I Love You But You're Dead

 First Fridays was vibrating at a lower pitch tonight.

Which was a shame considering the art and music that was out there for the taking.

A four block walk in a light rain got me to Ghostprint Gallery for Peter Fowler's wildly-colored impressionistic "Aqua Illuminations."

"Venetian" was immediately recognizable as Venice despite the hot pink and orange colors, but "Silver Industry" was the one I kept coming back to.

Alas, I didn't have a spare thousand dollars for it.

ADA Gallery was showing James Trotter's eclectic work, a pastiche of comic book characters, advertising, cartoons and random scribbles.

Barney Rubble, Alfred E. Neuman, Donald Duck, Bert (sans Ernie) and the Stax logo all made appearances.

Candela Gallery's "Greta Pratt: Taking Liberties" delivered large-format photographs and a sly look at popular culture.

One series was of Lincoln impersonators (one had a log cabin RV). Another series was of Liberty Tax workers dressed in their cheesy, green Lady Liberty costumes (green nail polish, R.I.P. tattoo, red glasses). Another was of young women dressed as southern belles (modern faces did not match period costumes).

The final destination was Gallery 5 for Adam Juresko's "Self Abuse" exhibit of paper collages.

Maybe it's me, but I'm fascinated by Juresko's work (I own two) and tonight's new work had plenty of contenders I could have taken home.

But we can't always get what we want.

What I could get was music and all I had to do was walk downstairs to get it.

Four bands were playing tonight, including one who'd been called the "America's best living lyricist" and the show was free.

Free, as in come hear terrific music on us.

I didn't have to be told twice.

Opening was local Josh Small, in his usual overalls, starting with "My Confession," moving through an Emmylous Harris cover and finishing with "Knife in My Belly."

A photographer friend summed it up best. "We can see him all the time, so we forget, but if we saw Josh play in another city, we'd be blown away."

In an unexpected turn of events that left some people disappointed, headliner Mark Eitzel played second.

Apparently, he'd wanted to so Gallery 5 had said he could. But some people didn't get the memo and missed him.

Luckily, I was not one of them.

Eitzel (yes, he of American Music Club) came onstage wearing a hat and began singing in the direction of, not us, but his keyboard player.

I wasn't sure if he was uncomfortable with the audience or just getting in a groove, although he did make a point to tell us that he was only going to play briefly.

Whatever he was doing, his voice was a thing of beauty.

A singer friend called it immediately. "Great pipes!"

A musician friend was more specific, putting Eitzel's talent at the level of a Tom Waits.

Me, I was just reveling in being in the same room with this man's gift.

His voice was so strong, so assured, that half the time he held the mic at waist level and still belted very note across the room.

He introduced a song as, "About a beautiful woman named Gena Rowlands," a reference I doubt most of the 20-somethings in the room got.

It was an American Music Club song, "What Holds the World Together," with the exquisite lyric, "Through the window the warm summer air does a two-step, I wish there was some way I could keep it."

I have wished the same thing many times.

From his new album "Don't Be a Stranger," he did "I Love You But You're Dead," a song he said was about going to a rock concert and asking the star to sign his poster.

The superb song got cheering along with applause, prompting the quixotic Eitzel to promise, "Don't worry, it won't be long."

Oh, Mark, honey, we wish it could go on all night. Please be long.

"I wrote this song about a nightclub, the kind where everyone's mean. Not like here."

Mean? We were enthralled.

He introduced "Windows on the World" by saying, "Everything that happens in this song is true. I went to a party at the top of the World Trade Center."

What I remember is the evocative lyric, "We were so downtown," before the song began to wind down and Eitzel announced that the next song was his last.

He left us with a song about a male stripper named Spanky and only a world-class lyricist could cover the topics he covered in that song and make them sound so memorable.

During the break, I discussed what we'd just seen with friend after friend and everyone admitted to having been blown away by the man's talent. His voice. His songs.

And we saw him for free. Mark Eitzel for free.

The room should have been packed, but as a local DJ pointed out, the show had gotten no press.

How the hell that happened, no one could fathom.

Up next was Modern Drugs, a trio of guys who looked impossibly young and played the shortest of songs, all youthful energy and broken strings.

After playing several songs, the lead singer said, "We have several additional songs to sing."

My friend and I guessed that he was new to stage banter.

When the guitarist noticed the dangling string, a voice from the audience called out, "What were you supposed to bring?"

It was his girlfriend apparently and he sheepishly looked at her, cradling the string, admitting, "An extra guitar."

Always listen to your girlfriend, son, because she knows best.

When their exuberant set finished, the guitarist said earnestly, "I'm sorry for everything."

He needn't have apologized; turns out this was their very first show.

"A" for effort, boys. And a little tip from a pro: don't ever say you're sorry.

Low Branches closed out the show and after Modern Drugs' noise-fest, I was a little surprised at how hushed the room got all at once.

But then, Christina's voice and Matt and Josh's restrained playing sort of demands that you shut up and listen.

Still, it doesn't always happen, but tonight it did.

As a stranger said to me afterwards, "Whoa, that was some really different bands, but I liked it!"

I liked it, too.

And seeing Mark Eitzel in a room not even half full was out of this world.

Maybe I didn't get what I wanted art-wise, but I sure got what I needed musically.

Through the gallery the mild winter air did a two step
I wish there was some way I could keep that man's voice with me.

I wish.

I'm A Believer

How to pick the highlight from a Friday par excellence?

The ink show for which I'd written the preview in Style?  InLight with people I knew doing installations and live music? French pop until the wee hours?

"History Ink: The Tattoo Archive Project" was everything I'd tried to convey in my article about the exhibit and more. One girl's back and arms told her whole story: two ex-boyfriends and three states lived in. Personal history as body decoration.

One guy's back had a ram and a Nittany lion, symbolizing his undergrad work at Penn State and his graduate work at VCU. Academic career as body art.

I was taken by a picture of a tattoo where the artist and the  decorated were the same person. As if that weren't cool enough, the artist/tattooed arrived at the picture when I did. After ascertaining that he was both, I asked him to stand like he was in the picture so I could verify his tattoo. He did. It was him.

Particularly striking was the confederate flag with ants marching over it tattooed on a black guy.

A favorite explanation of why one guy got his tattoo: "I wanted a big, awesome tattoo with a skull." Sometimes it's really that simple.

After eating and mingling at the DJ-fueled reception afterwards (Depeche Mode, Billy Idol), we checked out "Wickham House 200," a show of art inspired by the rooms of the historic Wickham House and executed by VCU students.

Two pieces struck me. "Oh, No We Never Mention Her" by Rachel Cohn was in the drawing room and used a song found in Mrs. Wickham's music book on a record player. The other, "Perpetual Dusk" by Sohail Abdullah was a light installation set in a slave's room.

Because the slave, Robin, left to work before sunrise and returned after sunset, he never saw the changing light in his small slave quarters. Abdullah's installation imagined the light he never saw. It was exquisite.

Plus it was the natural lead-in to the 2012 InLight along Broad Street.

From the very first courtyard and BYOB (bring your own beamers), we were treated to a face on brick and a meandering pattern based on music. At Adams and Broad, we saw a tree up lit with lights going on and off to the beat of music.

A couple walked up to view it, read the artist's statement and walked away muttering, "I don't understand that at all." Here's an idea. Don't try to understand it, just enjoy it.

A bottom-lit tree on a cold evening was a thing of Fall beauty. Rebecca Najdowski's "Infinity Box #2" caught my attention because it had its roots in a science fair project done in grade school. Then, her father had helped and it had consisted of  a shoebox, a mirror and a strand of lights. Tonight, I put my eye on the black box and saw my eye along with a swirling mass of psychedelic lights.

Down my beloved Henry Street I found "Meandering Dynamics," tied up to a tree and consisting of a series of used white buckets forming a sinuous and continuous chain of light. I walked my way through it.

Then how could I not be taken by an installation by two of my favorite musicians?

"Interstitial Transduction" had been brought to life by Dave Watkins and Nelly Kate, two fabulous musicians who can make themselves sound like a half dozen people. Each. Their installation was highly interactive, with a stand of "leaves" with concealed mics, meaning if you tapped them, the visual or sound changed in some way.

I told Nelly that the piece was a great resume builder and she corrected me. "And esteem builder!"

She said that early on before things got crowded, a little girl came through and took advantage of the absence of people to do it her way. She galloped around the structure, methodically tapping each leaf in turn to make her own music.

"It was the purest joy," Nelly told me smiling. "It was better than a month of therapy." We agreed that the beauty of the installation was the way it drew people in so they could experience the light and music however they chose to.

I stopped by the Trillions installation to hear them play, finding a large cadre of earnest yet tragic looking 18-year olds.

"We 're scared to do this song," lead singer Charlie told the crowd. "Should we?" When the crowd roared their approval he responded, "Yes, this is a democracy. The song is called 'Dead Meat.'" Afterwards, the band joked about InLight not being a competition.

"Yes, it is," the bass player corrected. "We really want to win." "Cut and Paste" was an upbeat boppy pop song I loved, the kind the Trillions deliver effortlessly. Meanwhile, light imagery played on the two side buildings and the curved screen behind them.

Favorite line: "You think too much."

We were told by Charlie that playing "You Gotta Be Kidding" would ensure that something onstage would explode, but nothing did. Well, that was a close one.

I could have gone home happy at that point, but why would I when Ipanema had DJ Sarah Gossett playing French pop songs from the '60s and '70s? I ordered some Franco Serra 10 Dolcetto D'Alba and ran into some friends I'd seen at InLight.

They joined me at my front table near the DJ "booth" although the sound wasn't as loud there as I would have liked. Sarah's music  choices were brilliant, especially some of the covers she played.

Nancy Holloway doing, "Je veux prendre la main" was just one of many Beatles covers I heard. I want to hold your hand, too, Nancy. There was Danielle Denin's "Je Lis Dans les Yeux,'' recognizable as "I'm Looking Through You."

Soon backup arrived to augment the sound near the front of the bar. "The talent requested it," I was told. No, I requested louder music, I corrected. A guy nearby backed me up, "I want it up. We're out here to hear the jams."

Amen.

Erich Saint Laurent's "Je devine la Verite" registered immediately as "I'm a Believer" and I danced along as if it were the Monkees. There were so many covers of British  invasion songs and American pop, things like "Turn, Turn, Turn," and My Guy," but sung in French. There was even a Petula Clark song and who knew Pet could sing in French?

"This is my brief foray into the '80s," Sarah said, playing Lio's "Le Banana Split," the record cover  looking (and the music sounding) oh-so '80s. She returned to form with Les Gam's (the apostrophe mistake is their, not mine) and "Judy's Turn to Cry."

"I Only Want to Dance with You" came courtesy of Les Surfs, a group of four guys in matching sweaters and two girls in matching sweaters and red mini skirts. Adorable.

I noticed and Sarah told me, "I love the covers." Swinging mods and lots of bangs, who wouldn't?

Finally I saw a couple dancing to all this great French pop. It just kept coming with Eileen's version of "These Boots are Made for Walking" which was top notch. And who could argue with a French cover of Sonny and Cher's "The Beat Goes On"?

Play that poppy French music, mod girl. It might just be the grooviest First Friday ever.

In the Heat of the Night

The humidity's been at around 82% all evening. All my activities tonight involved lots of sweaty bodies. Everyone who hugged me this evening was sticky. And not one of those statements is a complaint (I'll take hot over cold any time).

My Friday night began at the new pizza place Stuzzi, which was packed for its unofficial opening night soiree. The ABC license hadn't arrived until 2:00 this afternoon (whew!), but the choices tonight were limited to wine and liquor (beer is coming, not that I care). They had no change so only cards were being taken in payment for drinks. Food was on the house with comments being actively solicited. And the a/c struggled to keep up with the crowd and the pizza oven cranking out non-stop pies.

I found my spot at the front bar and ordered my wine from a list on a yellow legal pad (how often does that happen twice in one week?) consisting of a Pinot Grigio, a Chardonnay and a blend of Pinot Grigio and Chardonnay. It will be interesting to see what actually ends up on the wine list.

The large staff was rushing about furiously, figuring out their systems as they went along; everyone was friendly, pleasant and glistening. There were five Stuzzi Chini (delicious little things), two salads, the classic Pizze D.O.C., the Margherita, along with five other pizzas and four pastas. Oh, and three desserts for those who care about such things.

I ordered the spring mix with Gorgonzola and the Italian Sausage (Salsiccia) Pizze with San Marzano tomato sauce, housemade Mozzarella, sausage, basil and EVOO. My salad had so much Gorgonzola on it that I actually didn't finish it all (knowing I had a pie on the way) and that's really saying something. The greens were fresh and it was not overdressed so I gave it a thumbs up. Owner Peter teased me about not being able to finish such wonderful cheese from the originating town. Cheese fail, Karen.

The beauty of a pizza oven with stones from Mt. Vesuvius is that a pie is ready in 60 to 90 seconds. The rustic and amorphic pizza was superb and I shared a piece with an old friend and former neighbor who had stopped by ("I should have known I'd find you here.") on his way to a benefit and he agreed that the pie was beautifully done. Since unlike me, he still lives a block away, he's thrilled with their presence in the Museum District.

Leaving, I ran into Tanya of Belmont Butchery, whom I hadn't chatted with since a party a few months back. She wanted to show me the butchery's garden, so we headed around the corner to meet up with the charming Henry and admire the corn. And the lima beans (be still my heart). And the beets and the mesclun and the peppers and the haricots verts. Strolling the back forty with a light breeze was the perfect after-dinner activity; promises of gifts from their bounty only added to my personal enjoyment of it all. Lima lovers "R" us.

I left the old 'hood for the current one to meet up with a friend and do the artwalk (duh, it is First Friday after all). I specifically wanted to see the "Richmond Illustrators Club 4th Annual Juried Show" because it is always one of my favorite (and best) shows of the year. There was such a variety of talent on Ghostprint's walls tonight and many of the prints were extremely reasonably priced. There was more than one that I could happily look at every day on my own walls.

ADA's "Anniversary Affordable Works and Garage Sale" offered up all kinds of delights in practically every medium. I loved Daniel Davidson's symmetrical images; he only draws the left side and then uses a simple process to transfer it to the right side. Shown was a drawing of the Brooklyn Bridge and another of Queen Elizabeth; the detail in both was riveting. And how clever is he? Half the work and a full picture.

Art 6 had a Juneteenth exhibit that shone for its vintage photographs of blacks posing for the camera pre-1900. Another photography standout was "Soul Rebel: An Intimate Portrait of Bob Marley" by David Burnett at Metro Space Gallery, with a local reggae band conveniently playing outside. Lots of blissed out faces, but no suspicious smells.

I knew I wanted to finish in the courtyard because the Colloquial Orchestra was playing and after hearing them once, I wanted to hear them some more. They started playing with no introduction and it took a few minutes for the crowd, or at least those who were there to hear music, to realize it.

They have an amazing sound and I checked and I'm not speaking out of turn by calling them post-rock. Their dynamic sound builds and wraps around the listener's ear in a way that makes the music everything...unless you're talking and then, sadly for you, it's just background.

Talking to the guys in the band afterwards, they acknowledged a lot of improvisation going on in between certain set points in the music. They also said that they ldo isten to a lot of post-rock, too, and laughingly suggested that they're post-post rock.

What they are to me is a collection of talented musicians playing interesting instruments and creating a sound that doesn't fall neatly into 3 or 4 minute songs, but which will totally capture you for the duration. There could have been no better way to wrap up the evening.

Walking back past Gallery 5, we saw a bit of a fire performance and some belly dancing as we paused on the sidewalk. It was my friend's first First Friday in over two years, so he was particularly thrilled with the events of the evening. I know because he told me so as he gave me a sweaty hug before leaving J-Ward.

As for me, now that I've finished my nightly over-sharing and it's only 12:45, I plan to take my wine and my sticky self and go sit on my balcony for a while to enjoy the heat.

It's not like anyone will know how sweaty I am...and I kind of like it on a June night.

Sweetbreads and Celebrating WRIR

Never tell a chef who's just added sweetbreads to his menu that you just had sweetbreads three days before at another restaurant.

Or, if you choose to do so, you can expect to eat sweetbreads twice in three days.

Which, if you're as fortunate as me, can be a very good thing.

I'd gotten a call from a friend alerting me that First Fridays was canceled tonight, which wasn't a problem because the WRIR 5th birthday bash was still on.

Now I had time to eat dinner out before the party and it seemed logical to pick the restaurant closest to the Renaissance Center, the location of the soiree.

It was obvious that the rain had scared more than just the First Friday organizers because, upon entering my neighborhood joint, Bistro 27, I was surprised at how few people were out on this rainy night dining.

On the other hand, the staff greeted me with, "Now the party is complete," and there were a couple of neighbors present, so I didn't really need much more.

Chef Carlos wanted to know where I'd had my recent sweetbreads and how they were prepared, and then he disappeared.

After ordering the touted Angeline Pinot Noir, the bartender pointed me toward several interesting new things on the menu.

Just as I had about decided to go for the seared foie gras, Carlos appeared with an overly generous serving of the veal sweetbreads in a mushroom, sage, shallot and Marsala sauce.

As he pointed out, it's a traditional preparation, but when done as well as these were, I'd have to say sublime.

Okay, he'd won me over. Again.

I followed with a guilt salad for having eaten sweetbreads twice in 72 hours.

Because it was so slow, I had the pleasure of Carlos' company for the entire evening.

We got off on a rant about the local restaurant scene, who's over-promoted, who doesn't really live up to their press, who's over-priced and who curries favor with the local critics.

As it turned out, he's as opinionated on this subject as I am and we share many of the same opinions, so it was a very satisfying discussion.

Our other hot topic was the lack of special events to keep pulling people to First Fridays.

Happenings like the May Day parade and the Chinese lantern parade drew people in droves to First Fridays last year, but during the months where the galleries alone represent the focus, the numbers seem to drop.

It's a subject Carlos has discussed with the mayor, a regular customer, who claims to fully support the idea of doing more, even suggesting that the organizers need to address the issue.

After dessert and a wine lecture by Carlos for the benefit of the neighbors at the bar, I bundled up to walk the half a block to the WRIR party.

I got teased about not bringing an ID (seriously?) and immediately ran into scads of people I knew.

It began with Matt from Amazing Ghost; I had just missed their performance.

But as I told him, I could hardly be faulted since I've seen them twice in the past few weeks.

I caught most of the Hot Damns set and ran into Johnny H. and his camera, the one person I knew without a doubt I'd see tonight.

Naturally there were plenty of musicians I knew, a favorite blogger and assorted others, all out supporting independent radio.

Cam from Heks Orkest came up to say hi and I teased him about them headlining; he thought it was because they were the loudest band performing and would probably clear the room.

I told him that my first show had been the Who, I'd seen Stinkeye play inside ADA Gallery and had been at the My Bloody Valentine show, so loud didn't scare me.

Grinning hugely, he pulled up his shirt to show me his MBV t-shirt underneath; okay, he knew loud, too.

Probably my favorite performance was one of the WRIR DJ's band, Photosynthesizers, in the back room.

Standing off to the side, a guy spotted me and motioned me forward to stand in front of him.

"You feel sorry for me because I'm short, don't you?" I asked.

Laughing, he said, "Nah, but I was short once , too."

Considering he was about 6"2", I had to ask, "What, when you were ten?" which got him to laugh again. I did appreciate the better view, though.

I went back to the main stage for HO's set and they were loud, but the crowd was really into them and that always makes a show better.

Their volume did make it impossible to carry on phone conversations, so it was gratifying to see people have to leave the room to talk on their phones.

Don't let the screen door hit you in the ass on your way out, guys.

And despite having had dessert already, I enjoyed a piece of cake before leaving.

It was a birthday party after all and I, for one, am thrilled that we have such a station in RVA (keep that Breakfast Blend coming).

Happy birthday, WRIR and here's to many more.

He Used to be Sad, Now He's Just Bored with Her

My friend Holmes got dumped because he wasn't as romantic as Noah in "The Notebook."

Apparently the woman actually said that to him.

I'd like to say I know what Noah was like except I've never read or seen "The Notebook."

And it wasn't like she'd told him ahead of time that she wanted him to be romantic like Noah, and since he hadn't read or seen it either, he didn't exactly know that he was supposed to measure up to Noah.

Fortunately, he's smart enough to be glad to be rid of a nutcase like that, but it got me thinking.

Since everyone defines romance differently, what are the chances that when two people start out together they'll instinctively know what kind of romance to bring to the table?

And, realistically, how many people state their romantic preferences right up front?

I don't want to come off like a downer here, but, looking forward, how likely is it that I'll meet someone who can figure out how to romance me right?

Holmes thought he was doing just fine until that woman brought him up short.

Tonight was devoted to hearing Holmes' tale of woe; we began the process at my place with old music and a bottle of Famille Peillot 2007 Bugey Pinot Noir (hence the need for the decanter, per wine whiz Julia) so Holmes could share all the gory details.

Holmes loved my wine choice: lots of red fruit, medium-bodied and earthy.

After that we moved on to First Fridays since Holmes had never partaken of the art extravaganza, augmented this month with 2 Street Festival goings-on.

Seriously, Art6 is only allowed to have 20 people in its 2,000 square foot space at a time? Hell, yes, I'll sign your petition.

We concluded at Avalon (which I hadn't been to since June on an ill-fated date; the guy was disappointing, but the food was quite good) with an extended meal of mussels, scallops, rosemary and Parmesan grits, roasted corn, filet mignon and Pinot Gris.

Holmes shared all the little details leading up to The End: the lies, the letter, the weirdness about smooching.

He's decided to put off dating for a while and just hang out with his female friends, since we don't expect any Noah-like behavior out of him.

He joked that he's definitely planning to watch "The Notebook," maybe even take notes in a black and white composition book.

I least I think he was joking.

Men...

It's How I'll Know. It's Where I'll Go

So here's the other problem with writing a blog: people actually read it and then are able to throw things you write back in your face. What's interesting is how far back they read and how much they ultimately discover about you...not that it isn't all out there and up for grabs if you blog in the first place. I have to assume that one wouldn't read it unless they found it interesting or are stalking me, but correct me if I'm wrong.

Since I'm part of the group, I started early with the Richmond Women's Collective gathering in the courtyard at Adams. The bands were still setting up, but I met several out-of-town artists and ran into the delightful Elliott (he of the superior oatmeal preparation) who lives in one of those courtyard apartments and offered me any number of libations: wine, beer, vodka. Next up I met a friend (with the cutest new shoes on!) at home to catch up over a bottle of al Bacio Erbaluce di Caluso and was gratified that she put her wine geek stamp of approval on my choice. We eventually made it to ADA, Ghostprint, Visual Arts and Gallery 5 as well as an ad-hoc gallery devoted to art of the health care debate (talk about topical!).

By then the wine was affecting my friend, who had been too busy working to eat all day (some of us had not worked and eaten plenty), so we naturally headed to the Belvidere at Broad so she could experience what I already knew I liked. The smoked salmon was superior, so good, in fact, that she felt compelled to ask about its preparation. I just ate, but then I'm not the gourmand that she is.

She followed that with a Gouda bacon burger she deemed delicious (my bite was terrific) and I moved right on to the dark chocolate brownie, since I had yet to experience dessert there, despite repeated visits. When offered, I even accepted additional chocolate sauce and enjoyed every chocolate -coated bite.

Bottom line: yet another excellent meal at the B at B. Another customer (and gallery owner) challenged me on my regular status, but since it was only his third visit and my fourth, his devotion paled in comparison. As for the bartender, I think it's safe to say that for those who seek out a bartender to give them a hard time, he knows what he's doing.

What You Missed at First Fridays

I had to start at ADA Gallery to see the Morgan Herrin piece because I had been lucky enough to see the beautiful female form he did last year that ended up being sold to Lance Armstrong. The new work was also beautifully sculpted in wood, with the head, breasts and legs of a woman emerging from a relief globe. I'm not sure whether his greater strength is depicting the female form or turning wood into something so smooth and fine. In either case, it was a don't miss piece last night, despite not officially being on view (thanks, Rachel).

Next up was Ghostprint Gallery where street artist Josh McPhee had assembled a collection of street art and posters. The show was beyond amazing; almost 200 examples of socially conscious art, political statements and flyers. Ghostprint had done a show of street art over a year ago and I had bought one of Josh McPhee's prints then ("The City is Ours"), so I knew this was an artist who would gather an outstanding assemblage and he delivered magnificently. If you missed First Fridays, you need to make a point to go see this show right away. It's that good.

Went to Thanky Space's final show and it was a little bittersweet. The designated one-year project begun last September by Victoria and Travis is nearing its end and Victoria told me she is most satisfied with what they learned and what they accomplished with the endeavor. In just the past year, Thanky became known for off-beat exhibits that were always worth seeking out and those of us art lovers who appreciated their eye for the different will miss their presence as part of the FF line-up.

Ended up in the courtyard at Adams for Heather's last gathering of the season in this magical space. She's been offering a variety of arts for the past 4 FF's and last night's included music and projected images and, of course, her usual grilled hot dogs and assorted beverages. In past months, there have also been art exhibits and artisans selling their crafts. This unique space, with its brick wall mural of mountains and up-lit trees is like a secret cave for those who know about it or are lucky enough to stumble into it. If you missed it, you'll have to wait until next year to see if Heather starts it up again.

The only downside of the entire night was Thea at Ghostprint telling me that her evening had started with a visit from the Fire Code people, checking for capacity and exits. Do these people really have nothing better to do than sabotage the most successful art event and draw for downtown that this city has managed to create? Surely their time and the city's money could be better spent on abandoned buildings and unsafe houses. We need this harassment of the arts community to end.