Do I Know You?

It was a good night for random guys to talk to me.

Curious about what Harvard Graduate School of Design students might come up with, I went to the Virginia Center for Architecture for the opening of "Menokin Revealed."

You might not know what Menokin is, but I do, at least I have since attending a lecture at the Virginia Historical Society in 2012 given by David Brown who wrote a book about Menokin, a highly terraced 1769 home on the northern neck.

Recalling slides he'd shown of a house that had mostly collapsed on itself, I was curious to see what overly-educated students came up with for restoration ideas after spending four days on site.

Hardly surprisingly, with no budget parameters, the twelve students dreamed big, envisioning towers, catwalks, visitor centers, bridges and just about any other architectural features of which they could conceive.

As I was looking at one based on Native American "canopies," a man approached me and asked my name.

Turns out he's a trustee of the Menokin board and wanted to know if I knew where Menokin was.

He was surprised that I knew it was outside of Warsaw and I was surprised that he'd heard of my parents' tiny little crabbing village.

"If you live out there, you know where everything is," he assured me, asking if he could show me something.

"Something" turned out to be a scale model of the actual restoration that will be done to Menokin, which bears no resemblance to the students' visions.

Instead, they intend to take the pieces of the remaining walls, add supports and a roof and finish all the missing areas with glass walls. You'll once again be able to see the river over the treeline from the second floor.

Even better, paneling and furniture removed from the house 40 or so years ago when they realized it was falling apart will be returned to its rightful place and re-installed.

"I'd like to see a pavilion on the grounds, too," the trustee said. "Someplace that would make Menokin a cultural destination for the northern neck, a place the symphony could come and play."

Well, you know I was all about that idea and assured him that people like my parents would be, too.

By the time he'd finished showing me all the models and explaining everything, a good part of the crowd had left. I'd been so fascinated with hearing about the plans that I'd lost track of time and the opening was officially over.

Thanking my unexpected guide, I left for the VMFA's jazz cafe to see M. Law and the Modern Prophets of Jazz, mainly because I keep seeing the name at venues around town and knew nothing about them.

First surprise? M. Law is a woman (Mary Lawrence Hicks). Second, she plays trumpet. Third, Larry Branch, whose quartet I'd seen last week plays piano in this group.

Finding a place near enough to see and hear, it wasn't long before a guy walked by, winked and said hello, he'd be right back.

I was a little surprised at his boldness, until he came back from getting a beer and stopped to ask if I remembered him (um, no?). Gallery 5, a few weeks ago, yadda, yadda.

In my own defense, tonight he was wearing a sweater and that night he'd had on a bulky coat because G5's heat wasn't working so he looked different to me. Or maybe he just hadn't been that memorable, although I appreciate anyone who swings from Gallery 5 to VMFA's jazz cafe.

He invited me to join him at his table, but I was just fine where I was listening to the band's improvisational takes on standards as well as some interesting original material against a backdrop of people strolling through the still snow-covered sculpture garden.

M Law wasn't much for between-song patter, so one song followed another for non-stop music. I have to say, it's satisfying seeing a woman blow a horn, especially in a dress.

Once that ended, I went straight to Cafe 821 for eats, joining the throngs for thirsty Thursday.

From my bar stool, I had a constant clutch of people behind me, not just ogling the tap list (because they were all $2 off tonight) but discussing what to order with their friends.

After the fourth or fifth group, I could conclude that, for most guys anyway, the overriding factor in choosing a beer was the alcohol percentage.

They were all pretty bummed when the 10% stout keg tapped out and they had to make do with a 7% second choice.

Don't get me started on our over-saturated beer market.

Without such things to worry about, I savored the pleasures of a perfect plate of black bean nachos with punk music blaring loud enough to drown out the conversation of the rest of the room.

Until a guy sat down at the end of the bar, looked over, looked again, and asked if we had met.

Sure had. He'd been seated next to me during my fried chicken dinner at Saison recently, where we'd talked about the primal pleasures of eating with your fingers.

Funny the people who recall you when you show up elsewhere and out of context.

Leaving the thirsty hordes to their discounted rail drinks and beers, I moved on to Balliceaux for a terrific double bill of Way, Shape or Form followed by Annousheh.

Getting my hand stamped to go in, I happened into a conversation involving pools of vomit.

Promising to do my best, the one guy looked at me and said, "You don't seem like a pools of vomit kind of girl."

Thanks for noticing.

I'm not going to lie, I fell for Way, Shape or Form's prog-influenced indie pop with just enough post-rock to seal the deal last January when I first heard them, becoming a complete convert once I spoke to leader Troy afterwards and learning that we'd both been at the same Pinback, Tortoise and Minus the Bear shows.

No wonder I liked them so much given the overlap in our musical taste.

Joined by a friend who'd never heard them, I had the pleasure of hearing how much someone else was impressed with the jangley, syncopated guitars and odd time signatures.

It's always fun to introduce a fellow music-lover to a local band to whom I'm devoted.

And Annousheh, well, that's just guilty pop pleasure, 80s-sounding songs done '90s alternative style. radio-ready and delighting the crowd no end.

Plus instead of random guys, I got to talk to friends - the dance party enthusiast, the newly blond minimalist, the tango teacher, the brilliant bartender, the new WSoF fan - making for a fine finale to my evening.

Nothing guilty about the pleasures of the right kind of conversation paired with live music...especially absent pools of vomit.