Haunted 'Hood

'Tis the season for horror movies, none better than the one considered the first ever made.

Silent Music Revival was showing the 1920 classic, "The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari," with improvised musical accompaniment by Bermuda Triangles, the only quartet I know of with three drummers and a sax player.

Interestingly enough, I'd already seen the film at a Silent Music Revival years ago as well as having seen Bermuda Triangles perform many times, including at a SMR when "Poor Mrs. Jones" was shown back in 2010.

Even so, the combo of the crazy doctor and the pulsing drums was just too tempting, perhaps all the more so since it was at Gallery 5 a few blocks from my house.

With a history of going to the SMR that dates back to 2007, I know the drill: it starts at 8:00 sharp so don't be late. Accordingly, I stopped by Gallery 5 about 7:20 to deposit my bag on a chair in the front row, knowing full well that the place was going to be filled to overflowing tonight.

Seat procured, I chatted with Jameson and Laney who put on the event, all of us asking how it was possible that we'd not seen each other in months. Our conclusion? There are so many things to do on any given night these days that friends can be scattered all over town at multiple places.

It's a great problem to have, we agreed.

Promising I'd be back, I wandered down the street to Tarrant's back door, planning to score a big slice of pizza for dinner. Approaching the back door, I saw a trio of kitchen employees on a smoke break, so bored that they chatted me up on my way in.

"How's your night going so far?" one inquired. Can't complain.

Looking at the chalkboard, I revised my pizza plan and ordered a couple of fish tacos instead. Waiting for them to be made, I overheard the counter girl tell one of the servers that she was letting her go because they were so slow tonight ("Already?" the cut staffer asked). Neither had any idea why the entire week has been deadly. Umm, summer-like weather perhaps?

Dinner in hand, I returned to G5 and my front row seat. Tucking into the tacos, I was pleasantly surprised to find each filled with a tortilla-length piece of grilled mahi mahi under a flurry of corn relish and guacamole. Tarrant's isn't my thing, but this was a better than expected, inexpensive back door meal.

The place kept filling up with more unfamiliar than familiar faces, but you want new people. Besides, I had plenty of people to talk to.

The friend I'd seen at Monday's show but hadn't spoken to, the world traveler thinking of finally making the leap and buying a house here, a guy from Bread and Puppets, in town from Brooklyn working on Halloween parade puppets (and wearing a fabulous black and gold sweater).

So many people came that the floor became the only seating option and I was gratified to see a guy who'd arrived as early as I had to secure a front row seat offer it up to an older woman on the hard, concrete floor in front of him. Somebody's mother raised him right.

When Jameson introduced the film, he talked about its lasting influence on movies and the horror genre, saying we'd see a lot that influenced Tim Burton. It was even obvious in the crazy, angular sets with shadows as much a part of the scenery as objects.

He also said he'd edited out some of the movie to bring it down to under an hour. Excised had been scenes where they think they've found the murderer but they haven't. "So, nothing that changes the story, but that took them like 16, 17 minutes," he said about an era when everything wasn't quick cuts.

As usual, he'd chosen the absolute perfect band for the movie, with Bermuda Triangles' relentless soundtrack only increasing the tension as the story unfolded and dead bodies began stacking up. Three drummers make for a whole lot of intensity.

When the movie ended, the screen was pulled up so we could finally see the band, who'd been hidden behind it, playing for another few minutes. One musician, Jason, appeared to be running a drumstick against the metal grate of a grill, a small mic held up against it to capture the sound. Crazy.

There really is nothing like seeing a band improvise music for a silent movie as they watch it along with the audience.

Or if there is, it's happening somewhere other than where I am. Now, that doesn't seem very likely.

Cafe Ole: Slugs and Salamanders

Slugs need food, too.

I say that because I accomplished next to nothing today, making me feel very lazy and yet by late afternoon, all I could think of was where I wanted to eat lunch.

I've no doubt that my sluggishness arose from two of the last three nights being 3 a.m. bedtimes.

What with today being the weekend, though, I corrected that deficit by getting up, having breakfast and taking a windy walk before crashing for a two-hour nap.

And I don't know about you, but I always wake up from a nap hungry, so when I arose around 3:00, I found myself headed to the new Cafe Ole in Carytown still rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.

Since I'd never patronized Ben and Jerry's, it was my first time in that space with its great panorama of C-town's street theater.

And today's sunshine had brought out a full cast of characters human and canine.

With the Arcade Fire's new album "The Suburbs" blaring overhead, the place had all the entertainment I could hope for.

I was disappointed to see that the wall menu had a paper sign over the nachos portion saying "No Nachos."

When I inquired as to why nachos were not yet available (I mean, come on, the ingredients are all over the rest of the menu), I was told it was because they don't yet have a salamander.

This became a teachable moment because I didn't know about Salamander toaster ovens.

My server explained, "They're expensive and we just opened, so we gotta pay the electric bill before we buy anything else new. But nachos are definitely coming."

Whew.

So I had to move beyond the nachos portion of the menu for my late lunch.

Although I didn't see them on the menu, I took a chance and asked if they had fish tacos; they were always my favorite item at the downtown Cafe Ole.

Bingo!

I ordered a couple of those, found a window table and settled in to read the Washington Post article about the competitive eating club at University of Maryland (my alma mater).

Frankly, I found the idea of a school-sponsored club centered around overeating pretty repulsive, but who am I to judge extra-curricular activities?

My tacos arrived, full of blackened tilapia, fruit salsa (pears and mango, but I was told it changes), and chopped lettuce with a honey/chipotle sauce; they were surrounded by Ole's signature chips (fried in peanut oil the sign boasts) and house salsa.

It had been easily a year since I'd last had the downtown location's fish tacos and these were just as good as I remembered. It occurred to me that down there, you could only get them on Thursdays.

And, come to think of it, why weren't they listed on the menu at all here?

Enquiring minds need to know, so I went up to the counter to ask.

Turns out they only serve fish tacos in Carytown on Saturdays, Mondays and Wednesdays.

So I'd just lucked out in ordering them today.

The girl did say that they were sort of planning to add them to the menu soon and possibly even daily.

I told her I was glad for my random good luck in having inadvertently stumbled in on a fish day.

"Oh, good!" she said, sounding relieved. "I thought you were coming up to say you were allergic to tilapia or something."

Not a chance.

Slugs eat everything, honey.

Shooting Below the Belt

A few weeks ago, a blogging friend wrote and told me straight up that I needed a new profile picture and who better to take it than him?

When he's not teaching English to the masses, he is quite the talented photographer, so naturally I took him up on his generous offer.

He already had a concept in mind, one of his strengths being art direction, so we made arrangements to meet at the library and discreetly shoot.

It didn't really matter how big of a hot mess I looked, because the plan was to shoot low, and by that I mean my lower extremities.

Accordingly, I rummaged through my better than average tights collection to find just the thing for my new profile pic and decided on the Berlin tights.

They're funky, they're attention-getters and they're not something a person sees every day in RVA.

How do I know this?

I left the apartment to go to the library and as I crossed my own street, a guy on a bike said hello, followed by, "I LIKE your tights!...A lot!"

Arriving at the library two guys just leaving turned a full 180 degrees as I passed them on my way towards the door.

I couldn't resist turning around and flat out asking them, "It's the tights you're looking at, isn't it?"

One mutely nodded and the other just gave me a goofy grin.

After shooting, we went to Tarrant's for fried food, a requirement of our get-togethers; we quite happily shared fries and fish tacos, dishing all the while.

We were in that limbo time before the dinner rush begins, affording us an opportunity to bounce off the staff.

Our server explained to us why Rhode Island, her home state, is called the Ocean State.

Ron folded napkins like a pro and quoted lines from the movie "Arthur" to our amusement.

We both made a pilgrimage to the other dining room to admire the new carpeting and inhale its new rug smell.

As we were leaving, my friend asked Ron the Napkin-Folder why he hadn't commented on my great tights.

"I didn't want to say something filthy," he claimed.

Or maybe he's just waiting for the picture.