Ordinary World

Things I didn't expect to happen today:

Finding out how someone arrived at my blog. True story: someone in Midlothian Googled "how to find local sex buddies in zip code 23112." My blog was the 7th listing on the Google results page, apparently because I'd recently used the words find, sex, buddy and local in a post, although not in the same sentence. I imagine he was rather disappointed once he got to my page. And, yes, I'm presuming it was a "he."

Indulgent reading. By 3:30, I'd fine-tuned all four assignments due tomorrow, the same lot that's had me so busy the past week or so. It was a gorgeous afternoon, not humid and comfortably warm. Goof-off time.

Eager to finish John Taylor's "The Pleasure Groove," a memoir of life in Duran Duran (sure, I was around in the '80s but I certainly wasn't paying attention to DD), my book and I settled down in my green Adirondack chair on the balcony, read for two and a half hours straight and finished the sordid saga cultural memoir in the sunshine. It was glorious.

Being asked out in a parking lot. A guy who'd made eye contact and smiled at me in the toilet paper aisle at Kroger approached me in the parking lot afterwards to inquire if I was attached. When I pointed out the obvious age difference, he responded with, "Should that matter?" He said he was 31, but I probably should have asked for ID.

Using earplugs. I go to a lot of shows. A lot. In other words, I long ago destroyed my hearing. Even so, I keep a pair of earplugs in my bag at all times just in case the band is ear-bleedingly loud. I don't pull them out often.

At tonight's installment of Shannon Cleary's Commonwealth of Notions show, I went looking for them within the first two minutes of walking into Sound of Music. Noise rock duo Among the Rocks and Roots were the reason.

The photographer friend, new camera in hand, who'd met me for the show came up, pushing earplugs into his ears, "I wasn't expecting that. I'm glad I had these in the car." Be prepared, my friend, that's my motto.

Feeling like I would faint. Sound of Music was hot and not just un-air conditioned hot (I'm used to that, I live that way) but stagnant air hot. Heat that penetrates your brain and pores, making you feel woozy.

Bolting outside between sets to evening air easily 15 degrees cooler than inside was like immersion in a pool. So refreshing. An ensuing book discussion - come on, I had to talk about "Pleasure Groove" and friend is about to read musician Colin Meloy's "Wildwood Imperium" - kept us out there long enough to cool down and catch up.

Hearing blog pros and cons. A friend told me that when she reads on my blog what I write about my visits to her house, it makes her cry - in a good way. Another friend told me his secret plan to spread a rumor and convince people of an untruth for his personal amusement. I was instructed not to blog about it for fear of ruining his evil fun.

Heat trumping music. Lobo Marino's set had all the usual pleasures - tribal drumming, harmonium and jaw harp, Laney and Jameson's voices blending sublimely - that ensured that a song such as "Holy River" was  a religious experience, while the classic "Animal Hands" got a spirited revival and "Old Man Snapping Turtle" got a variation on a theme by replacing the didgeridoo that had been played on the record with Jameson making what he called "weird animal noises."

On the way out the door after their set, the doorman complimented my hair, saying it still looked great despite the sultry heat of the room. If this was intended to lure me back inside, it failed. Epically.

By this point, I was ready to throw in the towel. I wasn't the only one who stood on Broad Street talking for 20 minutes before admitting we just couldn't handle going back into the airless room, especially since another 30 or 40 people had arrived while we chatted out front.

I'm not proud of that, but there it is.

You think you know how a Saturday's going to go, but you never really do. I wasn't expecting any of that.

Out of Africa

I admire people who follow their muse, whatever it may be.

Tonight found me at Hardywood to see a documentary about the street musician Gull, also known as the amazing Nate Rappole, who manages to sing, play guitar and drum all at the same time.

I know, right? First time I saw him play on the Artwalk back in 2007, I found myself rooted to the sidewalk marveling at what he was doing. The key part is, he kept on doing it.

Six years ago after touring Mexico, he decided he wanted to go to Africa with a friend to film a visual record of playing on the streets there and interacting with local musicians.

He was naive enough to think that race, class and religion wouldn't enter into it.

To me, this is an extraordinary endeavor since the three-man crew did it on a shoestring budget raised through Kickstarter and for the six weeks they were in Kenya, never knew where they'd be sleeping until someone offered them space that night.

That right there could be the definition of flying by the seat of your pants.

Tonight was the east coast premiere of the film and I made sure to get there early for a good seat but also to relax and digest after my hired mouth and a friend had devoured a feast of a meal.

My smiling J-Ward neighbors were already in place when I arrived and we were soon joined by the band photographer, the dulcitar player and a DJ couple, most of them drinking what looked like large cups of red wine (which, of course, isn't possible at a brewery) but which turned out to be Hardywood Raspberry Stout.

Being beer-challenged, I have to guess that beers are made with berries in the summer when berries are plentiful and then released in the winter?

From the documentary's opening sequence, it was clear that this was a beautifully shot film. The brilliant colors of Kenya's land and sky were matched by the vivid colors of Kenyan's clothing and fabrics.

Their journey was told through the eyes of the Kenyans they met, many of them musicians themselves, and scenes of Gull playing with locals were some of the most moving in the film. Children responding to his music demonstrated the universality of it across language barriers. And who knew, but plenty of Kenyans speak English.

Moving through hills, slums, a national park and Nairobi streets, Gull would set up and play on amps powered with twelve AA batteries, while crowds formed just as they do when he plays on the streets of Richmond.

We saw a re-enactment of an exorcism ritual (a tad disturbing), Kenyan dancers try to dance with Gull (more funny than anything) and heard a musician challenge him on what benefit they would get out of his visit to their country (a fair enough question).

A hip hop group from the slums comprised of three young boys with the best possible name -Nairobeez - performed for him and then explained how they were trying to inspire younger kids to find a path through music.

Sauti Sol, the biggest act in Kenya currently, came across as a bridge between traditional Kenyan music and current pop music.

Mostly, I saw a world I would never know about except that a local guy decided to trek halfway around the world and bring back a record of what he experienced trying to bridge cultures with music I've been lucky enough to experience for years.

That's a pretty wonderful thing.

In some ways, I'd like to think I've been following my own muse the past six years, albeit with a blog instead of a film crew to document it.

Maybe it's time to consider taking my quest further afield. As Nate's film proved, you never know what you'll find until you go looking.

Holy Halo

Because it's Oscar nomination season and because we spent the dinner hour discussing them - what and who were overlooked - and because of nothing more than I can, I hereby submit nominations for my Saturday evening.

Best mistaken cultural reference: Cashier looks at me and says, "You look like a '70s rock star." Which one, I ask? "Um, Cyndi Lauper? You know, with the scarves and the hair?" I do know, but that was the '80s, sweetheart.

Best way to spend the evening with an early bird friend: Wait till her husband goes to a bachelor party in Baltimore and invite her to dinner and an early music show. Only downside: our evening was over before he made it to the, ahem, "gentlemen's club," from which we were very much looking forward to seeing photos.

Best place to meet a picky eater at 4:00 for linner (her word, not mine): 821 Cafe, where the server doesn't ask what I want but whether I want a whole or half order of black bean nachos (half today). M.I.A. was the usual thrash soundtrack, perhaps a nod to the older crowd who'd come from seeing  "Million Dollar Quartet" at the Mosque Landmark Altria Theater. Our loss.

Best/most unexpected response when you walk up to a friend listening to loud music in her car: "Drake is the best!" hardly surprising from the person who introduced me to Miguel.

Best reason to go to Hardywood for the third time in 8 days: To hear Dave Watkins played his Mogwai cover and his own killer song "Marshall Street," to see Gull's one-man band Version 2015 (new mask, better songs, interpretive dance) and to be among the first to get to see Lobo Marino's new video "Holy River," a song so amazing it's likely to catapult them into the big time.

Best reference by the video's filmmaker: "This is the Hobbit of Lobo Marino." As in, the video shoot for "Holy River" resulted in so much footage that he also made videos for two other songs from the upcoming album. And we got to see them all tonight.

Best line about a guy with a beard: "He needs to cut that off and donate it to Locks of Love, pube version."

Best reaction to a song about a snapping turtle: "Did I tell you I bought a glass with turtles f*cking on it while I was thrifting today?" Nope. When she pulls up a picture, I see, yes, two happy green turtles engaged in the act. The caption reads, "Faster, faster."

Best Facebook status update while we're at the show: "My husband is out of town...so naturally I'm watching Gull cover Beyonce with Karen. I should point out that Karen had to ask me what Bey song it was. HALO, Karen, duh."

Best stranger to stand next to at a show: Sketch Girl, the artist who turns a blank page into an ink-wash illustration of one of the musicians onstage while the rest of us are just enjoying the music. Not to mention the heady scent of her markers, a flashback to the only acceptable childhood high.

Best compliment called to me from a passing car: "I love your hair. You look like a rock star!" Yes, I know the shouter, but that makes it no less flattering.

Best crack at Hardywood's expense: When Laney and Jameson are calling for Graham, their guest tabla player for the evening and he's not to be found, Laney muses, "He's not from here so he doesn't know how strong Hardywood's beer is." Fortunately he had not passed out and returned to join them for one more song.

Best use of the most body parts: Jameson of Lobo Marino who managed to drum while playing harmonium with one foot and shaking the bell on his ankle with the other. Truly impressive.

Best possible way to end a four-hour show: With Lobo Marino reprising that killer new song "Holy River," which sounds even more wondrous live. Beautiful, magical and a clear indicator of a whole new level of songwriting for these two, who leave tomorrow for a two-month tour down the east coast to Key West. Their return show is already on my calendar.

And the winner is...Karen, duh.

Giving in to My Heart's Desire

If you're going to hang a man's print on your bedroom wall, the least you can do is go to his festival.

So, for the fifth year in a row, I was at the Jonny Z. Festival on the closed block in front of Joe's Inn.

I know that three things are likely to happen every year at this particular street fest.

Inevitably, I will see all kinds of people I know.

Today, that included a rocker buying a Dave Edmunds album, a former co-worker and friend who informs me I was incapable of being unhappy or bitter, and the only other person I know who goes to (almost, according to her) as many shows as I do.

And that's not even counting the photographer friend who bought a dozen mini-cupcakes and shared one with me.

Secondly, I will hear local music.

Today, that was a performance by Gull, he of the  octopus-like arms playing guitar and drums simultaneously (not to mention singing), which surprisingly included several songs done bare-faced.

Gull! Unmasked at the Jonny Z Fest!

Lastly, I will likely return home with a piece of local art to add to my collection.

The first year, it was that print (number 17 of 150) by the reason for the festival, Jonny Zanin himself.

Today it occupies a place of honor above my bed.

One year, it was a Travis Robertson mixed media piece of an old man's face, still one of my favorites today.

And this year it was a Natalie Kay piece discovered in her 50% off collection.

"More than This," was the mixed screen print and intaglio that caught my eye and wouldn't let me go.

An anatomically correct and delicately drawn red heart sits surrounded on three sides by a curving arc of intertwining designs.

Underneath, a black, flat map of the globe drips toward the bottom of the paper.

"The heart desires" is written in pencil at the bottom opposite Natalie's signature and the letters "AP" for artist's print.

After much hand-wringing (I really am too poor to be buying art right now), my companion and I split the difference and bought the print.

So instead of just eating cupcakes and hearing music, I was celebrating Jonny Z's spirit.

By supporting artists in memory of a guy I never knew, but whose legacy will always be a part of the local art scene, I was dong exactly what the buttons say.

"Live your life like Jonny Z."

I am doing my best.

And what better reminder than another piece of local art to do so.

More than this? There's nothing.

Eating Voyeurism at Cafe Gutenburg

It's not every night I see someone do something I've never seen before, but I don't want to jump the gun.

Like other food voyeurs, I went down to Cafe Gutenburg tonight for the 1st Annual Tofu-Eating contest to celebrate their one year anniversary because, you know, nothing says celebration like vegetarian gluttony.

The tofu trash-talking was already in progress when I got my wristband and found a prime viewing location.

There were ten contestants, evenly divided between the sexes; there was the guy with the Swiss cheese hat, the girl with the sequined shoulder pads, the guy with the samurai headband and others who just wore their everyday look.

The chosen ten had twelve minutes to eat four pounds of tofu scramble and if the weight doesn't give you some idea of the size of the portions, I was told that they came in at about three quarts each.

Three QUARTS!

Once the contest began, the cheerleading started in full force.

"Find your spirit animal!" when a contestant took a momentary break from eating.

"H2 NO!" when a contestant dared to drink water and take up valuable stomach space.

"Shake it out!" when a contestant stood to stretch.

"That's the way!" when a contestant burped eight minutes in, trying to make more room.

Of the ten, three chose to eat with their hands for speed's sake.

Getting close to the end (and, just so you know, twelve minutes is interminable whether you're competing or watching a tofu-eating contest) one girl got a stricken look on her face and then vomited into her hand.

Being a trooper, however, she ate it (she'd have been disqualified otherwise).

The guy next to me looked at me and said, "She's eating what she threw up!" causing another guy nearby to respond, "She's my hero."

After twelve minutes, their troughs were assessed and the emptiest-looking three taken to the back to be weighed.

The winner was cheese-head guy, who had declared before the start that he'd never eaten tofu before; apparently this was to psyche out his fellow contestants.

And he even used a fork.

Needless to say, the one thing I wasn't going to eat after such an event was tofu, but I was hungry despite what I'd seen.

Gull was setting up to play and despite how many times I've seen Nate perform, I never get tired of a man who can play guitar, drums and sing simultaneously.

So I did order the Gulf Shrimp Nicoise with grilled shrimp, romaine hearts, baby green beans, plum tomatoes and a lemon-caper dressing, which had a unique flavor and really complemented the salad, much like the way Gull's music complemented my meal.

One of the contestants came over to talk to me while I ate, rubbing her belly and telling me how stuffed she felt, even pointing to the area of her body where she said all that tofu was now lodged.

I can't imagine any of them will be able to look at tofu for a while; I know I won't be able to.

So I got to see something new tonight. It might have even come close to the time I saw a girl throw up into her hair at a show in Norfolk, but it couldn't quite match the spectacle I saw tonight.

Happy anniversary, Cafe Gutenburg, and many happy returns.

I'm thinking your tofu scramble should become the featured item on the menu from here on out...if nothing else, for sentimental reasons.

Deflowering a First Friday Virgin

It's not that difficult to do the First Friday art walk, right?

You walk, you go in places that look appealing, you look at art and hear music.

I've done it dozens of times, so I was more than a little surprised to be asked to be the guide for my friend (he'd only been once) and his date (she'd never been) at tonight's art walk.

Lead you around by the nose?

Why, sure, I can do that.

With ADA closed, we began at Ghostprint Gallery with Tom McCormack's acid etchings on steel.

They were striking: frameless, for the most past stark and industrial looking with holes to nail them onto the walls.

But they were also evocative and compelling.

Several had already sold, including my favorite, "Clear Skies Over West Bank Street," a view of the narrow street with houses on either side.

Gull was playing outside Lift, so we had to pause so my tour guests could experience the one-man phenomenon that is Gull.

I don't usually stop at Visual Arts Studio, but it was impossible not to tonight.

Greg Lewis' sculpture "Pamlico," made out of 87,000 toothpicks (stay with me here) was in the front window.

Lewis had shaped thousands of toothpicks into the figure of a mermaid kneeling.

She was about 5'8" from her knees to the crown on her curly head of hair (made of broken toothpicks; frickin' unbelievable).

The artist told me it took a year and a half to complete this piece; the selling price is $72,000.

Do yourself a favor and walk by the gallery to admire the work in the window.

At Turnstyle there was actually art in progress.

Mural artist Michael Owen was in the process of painting a piece commissioned by the store.

It was an image of a guy holding a record sleeve amongst shelves of records, and he was even painting as we spoke.

An exhibit of his paintings was also on display, all images of musicians.

Naturally I was curious about why he'd painted certain ones and he said that those were the people he listened to while painting, people like Lenny Kravitz, The Edge and Tracey Thorne

The latter surprised me, but I gave him a lot of credit for it; she does have an amazing voice.

It was my first time at the Eric Schindler Annex on Broad Street after which we made a stop at Art 6.

There we found a photography show by Lloyd Chaser; the black and white photographs in it were of Richmond in the snow and contained some stunning images given the subject and the weather.

Other pieces were shot out west and in Alaska and were in color, but it was the local shots that drew the most onlookers.

As a bonus, the three degrees of separation between me and one of my favorite blog readers was eliminated tonight when I was finally introduced to her.

Unfortunately, we didn't get to talk long and I would have loved to, but at least now I can recognize her when we attend the same functions, which we seem to frequently do.

Ahh, the thrill of the online world colliding with the real!

When we got to 1708 Gallery, I explained the significance of the lit squares in the sidewalk; oh, I was just full of good guide tidbits of information and they ate it up.

But shortly thereafter, they were getting hungry and it was nearing 10:00, so we decided to get out of Dodge (all the restaurants were mobbed) and head over to Carytown and hopefully away from the madding crowds.

We went to NY Deli for some good grub and loud dance music.

It was interesting though; I can't say I'd ever heard a dance remix of the Doors' "Riders on the Storm" and now I can say I have.

By the time I took my fifth-wheel self and prepared to leave the daters at NYD, they were gushing about the evening.

The woman especially couldn't have been more impressed.

"I can't believe how fast that time went! That was so amazing! Thank you!"

Yea, well, anytime you need help walking, looking and listening and can't figure it out on your own, I'm your girl.

But I'm willing to bet that if you just got out there and gave it a try, you'd see how simple it really is.

But I'll keep my guide certification up to date...just in case.

The Good, The Bad and the Ugly

InLight, 1708 Gallery's 2nd Annual annniversary display, turned out to be both more and less than expected.

The three blocks of Broad and Grace from 5th to 8th were alive tonight with outdoor light-inspired art.

Some of it, like the installations at the plaza on the east side of the federal courthouse were imaginative and engaging.

I loved "Reach," a motorized contraption with halogen lights moving in a spider-like motion as viewers moved beneath.

But without question, my favorite was "Tomorrow Stood Just Outside the Circle From Where the Light Did Shine," a collection of black dress shoes with cut-outs illuminated from within and words written on the soles, all hanging across Grace Street.

It was ghostly and captivating at the same time.

There were plenty of interesting light installations, but nothing with the impact of last year's Jackson Ward house, as defined by light.

That 3-D recreation of an 18th century row house using only lights set a standard that may never be exceeded for this exhibit, IMHO.

As if pre-determined by fate, I followed InLight with dinner at the Belvidere at Broad, where I enjoyed seeing any number of fascinating locals.

I knew I'd be seeing Katie, last night's wine rep and bourbon buddy (and her charming farmer friend) again, but also saw Karen of Now Sleepyhead (looking lovely, as always) and Nate, who was performing outside the restaurant as Gull.

I never miss a chance to see and catch up with Nate; he is, without doubt, one of my favorite music people.

Add into this mix a very married neighbor who came early, sat himself down next to me, and stayed late, despite obvious hints from me to go home to wifey.

Residents of nearby bar stools noticed his inappropriately amorous attempts, but told me afterwards that they weren't certain enough to intervene.

Pity, really, because their meddling could have saved me untold fending off of said neighbor.

They stayed out of it as the neighbor got progressively more inebriated and I got more and more bored.

I came home to messages from two friend wanting to catch up with me earlier tonight, but, alas, it's a bit late at this point.

Maybe I can find someone to have breakfast with me in the morning.

We shall see who turns up.