Triple booked tonight and it was worth every bit of the to and fro-ing.
First was the cocktail party at a friend's house.
The occasion? Her Mom is visiting from Mexico in anticipation of the two of them flying to Bermuda, where she lived for 11 years, next week.
Nice trip if you can get it.
Actually, I've been to Bermuda and had a fabulous time, but that doesn't stop me from envying my friend her upcoming time there.
Her Mom was delightful and droll, never more so than when she observed her two-year old granddaughter in a tutu and a cropped Ramones t-shirt and deadpanned, "I bet she's never even heard the Ramones."
She shared a news-making story from her days as a curator, raved about her 14-year old seat mate on the plane ride and was wearing fabulous jewelry she made herself.
An interesting mom altogether.
After far too much Rose, cheese and figs and deviled eggs, I said my goodbyes to make stop number two, joining two girlfriends at Balliceaux.
Tonight was their first time experiencing Hand to Hand Haiku and by the time I got there, they'd already nabbed a front row table and had beers in front of them.
It was an unusually small crowd tonight but there were still plenty of combatants to follow host Raven Mack's opening monologue about the 1300 sonnets he's writing.
He was kind enough to read us two of them.
Then it was on to round one between Ryan, who characterized his haiku writing as stupid and John, who called his straight bullshit.
I've seen Ryan compete before so I already knew the constant in his haikus is the use of the word "dude."
Dude, this neighborhood
suffers from a serious lack
of Blue Oyster Cult
Like that. Except John won. Like Raven, he's got a terrific voice and an interesting look, so he's one of my favorites to watch compete, even when he doesn't win the match.
Round two brought Paul who referred to his haikus as "Appalachian filth" and the defending champion Amy, who called hers "written a few minutes ago."
I have to say, the room about lost it when Paul read this one.
New Volvo driving
old white ladies with butt plugs,
pucker lips, hate me
Later, he told me he was writing about the women he sees at Ellwood Thompson who always make a point to scowl at him.
Amy was no slacker either.
Home girl burnt her lip
on the joint's hot spot.
Blunt force trauma.
As one of my friends put it, "I didn't expect haikus to be so funny."
Oh, but they can be.
There's always a death match that pits host Raven against a worthy challenger and tonight's was Rebecca, who read a haiku called "Skin."
Our greatest asset
gives us the ability
to touch and be felt
Just as good and all too relevant for my friend was one of Raven's.
By day, mild mannered
state administrator.
By night, depressed.
Eventually, Rebecca ran out of haikus so they went to free-styling, making up haikus on the spot for the judges (of whom I happened to be one), a mighty impressive thing to witness.
Raven won again, taking the pink game cock (yep, you read that right) trophy back home with him for the umpteenth time, but the man can write haiku about masturbating with peppermint soap and how tingly it feels, so he truly is the master.
Usually the death match is the end of the evening, but tonight John and Amy returned to fight it out until John ran out of haikus and conceded.
Luckily, he's talented and tenacious, so he frequently comes back.
After the match ended, we sat and chatted for a while, planning our next date and trying to convince one of our friends to go see "Boyhood," a film two of us had loved.
Somehow, we got on the subject of people who don't pay attention to music and how foreign and unpleasant a world that would be for us.
We sat there preaching to the choir before breaking camp so one could go home to bed, one to have another beer and wait for her boyfriend and me to go to a show.
Now there's a surprise.
As if a great bill on a Wednesday night wasn't lucky enough, I found a parking space directly in front of Strange Matter.
Inside, I found a clutch of WRIR folks, a music writer and a drummer, but all in all, far fewer people than I'd anticipated.
Playing first were hometown heroes White Laces, although playing as a trio tonight instead of a quartet, and doing lots of songs off their upcoming October release, "Trance."
Did I miss the keyboards? Yes, but that's not to say that their smart, guitar-driven sound wasn't fully satisfying to hear, as always.
From the lead single, "Skate of Die" to the album's final cut, "Strangulation Blues," their set was yet another reminder of how far this band has come since I first saw them at the courtyard during the artwalk four years ago.
Watching them, it feels like a big deal to have witnessed their steady ascent to where they are now.
During the break, I talked with a friend about the challenges of freelancing, glad to hear that her frustrations mirror mine and it's not just me.
Then the room began to fill with smoke as Sisu's smoke machine kicked into overdrive.
They also had video showing behind them and two perfect sets of bangs, courtesy of Sandy and Jules of the Dum Dum Girls.
It's Sandy's band and the music is psychedelic, full-bodied and dark with plenty of reverb.
Loud, too, but not as loud as it would have been if the drummer hadn't put his red plaid flannel shirt over his drum before playing it.
Being visual creatures, lots of guys seemed to be taking pictures of the lovely Sandy shredding her guitar.
At one point, I looked over at the door and all I could see was a solid haze of smoke and no door at all.
After their set ended, I talked to a friend about why more VCU kids weren't at the show and with the drummer of the Shangri-Lords about the stellar set of theirs I'd seen at the pool party the other night.
Turns out he and the bass player have been girl group fans for years and finally got to let their inner girls out via this band.
As the crowd began to filter back in, San Diego band Crocodiles took the stage and began an audio assault laden with echo, one of my favorite sounds.
It was music from a cave, full of guitar distortion tamed into something wonderfully energetic and danceable.
A drunk girl in front of me wrangled a guy to dance with her, producing hysterical results as they managed to dance off beat for the next five songs, stumbling into each other and everyone around them without ever moving in relation to the music being played.
But at least they were dancing, as was most of the room to Crocodiles' catchy, noisy psych-rock with the kind of guitar work that calls to mind all those post-punk bands of the mid-aughts that I loved.
Just another Wednesday in River City.
While some might lament the serious lack of Blue Oyster Cult, I'm calling it a damn fine evening.
Showing posts with label raven mack. Show all posts
Showing posts with label raven mack. Show all posts
Thursday, August 28, 2014
Wednesday, June 25, 2014
I Know Which Day
At Saison Market watching a little soccer if you're in the 'hood!
That was the 17-syllable message that popped up minutes after I got home from a trip to an oyster hatchery on the Northern Neck's Coan River.
I cared less about seeing France play Ecuador than I did about seeing my friend, so I showered to remove my road trip funk and joined him at the market.
I might just point out with not a little pride that it was my second soccer game this week and I haven't watched two soccer games total in the last decade.
The big news is that he's bought a house, so I heard all the details as well as his plans to renovate it beginning with the kitchen (he's a good cook and already talking about his first party).
He's at that stage where he's dreaming big about every possible renovation he could make, fully realizing that he'll have to scale back to match his budget.
Yea, reality bites.
Once the scoreless game ended, I invited him to join me and my hired mouth for dinner, even taking a spin by his soon-to-be home on the way back from the restaurant.
It's a mighty handsome house and I only hope he follows through on his intention to turn the converted screened-in porch back into an outdoor room. If you ask me, it's a sin to enclose a perfectly good screened-in porch.
After our drive-by, I invited him to join me for Hand to Hand Haiku at Balliceaux, but he'd thrown out his back (which explained why he was sipping beer and not working during the afternoon game), so I dropped him at home.
The crowd for haiku was small tonight, no doubt because it's summer, but I also heard that they'd had a record crowd last month. Haiku ebbs and flows, you know.
Waiting for the crowd to grow, host Raven Mack came over and asked me if I'd be a judge.
Color me surprised because although tonight was my third Hand to Hand Haiku, I never expected to be asked to hold the flags and weigh in.
But why not? I've got an opinion on practically everything and how difficult could it be deciding which haiku I liked better?
Raven Mack began with a series of sonnets, each about a different direction, concluding with him placing a sheet with the direction - north, south, east and west- in the appropriate part of the room.
My favorite began with "Sonnet of the South, land of big, bouncing asses" and he finished with a sonnet to the center, placing the rock and paper just behind where I was sitting.
"So now we got our space set!" Raven proclaimed. He went on to hold aloft the pink gamecock trophy up for grabs tonight to the best haiku writer.
Lindsay and Rebecca faced off first, each well prepared with haikus to choose from, and tailoring their choices to what their competitor read.
At one of the back tables, a bunch of people applauded after each haiku, so Raven called them the clapping party.
Rebecca won the match with gems like this one:
Man on the drums, I bet
I can rock my hips faster
than you can play
Winning meant that now she went up against Chris, who'd stored her haikus in her phone, an unworthy place for poetry if ever there was one.
Raven reminded us, "If someone reads a haiku that they've read before, even if it was two months ago, boo the shit out of them!" Will do.
Chris kept it topical with one about workplace productivity falling due to the World Cup while Rebecca got more personal.
Late exploration
our first time, we kept it sexy
we kept it safe
That said, Chris won, in part because of haikus like this one.
You never know which
day separates your life
before and after
Isn't that the truth?
As a judge, there were many times where it was truly difficult to choose a winner, often because both were strong haikus, just very different. It's impossible to compare a deep, thoughtful haiku with a risque, cleverly worded one. It's apples and oranges.
Hand to Hand Haiku always ends the evening with a death match where some hapless soul takes on haiku king Raven Mack to try to de-throne him.
Tonight it was Ryan, the DJ also known as Revolt of the Apes, and while I'd heard him spin records, I had no idea all his tweets were done in haiku form, nor that most of them ended with the word "dude."
I"m guessing that means that many of the haikus we heard tonight had been born as Twitter feeds.
Some people may not believe
I met Nell Carter
at a Slayer show
Funny stuff, even more so when read by a deadpan man in sunglasses. But Raven is the master for a reason and he countered with:
White people talking
condescendingly of
white people is so white
Their death match ended with Raven prevailing 13-7 and saying, "I''d like to present this trophy to myself."
Just when we thought all the night's fun was over, Rebecca challenged Raven and a double death match was born on the spot.
It was a close match and Raven trailed for a while but ultimately won, saying, "I want to say thanks to Rebecca and I'll keep my damn trophy!"
And I'll keep my 17-syllable nights, both the public and private ones.
That was the 17-syllable message that popped up minutes after I got home from a trip to an oyster hatchery on the Northern Neck's Coan River.
I cared less about seeing France play Ecuador than I did about seeing my friend, so I showered to remove my road trip funk and joined him at the market.
I might just point out with not a little pride that it was my second soccer game this week and I haven't watched two soccer games total in the last decade.
The big news is that he's bought a house, so I heard all the details as well as his plans to renovate it beginning with the kitchen (he's a good cook and already talking about his first party).
He's at that stage where he's dreaming big about every possible renovation he could make, fully realizing that he'll have to scale back to match his budget.
Yea, reality bites.
Once the scoreless game ended, I invited him to join me and my hired mouth for dinner, even taking a spin by his soon-to-be home on the way back from the restaurant.
It's a mighty handsome house and I only hope he follows through on his intention to turn the converted screened-in porch back into an outdoor room. If you ask me, it's a sin to enclose a perfectly good screened-in porch.
After our drive-by, I invited him to join me for Hand to Hand Haiku at Balliceaux, but he'd thrown out his back (which explained why he was sipping beer and not working during the afternoon game), so I dropped him at home.
The crowd for haiku was small tonight, no doubt because it's summer, but I also heard that they'd had a record crowd last month. Haiku ebbs and flows, you know.
Waiting for the crowd to grow, host Raven Mack came over and asked me if I'd be a judge.
Color me surprised because although tonight was my third Hand to Hand Haiku, I never expected to be asked to hold the flags and weigh in.
But why not? I've got an opinion on practically everything and how difficult could it be deciding which haiku I liked better?
Raven Mack began with a series of sonnets, each about a different direction, concluding with him placing a sheet with the direction - north, south, east and west- in the appropriate part of the room.
My favorite began with "Sonnet of the South, land of big, bouncing asses" and he finished with a sonnet to the center, placing the rock and paper just behind where I was sitting.
"So now we got our space set!" Raven proclaimed. He went on to hold aloft the pink gamecock trophy up for grabs tonight to the best haiku writer.
Lindsay and Rebecca faced off first, each well prepared with haikus to choose from, and tailoring their choices to what their competitor read.
At one of the back tables, a bunch of people applauded after each haiku, so Raven called them the clapping party.
Rebecca won the match with gems like this one:
Man on the drums, I bet
I can rock my hips faster
than you can play
Winning meant that now she went up against Chris, who'd stored her haikus in her phone, an unworthy place for poetry if ever there was one.
Raven reminded us, "If someone reads a haiku that they've read before, even if it was two months ago, boo the shit out of them!" Will do.
Chris kept it topical with one about workplace productivity falling due to the World Cup while Rebecca got more personal.
Late exploration
our first time, we kept it sexy
we kept it safe
That said, Chris won, in part because of haikus like this one.
You never know which
day separates your life
before and after
Isn't that the truth?
As a judge, there were many times where it was truly difficult to choose a winner, often because both were strong haikus, just very different. It's impossible to compare a deep, thoughtful haiku with a risque, cleverly worded one. It's apples and oranges.
Hand to Hand Haiku always ends the evening with a death match where some hapless soul takes on haiku king Raven Mack to try to de-throne him.
Tonight it was Ryan, the DJ also known as Revolt of the Apes, and while I'd heard him spin records, I had no idea all his tweets were done in haiku form, nor that most of them ended with the word "dude."
I"m guessing that means that many of the haikus we heard tonight had been born as Twitter feeds.
Some people may not believe
I met Nell Carter
at a Slayer show
Funny stuff, even more so when read by a deadpan man in sunglasses. But Raven is the master for a reason and he countered with:
White people talking
condescendingly of
white people is so white
Their death match ended with Raven prevailing 13-7 and saying, "I''d like to present this trophy to myself."
Just when we thought all the night's fun was over, Rebecca challenged Raven and a double death match was born on the spot.
It was a close match and Raven trailed for a while but ultimately won, saying, "I want to say thanks to Rebecca and I'll keep my damn trophy!"
And I'll keep my 17-syllable nights, both the public and private ones.
Thursday, April 24, 2014
Seventeen Syllable Bliss
Haikus start my night
Honky-tonk, poet joins me
Did you want to dance?
After my sheer pleasure in last month's Hand to Hand Haiku, I couldn't resist asking if a poetically inclined friend would be there.
"Um...YES! (She wrote, totally pretending like she knew about this event) Thanks, Karen. My zeitgeist conscience."
Part of my delight in tonight's event was that there were three times the attendees of last month, not the least of which was my friend and her date.
Also joining me at my table was one of last month's haiku battle winners, who, sadly, had not written any new haikus for tonight, a shame given some of the brilliant 17-syllable combinations she'd put together last month.
Our smart and hysterical host, Raven Mack, led off with a monologue about having been to multiple funerals at a junkyard, "Where they play 'Free Bird' non-ironically."
My friend and I were laughing louder than anyone else in the room.
I'd ordered dessert, a devil's food cake with coconut creme anglais, a grown up take on a Hostess Snowball, minus the artificial pink color, but embracing two of my very favorite dessert components, chocolate and coconut. All I know is I got some longing looks from those near me as I ate it.
After Raven warned us, "If you hear someone repeat a haiku, boo the shit out of them," Aaron and Elizabeth were our first competitors.
I should be glad it
doesn't cost anything to
just sit and think...yet
Albert and Scott battled it out 21st century style with haikus about Instagram and hashtags. Not my thing, but I get it.
Follow the right shows,
eat at the right restaurants
Get your little hat
There were so many more people competing tonight that the rounds seemed to go much more quickly, with my friend and I laughing frequently at Raven's running commentary, things like, "Y'all ain't read one sex haiku yet!" an accusation if ever there was one.
Visit for a while
Take a selfie by the back
Friends see I'm fearless
RVA's resident anarchist Mo battled with host Raven for a death match of epic proportions. Mo led off.
I don't want to fuck
a redneck boy, I want to
be a redneck boy
Raven volleyed back.
For record store day
I lack discretionary
income like always
Scott and Ellie had a match and Ellie got seasonal.
Rabbit flesh, peanut
butter for the dog. Feast on
this. Happy Easter.
I don't know how many times my friend turned to me and exclaimed, "I love this so much!"
That's what Hand to Hand Haiku does to a thinking person. And if tonight was any indication, next month will be even more crowded with haiku readers and rabid fans like us.
Sadly, they had to leave because the poetic one had to get home and grade papers, but I hung around for the second act, J.P. Harris and the Tough Choices, an extremely tight Nashville country band (two guitars, bass, pedal steel, drums) who create way too much fun for a school night.
My earlier date was replaced with the second shift, this one also a poet, but with no school night obligations. Passing the front bar, someone had asked him about what was going on in the back and the best he could say was that there was a band playing and he'd been told they were tight.
Sometimes you just have to listen to your zeitgeist conscience.
There were more tattoos than cowboy boots in the audience. Multi-instrumentalist Josh Bearman and his lovely wife showed up and were soon two-steppin' to the music, getting the party started.
The band got a couple of songs in- I think they were doing "White Lightening"- when the pedal steel player realized his amp wasn't working and began frantically trying to get amplified.
While he investigated, J.P. told a joke about an instrument-playing octopus at a bar that eventually involved a sex punchline.
J.P. told sad stories about the great songs he'd written, some for a Zac Efron movie, another for NPR's "Car Talk" and how his musical brilliance had been squandered when neither went anywhere.
There were divorce songs, truck songs, drinking songs and Waylon Jennings songs and the crowd danced to almost all of them.
Late in the evening, J.P. said it was time to "hose off the dogs" and slowed things down so people could stump and drag, or whatever you call slow dancing in the country music world.
I have to admit, as a woman, it's always nice to be asked to dance, whether we accept the offer or not.
But when a dance isn't possible, there's always haiku.
Honky-tonk, poet joins me
Did you want to dance?
After my sheer pleasure in last month's Hand to Hand Haiku, I couldn't resist asking if a poetically inclined friend would be there.
"Um...YES! (She wrote, totally pretending like she knew about this event) Thanks, Karen. My zeitgeist conscience."
Part of my delight in tonight's event was that there were three times the attendees of last month, not the least of which was my friend and her date.
Also joining me at my table was one of last month's haiku battle winners, who, sadly, had not written any new haikus for tonight, a shame given some of the brilliant 17-syllable combinations she'd put together last month.
Our smart and hysterical host, Raven Mack, led off with a monologue about having been to multiple funerals at a junkyard, "Where they play 'Free Bird' non-ironically."
My friend and I were laughing louder than anyone else in the room.
I'd ordered dessert, a devil's food cake with coconut creme anglais, a grown up take on a Hostess Snowball, minus the artificial pink color, but embracing two of my very favorite dessert components, chocolate and coconut. All I know is I got some longing looks from those near me as I ate it.
After Raven warned us, "If you hear someone repeat a haiku, boo the shit out of them," Aaron and Elizabeth were our first competitors.
I should be glad it
doesn't cost anything to
just sit and think...yet
Albert and Scott battled it out 21st century style with haikus about Instagram and hashtags. Not my thing, but I get it.
Follow the right shows,
eat at the right restaurants
Get your little hat
There were so many more people competing tonight that the rounds seemed to go much more quickly, with my friend and I laughing frequently at Raven's running commentary, things like, "Y'all ain't read one sex haiku yet!" an accusation if ever there was one.
Visit for a while
Take a selfie by the back
Friends see I'm fearless
RVA's resident anarchist Mo battled with host Raven for a death match of epic proportions. Mo led off.
I don't want to fuck
a redneck boy, I want to
be a redneck boy
Raven volleyed back.
For record store day
I lack discretionary
income like always
Scott and Ellie had a match and Ellie got seasonal.
Rabbit flesh, peanut
butter for the dog. Feast on
this. Happy Easter.
I don't know how many times my friend turned to me and exclaimed, "I love this so much!"
That's what Hand to Hand Haiku does to a thinking person. And if tonight was any indication, next month will be even more crowded with haiku readers and rabid fans like us.
Sadly, they had to leave because the poetic one had to get home and grade papers, but I hung around for the second act, J.P. Harris and the Tough Choices, an extremely tight Nashville country band (two guitars, bass, pedal steel, drums) who create way too much fun for a school night.
My earlier date was replaced with the second shift, this one also a poet, but with no school night obligations. Passing the front bar, someone had asked him about what was going on in the back and the best he could say was that there was a band playing and he'd been told they were tight.
Sometimes you just have to listen to your zeitgeist conscience.
There were more tattoos than cowboy boots in the audience. Multi-instrumentalist Josh Bearman and his lovely wife showed up and were soon two-steppin' to the music, getting the party started.
The band got a couple of songs in- I think they were doing "White Lightening"- when the pedal steel player realized his amp wasn't working and began frantically trying to get amplified.
While he investigated, J.P. told a joke about an instrument-playing octopus at a bar that eventually involved a sex punchline.
J.P. told sad stories about the great songs he'd written, some for a Zac Efron movie, another for NPR's "Car Talk" and how his musical brilliance had been squandered when neither went anywhere.
There were divorce songs, truck songs, drinking songs and Waylon Jennings songs and the crowd danced to almost all of them.
Late in the evening, J.P. said it was time to "hose off the dogs" and slowed things down so people could stump and drag, or whatever you call slow dancing in the country music world.
I have to admit, as a woman, it's always nice to be asked to dance, whether we accept the offer or not.
But when a dance isn't possible, there's always haiku.
Thursday, March 27, 2014
Untinged by Regret
Look. State of the plate
deems Dutch a damn fine dinner
Town coming. Go now.
When Style's annual State of the Plate issue comes out, you can be certain I'll do one thing: go to the restaurant of the year immediately, knowing full well it'll be months before I venture near it again.
And, yes, that was a haiku.
An old friend had a free night and since it had been a good, long while since we'd met up, suggested dinner. I knew exactly where we needed to go.
Dutch & Co. had only three tables filled upon our arrival, but we chose the bar anyway. On the way to our stools, two of the servers raved about my tights. I, in turn, raved about a cute Halcyon-sourced sweater and another's curly hair, looking for all the world straight.
I immediately awarded brownie points for the chalkboard listing of Blenheim's Table White, a Virginia blend of Viognier and Chardonnay, meaning I ordered a glass tout suite.
While it's only been a few weeks since I was there, it had been over a year for my friend, so he spent some quality time with the menu.
The one thing we knew for sure was that we both intended to begin with Anderson's Neck oysters off the $5 menu. Three river swallows and we were off to a fine start.
With the late afternoon sun slanting through the windows and R & B music playing, we began eating our way through the menu.
He wanted the pig face terrine and, decadent as it was, I'd just had it on my last visit, so I decided on a bowl of earthly delights: Rogue river smokey blue cheese, pork and fig roll-ups, arugula, pumpkin puree and roasted pumpkin seeds.
I could only hope to achieve a marriage as perfectly suited as pig and fig.
When my next course arrived, our lovely server with the saucy red lipstick announced, "And here's your flounder," but I informed her that as far as I was concerned, she was delivering my pork belly.
"I hear you talking, sister!" she testified. The combination of crispy fish, curlicues of pork belly, gnocchi, salt-baked celery root, kale and a pear and black sesame puree tickled every fancy I had.
My friend looked at me after licking clean his plate of lamb two ways and observed, "They're killing it on every level."
Um, yes, that would explain the restaurant of the year business and all.
With a now completely full restaurant behind us, we savored a dessert of dark chocolate ginger cake with aerated milk chocolate, espresso ice cream, cardamom marshmallow, candied pistachios and orange curd sauce laid out prettily to look like fried eggs.
It was as much a treat for the eyes as the tongue and we left not a trace, shameless in our delight in it all.
We managed to be out of there by the high, holy hour of 8:00, leaving behind every seat occupied except the two we'd just vacated.
So long, Dutch & Co. See you once the hoopla dies down.
She craves wordsmithing
and finds hand to hand haiku.
Funny, poetic.
Tonight I was trying something new, something called a hand to hand haiku tournament at Balliceaux.
A large man improbably named Raven Mack, and apparently a master of haiku, was hosting an evening of dueling haikus.
Arriving, I saw a woman I know who works at VCU libraries, the same one who'd recently helped me find a poem from 1986 in their special collections.
She was one of tonight's contestants, having written 25 haikus in anticipation of the competition.
Another woman came up to me, this one recognizing me from Monday's Secretly Y'All event, and introduced herself.
She had lots to share - that Gloria Steinem wants her funeral to be a fundraiser, about a website that features documentaries about important women (Alice Walker, Wonder Woman)- before we discussed the ins and outs of biking in Richmond.
We all took seats when Raven, aka Dr. Lounge, told us to. "This is about 17 syllables and I'd like to get started with 17," he said as he began to count down and remove pieces of clothing.
You see, kids, sometimes you come for the high brow and get the low.
He told us, "My heart is as big as the Blue Ridge mountains but my mouth is bigger and that's why I do hand to hand haiku."
We knew there had to be a reason.
The first match was between Selena and Paul. Each read one of their haikus and the three judges voted a winner for each round. Selena won with haikus about dancing and orgasms untinged by regret.
Next came a match between Selena and Angie, the challenger, who read this:
A snowy Sunday
calls for lounging in bed
with someone you love
This haiku caused our host, Dr. Lounge, to pull up his shirt and expose a tattoo saying, "Lounge."
See, you go for 17 syllable poetry and sometimes you get strange men's bellies.
After a monologue by the very witty Raven ranging on topics from a 90-year old catfish named Jelly Biscuit to how he had a gamecock heart and was ready to crush his haiku competitor, Lamb of God bassist John Campbell, the match got underway.
Whoever got the first 13 of 25 rounds in his favor won. Campbell, who had a white beard, also had plenty of haiku ammunition, most of it very funny and well-delivered.
I got my eyes trained
on the color of your beard.
You see no fear here.
What was funny was that their haikus were more of a battle of insults, many beard-based (two kinds, according to Raven: true beards and trim beards), as they tried to out-do each other with unkind words.
When Raven appeared to be winning and Campbell left the stage, he called out, "Some people aren't game cock enough."
He sure wasn't talking to me.
I was really sorry when the evening was over, wishing there were more haiku writers in the audience to keep it going all night.
Raven said hand to hand haiku was a lot like a potluck, all the better for having as many people as possible in attendance to get the most out of it, making me regret that I hadn't written a haiku or two myself to prolong the poetic pleasure.
Night over too soon.
Haikus bring satisfaction
but not like good sex.
It'll be another month until the next hand to hand haiku evening and I'm already looking forward to it.
Fortunately, I got home to a message inviting me for a drink, so I sashayed over to Saison to meet a poet for wine and a blather a few blocks from home.
Beer geeks nearby talked incessantly about cellaring beer while one guy hid behind the door curtain, jumping out just as his friend came through the door and scaring him to death while amusing everyone else.
After a bit, the good, old boys of the Roosevelt crew came in, front and back of the house, and joined the revelry.
Eat and drink, haikus,
wine and good conversation,
What more could I want?
deems Dutch a damn fine dinner
Town coming. Go now.
When Style's annual State of the Plate issue comes out, you can be certain I'll do one thing: go to the restaurant of the year immediately, knowing full well it'll be months before I venture near it again.
And, yes, that was a haiku.
An old friend had a free night and since it had been a good, long while since we'd met up, suggested dinner. I knew exactly where we needed to go.
Dutch & Co. had only three tables filled upon our arrival, but we chose the bar anyway. On the way to our stools, two of the servers raved about my tights. I, in turn, raved about a cute Halcyon-sourced sweater and another's curly hair, looking for all the world straight.
I immediately awarded brownie points for the chalkboard listing of Blenheim's Table White, a Virginia blend of Viognier and Chardonnay, meaning I ordered a glass tout suite.
While it's only been a few weeks since I was there, it had been over a year for my friend, so he spent some quality time with the menu.
The one thing we knew for sure was that we both intended to begin with Anderson's Neck oysters off the $5 menu. Three river swallows and we were off to a fine start.
With the late afternoon sun slanting through the windows and R & B music playing, we began eating our way through the menu.
He wanted the pig face terrine and, decadent as it was, I'd just had it on my last visit, so I decided on a bowl of earthly delights: Rogue river smokey blue cheese, pork and fig roll-ups, arugula, pumpkin puree and roasted pumpkin seeds.
I could only hope to achieve a marriage as perfectly suited as pig and fig.
When my next course arrived, our lovely server with the saucy red lipstick announced, "And here's your flounder," but I informed her that as far as I was concerned, she was delivering my pork belly.
"I hear you talking, sister!" she testified. The combination of crispy fish, curlicues of pork belly, gnocchi, salt-baked celery root, kale and a pear and black sesame puree tickled every fancy I had.
My friend looked at me after licking clean his plate of lamb two ways and observed, "They're killing it on every level."
Um, yes, that would explain the restaurant of the year business and all.
With a now completely full restaurant behind us, we savored a dessert of dark chocolate ginger cake with aerated milk chocolate, espresso ice cream, cardamom marshmallow, candied pistachios and orange curd sauce laid out prettily to look like fried eggs.
It was as much a treat for the eyes as the tongue and we left not a trace, shameless in our delight in it all.
We managed to be out of there by the high, holy hour of 8:00, leaving behind every seat occupied except the two we'd just vacated.
So long, Dutch & Co. See you once the hoopla dies down.
She craves wordsmithing
and finds hand to hand haiku.
Funny, poetic.
Tonight I was trying something new, something called a hand to hand haiku tournament at Balliceaux.
A large man improbably named Raven Mack, and apparently a master of haiku, was hosting an evening of dueling haikus.
Arriving, I saw a woman I know who works at VCU libraries, the same one who'd recently helped me find a poem from 1986 in their special collections.
She was one of tonight's contestants, having written 25 haikus in anticipation of the competition.
Another woman came up to me, this one recognizing me from Monday's Secretly Y'All event, and introduced herself.
She had lots to share - that Gloria Steinem wants her funeral to be a fundraiser, about a website that features documentaries about important women (Alice Walker, Wonder Woman)- before we discussed the ins and outs of biking in Richmond.
We all took seats when Raven, aka Dr. Lounge, told us to. "This is about 17 syllables and I'd like to get started with 17," he said as he began to count down and remove pieces of clothing.
You see, kids, sometimes you come for the high brow and get the low.
He told us, "My heart is as big as the Blue Ridge mountains but my mouth is bigger and that's why I do hand to hand haiku."
We knew there had to be a reason.
The first match was between Selena and Paul. Each read one of their haikus and the three judges voted a winner for each round. Selena won with haikus about dancing and orgasms untinged by regret.
Next came a match between Selena and Angie, the challenger, who read this:
A snowy Sunday
calls for lounging in bed
with someone you love
This haiku caused our host, Dr. Lounge, to pull up his shirt and expose a tattoo saying, "Lounge."
See, you go for 17 syllable poetry and sometimes you get strange men's bellies.
After a monologue by the very witty Raven ranging on topics from a 90-year old catfish named Jelly Biscuit to how he had a gamecock heart and was ready to crush his haiku competitor, Lamb of God bassist John Campbell, the match got underway.
Whoever got the first 13 of 25 rounds in his favor won. Campbell, who had a white beard, also had plenty of haiku ammunition, most of it very funny and well-delivered.
I got my eyes trained
on the color of your beard.
You see no fear here.
What was funny was that their haikus were more of a battle of insults, many beard-based (two kinds, according to Raven: true beards and trim beards), as they tried to out-do each other with unkind words.
When Raven appeared to be winning and Campbell left the stage, he called out, "Some people aren't game cock enough."
He sure wasn't talking to me.
I was really sorry when the evening was over, wishing there were more haiku writers in the audience to keep it going all night.
Raven said hand to hand haiku was a lot like a potluck, all the better for having as many people as possible in attendance to get the most out of it, making me regret that I hadn't written a haiku or two myself to prolong the poetic pleasure.
Night over too soon.
Haikus bring satisfaction
but not like good sex.
It'll be another month until the next hand to hand haiku evening and I'm already looking forward to it.
Fortunately, I got home to a message inviting me for a drink, so I sashayed over to Saison to meet a poet for wine and a blather a few blocks from home.
Beer geeks nearby talked incessantly about cellaring beer while one guy hid behind the door curtain, jumping out just as his friend came through the door and scaring him to death while amusing everyone else.
After a bit, the good, old boys of the Roosevelt crew came in, front and back of the house, and joined the revelry.
Eat and drink, haikus,
wine and good conversation,
What more could I want?
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