Life teaches us you can't always be someone's first choice.
S: Going down the list to see who might join me at Rapp Session. If I must, I will go alone, but I must eat more of their luscious crabcakes now. Can you join me?
Me: This moment or when?
S: No time like the present.
Since I was at a stopping point in my writing (waiting for a source to respond) and that bowl of soup I'd had for lunch was a distant memory, why wouldn't I stroll over to Rapp Session on the dot of 4 to see someone I hadn't seen in at least a year?
For that matter, why wouldn't I go eat a dozen discounted Old Saltes during oyster happy hour? Or sip my favorite orgeat lemonade given the 82-degree afternoon heat I'd walked through to get there? Not to mention that a few bites of those crabcakes my friend had been craving proved why we were in an oyster saloon in the first place.
As a Marylander might say, my, my, major backfin.
After catching up and filling up, I mentioned I was on my way to Abner Clay Park for the annual May Day parade and to my surprise, my friend wanted to join me, a sequel of sort to having been at the Science March in D.C. two weeks ago.
I started doing Richmond's May Day parade in 2009, back when I was laid off, on unemployment and trying to figure out the wreckage of my new life.
Then it had felt like a way to show solidarity with all those still fortunate enough to be employed as the Great Recession of 2008 trickled down. Now it felt like another thread in the anti-fascism tapestry decent Americans are trying to weave in reaction to a leader who just yesterday questioned why the Civil War could not be worked out.
Clearly when the Constitution was framed and the requirements for President laid out, the founding fathers couldn't foresee that it would be necessary to stipulate that he/she had a working knowledge of U.S. history. Sad.
Arriving at Abner Clay Park to a larger than usual police presence, a guy with the United National Antiwar Coalition handed me a flier and shared the reason for all the black and whites: a couple of white supremacists had shown up earlier and tried to pick a fight.
It's nothing short of terrifying how quickly the bigots have gotten comfortable with spewing their venom in public since 45 took the reins.
But they were gone now and tonight's pre-parade rally began, as they always do, with free food and short speeches about capitalism, socialism, and fighting white supremacy and the patriarchy while people socialized and chose signs, puppets and placards to carry.
My friend bravely took on a slug costume - paper mache slug head, business suit, cardboard briefcase emblazoned with the name of banks - Wells Fargo, Bank of America, Citibank - who took advantage of consumers for corporate gain.
A parade veteran, my pick was a large "Sanctuary" flag to wave. "Your shirt matches your flag," the harmonium player observed. I told her it wasn't intentional. "Yea, right!" she cracked, grinning.
Unsurprisingly, I ran into loads of friends: my favorite hippie couple, the tailor, the Civil War re-enactor, multiple servers from a favorite wine bar, the dancer, the Party Liberation Front maestro, the activist and, of course, the event's organizer, master puppet-maker Lily, herding cats, assigning parade duties and totally in her element.
She said the plan was to walk down Leigh Street, through the public housing projects and on to City Hall, but the police, who'd be escorting us, nixed that because of a situation involving a shooter on Northside.
Instead, the drum contingent led us down Marshall Street to City Hall, chanting all the way.
No hate
No KKK
No fascist USA
Whose streets?
Our streets!
Tonight's crowd was far larger than those of past parades (hmm, do you suppose people could be motivated by the daily onslaught of disturbing information coming out of the blowhard-in-chief?), so things got warm walking downtown between tall buildings with zero room for air flow. The good news was every cross street delivered a gusty breeze that whipped banners and cooled us off.
We finished at City Hall, sweaty but resolute, but they wouldn't let us in. Still, our point had been made.
As we walked back down Broad Street, my friend mentioned a dream two nights ago about something very like tonight's parade and wondered now if it had something to do with being in a period of Mercury Retrograde (when coincidences are more common and frustration reigns supreme) since I'd been the one to share the news about the parade when we met up.
I said that on my walk this morning, I'd thought about where I might go eat tonight, considered Rapp Session and decided I wouldn't have time to get there before the parade. Mighty coincidental, both.
As for Mercury Retrograde's other effects, I can only assume that frustration was the motivation behind the carful of girls I just now heard egging the apartment downstairs. No doubt one of the young male occupants living underneath me was the source of frustration.
You can't always be someone's first choice, honey. You'll learn that what matters is who - or what - you're playing second fiddle to.
Showing posts with label lily lamberta. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lily lamberta. Show all posts
Monday, May 1, 2017
Friday, September 19, 2014
Honk If You Know Me
I got hugged repeatedly in the middle of the Lee bridge this morning, thereby proving everyone is right.
And by everyone, I mean all those friends I go out with who are always telling me that no matter where I go, I inevitably run into someone I know.
Given today's cloudy skies, it was an ideal day for taking my daily walk across a bridge, something I've done before and enjoyed immensely.
There are always cars that wave and honk and I smile back, but one of today's honkers was particularly enthusiastic.
A few minutes later, the car pulls up just ahead of where I'm walking mid-bridge and out comes Lily, the puppeteer.
Now, I've known Lily for seven years or so, carried a sign and marched in the annual Halloween parade she organizes, eaten at the spaghetti dinner benefits she holds to raise funds for puppet-making, watched her referee female arm wrestling matches.
But I hadn't seen her since last winter.
She got out of the car and did a happy dance and I responded in kind in the middle of the bridge. Then the hugging began.
Anyone driving by probably thought we were crazy.
"I woke up thinking about you today so when I drove by and saw you, I knew it was a sign so I had to turn around and say hello," she gushed.
We spent 15 minutes catching up - Lovebomb, Bread and Puppet Theater, the upcoming parade - before resuming hugging. I walked away and she drove on.
I've run into people I know in some of the unlikeliest of places, but I'm going to say the middle of the bridge takes the cake.
At least until something even more random happens. And it probably will.
And by everyone, I mean all those friends I go out with who are always telling me that no matter where I go, I inevitably run into someone I know.
Given today's cloudy skies, it was an ideal day for taking my daily walk across a bridge, something I've done before and enjoyed immensely.
There are always cars that wave and honk and I smile back, but one of today's honkers was particularly enthusiastic.
A few minutes later, the car pulls up just ahead of where I'm walking mid-bridge and out comes Lily, the puppeteer.
Now, I've known Lily for seven years or so, carried a sign and marched in the annual Halloween parade she organizes, eaten at the spaghetti dinner benefits she holds to raise funds for puppet-making, watched her referee female arm wrestling matches.
But I hadn't seen her since last winter.
She got out of the car and did a happy dance and I responded in kind in the middle of the bridge. Then the hugging began.
Anyone driving by probably thought we were crazy.
"I woke up thinking about you today so when I drove by and saw you, I knew it was a sign so I had to turn around and say hello," she gushed.
We spent 15 minutes catching up - Lovebomb, Bread and Puppet Theater, the upcoming parade - before resuming hugging. I walked away and she drove on.
I've run into people I know in some of the unlikeliest of places, but I'm going to say the middle of the bridge takes the cake.
At least until something even more random happens. And it probably will.
Saturday, January 11, 2014
Supporting the Sisterhood
My night was 50% art, 50% film and 50% food. 150% right up my alley.
Starting at Candela Gallery for the opening of "Louis Draper: A Retrospective," I found dozens of other lovers of mid-century African-American photography snacking on salmon cakes and looking at exquisite black and white pictures.
A street photographer for the most part, Richmond-born Draper had an unerring eye for an interesting shot and walking the galleries, I found myself drawn in by faces of everyday people, whether on the streets of Harlem or working in the fields.
I ran into an old friend there, one I almost always see at openings and inquired about her itinerary for the evening; for the gallery portion, it sounded much like mine but we were to detour after that because she was going to La Parisienne for dancing and I was going for something a little rougher.
"That's gonna be fun," she said when she heard my plans. I was counting on it.
But first I went to Quirk Gallery to see Andras Bality's "Scenes from Virginia," a show of scenes, many of which I recognized- Goshen Pass, Hollywood Rapids, Huguenot Bridge complete with construction crane- done in a way that was part Cezanne and part Monet.
"Virginia Beach Pier in Fog" was a large-scale study in taupes and grays, evocative of a damp day at the beach.
Even closer to home, "Belle Isle Bathers" evoked Seurat's "Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte," except with the bathers far less clothed and proper-looking.
The large composition included 20 people, one dog and one guitarist, a pretty fair approximation of an afternoon on Belle Isle with the exception of insufficient canine representation.
I particularly liked "Spare Room for Artist," a depiction of a small room with three windows, a bed and a phone on a nightstand - all the essentials an artistic soul could need when staying over.
The refined part of my evening over, I made my way to Lovebomb, a collective artists' space in Manchester run by three talented women, one of whom is Lily Lamberta, she who puts on the annual Halloween parade with her massive puppets every year.
Tonight the filmmakers of "CLAW," a documentary about female arm wrestling, were going to show us why their film won the People's Choice award at the Virginia Film Festival.
Walking in next to a woman I know from music shows, she sounded relieved, saying, "I almost forgot about this tonight. I would've hated to miss a movie about female empowerment."
I hadn't thought of it that way until she mentioned it.
Lovebomb was ready for the crowd, with candles lit for atmosphere, mulled cider for sipping and a crowd of people curious about something described as "50% theater, 50% sport, 50% fundraiser. 150% awesome."
Heide, one of Lovebomb's founders and an arm wrestler herself introduced the evening in a gold lame bodysuit that was particularly, ahem, snug in certain places. Her wrestling name was Camela Toe, if that tells you anything.
Filmmakers Billy Hunt and Brian Wimer had done a great job (and used up nearly five years of their lives) following the ladies' arm wrestling phenomena that began in, of all places, Charlottesville.
We saw the woman who'd conceived of it all after her husband had died unexpectedly and she was looking for an outlet for her grief and healing process.
She found that she could lose herself in a character by arm wrestling and it turned out a lot of women felt the same way.
As one woman put it, "I love having a reason to put on a rubber nurse's uniform and have it not be totally self-serving."
Don't we all?
So, sure there were impressive costumes, but they didn't hold a candle to the names these women took for wrestling. Copafeelia. Punky Bruiser. Pain Fonda. Tragedy Ann.
As one wrestler was adjusting her costume, she said, "I wanna make sure I don't have a camel toe," bringing a shriek of "what?' from Camela Toe at the back of Lovebomb.
The film detailed the development of arm wrestling first in Charlottesville and then the subsequent leagues that began forming all over the country in Chicago, Washington, D.C., New Orleans, Austin, Durham.
The women involved did it for all different kinds of reasons - something diametrically opposed to their day job, a desire to be onstage, a love of dancing and/or burlesque, personal strength- but most of them mentioned how empowering it was to do.
And, of course, all the money raised by betting on wrestlers and bribing the refs went to a woman-based charity at every match, another reason many women were involved.
So the film was going along in a rough trade but feel-good kind of way when all of a sudden we were watching a match and a wrestler's arm broke badly as she was wrestling.
The room got silent as we realized what had just happened.
Then it happened again at another match and this time we even heard the pop as her arm snapped and sagged at the shoulder.
Meetings ensued among CLAW (collective of lady arm wrestlers) members in several cities as they tried to decide what to do about this unexpected and heartbreaking issue. Many didn't want to go on wrestling knowing that they could do that to someone or have it happen to them.
They compromised by shortening the period of the match, but the effect of two broken arms sobered them as well as the room of movie watchers.
The film finished with a championship match that included a round of rock, paper, scissors, but far be it for me to ruin the surprise of who won But even with shorter match times, I couldn't have been the only one nervous about the possibility of another on-screen break.
By the time we started applauding, I'm guessing everyone in the room understood why the movie had been such an audience favorite.
We'd laughed, we'd cried, we'd been engrossed. Now I was starving.
I stopped by Dinamo on the way home, finding a butt in every seat, but a friendly server persuaded me to wait a few minutes for a seat.
Which I did because I was craving crostini with chicken liver and Montepulciano, but honestly, I felt guilty taking up a two-top when people arriving after me were standing around waiting for a table.
Not so guilty that I was willing to forgo dessert, a simple chocolate tort with whipped cream, but enough not to dally over it, either.
Fortunately by that point, I'd had my 150% of self-serving entertainment.
Sorry my friend, tonight CLAW beat dancing hands down.
Starting at Candela Gallery for the opening of "Louis Draper: A Retrospective," I found dozens of other lovers of mid-century African-American photography snacking on salmon cakes and looking at exquisite black and white pictures.
A street photographer for the most part, Richmond-born Draper had an unerring eye for an interesting shot and walking the galleries, I found myself drawn in by faces of everyday people, whether on the streets of Harlem or working in the fields.
I ran into an old friend there, one I almost always see at openings and inquired about her itinerary for the evening; for the gallery portion, it sounded much like mine but we were to detour after that because she was going to La Parisienne for dancing and I was going for something a little rougher.
"That's gonna be fun," she said when she heard my plans. I was counting on it.
But first I went to Quirk Gallery to see Andras Bality's "Scenes from Virginia," a show of scenes, many of which I recognized- Goshen Pass, Hollywood Rapids, Huguenot Bridge complete with construction crane- done in a way that was part Cezanne and part Monet.
"Virginia Beach Pier in Fog" was a large-scale study in taupes and grays, evocative of a damp day at the beach.
Even closer to home, "Belle Isle Bathers" evoked Seurat's "Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte," except with the bathers far less clothed and proper-looking.
The large composition included 20 people, one dog and one guitarist, a pretty fair approximation of an afternoon on Belle Isle with the exception of insufficient canine representation.
I particularly liked "Spare Room for Artist," a depiction of a small room with three windows, a bed and a phone on a nightstand - all the essentials an artistic soul could need when staying over.
The refined part of my evening over, I made my way to Lovebomb, a collective artists' space in Manchester run by three talented women, one of whom is Lily Lamberta, she who puts on the annual Halloween parade with her massive puppets every year.
Tonight the filmmakers of "CLAW," a documentary about female arm wrestling, were going to show us why their film won the People's Choice award at the Virginia Film Festival.
Walking in next to a woman I know from music shows, she sounded relieved, saying, "I almost forgot about this tonight. I would've hated to miss a movie about female empowerment."
I hadn't thought of it that way until she mentioned it.
Lovebomb was ready for the crowd, with candles lit for atmosphere, mulled cider for sipping and a crowd of people curious about something described as "50% theater, 50% sport, 50% fundraiser. 150% awesome."
Heide, one of Lovebomb's founders and an arm wrestler herself introduced the evening in a gold lame bodysuit that was particularly, ahem, snug in certain places. Her wrestling name was Camela Toe, if that tells you anything.
Filmmakers Billy Hunt and Brian Wimer had done a great job (and used up nearly five years of their lives) following the ladies' arm wrestling phenomena that began in, of all places, Charlottesville.
We saw the woman who'd conceived of it all after her husband had died unexpectedly and she was looking for an outlet for her grief and healing process.
She found that she could lose herself in a character by arm wrestling and it turned out a lot of women felt the same way.
As one woman put it, "I love having a reason to put on a rubber nurse's uniform and have it not be totally self-serving."
Don't we all?
So, sure there were impressive costumes, but they didn't hold a candle to the names these women took for wrestling. Copafeelia. Punky Bruiser. Pain Fonda. Tragedy Ann.
As one wrestler was adjusting her costume, she said, "I wanna make sure I don't have a camel toe," bringing a shriek of "what?' from Camela Toe at the back of Lovebomb.
The film detailed the development of arm wrestling first in Charlottesville and then the subsequent leagues that began forming all over the country in Chicago, Washington, D.C., New Orleans, Austin, Durham.
The women involved did it for all different kinds of reasons - something diametrically opposed to their day job, a desire to be onstage, a love of dancing and/or burlesque, personal strength- but most of them mentioned how empowering it was to do.
And, of course, all the money raised by betting on wrestlers and bribing the refs went to a woman-based charity at every match, another reason many women were involved.
So the film was going along in a rough trade but feel-good kind of way when all of a sudden we were watching a match and a wrestler's arm broke badly as she was wrestling.
The room got silent as we realized what had just happened.
Then it happened again at another match and this time we even heard the pop as her arm snapped and sagged at the shoulder.
Meetings ensued among CLAW (collective of lady arm wrestlers) members in several cities as they tried to decide what to do about this unexpected and heartbreaking issue. Many didn't want to go on wrestling knowing that they could do that to someone or have it happen to them.
They compromised by shortening the period of the match, but the effect of two broken arms sobered them as well as the room of movie watchers.
The film finished with a championship match that included a round of rock, paper, scissors, but far be it for me to ruin the surprise of who won But even with shorter match times, I couldn't have been the only one nervous about the possibility of another on-screen break.
By the time we started applauding, I'm guessing everyone in the room understood why the movie had been such an audience favorite.
We'd laughed, we'd cried, we'd been engrossed. Now I was starving.
I stopped by Dinamo on the way home, finding a butt in every seat, but a friendly server persuaded me to wait a few minutes for a seat.
Which I did because I was craving crostini with chicken liver and Montepulciano, but honestly, I felt guilty taking up a two-top when people arriving after me were standing around waiting for a table.
Not so guilty that I was willing to forgo dessert, a simple chocolate tort with whipped cream, but enough not to dally over it, either.
Fortunately by that point, I'd had my 150% of self-serving entertainment.
Sorry my friend, tonight CLAW beat dancing hands down.
Friday, January 13, 2012
Faithfully Yours in Fantasy
Faith can mean so many things.
I used to consider it a supreme act of faith that my 90 plus year old neighbor planted bulbs every Fall, fully expecting that she'd see them bloom come Spring.
Once you've had your heart broken, certainly falling in love again is an act of faith and people do that all the time.
It's that range of definitions of faith that make up the fifteen productions in this year's Acts of Faith Festival, which previewed tonight at the Empire Theater, right here in lovely downtown J-Ward.
Some choices are obvious, like "God of Carnage" or "Jewtopia" while some require a closer look to figure out the faith connection.
"Always...Patsy Cline"? Er...? "Ain't Misbehaving"? Um...? Okay, "The Tragedy of Macbeth," sorta, kinda.
Tonight's preview offered brief snippets of all the plays, hopefully whetting the audience's appetite for seeing the full productions.
The brief scene from Henley Street's "Lord of the Flies" reminded me how unsettling that book had been back when I read it in school.
"Shakespeare and Galileo," which I actually saw when it was first produced at the Carpenter Science Theater, imagines that Shakespeare went to Italy and met the great scientist.
This one was obvious. Galileo's description of the moon was the perfect melding of art and science, aka a higher power.
There were plenty of humorous moments, too.
We were told by the director of the Seminary Shoestring Players from Baptist Theological Seminary that he'd started the group because, "I thought it was a good thing for students going into the ministry to learn how to act."
Major laughter greeted that remark.
Likewise there was tittering for Cadence Theater Company's scene from "August: Osage County" where the woman says, "Men always say crap like that, as if the past and future don't exist."
You guys know better, right?
Despite most people probably not even noticing, one moment that brought a smile to my face was during the Patsy Cline song, "Walking After Midnight."
Instead of a band, she had a pianist accompanying her tonight and for sheet music, he was using an iPad.
That's right, touching the screen periodically to go to the next page of music to play a song from the fifties.
He must have had faith that technology wouldn't fail him in the midst of the performance.
And while I'm a card-carrying heathen, one thing I appreciate about the Acts of Faith Festival is that they have talkbacks for every play, inviting audience members to share their take on the issues presented in the plays.
So it's safe to say that once the festival begins, I'll catch a few of the plays and maybe even share my opinion with a roomful of strangers.
I moved from faith to fantasy by going to Eric Schindler Gallery for the opening of Lily Lamberta's new show "Pageant Style Puppetry and Folk Art."
Lily is the brains and talent behind All the Saints Theater Company and the fantastical puppets and masks used in the Annual Halloween and May Day Parades, two events I love participating in.
Her fanciful mounted heads look down from walls oozing personality like no actual stuffed animal ever could.
"Grandma Forest" had lace eyebrows."Watchman of the Woods" had a burgundy velvet head wrap with tassel.
"Winter White Caribou," the piece I coveted, was extravagantly feminine, pink, lacy and with delicate twig antlers.
From the front brightly lit gallery room to the second room represented a colossal shift in mood.
In that space, Lily had crafted a luminous shrine to her parade works. This, I knew, was Lily's world.
Enormous puppets, heads, hands and skulls hung from the walls with fairy lights strewn around them.
Familiar faces from past parades looked down, including George Washington, whom I remembered from the Founding Fathers-themed parade.
It was here I found the artist herself, dressed in a short black taffeta prom dress and cowboy boots, looking like she was having the time of her life among the capacity crowd.
But she didn't seem in the least surprised about all the people raving about her work, snapping photos of it or that she'd already sold three pieces.
And why should she? As far as I can tell, being an artist is a full-time act of faith.
I used to consider it a supreme act of faith that my 90 plus year old neighbor planted bulbs every Fall, fully expecting that she'd see them bloom come Spring.
Once you've had your heart broken, certainly falling in love again is an act of faith and people do that all the time.
It's that range of definitions of faith that make up the fifteen productions in this year's Acts of Faith Festival, which previewed tonight at the Empire Theater, right here in lovely downtown J-Ward.
Some choices are obvious, like "God of Carnage" or "Jewtopia" while some require a closer look to figure out the faith connection.
"Always...Patsy Cline"? Er...? "Ain't Misbehaving"? Um...? Okay, "The Tragedy of Macbeth," sorta, kinda.
Tonight's preview offered brief snippets of all the plays, hopefully whetting the audience's appetite for seeing the full productions.
The brief scene from Henley Street's "Lord of the Flies" reminded me how unsettling that book had been back when I read it in school.
"Shakespeare and Galileo," which I actually saw when it was first produced at the Carpenter Science Theater, imagines that Shakespeare went to Italy and met the great scientist.
This one was obvious. Galileo's description of the moon was the perfect melding of art and science, aka a higher power.
There were plenty of humorous moments, too.
We were told by the director of the Seminary Shoestring Players from Baptist Theological Seminary that he'd started the group because, "I thought it was a good thing for students going into the ministry to learn how to act."
Major laughter greeted that remark.
Likewise there was tittering for Cadence Theater Company's scene from "August: Osage County" where the woman says, "Men always say crap like that, as if the past and future don't exist."
You guys know better, right?
Despite most people probably not even noticing, one moment that brought a smile to my face was during the Patsy Cline song, "Walking After Midnight."
Instead of a band, she had a pianist accompanying her tonight and for sheet music, he was using an iPad.
That's right, touching the screen periodically to go to the next page of music to play a song from the fifties.
He must have had faith that technology wouldn't fail him in the midst of the performance.
And while I'm a card-carrying heathen, one thing I appreciate about the Acts of Faith Festival is that they have talkbacks for every play, inviting audience members to share their take on the issues presented in the plays.
So it's safe to say that once the festival begins, I'll catch a few of the plays and maybe even share my opinion with a roomful of strangers.
I moved from faith to fantasy by going to Eric Schindler Gallery for the opening of Lily Lamberta's new show "Pageant Style Puppetry and Folk Art."
Lily is the brains and talent behind All the Saints Theater Company and the fantastical puppets and masks used in the Annual Halloween and May Day Parades, two events I love participating in.
Her fanciful mounted heads look down from walls oozing personality like no actual stuffed animal ever could.
"Grandma Forest" had lace eyebrows."Watchman of the Woods" had a burgundy velvet head wrap with tassel.
"Winter White Caribou," the piece I coveted, was extravagantly feminine, pink, lacy and with delicate twig antlers.
From the front brightly lit gallery room to the second room represented a colossal shift in mood.
In that space, Lily had crafted a luminous shrine to her parade works. This, I knew, was Lily's world.
Enormous puppets, heads, hands and skulls hung from the walls with fairy lights strewn around them.
Familiar faces from past parades looked down, including George Washington, whom I remembered from the Founding Fathers-themed parade.
It was here I found the artist herself, dressed in a short black taffeta prom dress and cowboy boots, looking like she was having the time of her life among the capacity crowd.
But she didn't seem in the least surprised about all the people raving about her work, snapping photos of it or that she'd already sold three pieces.
And why should she? As far as I can tell, being an artist is a full-time act of faith.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
She Shops!
It has been read into the record that I hate shopping (except for grocery). I only shop when I have something specific to buy and even then, I get in and out as quickly as humanly possible. I am a terrible conspicuous consumer.
That said, it's the season of gift giving, so I am forced to shop. Yes, I could do it online, but that wouldn't help the Richmond economy any, would it now? So I invited a favorite couple to join me for a stroll through Carytown to procure presents and end with some seasonal sipping.
And despite the hordes of people clogging the sidewalk in indecision about which way to walk, it turned into a pretty enjoyable afternoon. The leaden sky definitely gave a wintry vibe to it all (looks like snow, everyone was saying) and then there was the usual Carytown color.
We saw a bike strung with battery-powered lights, a purple poodle with red toenails, a three-piece accordion band (including sculptor and parade organizer Lily, who stopped mid-squeeze to throw her arms around me and say, "I love you, Karen!") and the decorated horse-drawn carriage clopping down Cary Street.
In River City Cellars was a dog in full Santa regalia sprawled in the center of the floor, his owners buying New Year's Eve dinner tickets for Secco (nearly sold out) while I bought a gift certificate for a beer geek friend.
At Bygones, the sales staff was fiddling with Internet radio in pursuit of Christmas music when suddenly the Smiths "There is a light that never goes out" burst forth. I was thrilled, as were a couple of those girls, although they acknowledged that should their boss walk in, they'd be in big trouble.
I offered to take the fall, promising to tell the owner I'd requested the Smiths while I shopped (I also found the red gloves of my dreams, but I wasn't shopping for me. Sigh).
At Chop Suey, we went upstairs to shop the Bizarre Market, finding several gifts there among all the handmade items crowded into that tiny space. When my friend went to pay with her debit card, she was amazed to see Bird swipe the card on her iPad ("Yea, it's crazy the apps you can get for these things!"). Interesting buying old-school artisan crafts using the latest 21st century technology.
After stops at Mongrel (a favorite DJ friend had somehow "lost" her 6'-plus boyfriend with the magnificent mutton chops) and Luxor (where I love to ogle dated labels: Julius Garfinckle & Co. Miller & Rhoads, Arden), I was over shopping.
My solution was to go to Can-Can for hot chocolate, easily the best in RVA, in my humble opinion. And since I don't drink coffee or hot tea, when I crave a warm drink, it's my only option.
I'd learned my lesson the last time though, and ordered the small rather than the large (which comes in a soup bowl-sized mug). Thick and tasting like a bowl of liquid chocolate, it made me forget that I was only there because I'd just spent hours (shudder) shopping. The fries didn't hurt, either.
By the time my sweet/salty snack was finished, it was starting to drizzle and time to head home, gifts procured and taste buds satisfied. If only I didn't have to do it again...the shopping part, I mean.
That said, it's the season of gift giving, so I am forced to shop. Yes, I could do it online, but that wouldn't help the Richmond economy any, would it now? So I invited a favorite couple to join me for a stroll through Carytown to procure presents and end with some seasonal sipping.
And despite the hordes of people clogging the sidewalk in indecision about which way to walk, it turned into a pretty enjoyable afternoon. The leaden sky definitely gave a wintry vibe to it all (looks like snow, everyone was saying) and then there was the usual Carytown color.
We saw a bike strung with battery-powered lights, a purple poodle with red toenails, a three-piece accordion band (including sculptor and parade organizer Lily, who stopped mid-squeeze to throw her arms around me and say, "I love you, Karen!") and the decorated horse-drawn carriage clopping down Cary Street.
In River City Cellars was a dog in full Santa regalia sprawled in the center of the floor, his owners buying New Year's Eve dinner tickets for Secco (nearly sold out) while I bought a gift certificate for a beer geek friend.
At Bygones, the sales staff was fiddling with Internet radio in pursuit of Christmas music when suddenly the Smiths "There is a light that never goes out" burst forth. I was thrilled, as were a couple of those girls, although they acknowledged that should their boss walk in, they'd be in big trouble.
I offered to take the fall, promising to tell the owner I'd requested the Smiths while I shopped (I also found the red gloves of my dreams, but I wasn't shopping for me. Sigh).
At Chop Suey, we went upstairs to shop the Bizarre Market, finding several gifts there among all the handmade items crowded into that tiny space. When my friend went to pay with her debit card, she was amazed to see Bird swipe the card on her iPad ("Yea, it's crazy the apps you can get for these things!"). Interesting buying old-school artisan crafts using the latest 21st century technology.
After stops at Mongrel (a favorite DJ friend had somehow "lost" her 6'-plus boyfriend with the magnificent mutton chops) and Luxor (where I love to ogle dated labels: Julius Garfinckle & Co. Miller & Rhoads, Arden), I was over shopping.
My solution was to go to Can-Can for hot chocolate, easily the best in RVA, in my humble opinion. And since I don't drink coffee or hot tea, when I crave a warm drink, it's my only option.
I'd learned my lesson the last time though, and ordered the small rather than the large (which comes in a soup bowl-sized mug). Thick and tasting like a bowl of liquid chocolate, it made me forget that I was only there because I'd just spent hours (shudder) shopping. The fries didn't hurt, either.
By the time my sweet/salty snack was finished, it was starting to drizzle and time to head home, gifts procured and taste buds satisfied. If only I didn't have to do it again...the shopping part, I mean.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
This Is What Democracy Looks Like
Last year I participated in the first rva May Day parade, here, feeling the need to represent and show my support for the unemployed workers of whom I'd recently become a member. Here I am a year later, still looking for work (the Census won't go on forever) and marching today in my second May Day parade.
The rally began at 4:00 at Abner Clay Park and we heard from various speakers from organizations like Food Not Bombs, the Socialist Party and the Virginia People's Assembly; some were inspirational, others informational and one guy did some excellent spoken word. The organizers had even secured a permit this year, giving us a police escort as we headed down Clay Street past my house into Carver to Harrison, where we headed up to Broad and turned onto Adams. Along Broad Street, restaurant employees stood outside watching us since the dinner rush had not yet begun.
Last year's parade was part of First Fridays and stayed in that area, so tonight's route was far longer. People were out on the streets in much large numbers this year too, watching and waving us on; it may have been the music and our chanting that brought them out of their houses. Traffic was stopped for us at key intersections and we even got some honks of approval and raised fists from supporters as we moved along. Mostly, people took pictures and waved but at least they saw our message.
The sign I was carrying high over my head said, "Solidarity. Workers Unite." Assuming my status doesn't change, next year I plan to make my own sign to acknowledge people like me. I think it'll say something like. "Jobs for ALL."
But whether I'm working or not, I know I'll be walking in the parade. After all, May Day kicks off my birthday month and there's nothing like a parade to begin the festivities.
Likewise, there's no feeling quite like being part of democracy in action.
The rally began at 4:00 at Abner Clay Park and we heard from various speakers from organizations like Food Not Bombs, the Socialist Party and the Virginia People's Assembly; some were inspirational, others informational and one guy did some excellent spoken word. The organizers had even secured a permit this year, giving us a police escort as we headed down Clay Street past my house into Carver to Harrison, where we headed up to Broad and turned onto Adams. Along Broad Street, restaurant employees stood outside watching us since the dinner rush had not yet begun.
Last year's parade was part of First Fridays and stayed in that area, so tonight's route was far longer. People were out on the streets in much large numbers this year too, watching and waving us on; it may have been the music and our chanting that brought them out of their houses. Traffic was stopped for us at key intersections and we even got some honks of approval and raised fists from supporters as we moved along. Mostly, people took pictures and waved but at least they saw our message.
The sign I was carrying high over my head said, "Solidarity. Workers Unite." Assuming my status doesn't change, next year I plan to make my own sign to acknowledge people like me. I think it'll say something like. "Jobs for ALL."
But whether I'm working or not, I know I'll be walking in the parade. After all, May Day kicks off my birthday month and there's nothing like a parade to begin the festivities.
Likewise, there's no feeling quite like being part of democracy in action.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Up with a Head
I want a mounted head for my apartment, but not like an actual mounted head. I want something big and impressive and animal-like.
I want one of Lily Lamberta's recycled cardboard and paper mache heads, colorfully painted and with magnificent fabric hair or horns or something equally impressive.
Lily has a show up at 821 cafe right now and the heads on display are absolutely amazing.
There's a giraffe and a dog and a camel and something mountain goat-like and, and, and... In most cases, these heads are bigger than their actual animal counterparts.
But they're so beautifully done, down to the detailing of the mount board, with shading and appropriate ears and nostrils and more personality than I can possibly convey in words.
They really have to be seen to be appreciated and you could do a lot worse than to stop by 821 to check them out.
Lily is the mastermind behind All the Saints Theater Company, the fine folks who bring us the Oregon Hill Halloween parade every year; she also spearheaded the puppet making effort of last year's May Day parade (in which yours truly marched). She is incredibly talented and fun in more ways than any one person should be.
In between admiring the heads and going in for closeups, not one, but two waitresses asked me if I wanted my usual black bean nachos.
Am I really such a creature of habit that I'm that predictable? Apparently so.
Unlike Lily's mounted heads which are anything but the expected. I can't imagine the person who wouldn't react with delight, or at the very least a big old grin, on coming upon one of them mounted on a wall.
I'd just like for one of those walls to be mine.
I want one of Lily Lamberta's recycled cardboard and paper mache heads, colorfully painted and with magnificent fabric hair or horns or something equally impressive.
Lily has a show up at 821 cafe right now and the heads on display are absolutely amazing.
There's a giraffe and a dog and a camel and something mountain goat-like and, and, and... In most cases, these heads are bigger than their actual animal counterparts.
But they're so beautifully done, down to the detailing of the mount board, with shading and appropriate ears and nostrils and more personality than I can possibly convey in words.
They really have to be seen to be appreciated and you could do a lot worse than to stop by 821 to check them out.
Lily is the mastermind behind All the Saints Theater Company, the fine folks who bring us the Oregon Hill Halloween parade every year; she also spearheaded the puppet making effort of last year's May Day parade (in which yours truly marched). She is incredibly talented and fun in more ways than any one person should be.
In between admiring the heads and going in for closeups, not one, but two waitresses asked me if I wanted my usual black bean nachos.
Am I really such a creature of habit that I'm that predictable? Apparently so.
Unlike Lily's mounted heads which are anything but the expected. I can't imagine the person who wouldn't react with delight, or at the very least a big old grin, on coming upon one of them mounted on a wall.
I'd just like for one of those walls to be mine.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Halloween Parade Veteran Fans Own Flames
The weather for Richmond's Halloween parade tonight was as warm and humid as that of a New Orleans' Mardi Gras parade.
At least according to several of the participants near me.
We were all in our black "burning building" costumes, complete with cardboard flames for our arms.
Our position in the parade was right behind the stovepipe hats but in front of the red, white and blue cars.
Lily, the master puppet-maker and parade organizer, told us to keep the fires burning, (which I made a point to do despite my arms feeling like lead after the first 45 minutes), although I did notice several other of the burning buildings being a bit lazy about their fires. Just saying.
We left Monroe Park just after 7 and headed into Oregon Hill where the anticipatory crowds awaited us.
This was my third parade in a year and still I'm not used to having photographers jump in front of me to take pictures every few steps.
I must not be a good candidate for being famous and stalked by the paparazzi.
Photographer Ashe Daniel was there, shooting for Brick, and we caught up; I also saw two other photogs I'd met at the recent James River Filmmakers' Forum, one of whom snapped my picture the second I pulled that hot costume off at parade's end.
The caption should read, "Ah, sweet relief!!"
After an hour and a quarter of parading, I needed a treat, so next up was Garnett's for chocolate pecan pie.
The corner spot afforded a little police drama during my dessert respite, with three cop cars screeching to the intersection to arrest someone.
The woman next to me at the counter sipping her to-go cup of water glanced over and nonchalantly commented, "Well, she won't be home 'til Monday."
And somehow, she looked like the type person who would know that.
And now I'm off to Gallery 5 for the Carnival of 5 Fires to have my fortune read, watch the fire performers and listen to the bands.
After all, we get an extra hour tonight to enjoy that big, beautiful moon and whatever it brings.
I'm ready.
At least according to several of the participants near me.
We were all in our black "burning building" costumes, complete with cardboard flames for our arms.
Our position in the parade was right behind the stovepipe hats but in front of the red, white and blue cars.
Lily, the master puppet-maker and parade organizer, told us to keep the fires burning, (which I made a point to do despite my arms feeling like lead after the first 45 minutes), although I did notice several other of the burning buildings being a bit lazy about their fires. Just saying.
We left Monroe Park just after 7 and headed into Oregon Hill where the anticipatory crowds awaited us.
This was my third parade in a year and still I'm not used to having photographers jump in front of me to take pictures every few steps.
I must not be a good candidate for being famous and stalked by the paparazzi.
Photographer Ashe Daniel was there, shooting for Brick, and we caught up; I also saw two other photogs I'd met at the recent James River Filmmakers' Forum, one of whom snapped my picture the second I pulled that hot costume off at parade's end.
The caption should read, "Ah, sweet relief!!"
After an hour and a quarter of parading, I needed a treat, so next up was Garnett's for chocolate pecan pie.
The corner spot afforded a little police drama during my dessert respite, with three cop cars screeching to the intersection to arrest someone.
The woman next to me at the counter sipping her to-go cup of water glanced over and nonchalantly commented, "Well, she won't be home 'til Monday."
And somehow, she looked like the type person who would know that.
And now I'm off to Gallery 5 for the Carnival of 5 Fires to have my fortune read, watch the fire performers and listen to the bands.
After all, we get an extra hour tonight to enjoy that big, beautiful moon and whatever it brings.
I'm ready.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
I Love Lily!
Saturday night I spent at Gallery 5 for the All the Saints Theater Company's Spaghetti Dinner and Show, organized by one of my favorite people, Lily Lamberta. Lily is the amazing artist who creates all those larger-than-life puppets, like the ones in the Halloween parade and the mounted heads made entirely of recycled materials in her recent one-woman show at Metro Gallery.
As usual, the evening starts with a buffet dinner of spaghetti, spinach, fresh bread and aioli made by Lily and company. Then everyone re-convenes downstairs for several hours of entertainment. Chris Milk's Huckiddy Puppet Theatre's performance had no puppets this time, but was dark, funny and thought-provoking, as usual. Or maybe it was just its topic of "my life sucks" that appealed to me specifically. The hilarious Herschel Stratego had everyone laughing with his clever songs about women, vegans, stalking and girlfriend rules (and his fireman pajamas were a nice touch). Punk Sinatra's goldfish in a bowl alone was worth the price of admission.
The headliner was DC's Son Cosita Seria, a high-energy trio who played traditional Son Jarocha music (essentially country music of the people). It only took about two songs before chairs were cleared and the audience was stomping, dancing and swaying to the mixture of Spanish, African and indigenous music filling the space. I don't think there was a single person in the room not smiling ear to ear.
Food, a variety of entertainment and dancing...now that's a recipe for a great Saturday night.
As usual, the evening starts with a buffet dinner of spaghetti, spinach, fresh bread and aioli made by Lily and company. Then everyone re-convenes downstairs for several hours of entertainment. Chris Milk's Huckiddy Puppet Theatre's performance had no puppets this time, but was dark, funny and thought-provoking, as usual. Or maybe it was just its topic of "my life sucks" that appealed to me specifically. The hilarious Herschel Stratego had everyone laughing with his clever songs about women, vegans, stalking and girlfriend rules (and his fireman pajamas were a nice touch). Punk Sinatra's goldfish in a bowl alone was worth the price of admission.
The headliner was DC's Son Cosita Seria, a high-energy trio who played traditional Son Jarocha music (essentially country music of the people). It only took about two songs before chairs were cleared and the audience was stomping, dancing and swaying to the mixture of Spanish, African and indigenous music filling the space. I don't think there was a single person in the room not smiling ear to ear.
Food, a variety of entertainment and dancing...now that's a recipe for a great Saturday night.
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