Lunch at European Market and Cafe

It's the week for me to lunch with each of my photographer friends and today we convened at the European Market and Cafe on Main Street to see what they could do for us. I've been to several of their First Friday wine dinners (the best wine dinner value in rva, imho), so I knew their food was good.

With multiple deli cases of meats, wursts of all kinds, cheeses, prepared salads and an extensive sandwich menu, we must have spent the first fifteen minutes just lost in the choices. I had almost decided on the Arc de Triomphe (turkey, bacon, brie with aioli on ciabatta) when I spotted a special that spoke to me: a thin-sliced Angus beef with brie, caramelized onions, roasted red pepper and Dijon mustard panini. Photographer friend got the Calabrese Salad, essentially a large Caprese over mixed greens.

While our taste delights were being assembled, we perused the market stock, admiring marzipan pigs, exotic bottled drinks, salamis, pates and searching in vain for a favorite Pinotage, which was out of stock temporarily. Cafe owner Jason graciously went behind me to look again to ensure I hadn't missed it, but alas. I have no doubt I'll get a call when it arrives.

It was wine rep visiting day, with the entire staff tasting Super Tuscans when I arrived and Morris arriving as we were leaving. You have a to love a job where you're drinking wine at 11:30 in the morning.

My friend and I ambitiously attempted a walk after eating, but the wind convinced us otherwise. Even on the sunny side of the street, two blocks up and back was about all we could manage. Of course I had done my morning walk today, dressed far more suitably, so I wasn't too upset about our abbreviated stroll.

And, being a photographer, my friend shared his thoughts on my latest blog profile picture. He didn't offer to take a replacement shot so maybe he was hoping I'd ask him, but I'd never be so presumptuous. They're just legs, after all, so how important is it to have the definitive picture of them?

Whose Legs Are Those Anyhow?

I understand that we don't see ourselves as others do.

Intellectually, I get that a two-dimensional image in a mirror bears limited resemblance to a three-dimensional image in space. And yet my reaction when I saw the results of my recent profile shoot with my very talented photographer friend, Thomas was, do I know those legs?

I am especially familiar with this syndrome because of all the years I worked as an audio and video producer. Inevitably, people would react with horror when they first heard/saw their voice/self recorded; part of my job was to reassure them.

So I should have known better.

I looked at the photo he sent me with limited recognition. Oh, sure, the Berlin tights are mine; who else would wear them?

But those calves? I had no idea. And that vague hint of athleticism which I know for a fact doesn't exist in real life?

Not really there.

Seems I need an entire mental adjustment about what I'm walking around on. That said, I do think it's a great picture

I'll just have to deal with my acceptance issues.

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.