No cute title tonight

Wow, last week was frickin' busy! I really did do all of the stuff I bragged about potentially doing. I guess I won't rehash it all, but two -- no, wait, three moments -- glow in my memory, like a DC firefly:

1. Quote: "It's not aesthetic, it's... [grimaces] sociological." This from a Hirshorn curator, who looks my age and whined for an hour an a half about how torturous the Venice Bienalle show evidently was this year. The Washington Post art critic commiserated. Who f*cking whines about spending two weeks at an art show in Venice? It was fabulous listening to them, though, because now I can better discuss modern art: "Dear god, it's just too coy/sentimental/trite/superficial/precious/sociological."
2. The Holocaust Museum is one of the best/most important museums I've ever visited. It's narrative structure is incredible and collections compelling, obviously. But just as obviously, it is an emotionally draining experience, and I took the rest of my day off work. That's all I'll say on that.
3. Samantha Craine and the Midnight Shivers are a great band, and I became their weekend groupie because I managed to see them twice. Check 'em out!
4. Dammit! A baby tomato just maliciously burst onto my white camisole!!! That's the third shirt I have ruined since arriving here. Seriously. People wonder why I have so many clothes; this is why; I cannot be trusted. Stupid, stupid, stupid tomato. It's not the fork's fault.

Oh yeah:

5. ... and I visited The White House! Hurrah!

On Saturday. It turns out that your reservation, made 4-6 months in advance, gets you a fabulous, explanatory map and a brief chance to walk through the East Wing only. No purses, no pictures, no cameras. I have no proof that I was there, which really sucks. I mean, fine, maybe I could have snuck some cell phone pictures, but when they say "no pictures" I tend to believe that they mean it; I would not f*ck with the Secret Service. I walk by the WH every single day on my way to work, mind you, and it's not exactly a friendly atmosphere -- those cops will yell at you like crazy. So I can't imagine that the security guards inside are any nicer.

Anyway, it was very nicely furnished and shockingly small. That press room is so wee! The ball room, the state rooms, the grand hallway -- so very wee. Which is good, because the American president's home should not be the same size as Versailles. Even if the decor is heavily French and reminiscent of a monarchy.

So, after all of those overly exciting events, my old heart wanted to do nothing more on Sunday than take leisurely cat naps and visit Target. It's the least touristy thing I've done since I've been here, and thank god. I mean, you can't top the WH, right? Now it's time to sit back and put on the metaphorical sweatpants of daily life.

Speaking of my internship, I had a good chat today with the Sup about public programming, and the annoying trend of planning for the toddler demographic. I think I won her heart when I said "Paper plate art... can be done by any bad babysitter in this nation," a mocking reference to some rather uninspired public programming of late presented by certain museums in the nation's capital. Seriously. Museums aren't about providing crayons and butcher paper.

Side note: I enjoy being city-surly! I turned around and glared at a couple who were conversing on a sidewalk today. Really, really glared at them. They deserved it, because she was on her bike and taking up the whole damn sidewalk and did not move, by God. Yeah, they saw me coming. But I bet they didn't anticipate that stone-cold glare! I'm hoping that if I go back to that block tomorrow, I'll discover them frozen, Medusa-like, by my city-surly-looking powers.