Who Questions Much Shall Learn Much

Was Lewis Ginter gay? How good is a vegan cookie? How can you stand three feet from a  musician and not hear the sounds that he's making?

Should a blog post start with all questions?

My evening began with a reading at Chop Suey Books where Brian Burns was talking about his new book "Lewis Ginter."

I'd met Brian at a hurricane party last week and caught his enthusiasm for his subject matter, the man who brought mass-produced cigarettes to the U.S.

Well, that and the Jefferson Hotel. And the neighborhoods of Ginter Park and Bellevue.

Brian had made sure that the reading was more like a get-together with a cooler full of drinks (including Stewart's orange soda in bottles and lemonade) and a tray of cheese and crackers ("Ooh, Captain's wafers!" one attendee exclaimed).

Since Ginter left no personal papers, Burns turned to old newspapers from the 1880s through the 19920s, recently digitized and available ("Isn't that fabulous?" he asked).

Using the keywords Ginter, tobacco and Pope (Ginter's long-time companion and the man he mentored was John Pope), Burns uncovered plenty of source material about Ginter.

When Ginter started his cigarette factory, they were hand rolled by white women. Jefferson was his idol.

Tobacco was part of the rations for a Civil War soldier, of which Ginter was one.

His motto was "If you see an opportunity, take it."

He designed his own cigarette packs and was a major supporter of the arts.

But did it mean anything that Ginter lived with a man thirty years his junior until his death?

Burns didn't uncover the answer to that one, despite untold hours researching it and inquiring minds wanting to know.

But with the two framed pictures sitting on the table, Ginter and Pope side by side as they had been in real life, it didn't seem that far-fetched.

Not that it was the kind of thing Ginter would have wanted to share in 19th-century Richmond. Oh, my, no.

All the talk of repressed sexuality was making me hungry.

A mere three blocks away at Amuse, I arrived to a full dining room and an empty bar. Empty of people, not of spirits, that is.

I had the Sette Ventiquattro Spumante, a Prosecco-style sparkler that worked well with my mussels and Surry sausage in a lemon butter broth.

Unexpectedly, I had company when a friend who'd just gotten off sat down next to me for dinner, also ordering the mussels and sharing the Spumante with me.

We got in a discussion with the bartender about friends and wanna-be friends and how no one has enough time to spend it with people they don't care about.

That's when I was told about the "reject line," a handy-dandy phone number to give people who request your digits when you don't want to hear from them.

And here I've just been saying no when asked. Leave it to technology to save people the trouble of being honest face to face.

For dessert, we got an item brand-new to the menu, so new that the bartender hadn't even laid eyes on it yet.

It was a chickpea cookie with saffron and Mandarin and lemon sorbet on the side.

True, the cookie was gluten-free and vegan, but I don't know who could tell that from a taste of it.

We talked about how a lot of people probably wouldn't order it because they wouldn't understand what it was, but if they tasted it without knowing, they'd think it delicious.

But I think that's true of sweetbreads, too.

A torrential rain began while we ate our dessert and since I had to leave soon, my friend saved me from becoming a soggy mess when he pulled out an extra rain jacket from his backpack.

Only a guy would have two rain jackets in his bag and if that sounds sexist, so be it.

I didn't have far to go in the rain, but the jacket couldn't save my feet, which had to step through ankle-deep puddles to get to my car.

My cute sandals will never be the same.

But wet feet couldn't keep me from the Musicircus, the annual tribute to composer John Cage that drummer Brian Jones coordinates every year.

From outside the Visual Arts Center, I could see Matt Coyle playing vibes in a front window but all I could hear was the driving rain.

Just inside, I stood three feet from Josh small playing banjo, but all I could hear was the Gamelan orchestra in the next room.

Moving from room to room, I heard sax player Jason Scott playing as a duo with a grimacing drummer, trombonist Bryan Hooten with two other horn players, Marionette's bassist with two clarinet players, and of course Brian Jones, tonight playing as part of a two-bassist jazz quintet.

SCUO, the duo of Scott Clark and Scott Burton finished just as I walked in their room. My loss.

One of the more interesting musicians played a collection of everyday items, like clay flower pots, restaurant-style metal kitchen containers, cans of paint taped together, a watering can and a piece of sheet metal.

It was a percussion wonderland amidst a musical extravaganza.

You have to experience the musicircus to understand how fascinating it is to see one group playing and hear another.

Or how you have to practically get on top of some musicians to hear them over the cacophony of others.

Or to realize how lucky we are to have an annual free Musicircus featuring some of the best musicians in Richmond.

Wouldn't Lewis Ginter and John Pope have raised a glass of Spumante to that?