Goodbye, Good Friends

I am the magnet and the world is the steel.

Or, put another way, I can always count on strangers talking to me. Always.

The Virginia Center for Architecture was my first stop for the opening of the new exhibit "Young Architects of Spain."

I found it to be a fascinating look at the design skills for buildings that would never get built in this country, or at the very least, on this coast.

There was an apartment in Madrid made of plastic, which was odd enough, but it had a a pink and white kitchen.

I think we stopped making pink and white kitchens sometime in the Kennedy era.

The Vega Sicilia Garden Pavilion had been designed because the winery needed a place to receive clients and guests.

Naturally, the Spaniard responsible for the design created a place where you could sip wine while overlooking a magnificent, surrounding garden.

As I stood admiring a glass and cedar collective housing project, I wondered aloud what the term "collective housing" meant.

The guy next to me looked as perplexed as I was.

To our rescue came a handsome bystander who explained in a charming accent that it was like a condo, a group building with shared ownership.

Ah-ha.

That led to a discussion of the next panel, which was of a public housing project in Madrid, basically a white box with modules set into it randomly, making for a pastiche of windows, balconies and jutting promontories.

I mentioned that it appeared to me to be a structure light years more stylish and unique than any public housing ever built in this country.

"Are you an architect?" he asked and I had to disappoint him.

Turns out he was and had come to this country from Poland to practice a few years ago.

He admitted that when he'd first come here, he was all about form (as only a young architect can be), only to gradually realize that he's developed a passion for cornices and such.

"Now I feel differently," he said. "It's too cold looking. I didn't like it anymore."

Somehow I'd lucked into having the ideal person to share the exhibit with since clearly he knew way more about architecture than I did.

Score!

He asked what I did and said he wished he had a knack for writing, while I only wish I could design buildings, making for a chat about the other man's grass always being greener.

When he left to get more sangria, I soldiered on without him, marveling at a "Space for Youth Creation" made from a former water tank with three-foot thick walls.

These young Spaniards were nothing if not out-of-the-box thinkers.

Exiting the VCA, I almost ran into the Man About Town, walking home from work.

He was recently back from a sojourn in NYC, and knwoing what a theater geek I am, he shared some theater experiences (masks! liability! six-inch heels!) he'd seen there while we lingered on the brick sidewalk in the early evening air.

My friend sauntered on while I was on to Amuse to meet a friend.

I got the last free barstool and hugs from four people in the first five minutes. Clearly it had been too long.

With a split of Cava and a bowl of mussels with Surry sausage, white wine and garlic (no kissing tonight!), I was happy as a clam.

When I looked up from inhaling my dinner, I noticed that I was now alone at the bar.

Where had everybody gone?

When I mentioned it to the bartender, he wryly observed, "Yea, you seem to do that a lot."

That's my kind of bartender.

My friend filled me in on his recent trip out west and his upcoming plans that will take him from Richmond for at least a couple of years and maybe forever.

I'm happy he's going to pursue something he loves, but I'll miss his good company here.

We brought out our planners, mine a small purple book and his a phone, and coordinated a date to do debauched things before he leaves.

Next thing I know, a man is asking if the recently vacant stool next to me is free.

Come on in, I told him and next thing I knew he was introducing himself and telling me where he worked, about his dislike for a class he's taking and about his carrying on at the Beer and Bourbon Festival.

When he heard my friend talking about his move, he said he'd come and visit, "And I'll even bring Karen!"

Let's be clear here; he'd met me fifteen minutes ago.

And when my Cava was gone, he kindly offered to buy me more, but I had places to be.

I had to go say goodbye to another friend.

His farewell soiree was at Balliceaux and one of my favorite local bands, Marionette, was playing.

The beauty of that is that the friend leaving has been designing Marionette's merch for the past five years.

The Marionette t-shirt I have? His design.

The Marionette postcard on my desk? His design.

And now he's off to San Diego to go to graduate school and continue his artistic bent.

When the band got ready to begin, drummer Kevin announced, "Where's the man of the hour? We need Austin front and center!"

Once he was in full view of the band, they started their set, which included a lot of the new songs that will be on the upcoming album.

The room was packed and I saw at least three musicians from other local bands in the crowd.

A friend came up to chat about my love life before asking me point blank, "Do you think that's the bass player's "O" face? I think it is."

It might very well have been, but as I pointed out, guitarist Adam seemed to  be using his "O" face on certain solos, too.

Maybe that's part of the appeal of live music.

Later in the set Adam spoke a few words about Austin leaving and what a contribution he'd made to the band over the years by essentially defining the Marionette aesthetic with his posters and t-shirts.

"If it weren't for Austin's posters, Karen would never have come to see us," Adam informed the crowd.

I turned to Austin then, admitting, "It's true."

Back in the Stone Age of 2007/2008, I was an avid admirer of show posters, stopping to read them every chance I got.

It used to be how I found out about shows in the pre-Facebook days.

And Austin's Marionette posters were uniquely and beautifully artistic. In fact, I still have several of them squirreled away.

For the final song of the set, the vintage video montage that always plays behind Marionette included several of Austin's posters followed by wishes of good luck for his new adventure.

It was a fitting tribute to him and his art. When it ended, he'd disappeared.

As I went to leave Balliceaux, the front room was playing Beach House's "Teen Dream" album.

It was bittersweet because that was an album Austin and I bonded over many times, both of us obsessed with its sound and having listened to it for months on end.

I left to find Austin just outside the door, smoking and talking to people.

Holding the door open so he could hear what was playing, I told him how fitting it was that I got to say goodbye to him to Beach House.

Before I could say the rest of what I wanted to say to him, he said the exact words in my head to me.

"I'm so glad that I got to know you," he said, hugging me.

Luck is having strangers talk to me because I never know which ones will end up being friends.

Even if I have to eventually bid them farewell.