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.