After a Month, There's a Lot to Tell

I put the period on my birthday sentence tonight with an evening of merriment at Stronghill Dining Co. They've got a great happy hour until 7:30 Mondays through Fridays and friend had never seen the place. That massive chandelier, the art deco mural, the hanging sculpture were all things that I knew would impress and they did. Impressing me was the bartender, who actually remembered me from four moths ago, here, and guiltily admitted that she'd still not been to the theater. I didn't judge.

I ran into a musician I hadn't seen in years who introduced me to his friends and tried to persuade me to join them at tonight's baseball game; one of the friends asked what it would take to get me to come along. Um, shackles? As they were preparing to leave, the musician asked me about my relationship status ("are you still seeing that guy?)" and when I answered in the negative, asked if he could call me. Sure, I said, just don't ask me out; he took my number anyway. No comment here.

Friend and I were weeks behind in life updates, so we each got a couple of glasses of Villa Pozzi Nero d'Avola ($6 each at HH prices) and settled in to share details. As we got deeper into love lives and futures, it became clear that nibbles were in order (appetizers 25% off at the bar) so we asked for the wedge (iceberg wedge, applewood-smoked bacon, roasted Roma tomatoes, classic blue cheese dressing) and the lobster rolls ( poached lobster claw, sauteed baby spinach, nishiki rice wrapped in nori, flash-fried and served with sweet soy reduction and wasabi). We shared dishes while over sharing information; it was the perfect balance of both.

About the time we got to the "why do men do that?" portion of the evening, my friend suggested something birthday festive, which resulted in the Hillenger Secco (are you paying attention, Clement?), pretty and pink and the ideal birthday toaster.

The bartender informed us that birthday girls get the desert of their choice and I did the cliched thing and ordered the chocolate torte (with vanilla bean ice cream). Delivering it, the server laughingly admonished, "Appetizers may be shared, but not desserts." Oops, we were just trying to close out the 2010 birthday spectacular, a feat best done with a tell-all friend.

Afterwards, I dropped off my car and walked over to Gallery 5 for RVyAy!, an evening of bands and local vendors and artisans. Vinyl fans were in heaven with so many record sellers, but my turntable is long since dead, so I focused on buying a screen-printed bandanna for a friend and perusing and discussing show posters with a couple of local artists/music fans. I always enjoy comparing impressions of shows with others and these two guys had seen even more live music than me, or at least almost as much (I don't go to Phish or Widespread Panic shows, though, so I may have lost by default).

Mingling the night away, I heard about the upcoming season of the Richmond Symphony, a Memorial Day show I was told was a must-see and some comments on my Listening Room post. As I was about to leave, gallery owner Amanda asked me to name some of my favorite music to add to the gallery's repertoire. What, me share my music preferences?

Oh, okay, if you insist. But be warned: this is a subject on which I can go on and on.