This Charming Man

Sometimes you just need to have dinner with someone you've never had dinner with before.

As lovely as lunch can be, there just isn't as much time to hear restaurant gossip, talk to the staff and introduce me to a millionaire over a mid-day meal.

Obviously the gossip is unrepeatable, but I had to laugh about the staff chats.

Not once, but twice, my dinner companion guessed where the person went to high school based on the same information I heard and I had no idea where they'd been schooled.

To make it even more unbelievable, he knew people at both those schools.

And one of them wasn't even in central Virginia.

I don't even know where my own friends went to high school, much less guessing where strangers went.

But the staff was less interesting than the millionaire in shorts who came over to say hello to my companion.

It's not like I knew his financial status as we were being introduced and since I'm friendly to practically anybody (some would say overly friendly), I just smiled, shook hands and made witty banter.

But now I can say I've met a millionaire.

"And he's the nicest guy you'd ever want to meet," my friend told me when he left, as if he had to convince me that the charming man was indeed nice.

After stuffing ourselves silly, we walked up the block together before going our separate ways.

He's an early riser (like 5 a.am. early) so while I was going out, he wasn't.

When I got to the Nile, a crowd was already forming for the "86 Reality" premiere after party show.

The new cable series "86 Reality" had aired at 10 and afterwards, the bands who had been featured on the show were playing live.

I ran into some friends, talked for a while and, like the others there, patiently waited for the show to start.

Only it didn't.

Finally Michael of Canary, oh, Canary, tonight's headliner, told me that the opening band was waiting for P.A.

That band was Charlottesville's Manorlady, a band I'd seen and liked very much at Sprout back in March 2011.

"We could do our set a cappella," Manorlady's guitarist Aaron says. "We started that way."

But when your sound is based on synths, guitar and bass with two vocalists, microphones are helpful.

So there was an indefinite pause until the equipment arrived.

It didn't bother me.

I heard about a friend's Scandinavian vacation and how several seemingly unfortunate events had led to wonderful things happening to him.

From another friend, I got his take on friendship and how he thinks we are similar.

A girl I met tonight who'd just come from stuffing herself at Mama Zu explained how after a filling meal she likes to go home and lay on the floor before going out to a show.

Good to know because I hadn't.

When the mics finally arrived and were being set up, I noticed that we were going to have a light show with the music.

Except that instead of using a computer, this guy was kicking it old school.

He had an overhead projector, the kind I remember from school.

On the light table were four glass plates of varying sizes, between which he put oil and food coloring.

Then once the set started, he proceeded to lift and drop the plates, sometimes twirling them, sometimes twisting them in time to the music.

The effect on the wall behind Manorlady was very groovy and certainly more labor intensive than using technology.

Finally the band began, with Aaron saying, "This is very D.I.Y., so let us know if something doesn't sound good."

I would have put bass player Melissa's vocals a bit higher in the mix, but overall, their funky take on shoegaze, which segued from song to song in many cases without pause, was sounding just fine.

No surprise that having liked them a year and a half ago, I liked them still now.

They said they'd just come back from tour ("our best ever") and that they have a new CD coming out.

Because they'd started an hour late, their set seemed too short.

Because I was stuffed and hadn't laid on the floor before the show, I said my good nights knowing the other two bands were going to have to do even shorter sets to end by a legal time.

Sometimes you just need to hear a little shoegaze after meeting a millionaire.

That much I'd done.

Live and Let Die

Driving down Main Street into the Bottom just before 6:00, I realized the error of my ways.

I had been asked to choose the dining destination for a symphony-bound group and I had not taken into account Shamrock the Block when I suggested Aziza's on Main.

As far as the eye could see, the sidewalks were overrun by people in green shirts staggering, stumbling and in some cases heaving.

It was, to sound like the Byrd Theater's public service announcement, pretty gross.

Slowly I made my way through the masses and found a parking space amongst scads of poorly parked cars, a testament to all the non-city drivers clearly in the immediate area.

The man in front of Aziza talking on his phone looked at my legs and asked his caller, "Does she have dark brown hair?"

Closing the phone, he extended his hand. "Hi, I'm Tom."

Tom was the brother of a friend with whom I had a couple date plus five.

Inside Aziza's, our table for eight was awaiting us and I met Tom's family, who live in Philly (oddly enough, my second Philly connection of the day).

The staff was welcoming but obviously harried from dealing with Shamrockers seeking sustenance since the moment they'd opened.

Since no one but me had ever been to Aziza's, I recommended the pizzas and the Perfect Egg and the group took me at my word, with the exception of the lactose-intolerant Tom who got the bouillabaisse (and the egg, which he loved).

Multiple bottles of Olegano Albarino were shared by my couple date and me.

I couldn't resist the Quinalt River steelhead trout tartare with capers, herbs and citrus with a side of Manakintowne greens.

I've had a lot of terrific food at Aziza's and this one definitely goes on the list.

The distinctive flavor of the trout was beautifully enhanced by the salt of the capers and savory herbs.

Continuing my role as food advisor, I suggested that anyone seeking dessert try the cream puff with chocolate ganache.

To my surprise, they now offer a variation, a chocolate mousse-filled cream puff with ganache.

When my friend's girlfriend suggested getting two of the chocolate puffs to share, I explained that she needed to taste the original first, so instead we got one of each for the three of us.

She never even tried the chocolate version, being completely smitten with the original.

I was able to rest my case after her second bite.

As we left the restaurant, a truck loaded with eight porta-potties was chugging up the hill, indicating that the debauchery was over.

And it's not even St. Patrick's Day until Thursday.

The O'Donnell in me cringes at the thought.

We made it to CenterStage with five minutes to spare before the symphony began its program of "The Music of James Bond."

I took my seat in the nosebleed section, although I was dead center with a fine view.

Guest conductor Carl Davis came out in a sweeping copper-colored metallic coat , took the podium and shouted, "One, two, three, four!"

It was not the typical start to an evening of symphonic music.

He explained, "You realize that tonight is a course. Bond 101. I'm expecting great things from my students."

It was just what I needed because I've seen so few Bond movies and could use a little cultural literacy on the subject.

They orchestra began with "Dr. No," the most instantly recognizable Bond theme.

Before "Goldfinger" could be performed, he brought out guest vocalist Mary Carewe, who arrived in a sweeping red evening gown.

Her big cabaret-style voice was perfect for that song as well as the Burt Bacharach gem, "The Look of Love," which followed.

To demonstrate my Bond ignorance, I hadn't even known that ubiquitous song came from a Bond film. Duh.

Hearing Paul McCartney's "Live and Let Die' was a bombastic treat, both for the audience and the symphony's guitar players, but this song got no vocals for some reason.

When Davis spoke of the shift to Roger Moore as Bond, he mentioned Moore's stint on TV's "The Saint," which got applause from those who remembered the show.

"Your marks are rising," the conductor noted to laughter.

Not to be outdone by Carewe who had worn two different gowns in the first half, after intermission Davis returned in a long peacock blue coat and began with Duran Duran's "A View to a Kill."

After that rousing 1985 pop theme, he turned to us as if ready to light a cigarette and said, "Well, I enjoyed that!"

So had we.

He took us through Timothy Dalton, Pierce Brosnan and Daniel Craig, with accompanying music by Bill Conti, Norwegian pop band aHa and U2, each representing the sound of the era in which it was created. I was learning all kinds of things tonight.

And then we graduated with Bond honors, the show was over and I moved on to Sprout to hear a Charlottesville band that had piqued my interest, Manorlady.

There was no question, this was my kind of music: guitars with lots of reverb, dreamy harmonies, and a generally dense sound that, for whatever reason, speaks to me. I was just sorry there weren't more people there to hear them.

When their set began, the lead singer noted that there were only four of us in the room, but he thanked us for being there.

By about three songs in, the crowd had grown to over twenty, including enough musicians and serious music geeks to convince me that I wasn't the only one who knew these guys were worth checking out.

More than satisfied with my new-found Bond knowledge followed by an excellent set of moody music, I could call it a night after their stellar set, with no regrets.

I'd barely gotten online when I got home when a friend messaged me, "Since when are you and me home at midnight on a Saturday night?"

Not very often, I told him, but by then I was six hours in and completely satisfied with my evening.

As it is, we lose an hour tonight and I honestly don't have any extra hours to spare.

Fortunately you only live twice.