Excuse Me, Is That Your Blog?

And no, I'm not referring to one of my occasional forays into midget erotica. Rather, I'm reminiscing about the denouement of a "nice" evening at the Sculpture Garden for Jazz in the Garden last Friday.

Jazz in the Garden is a fantastic way to spend a Friday evening. That is if you love lugging blankets and picnic gear to work, or don't mind sitting straight on the grass/dirt/sticks surrounding the fountains. If you choose the latter, try this: grab a book on entomology and see if you can count the number of insect/arachnid species that crawl up your jeans/khakis/slacks/skirts/chaps over the course of the evening. Speaking of clothing, JITG is also a great place to go if you enjoy rubbing elbows with the most fashion-forward young urban professionals, such as the casual d-bag I noticed in a yellow LaCoste polo and orange chino shorts. Yes, all the finest, diverse sects of young, upper middle-class white America are represented at JITG.

Also! If you get bored of the people watching, there's actually jazz being played! I'm not much of a jazz critic, but I think it's usually some kind of hip-hop/electronica/world/death metal/indie/funk/klezmer/jazz fusion band lead by famous singer/songwriter/artist/DJ Alejandro Brahma Capreze Diego Escovedo Francois-Goldsteinberg or some shit. Who knows. I mean, I'm sure everyone at DCist's panties are totally wet over it, but I couldn't give less of a shit. I just went to hang out with friends, drink too much sangria, and be leered at by those on neighboring blankets that didn't appreciate our crudely refined sense of humor.

All in all, though, it's a decent evening. Even if you don't like jazz, it's worth it for the people watching and pretty surroundings. It's free if you bring stuff -- alcohol is "prohibited," but nobody gives a shit unless you're blatant -- and it's a great place to bring a date. If you decide not to pack a pic-a-nic basket, prepare yourself for $9 pulled-pork sammiches and $18 pitchers of sangria. The sangria's not bad, though, but a word to the wise: pace yourself, because if you don't, your pants will be a rancid amalgam of dirt, sangria and bug guts by 7:30. Not that I'd know anything about that...