Shot of Estrogen

It was two weeks in the making.

Right after my birthday, I'd begun planning with two girlfriends to meet and celebrate.

A fortnight later, my birthday brunch rolled out at 821, a choice based on the fact that two of us love it and one hadn't been in forever.

In place when I arrived was the friend who'd already been to Goochland to thrift while the friend who's looking for a jazz guitarist got detained by traffic coming through the Bottom.

Once in a booth, it was time to catch up on each other's lives, a necessity since it had been a couple of months.

We straddled the brunch line nicely with them getting Nutella-stuffed French toast and the other a peanut butter and banana sandwich with fries and me my usual.

The waitress actually asked me if I was getting black bean nachos before I could tell her.

It makes it easy, I have to say.

So during non-stop eating, we covered male perceptions, broken noses and festival bookings.

I think we all ended up in a food coma, but sufficient information had been exchanged before we succumbed.

Walking out through the always-mixed crowd (the hipster mom with her toddler in cuffed up jeans and hi-top Chucks, the wholesome-looking white-haired couple who looked like they were passing through), it was clear what an institution 821 is at this point.

I know I've done my part one plate of nachos at a time for over a decade.

Back in the Ward, the rain had finally given way to sunshine so Steady Sounds was crowded for the afternoon's in-store.

Maybe it was the tropical storm blowing through and swelling the James, but in what surely must be a first, the show started on time.

I got there maybe 2:20 and Nashville band Cheap Time was walking out with their instruments.

A friend saw me and said, "Yea, I only caught their last song."

Too bad cause I'd been ready for some garage rock.

I flipped through albums, eventually talking to the visitor on my right doing the same.

When he came across "John Denver's Greatest Hits," he held it up and explained how he'd once made a lampshade of that very album cover.

I was impressed.

Pulling a Traffic album I'd just seen out of the bin, I countered by telling him that I'd once taken Traffic's "The Low Spark of High Heel Boys" and softened it to shape it into a popcorn bowl.

I'm not the crafty sort, but I can play one when there's music involved.

Luckily, locals Positive No were playing next and I was overdue to see them.

I'm a big fan of their drummer Willis and was eager to enjoy some pure '90s alt drumming, dimples and all.

Now they'd added Josh on bass.

Josh won my ears long ago playing cello and I've been in his fan club ever since.

The surprise and delight came from how much harder his bass playing was than the other configurations I'd seen him in.

And looking like he was having a lot of pleasure doing it.

Maybe not as much as I was having watching and hearing him, but definitely good.

The music drew a direct line back to the '90s, so I was on familiar territory.

Leaning against the record bins facing the band directly, singer Tracy's voice and stage presence perfectly channeled any number of '90s women.

As I told a friend, she had great energy. And bangs.

Girl power Saturday.