Selfies and Absent Sea

Exploring tho unlikely was tonight's theme.

So to get started on that, I went to the bathroom for art.

The best little bathroom art show on Grace Street, "Shrinky Dink Selfie Portraits," was being hosted by TMI Consulting where thirty five 2 x 2 plastic portraits of local people hung across from the toilet on a sunny yellow wall.

I'd been lured not just by the idea of a bathroom exhibit, but because of the artist, Tiffany Glass Ferreira. Back in the dark ages of 2008, I'd met her and gotten one of her 2 x 2 painted canvases, "Scatter X," which now hangs on my wall with all the other local art.

Back then, she painted on miniature canvases and now she draws on shrinkable plastic that then goes into the toaster oven to reduce from 4 x 4 to an even dinkier 2 x 2. She showed me a video of a few shrinking.

I recognized more than a few of the subjects, several from the theater world, a couple from the restaurant world, even some from my own past.

And while I won't lie, I'd love to have a shrinky dink selfie by Tiffany, I like to think that I started collecting her back before she was all the rage or some such nonsense.

After talking to Tiffany and spending considerable time in the bathroom, where she explained that her work would get lost in the scale of a regular gallery, I moved on to an unlikely place for music.

Playing at Bistro 27 tonight for First Fridays was John Greenberg's Jazz Warriors, a quartet of piano, sax, upright bass and singer.

Before they began, I chatted with the well-dressed gentleman sitting next to me at the bar, only to hear about his stint as the maitre d' at the Hotel John Marshall decades ago.

He told me he'd begun as a busboy, quickly been promoted to server and within just as short a time been made maitre d', much to his delight.

I heard stories about some of the famous guests he met - Fats Domino, Chuck Berry - and how that shaped his passion for music, which is why he was at 27 tonight.

When the Jazz Warriors were ready to start, the sax player took up residence not with the band in the big front window, but midway down the room amongst the diners.

He started blowing his horn New Orleans-style and completely captured everyone in the room as he made his way around the room divider and up the other side of the dining room.

Only once he got back to join the band did the other instruments kick in.

They did jazzy takes on songs like "Bye, Bye, Blackbird," "On the Street Where You Live' and "All of Me," as people continued to come in the door to have a drink and hear music.

It really is a great space for hosting music, roomy, high-ceilinged and visible to anyone passing by on Broad Street.

Granted, it's only once a month at this point, but, hey, it's a start.

Toward the end of their second set, I left to go hear more music, this time a band stopping by Black Iris Gallery.

You'd think parking would be an unlikely place to run into friends, but before I could get out of the car, I saw a couple waving furiously at me and rolled down the window. It was my favorite '60s DJ and his lovely main squeeze, just having come from seeing Brandi Price's art show at Steady Sounds.

When I asked if they were also headed to Black Iris, they looked sheepish, admitting they were on their way to the Daily.

"We know the crowd sucks and we wouldn't be going there except we're doing a cleanse diet and they have organic food and even Ellwood-Thompson doesn't," he said.

With the two of them bending over at half mast to chat through my car window, that led to a lively discussion of eating out, eating properly and the pitfalls of going to a place where you're around annoying people.

On the plus side, they suggested that once they finish cleansing they contact me not only for restaurant recommendations, but so that we might all get together for a shared meal out.

Meanwhile, a trio walked down the street and one yelled my name in greeting. So apparently parked on Broad Street is a likely place for me to run into friends.

They left for Carytown and I crossed the street to see the band kind enough to make a stop in Richmond as a warm-up for their upcoming NPR Tiny Desk concert.

I found it unlikely as hell that Matthew and the Arrogant Sea were going to play three blocks from my apartment, even more so after listening to their music and falling madly in love with it.

"Black Dresses," absolutely transcendent.

But, alas, it was not meant to be and arriving at the back room speakeasy at Black Iris, I'd just missed the official announcement that Matthew had had a family emergency and the band was already en route back to Texas.

In a situation like this, where everyone from Benjamin, Black Iris' curator and booker, to all of us who'd come to hear some beautiful music, were majorly disappointed, there's not a thing anyone can do about it.

Stiff upper lip and all that.

Benjamin had arranged for a bluegrass duo to entertain us in the Sea's absence but it's tough to make do with two when you were expecting a much bigger band and sound that melds pop, country, psychedelic and folk.

But it was still well-executed music and the banjo and fiddle players had clearly played together a lot, making for a satisfying, albeit different end to my evening than I'd expected.

Unlikely, you might say.