A History of Her Own

Random Friday thoughts, in no particular order.

That moment  when you hear a DJ say, "A love song like no other," before she plays Modern English's "Melt With You," a sentiment I agree with and a song I've danced to probably more than any other.  The subsequent moment when she identifies herself and you realize you used to know her and that you've danced to that song with her.

A disco nap from 7-8 under a new-to-me comforter. I've never thought of myself as the floral type, but I'm flexible.

No judging. None. So what if a 30-something I know tells me he's to the point where he buys only subsequent albums of bands he already knows? "The kids" - his terminology for his younger tech startup co-workers - know all the new stuff, he claims, but it's already too much for him to keep up with. As recently as 2008, he had told me his best show ever was Daft Punk in Paris and now he's abandoned new music to the kids. I don't need to be concerned, right?

Hey, lady! How you? Doing anything this evening? My friend asked about you ;)

Two more examples of Richmond's cool:
1) Like any top ten museum in the country, the VMFA has a bar overlooking the sculpture garden. For the win, ours also has an absinthe drip because this taxpayer thinks green fairies should live in museums. #itsyourart #itsyourbar
2) Because there was a period when you could "check out" a musical suitcase and follow a map to listen to pre-recorded music at the sites for which it was written.
Read that again. You could check out a suitcase of original site-specific music.
Those list-makers don't know the half of it.

Discovering that there's a full moon Christmas night, making for a marvelous night to be in the sky.

You never know what people appreciate about you unless they tell you, so I'm thrilled to receive a missive thanking me for producing clementines, being called out, sharing navigational secrets and shooting. Of particular note, I'm not sure I've ever been appreciated for urging before.

Early scuttlebutt about the Elbys, none good. Elbys en Blanc? More like en Beige.

Could it be true? A meme explains how much of an asshole your astrological sign makes you. Tell me, is it post-modern when "What's your sign?" becomes "What's your asshole quotient?"?
Cancer: either 1% or 100%. There is no in between.
Libras 98292%.
Pisces -400%.
Leo 65%.
Virgo 64%.
Gemini 0%. SURPRISE.
I especially like that the list maker felt compelled to put SURPRISE next to my sign's 0%. We are probably annoying in many ways, but not as full-fledged assholes, it seems.

Is there anything more eye-catching than a guy in a black "America Online" jacket listening to "Stand by Me" set to strobe lights?

Listening to an extended clip on public radio of Prince playing a medley of his songs in Paris last year. Those two times I saw him in the '90s will never last me until I die.

The power of shorts on a sunny December day. "How you doin', baby girl?" from a stranger who's most likely a leg man and definitely born after I was.

DIY goes digital. A handwritten note on lined paper tied to a tree instructing the finder to photograph and post it, then move it for someone else to find. Do you see how adorable this town is?

Not All Who Wander Are Lost

Those lists someone is always posting, placing Richmond in the top ten or twenty of this category or another? Spare me.

Make no mistake, there is no bigger Richmond cheerleader than me. The way I see it, our own River City nails it with the exalted holy trinity: low cost of living, high quality of life and a robust scene that defies you to be bored.

As a guy recently explaining to me why he was in a darkened art gallery on a week night to hear a string quartet play the work of Latin American composers said, "I couldn't think of any reason not to come."

I feel you, brother.

That's what these lists miss when they include us and tout the same old same old. By this point, every culture slave around has heard about our architecture, our myriad galleries, our rollicking restaurant scene. Rather than name-check the obvious - Carytown, St. John's, the James River - why not hint at the extraordinary?

If I were asked to explain why Richmond ended up on a "best of" list, I'd mention happenings such as listening to a cornet quintet (say that fast five times) in a bakery after hours. As the sun goes down on a steamy summer night, musicians and music-lovers shoehorn themselves into the bakery that grows its own ancient grains to make breads that have gotten national notice and city-wide devotion.

Because that's what bakeries in Richmond are for once the "closed" sign goes up.

Certainly I'd make an example of a top restaurant that has - since Day One, mind you  - maintained a $5 chalkboard menu, meaning even the poorest freelance writer can afford a couple of memorable courses.

Surely people would be impressed to learn that there's a group who every month invites a black director to screen their short film, take questions and then participate in a group conversation about the issues raised, making for the kind of diverse and free-wheeling discussion that's necessary if we're ever going to evolve as a culture.

For years, I told people that the highlight of moving from Washington, D.C. to Richmond was that I finally got to see a parade from the front row, which is really a metaphor for the difference in big city living and here.

It's so hassle-free to access what moves you.

It's a grass-roots print collective that holds annual shows selling the work of local printmakers, making it possible for anyone to own original art and support the creative community. A $15 print not only provides eye candy for years to come, but also introduces me to artists I may want to explore.

Without a doubt, I'd share how invigorating and inspiring it is to have such incredible waterside route options for walkers, runners and bikers. I'd insist they walk the pipeline walkway both ways, that they experience the dramatic height changes of the North Bank Trail and navigate the tangled paths of Chapel Island.

Water becomes your compass.

I'd explain that "venue" is a malleable term here and Latin bands play in art galleries, world music collectives in coffee shops and punk bands thrash in record stores. Art galleries host burlesque and bingo, while comedy clubs welcome booze panels and bad horror movies. I've seen Americana shows in cabins, communes and sheds.

Rarely do any of these shindigs cost anything.

My advice to visitors who want to really get a feel for Richmond would be to go to a local book store for a reading. Sit back and let poetry wash over you and then have the poet sign your copy. Or go to a non-fiction reading and try not to gasp when you take a swig of the jarful of moonshine that's passed around. To be fair, the book being read dealt with bootleggers and stills.

To finish my list, I'd tell visitors where to get a baguette worthy of a Francophile, the best places to dance to K-Pop, hair bands or vintage soul and why it's part of our ethos to do what you love if you live here.

Because we can.

Because those "best of" lists are never written by the people who are regularly participating in Richmond's vibrant scene. Because exciting and offbeat stuff happens here every single night of the week, whether you're paying attention or not. Because if there was ever an honest list of what's so terrific about Richmond, we'd be inundated by new arrivals and we're not ready for that.

It could be the city motto: "I never expected to stay, now I can't think of any reason to leave. Richmond."

Pigskin Proud

I did it for the family legacy.

Last night a friend had called, saying he was going to Redskin training camp around 9:30 and suggesting I join him.

Not willing to commit to that ungodly hour, I said I'd call him once up.

Up at 9:50 and fed by 10:20, I called, only to hear him say, "I'm at training camp. Can't talk."

Click.

So technically, I was off the hook.

But then there was that pesky family history.

Despite having five sisters, I was raised in a Redskins-loving family.

So much so that we got season tickets in 1962, back when no one cared about the team.

Want proof?

Our tickets are on the 50-yard line behind the Redskins' bench, ten rows back.

With that kind of a view, even non-sportsy types like me could enjoy the spectacle.

So over the years, I watched more than my share of Redskins games with family, boyfriends and significant others, through the Allen and Gibbs years and a few years beyond.

It's probably been fifteen or so years since I was willing to devote a Sunday afternoon or Monday night to football, but my father ensured that, like all his daughters, I was well-grounded in the rules and strategy of the game.

You'd be surprised how that used to impress guys on a date.

Well, that and the possibility that they'd be invited to a game in our seats.

All of this is prelude to saying that, despite my friend's brusque response, I decided to extend my walk (which already encompasses part of Leigh Street) to training camp today.

As a guy in a jersey with a Redskins' bag in hand passed me, I asked if it was worth it.

"Go on!" he said with a smile, gesturing west.

So I did.

Holy rabid football fans, Batman!

I was a tad overwhelmed at the stench the number of sweaty bodies in polyester jerseys  the sheer number of people roasting in the sun, either watching the field or shopping at one of the many kiosks.

I walked the length of the field, taking in the fans in chairs on the hill, dodging the puddles from yesterday's deluge in the gravel walk and wondering why any parents think it's a good idea to bring small children to something bound to bore them and make them cranky.

Frankly, the whole thing reminded me of the State Fair without the rides.

But I am nothing if not my father's daughter, so I found a place along the sidelines and watched the players scrimmage under a sunny blue sky.

I appreciated the fact that they continuously moved their practice up and downfield to afford the fans on either side a good view at some point.

Now, that's playing fair.

But what really matters is that I went and I watched practice.

Dad is going to be so pleased to hear that.

Hometown Tourist

Who needs to go out of town for Memorial Day weekend?

Just stay right here and the out-of-towners come to you.

Or so it seemed on a canal boat ride today, my fourth and my seafaring companion's first, as good a destination as any for a Saturday stroll.

Our able-bodied skipper Cotton (yes, as in "Hi, Cotton!") broke the party ice by asking from whence came the visitors aboard.

Colorado, New York, Connecticut and North Carolina were in the house.

"Anyone here a Richmonder?" Cotton asked and a flurry of hands went up, including my own.

I'm one of those people who actually thinks being a Richmonder comes from RVA experiences and not birthright.

"That's what Richmonders look like," Cotton told the visitors, a point well made since we were a very diverse group.

"If you hate history, you just got on the wrong boat," he said as the final two passengers arrived, explaining their tardiness by saying they were from England.

"We'll be talking about you later," Cotton quipped.

"And you won't be nice about it, I'm sure," the man smiled in a clipped British accent.

Luckily for our former mother country's spawn, Cotton was not just a knowledgeable and humorous tour guide, but dressed to impress.

That's right, in this heat he was wearing a tri-cornered hat, a puffy shirt and lace-up vest, breeches and shoes with buckles.

The other canal boat was being commandeered by a guy in a baseball cap and a polo shirt, so how's that for job devotion?

I know, because we breezed right by them.

One sure way Richmond can seduce is gliding along the canal near Shockoe Boat Slip on a sunny day as a wheat-colored CSX Grain Express train passes through the triple crossing and turtles lounge nearby on dead branches, legs sticking out for maximum sunning.

When we got to the turnaround point near the Leonardo-inspired bascule bridge at Shiplock Park, Cotton said he was going to break bad.

Nest thing we knew he was vigorously repeating Patrick Henry's liberty speech, immediately followed by, "Happy Memorial Day!"

If we'd had a red, white and blue jello mold, that would have been the moment we broke it out.

As it was Cotton turned the boat around and we listened to tales of Richmond's history.

We were the first city to put beer in cans? Who the hell knew?

You should have seen how impressed with that the English couple was. So we Yanks were good for something.

On a related note, after docking we made our way up to Urban Farmhouse for lunch. where a sign greeted us, "Have you had your mimosa today?"

Why, no, now that you mention it.

The best part of a simple spinach salad with almonds and lemon honey dressing was the abundance of fresh strawberries, every one declaring itself to be at its peak.

But after walking from J-Ward to the canal, protein was in order, so I added a scoop of tarragon tuna salad, delightful to this mayo disdainer for its olive oil base.

Best of all, we ate our meal in the corner big front window thrown open to the parade of passersby.

A sunny walk, a languorous yet informative boat ride and a big plate of food in front of me.

Happy Memorial Day indeed.

And it wasn't just me. A man walking down the street winked at me when he caught my eye sitting there.

I know, Mister, right?

Bark Park in the Fog

I loved how foggy it was this morning when I was out walking and where better to see fog than from above?

The beagle and I had been wanting to check out the new Bark Park at Chimborazo (one of my favorite city spots anyway) and I was guessing the view of the fog would be great from that vantage point.

And it was.

One of the best parts of the new dog park is the winding walk you take to reach it; for those not so inclined, there is parking immediately by the dog park, but you'll miss some great views, fine, old stone staircases and double back paths by doing it that way.

When we arrived, there were three owners and three dogs in the large dog enclosure and none in the small.

My dog is more small than large, but there'd be no one to frolic with over there so we approached the gang, just behind another dog owner.

He got as far as inside the gate with his pooch when two of the other dogs started snarling and attacking him.

The owner was visibly upset and it took too long to get the other dogs off his. He immediately left the park, so the beagle and I decided to head over to the small dog pen just to be safe.

The light was beautiful behind the overcast sky and the fog was just rolling around below.

One of the prettiest views was of the sunlit rooftops in Fulton Bottom from that overlook. The bare-branch trees against the back lit gray sky looking toward the river were almost etching-like.

I'd brought my camera, so I took pictures of Richmond in the fog on a Thanksgiving morning while the dog sniffed his way around the fence, where he discovered some dog poop, the size of which made it clear that a very large dog had been in the wrong enclosure with a very bad owner who did not pick up after his pet. I'm just saying, it was enormous.

We really liked the new dog park and will almost certainly make it a regular destination from now on.

Looking back up the hill from it, you can see very little identifiable, so it's easy to forget where you are and just take in the view and surroundings.

As we headed out, I spotted an almost perfectly heart-shaped rock on the ground.

As I bent down to grab it, I thought how completely inappropriate it was for me to find such a thing.

And while the front was indeed a perfect heart, when I looked at the back of it, there was a big, jagged chunk taken out of it.

Ohhh, I get it.