Turning Life into Words

As philosophical debates go, this one was right up my alley. Words or art, which matters more?

With a fellow art and word lover in tow, we sat down at the Criterion for "Words and Pictures," both a battle of that issue as well as a middle-aged romance.

Unfortunately for us, everyone else in the very small crowd was long past middle age, meaning they talked throughout the movie stating the obvious ("He's going to get drunk!") and generally moving around more than anyone needs to in 115 minutes.

But I digress.

At the heart of the film was a "war" between an arts honors class taught by the luminescent Juliette Binoche and an English honors class led by the handsome to a fault Clive Owen to prove which - words or pictures- was more capable of conveying something.

As a card-carrying art lover and one who makes her living with words (and often writing about art), I fell somewhere squarely in the middle of that debate.

But it got me thinking about something that has been mentioned to me time and time again. Why don't I ever put pictures on my blog? Wouldn't photos help my readers see the things I devote so many words to? Give us pictures, Karen!

My response is always the same. This blog is about words and my goal always to paint a picture with words and bring my reader along with me so he or she can feel like they experienced what I did.

Posting pictures holds no appeal, but of course I'm in the minority on that. Hell, that's why they came up with Tumblr so people could use pictures instead of words to blog.

But that's not what I want to do.

I want to share things I overhear people say. I want to tell you what I think of something and not just show you what it looks like. I want to paint a picture without ever picking up a paintbrush.

And as long as I'm at it, I'd like to be as beautiful as Juliette and have a wordy man like Clive say things to me such as, "I've been studying your ass for months."

And when he does, I will tell you, dear reader, in far too many words (because I can go on and on) what a thrill it gave me to hear him say that.

But there will be no picture of my ass.

There, There, Tell Me All About It

Feeling somewhat better now, thank you.

Despite the wind that was blowing so hard that I actually felt sharp things hitting my face as I walked, I hoofed it over to Garnett's to meet a girlfriend for a catch-up/feel-better session and lunch. The food was negotiable, the talking was not.

We were both surprised at how busy Garnett's was; a table barely emptied before a new party was sitting down at it. When I walked in the counter was full up and five minutes later completely empty. I scored a couple of stools before that changed again.

I won't repeat what I said when my friend came up and asked me how I was, but let's just say we dove right into it. I ordered a Cobb salad, told her what was up in my world (like she didn't already know) and she gave me her take on things.

A server I know came in and sat next to me and we laughed about a mutual friend who has a new girlfriend. He was recently boasting about having finished his Christmas shopping for her.

Turns out he bought the exact same thing for her that he bought for his last two girlfriends: a cardigan, a record and a piece of jewelry. The women can change, but the present list remains carved in stone apparently. Definitely laugh-worthy.

Jenny, my talented baker friend, and her husband came in in between baking jobs and we chatted about the hustle-bustle that's everywhere right now. I could have kissed her when she touched my shoulder and said, "You look so pretty today." Kind words, just what I needed to hear.

Another friend and her wine rep husband were next, taking a respite from having just been over on Midlothian Turnpike, which they described as a zoo. They'd tried Black Sheep (long waiting list), Harrison Street Cafe (already closed for the holidays) and then decided on Garnett's.

Until recently, they lived a few blocks from Garnett's, so it was like coming home for them. I usually only run into them at wine events, so it was an unexpected pleasure to see them and talk today.

I met one of the guys from One Ring Zero, who was down from NYC visiting his sister. I'd heard lots of good thing about him from my girlfriend and he turned out to be a most interesting guy. He had the mistaken notion that I was an acocuntant (!) so I clarified my skill set for him.

My Cobb salad had set a sort of salad trend, with the couple at the end of the bar getting the same and the girl next to me having the spinach salad. She commented that no sandwiches were allowed at the lunch counter today, which I think points to the fact that the salads at Garnett's are as good as the sandwiches. And for that triumph, credit goes to Mac the Magnificent.

And speaking of, I felt a hand running down the back of my jumper and turned to see the great Mac himself, coming by to save the day. As of next week, he'll be back at Garnett's full time, which means we'll have way more time to talk again. I love Mac's laid-back take on life (not to mention his culinary skills) and he's always giving me advice on men. Mostly to avoid them, but still.

Before leaving, my girlfriend did a wrap-up of our discussion (no Power Point, but close), making sure I took into consideration what I was dealing with. Yes, oh wise one, I get it.

Walking home, the sunny sidewalks had been replaced with shady ones, but I actually felt a little better about things. Not to be corny, but it kind of felt like I'd been embraced by caring friends, which I had, both literally and figuratively.

Onward and upward.

I'm Not EatingRichmond's Type

It's not them, it's me. I just don't fit in.

You'd think if I was going to be unceremoniously removed from EatingRichmond.com, it would be because I'm not a food blogger. But no, it was my prolificacy that made me a problem.

I kid you not.

I haven't found a solution for keeping your blog on the EatingRichmond aggregator. My web guy is copied on this message. I really think your restaurant visits are addictive reads for Richmond's dining obsessed (including me). So I want to keep it on the site somewhere. If only there was a way for EatingRichmond to subscribe to a weekly digest of I Could Go On and On. Maybe a frequent poster spot is the answer (you don't really have any peers in that category at this point). In the meantime, I've taken your blog off of EatingRichmond until we can figure something out.

Luckily I only get about a hundred readers a day from eatingRichmond, so it's far from the primary way people come to me. But I'd be the first to admit that quite a few of my most regular readers and most frequent commenters discovered me there amongst the true food bloggers.

As Jason told me last March when he was trying to persuade me to put my blog on the site, "All u have to risk is more readers."

Well, that and the heartbreak of being dumped.

Not fitting in seems to be my forte'.

Read Me Do

As I was walking down Broad Street this morning, a girl was coming towards me engrossed in reading Belle magazine. I couldn't help myself; when she came abreast of me I turned to sneak a peek at what she was reading so intently. Instant gratification; it was my column.

I'd have smiled at her, but she never looked up and that's an even bigger compliment. Who knows, she may even decide to do one of the things I suggested in the column.

Just last week a friend had called me the day the new Belle had come out because he'd already picked up a copy (I couldn't find a copy until the next day). He was all excited because in addition to my monthly column, I'd also done a profile piece this month. "Now people will know you can write about more than just going out!" he'd enthused.

Silly me, I'd thought that all those writing awards I'd won back during my decade in publishing had proven that I could write about a variety of things. But then it occurred to me that most, but not all, of the people I hang out with now didn't know me pre-2004, so how would they know?

And certainly most of the blogosphere wouldn't have any idea that I had any writing experience, especially given the proliferation of blogs by people who've never written more than a to-do list. I'd hate to be lumped into that group. So maybe my friend had a good point.

My best friend who lives in god-forsaken North Dakota and reads me online (www.readbelle.com) even dropped me a line. "I liked your two articles. It must give you such a sense of pride to see your name in print!"

Not nearly as much satisfaction as it does when I see someone walking down the street reading me. Or even when someone tells me they read me. Therein lies the satisfaction of getting comments on my blog posts; it's proof positive that I've been read.

What could be better motivation to keep up my prolific blogging?

Spreading the Blog Hate

I was caught off guard by who came to my defense when negative and inaccurate comments about me started being tossed around in the online world, here. Let's just say I was impressed with the array of interesting people who had my back.

And to those people, all of whom named themselves, I extend a heartfelt thanks for the kind words. For those willing to blast me but not leave their real names, please allow me to address your concerns.

Ex-Chef: Sorry, but I am not, nor have I ever been, Karen Miller. I have never lived or worked in North Carolina or been a part of the hospitality industry. You can get snarky all you want, but there's no reason to trash another Karen and then point people to my blog. At least have the decency to hate me for me.

To A Lowely Line Cook: I have said repeatedly in my blog that I am NOT a food blogger. Mine is a lifestyle blog with occasional food references. And yet again I'll point out that I did not ask to be on eatingrichmond.com. Jason asked me to add my blog and I declined, citing specifically that I was not a food blogger. He persisted saying that I would be relevant on the site, I disagreed, he insisted and I finally relented. For the last time, I am NOT a food blogger (nor having sex in the city, if that was your implication; I don't watch TV so I'm not exactly sure).

And to Stop Eating at Chains: You certainly are a regular reader of my blog for someone who clearly doesn't enjoy what I write (and thinks my head is going to pop). Here's the thing, though. I don't for a moment believe that I'm great, as you seem to think. I do think I'm having a great time, all things considered. If that annoys you, so be it.

Better yet, lighten up.

Courting Commentary at Full Kee

Through a series of random events, a friend and I unexpectedly ended up having dim sum at Full Kee today.

It wasn't what we'd planned to do, but he'd mistakenly thought his doctor's appointment was at 11:40 when it was actually at 1:40, so we punted.

It was fine with me because I hadn't been in for dim sum since Easter a year ago and while it's not quite as much fun doing it on a weekday as it is on a weekend (I do so enjoy just choosing from the cart rather than ordering off a limited menu), it's still a pleasurable way to do lunch and savor a wide variety of tastes.

So we ordered all kinds of things like roasted pork in a bun, shrimp and chive dumplings, spare ribs and black beans, sesame balls and at least a couple more on which I'm drawing a blank.

We hadn't gotten together in several weeks because he'd recently moved (to J-Ward, even...smart man!) and had been busy getting settled.

What that meant was that he'd done his homework last night catching up on my blog so he'd know what to ask about and what to give me a hard time about.

All is fair in love and blogs, as they say.

But what had struck him was the recent spate of commenting that had been going on here. Some posts have gotten more than a dozen comments and that's a lot for this little blog.

The first one that had caught his eye was the Ode to Delicate Men commentary, here, which was particularly interesting for the array of comments it elicited, some about the history angle and others about the appeal of such men.

It's not often that a post about a history lecture gets people going, so I was thrilled to see it.

And then there was the Dishing in Dawn post, here, an innocuous little piece about going to a fish fry in the country over the weekend.

The commenting began Saturday afternoon and continued right through yesterday, although with the exception of the first commenter, very few of the remarks had much to do with community eating or fried trout.

But that's fine because I got to hear from readers, regular readers apparently, from whom I'd never before gotten a comment. It might have been even more gratifying than having lunch with Alma and Evelyn, no small feat.

Which is not to disparage in any way the readers who regularly comment on my blog.

I have been hugely flattered to see some of the same names cropping up on my comment pages of late and have tried to convey my pleasure in their attentiveness.

I'm inclined to think that these are people with whom I would want to have face-to-face conversations and actually get to know better.

I'd just have to hope that they'd like me as much in person as they do when reading me on a screen.

But I'm the nervy sort, so I'd probably be willing to take that chance.

Going-Out Guru Service

Since I started blogging (originally because I was required to at work) back in 2008, readers have left comments asking why I didn't tell them about interesting goings-on before they took place.

It was as if they wanted me to be their social director and alert them to what caught my interest simply because I had an opinion on what sounded fun to me.

Of course, if you've read my blog more than once, you know I have an opinion on everything but it's really not my job to plan other people's calendars.

So, for the most part, I just deflected the comments and went on writing about my adventures doing what I do, but always after the fact.

But when someone contacted me and told me that they've been reading my blog for a while now and loved what I write and wanted me to tell their readers what upcoming events sound good to me personally, it's hard to resist the allure of getting paid to share my opinion (for a change).

And so I will.

Starting with the issue out today, I'm writing a column for Belle magazine (Style's girly imprint) called Lush Life.

It wasn't my first suggestion for a column name (that was deemed too racy), but I picked it because I wanted to emphasize how many no or low-cost events go on around here that are worth checking out, which for someone like me, provide the lushest kind of life.

I could suggest that you pick up a copy of Belle and read my going-out recommendations for April, but I know there are people who don't read magazines and papers.

Don't even get me started on those people 'cause that's a rant for another day.

But since you're obviously reading this online, you might want to head over to Belle's website for more of my suggestive little thoughts.

As I wrote in the column, you don't have to actually do any of them, but don't complain that you didn't know about anything good going on.

Now I'm telling you.

I Blog for the Compliments

There are myriad reasons why people blog.

Personally, I started because it was something I'd been required to do at my last job and I discovered I missed it once I got laid off.

I've always been an enthusiastic writer (I've written tomes to past loves via e-mail) and, as my profile indicates, I have an opinion on just about everything.

Given how effortless writing is for me, blogging was a no-brainer.

The longer I do it though, the more often I am reminded of its far-reaching effects.

One of those is that when I'm out with people who know I blog, they'll say something off-color or not for public knowledge and then quickly tell me, "Don't put that in the blog!"

99% of the time, what they've said wasn't blog-worthy anyway.

Not long ago, I was at a live music show and someone I knew only by sight came up and asked me if I was the ICGOAO blogger.

Yes, I told her, but how the hell did you know that?

Apparently she was already a regular reader and had recently been at a restaurant the same night as I had and noticed me.

When she saw my post the next day, she put two and two together.

She'd even tried new restaurants based solely on some of my posts and loved them.

Best of all, she'd recommended my blog to many of her friends as a must-read.

A former neighbor with whom I hadn't spoken in years and recently saw told me that I was one of two blogs he reads regularly and had somehow figured out that it was mine.

He complimented my enthusiasm for and knowledge about all the great stuff that goes on in RVA.

Walking into Gallery 5 one evening, a photographer I know said hi and asked why he wasn't following me on Twitter.

Well, because I don't tweet I told him, I only blog.

But the fact was he thought I'd be interesting enough to want to follow and I don't even know what I'd said or done to give him that impression.

I've heard from out-of-town bands I've written up and authors whose readings I've attended.

No less than three winemakers I've met at wine dinners have contacted me after reading my blog.

And now Richmond.com has gone and put me on their "Favorite Stuff of 2009" along with only two other blogs.

It seems my "very active lifestyle" and "witty commentary of the people and places in our fair city" caught their collective eye.

Of course, the humor there is that they are my former employer, so essentially I was laid off and lauded, which I see as way better than laid off and ignored.

I've always been one of those people to whom surprising things are said and interesting things happen.

In the past, I had a significant other to share these great stories with.

Since that's no longer the case, I now share them with the online world but who knew how interested they'd be in my odd little life? I certainly can't say I did.

On the other hand, I'll take the compliments wherever I can get them.

Of Punctuality and Punctuation

Here's the problem with being punctual: you do it for a lifetime and people start to expect it from you.

I'm not kidding.

If you're never late meeting up with someone, they assume the worst when you do arrive a bit late.

It happened to me a couple weeks ago when I was supposed to be meeting a friend at 2, but my noon lunch ran long and it was closer to 2:30 when I got there.

Good god, he'd called out the militia and S.W.A.T. teams before the cat dragged me in.

Today I was meeting up with my English teacher friend for happy hour at New York Deli and I was 12 minutes late.

By that point, he'd already tweeted that he was getting worried and wondering if he had the date wrong in his calendar.

Twelve minutes!

He'd also arrived early, so maybe it just felt like a longer wait, but, as he pointed out, I'm usually early, so anything past the fixed time is worrisome.

We moved beyond the social constructs of time and had a most enlightening chat while we scarfed sliders and basket 'o fries.

And since we're both such blogging geeks, we talked numbers and comparisons, lurkers and followers (he has a killer photography blog at: http://blog.punchphoto.com/ ).

We actually talked grammar and spelling.

He shared a story about a short-lived but passionate relationship he'd had at 25.

I shared a story about a newly-single friend having far more luck with the opposite sex more quickly than I am.

By this point, we were surrounded by a gathering of what we think was realtors, drinking and glad-handing each other- our signal that it was time to clear out.

We also noted that we have gone out together more in 2009 than in the first six years of knowing each other.

About damn time we both made room in our lives for someone whose company we so greatly enjoy.

Hey, I'm talking to you.