC Tour.' Get a notebook and tell all your friends. Oh, and be sure not to miss the Smithsonian Castle where America's last royal family, the Smithsons, resided before we declared our independence from England. If you're lucky, like we were, you just might be in town during a big ole protest like the education reform one or the competing pro/anti Syrian President Assad demonstrations. And if it's a Saturday in the summer be sure to hop in the Corcoran to cool down and check out some art.

At this point couple of people parted to attend the Barcelona-Manchester United World Football Classic match while the rest of us started walking and did not stop until we were doing our best impression of well-fed homeless people eating seafood underneath a bridge.

Let me explain:

So after the White House and Corcoran we gandered on over to the Washington Monument to sit in its shade and owl (yes, that's intended as a verb). Have you ever heard of these new fads owling and planking? Well, basically, you just pose like an owl and plank of wood, respectively. So there are pictures of us owling by the Washington Monument and a high quality planking in front of the Lincoln Memorial, which received some admiration from passersby.

Oh and if you are planning on coming to DC and want to pull a Jenny from Forest Gump and run through the Reflecting Pool, well, you're going to have to wait a little while because they tore up said Pool and it's fenced off. Sorry if this ruined your plans.

When I say 'Fish Market' what do you think of? If you think of anything other than exactly what it sounds like even after I say walking by this fish market smells a lot like dead fish airing out in hot weather, you are incorrect. Especially if you were thinking it is the name of a restaurant that inauthentically mimics an actual fish market where you are outside and there are dead fish airing out and reaking up the air. Yeah, you would be wrong. Not sure how this was misinterpreted.

Well, after walking from the White House to the Washington Monument to the Lincoln Memorial to the Maine Ave. Seafood Market in 100 degree heat and you are from a city where the main mode of transportation is an automobile there is a good chance you would think you're going to end up somewhere there are chairs and a legitimate bathroom and air conditioning. The Maine Ave. Seafood Market has none of these things. I apologize. I am working on my tour guiding.

What do they have? How about a chairless area overlooking the Potomac to eat your delicious, fresh seafood; some of the absolutely best fruit punch ever (but this may just be directly related to the level of parchedness I had when drinking it); and a convenient proximity to a grassy area underneath a bridge where you can actually sit and eat your crab, crab cakes, fried chicken, and fruit punch just like a well-fed homeless person.

Three mind-numbing consecutive hours of quarters: the drinking game and another jar of Tostitos queso later and there went Saturday.  A trip to Meridian Pint for their as-good-as-advertised burgers for brunch later and there went the weekend.

Just let me know if you want me to direct your tour. Be sure to bring your walking shoes and party pants.