I Can Be Green and Drink Later

Read my blog long enough and you might presume that I spend all my time out eating, drinking and carousing.

Actually, I'm a big geek and I prefer to spend my evenings being intellectually stimulated by the kinds of events (poetry readings, documentary screenings, author readings, gallery talks and, god knows, enough music shows to deafen a lesser pair of ears) that bore the pants off most people...and then go out eating or drinking or carousing. Just so you know.

Tonight, for instance, I attended the opening of the new exhibit, "The Green House: New Directions in Sustainable Architecture and Design" at the Virgina Center for Architecture. It was really a most compelling exhibit, despite the dry title.

While it was impossible to imagine any of the houses pictured being built in Richmond, the advancements in green technology and energy systems were all within the range of achievable goals for new buildings and renovations, even in Rchmond.

My favorite was probably the 1500 square foot house in the Bahamas, which also boasted an additional 1500 square feet of terraces and outdoor room space and had the most unique shutters for battening down when hurricanes blow through.

Saw a wine-loving couple I know and got some insider building info from a guy I had to presume was an architect and knew what he was talking about. The exhibit is up through November, in case I've made it sound enticing enough to check out.

And, just for the record, sometimes instead of going out to eat, drink and be merry, I just invite friends over and we do it within the confines of my excellent apartment (Melissa's favorite term for my home).

The beauty of living in Jackson Ward is that no matter how late you play music or how many people are laughing loudly late (geeks love alliteration) into the night, no one complains.

Okay, now I'm going out.

If I Be Your Model, Will You Behave?

I start my day by walking 3 to 4 miles, usually down scenic Grace Street. As you might imagine, that means I have a certain level of familiarity with a colorful cast of Grace Street characters. When people see you most every day, they presume a level of intimacy that doesn't actually exist. As long as they keep their comments fairly inoffensive, I accept their compliments, answer their questions or just say good morning. I've even had my picture taken at 8:00 in the morning on Grace Street.


One of my regulars works for VCU and has been chatting me up for months now, having introduced himself, told me a bit about his background and interests and generally starting up a pleasant enough conversation when I see him. My friends will know him as "Pink Floyd poster guy" because that was too good a story not to share. The latest development is that PFPG is apparently an artist when he's not working for VCU and he wants me to model for him so he can paint me. I know, flattering, right? Or is it a tad sketchy? I can't decide and I don't want to agree to it and then back out, so I'm trying to decide what the worst case scenario would be.

It's an experience I've never had, so right there it has appeal for me. And it might be kind of cool to have a painting of myself by a local artist. Am I reaching here?

Secret Meeting in the Basement of My Brain

Started my evening at Gallery 5 for a showing of "Popaganda: The Art and Crimes of Ron English," about the artist who put his own perverse billboards up over commercial ones in order to subvert the message and get people thinking/talking. His reinterpretation of McDonald's and cigarette billboards (he single-handedly brought down Joe Camel and the campaign to attract kid smokers) were especially provocative and scathingly honest. The documentary included others who followed in his footsteps, like Shepard Fairey and the BLF (Billboard Liberation Front) as they worked with English and spread their messages, both political, anti-corporate and religious. The film was shot guerrilla-style, much the way they mounted billboards. It was a fascinating look at a man determined to share his alternate universe with the masses.

Ended my evening at the local bar chatting up the friendly yet cynical bartender and discovering that he knows way more about me than even my blog reveals. Perhaps I can do some damage control at Chiocca's later in the week. Or maybe he just wants to watch "Blue Velvet" with an older woman. All kinds of possibilities there for film discussion.

Sparkles and Flies

I know Labor Day is traditionally a day for family get togethers and backyard barbecues, although what that has to do with labor is beyond me.

In any case, being one of those people not engaged in labor at the moment, I decided instead to celebrate National Salami Day today by doing some winery hopping out past Charlottesville.

I chose as my companion a friend with a much better developed palate than I.

He even offered to drive, thereby relieving me of any effort on my part beyond swilling and passing the drive dreaming of salami.

We began at Afton Mountain Winery since it had recently changed hands.

The new owner and his son were pleasant enough considering the wines they were pouring were not of their own making.

Next up was Veritas and good god, what a lot of money those people must have.

Forget standing at the bar to taste like the common people do; we were seated at a table by ourselves and the pourer came to us.

We took a short break to tour the winery and returned to the taxing task of tasting 14 wines.

My favorites were the Viognier (big surprise, huh?) and the Claret, so I felt compelled to buy.

By now food was in order, so, as planned, we lunched at the Blue Mountain Brewing Company which was most enjoyable.

The view was stellar and made for a good excuse to linger.

As a perk, I was able to pick up a six-pack of the Full Nelson Virginia Pale Ale (in cans! how cool is that?) for my beer geek friend.

Our last stop was Cardinal Point Winery, where I know the winemakers, Sarah and Tim, and have even poured for them on a couple of occasions.

I know their wines pretty well, but they had a new rose which was interesting and two new dessert wines, named for their dearly-departed winery dogs, Tess and Sophie.

Obie, their present pooch, came out to sniff the beagle scent I carry and laid down to nap nearby.

We made record time getting home, despite 64 crawling with cops pulling over speeders.

But instead of dreaming of salami, I was thinking about what would have made a boring drive like that much more enjoyable and the answer is the right person's hand on my thigh for the drive (I mean, my friend is a great guy and all, but we're not like that).

That doesn't seem like too much to ask and even if it is, I want it anyway.

Can You Hear the Beat?

Few things can entice me to go to southside; I generally start hyperventilating as I begin to cross the river.

However, I wouldn't have missed Lee Gregory's going away dinner party for anything, so Extroverted Gemini, her Paramour and I met up and headed out to Ghengis Khan Mongolian Grill (turns out Lee is a huge fan of cheap food...he also loves Taco Bell).

To give you an idea of the grandeur of the occasion, Alyssa, the vegetarian, ate meat as a tribute to Lee. And by meat, I mean 3 plates worth of grilled meat and veggies; her digestive system is going to hate her tonight.

For the rest of us, it was sort of bittersweet, saying so long to such a great and talented guy.

Bonus thrill of the evening: seeing Lee minus the ever-present hat and in a real shirt. He cleaned up nicely.

I followed up that with music at the Camel, stopping by on my way home to hear The Pharmacy, a New Orleans trio that leans toward psychedelic poppy punk.

They were a lot of fun with clever but ultimately smart songs, melodic enough to suck you in and short enough not to challenge the audience (not that I mind being challenged).

My only complaint was how short their set was.

Listen to me, always wanting more.

He Said Her Hair Smelled Like Heather

Lacking any romance in my real life these days, seeing "Wuthering Heights" at Movieland's Movies and Mimosas this morning seemed as good an idea as any. It was my first time for one of their weekend classic movie showings, but friends had recommended them as a great way to see older films on the big screen. And since I don't have even a small screen, why not?

I'd read "Wuthering Heights" but knowledge of the book had no relevance since the movie left out about half the story. Ah, Hollywood. Merle Oberon played Cathy and, frankly, she left me cold. Laurence Olivier as Heathcliff, on the other hand, was ungodly handsome and appropriately tragic. What passed for the moors was clearly a California set, but we don't expect realism from a 1939 movie. Good thing, too, because the costumes looked more Civil War-era than Regency, despite the book's setting being late 18th/early 19th century.

So the story of a couple who loved each other their entire lives but couldn't be together because of prejudice (he was a foundling and poor) and circumstances (she was a climbing social bitch who married money) moved me only sporadically, on the few occasions when she let down her defenses and admitted he was her soul mate. Unfortunately for both of them, the rest of the time she buried her true feeling and lived a shell of a life.

My favorite quote from the movie came when Cathy was recovering from being out in a rainstorm overnight looking for Heathcliff. The doctor comes to check on her and his advice amounts to, "Keep her in the sun. And feed her lots of cream and butter." Now that's a prescription to love.

Romance and drama finally intersected when she died in his arms at the end, which is when many women in the audience started crying. I couldn't get into Oberon's wooden performance, though, so I was just glad to see her go. Clearly I do need more romance in my life.

The Final Three

Tonight was Lee's last night cooking so, of course, he outdid himself. Buffalo-style sweetbreads with ranch dressing and celery salad, roasted bone marrow with toasted bread and fresh greens, and cured foie gras with strawberry compote made up my dinner and I couldn't even tell you which was the most impressive because they were all so incredibly good.

It was interesting, too, to note who came to pay homage to Lee (in his Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt and taking crap for it) on his last evening. Let's just say he was mightily impressed when I told him my story of having seen Skynrd as a drunken opening band too many years ago. Who'd have thought Lee could envy me anything?

Met the new chef, Phillip Denny from Philadelphia, and he seems quite charming. It'll be interesting to see how he picks up Lee's mantle and carries on.

As for Lee, I'm really going to miss this man's cooking now that he will be doing it in Staunton. Plans for a road trip are already in the works.

It's How I'll Know. It's Where I'll Go

So here's the other problem with writing a blog: people actually read it and then are able to throw things you write back in your face. What's interesting is how far back they read and how much they ultimately discover about you...not that it isn't all out there and up for grabs if you blog in the first place. I have to assume that one wouldn't read it unless they found it interesting or are stalking me, but correct me if I'm wrong.

Since I'm part of the group, I started early with the Richmond Women's Collective gathering in the courtyard at Adams. The bands were still setting up, but I met several out-of-town artists and ran into the delightful Elliott (he of the superior oatmeal preparation) who lives in one of those courtyard apartments and offered me any number of libations: wine, beer, vodka. Next up I met a friend (with the cutest new shoes on!) at home to catch up over a bottle of al Bacio Erbaluce di Caluso and was gratified that she put her wine geek stamp of approval on my choice. We eventually made it to ADA, Ghostprint, Visual Arts and Gallery 5 as well as an ad-hoc gallery devoted to art of the health care debate (talk about topical!).

By then the wine was affecting my friend, who had been too busy working to eat all day (some of us had not worked and eaten plenty), so we naturally headed to the Belvidere at Broad so she could experience what I already knew I liked. The smoked salmon was superior, so good, in fact, that she felt compelled to ask about its preparation. I just ate, but then I'm not the gourmand that she is.

She followed that with a Gouda bacon burger she deemed delicious (my bite was terrific) and I moved right on to the dark chocolate brownie, since I had yet to experience dessert there, despite repeated visits. When offered, I even accepted additional chocolate sauce and enjoyed every chocolate -coated bite.

Bottom line: yet another excellent meal at the B at B. Another customer (and gallery owner) challenged me on my regular status, but since it was only his third visit and my fourth, his devotion paled in comparison. As for the bartender, I think it's safe to say that for those who seek out a bartender to give them a hard time, he knows what he's doing.

We're So DIsarming , Darling

Start with two friends, one male, one female, who spent the afternoon at a Cobblestone wine tasting at the Berkely.

Add in a friend you haven't seen since before she ditched her boyfriend after a stay in jail from his third DUI.

Sprinkle in wine of all colors.

Agree that a foursome of men and women (two in relationships, two single) is the best pairing for substantial conversation.

Accept waiter's offer of a free round. Move from bar to table.

Mix in escargots, scallops and calamari and begin a conversation about the opposite sexes.

Fold in two kinds of ravioli and steaks with Gorgonzola.

Continue with discussion of unsatisfying relationships, women with trust issues and the joys/trials of being single.

Stir in chocolate mousse, grappa, 20-year old port, tequila and espresso.

Beat in talk of men who self-satisfy rather than pleasure their partners and the joys of morning sex.

Move from table to bar.

Include single malt scotch and additional wine, while suggesting manager remove his tie and coat and join the conversation.

Say goodnight to waiter and staff because they are leaving before we are.

Continue debating virtues of emotional versus physical satisfaction and hooking up with past loves.

Reluctantly bring conversation to logical conclusion after five hours: satiation of hunger, thirst and need to have both sexes in on analysis of love and sex.

Good night.

Road Trip Quickie!

I have a friend from college who considers me the perfect woman. And by that, I mean, he provided me with a list of all the reasons he considers me the perfect woman (and let me make it perfectly clear that he has been happily married for ages). And as the man who's known me since I was 19, he probably knows me better than any man on earth. So it's probably not surprising that, despite him living in Maryland, we meet for lunch or dinner every single month, usually in Fredericksburg, sometimes in DC.

Out usual F-burg destination is Bistro Bethem on William Street; it's a great place with a vaulted ceiling, a 300-year old heart pine bar and a wood-burning pizza oven. The food is always fresh and seasonal (and they have amazing house-made charcuterie) and did I mention they have an excellent wine list? It's more than worth the scenic drive up 301 for a meal. At this point, my friend and I are such regulars that the staff knows us and considers a certain table "our usual." Today we did lunch and ate our way through avocado stuffed with crab meat over mesclun, barbecue sliders with homemade potato chips and an 8" slice of coconut cake.

I'd be the first to acknowledge that I'm not the perfect woman. Actually, everything about me on his list is true, but what he considers the qualifications for perfection would not necessarily be everyone's. Do I care? Would you?

From the Backseat of My Life

The recent change in weather has everyone enthusiastically switching to cool-weather gear: boots, jeans, sweaters. I actually saw a VCU student in a fleece this afternoon! I, on the other hand, refuse to accept that it's time to pack away warm weather clothing. For a hot minute, I considered putting on leggings under my jean skirt before I headed out tonight, but I just couldn't do it; better to have a few chill bumps on my legs than give in to full body coverage at this point. I even wore sandals.

Of course when I arrived to meet my hot, smart companions for the evening, they looked September-appropriate: jeans, layers, a sweater. Did I feel foolish in my lighter attire? Hell no, although leaving the place a few minutes ago, I could tell the temperature was within spitting range of 60 degrees. That's why there's hearty red wine, to thicken up the blood for cooler temps when I leave skin exposed.

I do like this weather for sleeping, though. The two big windows in my bedroom let in plenty of night air and although I can't get excited about the cooler days, I find a lot to like about the cooler nights.

Nate's Taco Truck Meets Sally Belle's

I was way overdue to try Nate's Taco Truck and with a day as beautiful as today, it was the perfect opportunity to join the line at Linden/Park/Grove and change that.

I debated as I made my way to the front of the line: tacos? quesadilla?

Or give in and have what I'd been told was Nate's piece de resistance, Frito Pie?

We're talking a bag of Fritos topped with pinto beans, shredded beef, cheese, lettuce, salsa and sour cream.

Lunch in a bag!

I had no choice because the Fritos were calling to me, so I ordered this $4.00 bag o' goodness, did my best to stir its contents and was rewarded with a melange of flavors with just enough salty, crispy goodness under perfectly cooked beef and beans to satisfy the most discerning palate (that would not be me, btw).

I find it absolutely necessary to follow salty with sweet, so I took my stuffed self a few blocks north to Sally Belle's Kitchen for a traditional Richmond upside-down cupcake (chocolate on chocolate, as it happened).

Sally Belle's is as old school as Nate's is new wave and standing inside that Grace Street institution, you lose all sense of the real world outside (a metaphor for rva in general, perhaps?).

I swear, those women who work the counter there have been there since Sally Belle's opened...not that that's a bad thing.

Might I suggest that the next time you have a hankering to enjoy lunch outside in the VCU area you consider Nate's (the Sally Belle stop is up to you)?

This is a guy who really enjoys his cooking (just ask him) and it comes through in every delicious bite.

For you health-conscious types, Fritos are optional.

There's A New Mixologist in Town

The mixologist trend was bound to finally reach rva and not a minute too soon, either.

Understand that a mixologist is not the same as a bartender and speed is not the goal.

Rather, the creation of unique alcoholic beverages comprised of unusual ingredients and layers of flavor is.

Thus it was my great pleasure to spend the evening at Acacia Mid-town eating, drinking and talking mixology with Jacqueline, the new mixologist at Balliceaux (and a burgeoning artist).

After a year-long stint in DC working her mix magic, Jacqueline is back in Richmond full-time and creating drinks at that will reveal layers of complexity, even as they move you closer to inebriation (if you so choose).

These are not your daddy's mixed drinks.

So, yes, we talked drinking and eating and shared the downright delicious: rabbit croquettes, grouper and grits and two kinds of chocolate (come on, we each needed our own).

She raved about beef tongue and I countered with crispy fried pig's head.

We called it a draw.

But in the arena of cocktails, I bow to the wisdom of the mixologist.

Aren't you just a little bit curious?

On the Way Home

I went to Ipanema tonight for their monthly live music show and was treated to the incredibly beautiful music of Low Branches, a Roanoke trio.

Their sound consisted of a violin, a guitar or two (depending on the song), the occasional drum and xylophone and an exquisitely sweet female voice.

The crowd was one of the largest I've seen for these events and, with the exception of the drunk girls in the back, attentive and clearly impressed.

After the show, four of us sat outside for some intense discussion of politics, feminism, the Second amendment, deficit spending and changing gender roles.

It was the kind of conversation where everyone had important points to make and everyone else tolerated the opposing viewpoints.

Oh, and there was some fascinating talk about the music and Fan scenes pre-1990, so I heard a lot of great stories about local musicians and characters.

Did I know there used to be an Arby's where the Red Light Inn was?

I did not.

I took my friend home afterwards (she was car-less) and driving back towards the Ward through the Fan, I was all but alone on the streets

The cooler night air makes me think summer may be winding down...just a bit.

I hate to see it go.

Music at the Byrd

This afternoon I went to the Byrd for the screening of "Loosen My Tie," a documentary about local band David Shultz and the Skyline.

As you would expect in a music town, local musicians were abundant: Antonia (Jonathan Vassar and the Speckled Bird), Michael (Now Sleepyhead, Pedals on our Pirate Ships), Josh (Mermaid Skeletons) and Prabir (... & the Substitutes), among others.

I even saw the lovely blogger Tess (Parasol Party).

Everyone was there for Michael Hagan's film about the trials of making a living at music.

Hagan and Shultz were childhood friends and the film began as a class project in 2002 and evolved into the feature-length documentary we saw today.

The origins of the project meant that the audience got to see six years worth of touring and recording as well as the band's attendant changes.

It was the kind of film that would make fans out of even those convinced they're not fans of folk/acoustic rock.

It ended with the recording of their latest CD in Maine and the unknown of what the future will bring with the CD's release.

And while I've seen Shultz and the Skyline live at least a half dozen times, at the moment I am eagerly awaiting their CD release party at Gallery 5 on September 26th.

It was clear from what we saw that the band is stretching themselves on the new CD (their third) and what we heard sounded brilliant.

David's songwriting keeps getting better and better and the band sounded tighter than ever.

You'd be a fool to miss this show.

Bottom Sitting

Holmes and I went to Julep tonight to experience the new chef, Branden Levine, and new menu.

I'd met Branden weeks ago when he was still training under Eric and now I wanted to see what he'd done with the menu and food.

The new menu is less rustic than Eric's, but full of appealing options, like green tomato beignets with lemon/jalapeno aioli, duck confit spring rolls and grits with andouille sausage and tempura shrimp.

The dessert menu is still being overhauled and will debut in a week or so, so I put in my bid to Branden for some superior chocolate choices.

He agreed, as any smart chef would, that chocolate would/should hold a prominent place.

Holmes is back in Internet dating mode, fresh off a date last night and with another one scheduled for lunch tomorrow (although the woman informed him that lunch is not a "real date").

I envy him his dating bravado and enjoy hearing his stories, although I'm beginning to wonder how many normal women his age are out there looking for nice guys.

As he pointed out more than once, "Sometimes what you're looking for is right under your nose," which sounds to me like he's not likely to find success online, but what do I know about dating?

Absolutely nothing.

Waiter extraordinaire Ron came in, sat himself down next to me and was full of curiosity about a mutual friend with whom I'd had a couple of dates.

I shared and he shared and we both promised to keep it all to ourselves.

He did tell me about a couple of overly friendly women, one a customer and one somebody's ex, and their over-eager attempts to snog him at the restaurant.

Smart man, though, he threw them off balance by pretending to return their ardor and that ended that sort of friendliness.

This is what makes Ron the consummate professional: knowing how to handle every situation.

Walking the dog shortly before midnight, I ran into two of Richmond's finest patrolling my side street on foot.

Always glad to to have them in the neighborhood, I chatted them up and they played with my dog.

I can now go to be feeling safe and protected...and very, very full.

Prabir's Plan

You might assume that a local rock legend like Prabir (of Prabir and the Substitutes) is always a victor in the game of love.

Not so, he told me before his acoustic show last night when I asked about his latest conquests.

Even a pop prince gets his heart broken, it would seem.

But never fear, Prabir has a sure-fire plan for working through a broken heart and the way he told me, it goes something like this:

1. Drink too much
2. Make a list of all the things you want to accomplish in life
3. Start dating
4. Drink too much
5. Abruptly stop dating
6. Compile a list of all the sexual conquests you want to make (by type and activity, not by name).

I have a feeling I know what the next step is, but that was as far as he got in telling me the plan because that's as far as he's gotten in his recovery process.

These are words to live by, folks, from a rock god who knows the score.

You have to admire a man with so much musical talent and a plan.

Pork, Beans & A Proposal

I'm a regular at Six Burner because the food is so good and because the staff gives me such a hard time.

It's a combination I can't resist.

But now they've adopted one of my very favorite restaurant practices: offering two sizes of entree portions.

Too often, there's something I'd love to try on the entree menu, but I know I couldn't possibly do it justice.

Tuesday night I partook of the Bucatini Pasta, Pulled Pork Shoulder, Shitake Mushrooms and Pork Jus offering, although if what I got was the small version, I question who could finish the full-size one.

It was the kind of soul-satisfyingly good meal that you don't often find for $8. But don't take my word for it.

Yesterday I made the weekly pilgrimage to 821 for my black bean nachos, which is not particularly noteworthy except that I was alone in the restaurant.

Let me clarify: alone at 821.

When I arrived around 1145, there were 3 other tables.

By noon, it was me and the staff. I've been going there for over 10 years now and I've never been the only customer.

Heather waited on me and asked how I'd liked the Tulsa Drone show we'd both seen recently.

As for the shortage of patrons, we decided it had a lot to do with the first full week of school and it being the last day to add/drop classes.

She brought me up to speed on the renovations of the building next door that will eventually double their seating capacity when it finally opens, undoubtedly after December 1 so they can open as a smoke-free place.

It'll be the end of an era, for sure, though, when that little space closes for good.

By last night, you'd think I could have made do with a sandwich at home considering the platter o' nachos I'd inhaled earlier, but now that I have a restaurant 2 blocks away with a much better stocked and staffed kitchen, it's hard to get excited about eating here.

So I ambled up to the Belvidere at Broad and had just about decided on the Smoked Gouda Veggie Club with Bacon when the bartender asked if I wanted a recommendation and promptly suggested the Smoked Gouda Veggie Club with Bacon.

Well, that was easy.

The sandwich was wonderful: huge with 3 thick-cut slices of bread, roasted red peppers, sauteed onions, shitakes, tomatoes, cucumbers, greens, avocado puree, and loads of Gouda and bacon.

Naturally what followed was a discussion of his musical taste and as he ticked off favored bands and musicians, I passed judgement.

When he said "The Posies" I answered, "Frosting on the Beater" (my favorite Posies album), causing him to respond, "Will you marry me?"

I think the deal was sealed when the topic of phones came up later and he found out I don't have a cell; he hates them (but has one).

It's not every day I can go out for dinner and leave four hours later with a marriage proposal.

Now there's some incentive for eating out.

1969 Kids vs. 2009 Kids

Not everyone reads The Atlantic Monthly (although I don't know why not) so I wanted to share some observations from the article "Long Time Gone," (about the 40th anniversary of Woodstock) in the current issue. Writer James Parker addresses both the actual event and the filming of the seminal documentary, Woodstock: 3 Days of Peace and Music. It's a fascinating piece for many reasons, including Parker's astute observations about the cultural shifts that have produced a generation of young people today who couldn't be more different from the kids of 1969.

The kids of Woodstock were either the first generation to taste true liberty or the last generation able to police itself-- we're still working that out.

Parker's assessment undoubtedly stems from the debacle of the the Woodstock 30th anniversary event in 1999, but there may be an underlying truth to it nonetheless. But it was the following observation which rang so true I had to reread it just to make certain I wasn't just interpreting it as I wanted to.

In an instant, the scope of the dietary disaster that has since overtaken us is revealed. No high-fructose corn syrup in 1969, baby: the men are as lean as jaguars, the women firm-fleshed and passionate-looking. And no protein shakes, either--none of the congested muscularity of your 21st-century gym jockey.

That observation is one I've made every time I see a documentary shot more than 15 years ago. When I first saw the classic Koyaanisqatsi, the slow-motion scenes of endless people exiting the subway in NYC, I remember being struck by the absence of fat people. Everyone looked so normally-sized; oh, sure, there was an occasional overweight person, but they were the exception, not the rule. Shoot that exact same scene today and the ratio of fat to normal would be completely reversed, without a doubt.

Parker's Woodstock piece is full of gems like the above, so whether you remember Woodstock or not, do yourself a favor and check it out at www.theatlantic.com/woodstock

Crazy People Have To Eat, Too

So this guy comes into 27 and sits down at the bar. Looks normal enough, but you make the call:

1. While reading his RTD, he comments out loud to himself. "Hey, that's funny!" and "Would you look at that?" and "I said that would happen."

2. When his mussels arrive, he proceeds to slurp them so loudly that a couple at a nearby table actually turned around to find the source of the god-awful sound.

3. The bartender asks if he's through when she sees the bowl is empty and he waves a hand toward the bowl, so she tries to remove it. "No, no, I WANT that!" he exclaims.

4. As the bartender is cutting fruit, he decides he needs her complete attention, so he snaps his fingers at her. When she doesn't immediately look up, he actually bangs his fork on his glass.

Excuse me, what?! As one of the waiters pointed out, that's the kind of behavior that may be acceptable at Olive Garden, but not at a real restaurant. I don't know who was happier to see him go, me or the staff.

Meanwhile, I had been the recipient of a gift from the uber-talented chef, Carlos, of ravioli in a cream sauce AND gnocchi in homemade marinara...and that was before my caprese arrived, with its big, beautiful August tomatoes and creamy mozzarella. Even better for me, it wasn't terribly busy, so Carlos sat down next to me while I ate and told me what he thought of his brunch visit to the new Boathouse at Rockett's Landing, then we discussed another new chef/menu we're both planning to check out this week, and he gave me the scoop on his upcoming events (pole dancing came up, but I think he's decided against it). I couldn't have asked for a better dining companion.

Back Porch Rain Reverie

I arrived home late last night just about the time the rain was shifting from a gentle patter to a pounding downpour.

While I probably should have gone straight to bed, instead I poured a glass of the 2006 Cardinal Point Cab Franc Reserve, a gold medal winner at this year's Governor's Cup and absolutely yummy.

Step two was planting myself in the rocking chair on my back porch to enjoy the weather.

I think I like porch-sitting in the rain for the same reason I like umbrella-walking in the rain.

Being in the dry center of all that wetness is somehow pleasurable and reassuring.

I guess that's how I spent over an hour happily lost inside my own head, occasionally being splattered by raindrops and watching the lightening show.

After an hour plus out there, the rain slackened and I reluctantly decided I should hit the sack.

It was, after all, 3:30 and although I'd have waited up for the sunrise at that point if I'd not been alone, my bed was starting to call to me.

I have to admit, though, my life may not be perfect, but sometimes it feels damn fine.

Of Crab, Cracks, Cocktails and Cops

Being the unabashed neighborhood supporter that I am, Plan A for Saturday night was to introduce my favorite restaurant owner to J-Ward's newest eatery, The Belvidere at Broad.

I'd eaten there just last weekend and enjoyed everything about the experience, so it was time to share.

As an added bonus, she brought her brother to add his understated charm to the evening .

When we arrived at 8, we had only to wait a few minutes to score three bar stools front and center.

Once again the lovely Julie, one of the owners, attentively welcomed us, even remembering my name.

I was flattered.

We made our wine selections and perused the menu.

The place was positively hopping, so we settled in for some imbibing, in no rush to eat.

Julie indicated that they were much busier than anticipated and that it might be a bit longer than usual for our food.

As we reminded her, it was prime time on Saturday night and, as the new place everyone was dying to try out, we weren't expecting the food to appear in record time.

Unfortunately we heard one guy whining about the delay.

Come on, fella, give a new place a break.

If you wanted fast food, perhaps you should go to a place with mediocre food.

None of us could resist the crab cakes and justifiably so because the lumps of jumbo back fin were huge (and I say that as a person who grew up in Maryland eating crab every chance I got, so I know of what I speak).

Lightly bound and oh-so well seasoned, these crab cakes were delicious in every possible way.

I had begun with a simple salad full of the usual suspects and tasting fresh and fine dressed in balsamic vinaigrette.

My friend commented that the menu reads far less compelling than the actual food, which was creative and extremely well executed.

Just as our food arrived, the couple sitting next to us leaned over and said to me, "Weren't you our neighbor?"

Turns out these were the people who lived across the street from me for 2 1/2 years, until I moved unexpectedly in March.

They'd recognized me immediately and wanted the scoop on my new place and to dish about my split.

It turned into an unexpectedly hilarious roast, with them over-sharing their opinions and then soliciting my attendance at their upcoming party.

It's so rewarding when the universe offers up an unexpected treat like that, so I enjoyed every minute of it.

Part B of our plan was heading to a speakeasy in the Bottom for cocktails and more conversation.

I already knew the mixologist and his fanatic attention to the smallest minutiae of mixing drinks, having discussed it all with him there before, but my friends were unprepared for how amazing their drinks were.

When one drinks a spirit on ice and sans mixer, as I do, the ice is key; mine each had just one slow-melting cube that never watered down the beauty of the alcohol.

Perfection.

Multiple cocktails later, we realized it was well after 1 and some of us had to work brunch the next day (obviously not me), so we reluctantly decided to get out of the Bottom before the mass exodus when the clubs closed.

Leaving the smokey environs of the speakeasy and walking out into the much cooler night air, we immediately felt the presence everywhere of cops and their cars blocking streets.

As we walked by one open-front bar, we heard some idiot with a mic making a snide comment about cops just as two men in blue walked by the place.

No matter. I think all three of us felt that it had been a practically perfect evening.

Thrash Before Noon

Admittedly, thrash/grindcore is not my favorite type of music, but that didn't stop me from joining the throngs at Fine Foods this morning at 11 to witness the fast, loud and ultimately kick your face sound of Magrudergrind. Actually, I can't think of a better place to experience a hard-hitting band like this than the great outdoors. There's not an inside venue that could contain that sound without making my ears bleed and do I really want that? No I don't, but this show represents my only participation in Best Friends Day, so I was happy to be there.

Needless to say the hordes of the great unwashed, hungover and pseudo-punk made for some outstanding people watching as they traipsed in and out of Fine Foods for cases of PBR to stuff in their bike bags. As the guy next to me said to me, "I hate the ones who only pretend to look like they're dirty."

Don't we all?

Fabulous Female Friday

My neighbor Liza and I have most of our conversations over dog-walking, since we both spend an inordinate amount of time exercising our devoted four-legged friends. We finally made the time to meet for lunch yesterday at Bistro 27 and took the extended time together to get to know each other better. I may have found a soul mate: Liza also refuses to carry a cell phone. That alone yielded 15 minutes of empathetic conversation. Who knew there was another such oddball in all of Richmond, much less practically across the street? We had a delicious lunch, as I always do there, with the added thrill of Dave the waiter (and my go-to music person there) serenading me with "Stop Playing Games with my Heart" as he led me to Liza.

Last night I was invited over the river to an all-female party of VCU theater grad students, professors and advisor types for eating, drinking and being merry. As the only non-drama type there, it was a good thing I'm an extrovert and can hold my own since this raucous group rolls high speed through an ever-changing conversational well. The hostess, my wonderful friend Glynn, is the ringleader and hostess extraordinaire and between her laugh-out-loud storytelling abilities and group leader tactics when it comes to generating probing topics, made this wine-soaked evening a blast.

Upon returning to the Ward, I found, not surprisingly, that the streets were crawling with people. It's Best Friends Day weekend after all, so you couldn't swing a dead cat without hitting a hipster or wanna be. The dog and I enjoyed plenty of random exchanges with untold groups as we traversed J-Ward. When I left the house this morning, I found 3 PBR cans in various states of emptiness adorning the curb in front of my house. I expect by Monday morning, there won't be a PBR left in a convenience store within 3 miles of here. I love this town.

I Love It When A Plan Doesn't Come Together

I deflowered another lobster roll virgin at the Black Sheep today. My friend Holly got tired of hearing me rave about this succulent sandwich, so we met for lunch so she could find out for herself why I've been raving (besides my usual rants, of course) about it. Problem was, I've had at least five lobster rolls in recent weeks and you can't eat one AND eat dessert, so I had the lovely Piggy Bank salad (spinach, mozzarella, peaches, nuts and Virginia ham) so that I could have room for a La Brea Tarpit (chocolate creme brulee). I took crap from my favorite waitress just last week when I finished my lobster roll and was unable to order dessert. "What do you mean, you're not having dessert?" Melissa demanded. "You always get chocolate!" And she wasn't even our waitress; she just noticed my omission.

The game plan for this evening was set: drinks with Former Co-Worker and then the opening at Metro Space Gallery... except that a certain overly nice Gemini restaurant owner sat down just as Co-Worker was leaving after two hours and we were off and running. Five hours, much wine, assorted apps and countless shared stories later, we came up for air. Fortunately, we were out on the patio by this time enjoying the night air and the parade of humanity on the sidewalk.

But best of all, we already had plans for Saturday night, so tonight's prelude was just a cosmic bonus. My plans gone awry yielded a delightful evening; to quote the poet Robert Burns:

The best laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft agley.

Amen to that.

A Summer of Trouble Night

Who wasn't hoping that yesterday's thunderstorms would produce buckets of rain for hours on end? Instead, it cooled down and got breezy for about half an hour and then that was that.

Even so, it was enough of an improvement in the temperature for me to decide to walk over to 821 for my weekly plate of nachos (I even get them for brunch, to the disgust of one of my brunching pals) and random conversation ("Do you know a city in Arkansas that starts with O?" and "What's the problem with booty shorts?"). It's gotten to the point where I don't even need to order; the wait staff just presumes nachos when they see me. Walking back, Monroe Park was overrun with students and the freshmen weren't hard to spot; they were the only ones carrying umbrellas. So cute. They'll learn soon enough.

Next up was music at Gallery 5: The Naked Light/Tallest Trees present Captain Safety and the Summer of Trouble, A Psychedelic Pop Variety Show (with locals the Great White Jenkins and Liza Kate). I have to say I was loving Tallest Trees' psychedelic poppiness; they had three keyboardists, a drummer and multiple vocalists. My only complaint was that their set was too short. When they finished, the all switched instruments (something for which I'm a sucker) and transformed themselves into The Naked Light, a band with 2 guitarists, a bass player, and a drummer. Except sometimes one of them would put down their instrument and play a keyboard or a trumpet. This Nashville foursome were really good, although not quite as much to my taste as Tallest Trees, but definitely worth seeing.

Leaving the show, it appeared that a few more raindrops had fallen and the temperature was up again. The perfect excuse to knock on a friend's door on the walk home, enjoy some wine and tell them what a great show they missed.

Crispy Fried Pig's Head

Highlights from the past 24 hours:

Make all the snide comments you want about eating pig's head, but you'd be a fool to do so until you tasted it, which I did last night at Six Burner.

It was lovely: crunchy outside with an incredibly rich inside and a taste that defies being labeled as anything's head.

Thank you, Lee, for this delicious surprise, followed by all the great food talk.

Finding another extroverted Gemini to wile away a Monday evening with.

I may just have found my band bitch (her words, not mine).

Brooks Winery 2007 Pinot Noir, a perfect example of Willamette Valley Pinot Noir, suggested by Tracey at Six Burner because it's the winery at which she'll be working the harvest very soon.

She and her partner leave next week for Oregon and after the harvest, the great unknown.

We said our goodbyes tonight and I will miss our weekly chats about life, love and RVA. but I am beyond excited for her.

An afternoon spent eating crabs and more crabs on a screened-in porch on the Northern Neck, with the Rappahanock River as a backdrop.

If that isn't the epitome of a lazy summer afternoon, I don't know what is.

A Tuesday evening enjoying a friend with whom I can share anything...and do.

Topics covered tonight: A/C, birthday cards and checks, absence of wooing, perfect bread, men with expressive hand gestures, Pollack, deKooning, CV joints and reading blogs.

Who misses the opposite sex with this kind of goodness going on?

Okay, in theory anyway, I do, but until that's a possibility, I am grateful for excellent conversation, vibrant pinot noir and getting to enjoy crispy friend pig's head.

You know you wish you could taste it.

Dating Update: Epic Fail

I gave dating a shot and I've already given up on it.

Two first dates in June and two second dates in July.

But when they asked for third dates, I felt obligated to acknowledge to them that I wasn't really up to dating after all.

In Dr. Phil parlance, I'm not emotionally available, but that's not something within my control, so I just have to accept it until I feel ready for more.

Besides, it just isn't fair to go out with guys who might become genuinely interested in me.

And while you'd think that telling them this would discourage their interest, not so much (one kindly offered to be my rebound boy, which would not have been fair to him).

So, despite having learned the lesson that it's far better to head this kind of thing off at the pass rather than having to deal with it later, I still felt bad last night at shutting down what seemed like a really nice guy.

I went to the National to see White Rabbits (who were beyond awesome with their energy, their switching of instruments and the sheer amount of sound that six musicians can produce. Oh, yes, and I love it when a band has multiple drummers.) and Fiery Furnaces (not everyone's cup of tea, as evidenced by the small crowd, but intriguing) and found myself approached by a guy also at the show alone.

He introduced himself and we got to talking music and the economy and upcoming shows.

It was nice to have someone to share the experience with, until near the end when he asked about getting together again soon.

I was straight up honest about being recently out of a long-term relationship and just not over it yet.

He was polite and understanding about it, but clearly disappointed, which made me feel rude and a little unkind.

On the other hand, why waste two dates and his time?

Actual Conversation

I'm leaving Lift to walk home and a guy starts biking parallel to me as I walk.

Him: Morning. Nice day to be walking a dog.
Me: Yea, he's loving this weather.
Him: Good day to look for work.
Me: For me, every day's a good day to look for work.
Him: I was in prison, so I'm serious about finding work now.
Me: Um, okay.
Him: Do you have men who you talk to, you know, who call you up?
Me: Uh, sure?
Him: I'd like to be one of those guys who talks to you. My name's James.
Me: Have a good one. (Here I make a sharp right down the alley as he keeps going)

Okay, so I'm a bad person for pre-judging James. If you have a suggestion for how I could have better handled that conversation, I'm all ears.

The Belvidere at Broad

A new neighborhood restaurant is always cause for exploration.

And because of that, last night I invited Beer Geek Friend over to share some wine (yes, he goes both ways) and do some reconnaissance.

We enjoyed a bottle of Antonelli 2008 Grechetto Colli Martani DOC, courtesy of River City Cellars' Italian Summer Sippin' tasting a week or so ago, and had to agree with Peter of RCC about its fruity and floral notes, but weren't quite as clear about it having a sense of structure and grip that would be the envy of many red wines. Still, it went down easily and was a fine start to the warm evening.

We then set out on the arduous two-block walk to check out The Belvidere at Broad, barely allowing us enough time to compare notes on insomnia. Mine is a fairly new phenomenon, having started back in February after life smacked me in the head with a two by four, but he's had it for years. Even so, he could offer no assistance about how to deal with the frustration of waking up at 3 or 4 a.m. to obsess.

The Belvidere was hopping when we arrived around 715ish, but we managed to snag a booth in the back. Three of the eight wines by the glass were from Washington state (!) and $30 was the highest priced bottle (a Gruner Vetliner). The menu was interesting, with an emphasis on organic, so naturally I ordered a burger and Friend got salmon. Both dishes satisfied and my side of broccoli rabe was especially tasty.

Between the large burger and the cab I was drinking, there was no room for dessert, which prompted our waitress to insist that I return and try the dessert menu. Friend is watching his weight, so he settled for ordering another beer. (Note to locals: PBR on tap).

One of the owners introduced herself and talked about their hopes for making a difference on that block of Broad (near the Rite Aid) and in the west end of Jackson Ward in general. Turns out she loves the neighborhood as much as I do (she's a neighbor of mine, too) so we had loads to talk about. She told us about what a mess the space was when they began and, looking around, it was clear that everything in the restaurant was new.

Got home, we finished the wine, Friend left and then the dog and I headed over to Abner Clay Park, which was hosting the Down Home Family Reunion, for the last part of Jr. Walker's All Star Band's set (yes, Jr.'s been dead for years, but two of the originals added members and carried on).

They were doing classic Motown (Stop! In the Name of Love, Dancin' in the Streets, et al.) and the large crowd was way into it.

The dog and I got comfy and finished our evening laying in the grass listening to music. And this is why I love my life.

It Was Way Better Than Alright

It's not often Capital Ale House brings in a major act, but I would definitely consider the Dar Williams show last night to be such a show.

Judging by the long line at the door by 630, it was obvious that plenty of Dar fans wanted a shot at the best possible seats.

Holmes and I had arrived even earlier, not realizing that the doors didn't open until 7, but we made do at the bar until they started taking tickets.

Unfortunately, most people were on the will-call list, which required names being checked off and it took forever.

The guy at the door practically kissed us when he saw we had actual tickets and let us right in; he also acknowledged that they were unprepared for the hordes of people.

Last time I saw Dar, it was at the Landmark, so I can't figure how they didn't anticipate an onslaught at a much smaller venue.

Two musicians accompanied Dar and the crowd was treated to a range of older and newer material.

As my friend Andrew had forewarned me, the audience was indeed full of LGBT people, no doubt attributable to her frequent musings on gender roles and self-discovery.

Holmes was impressed with her guitar playing and commented on her ethereal voice; this is notable mainly because he had never heard of her when I first suggested he join me for the show.

As a singer-songwriter who's been around for almost 20 years now, there's still a lot to enjoy about a Dar Williams' performance.

Hats off to Capital Ale House for providing such an intimate setting in which to enjoy that kind of talent.

Local Chef Heads West, Young Man

One of my favorite local chefs, Eric Cohen of Julep, is cooking here no more. He will be moving to San Francisco Monday and I am sorry for a lot of reasons. First he was probably the most underrated chef in town. His take on new Southern was always a pleasure, whether it was the baby back ribs (had them again last night), that yummy corn and roasted leek oyster stew or the smoked trout, I always appreciated the quality of his food.

But mainly it's that Eric and his main squeeze Melissa are friends and I have enjoyed wine and conversation with them, including my birthday. This will be much more difficult once we are on opposite coasts. On the plus side, they have already invited me to come out and stay with them and what kind of idiot would refuse a free place to stay in San Francisco? Plus I expect it'll be great fun to do some food exploring with Eric as a guide there. As for Melissa, well, she always said that the more time she and I spent together, the greater likelihood that we'd be arrested. True that.

So I ate Eric's creations at Julep last night and savored every bite; then spent the rest of the evening drinking and talking with my soon-to-be transplanted friends. I know Eric will succeed wherever he ends up, but I will miss long evenings talking with these guys. But I do envy them their excellent adventure to come.

WAR. What is It Good For?

Absolutely nothing.

Which is exactly why you should head on over to the Virginia Historical Society for their 3-part show on Vietnam. Soul Soldiers: African Americans and the Vietnam Era; Marking Time: Voyage to Vietnam; and Vietnam War POWs all provide a fascinating look at a war that shaped a generation and a much-needed black perspective on it all.

Start with the film of present-day interviews with Vietnam vets reflecting on how they got to Vietnam and what they experienced. Then be sure to notice those same men's uniforms, boots, canteens, draft orders, pictures and letters home displayed throughout. One guy was caught in a stolen car back in the 60s and given a choice of jail or the military and opted for the latter. That's a draft board of a different era, for sure.

Some of the journals and letters home were heartbreaking, evoking the fear of very young men (most were around 19) as they headed into an unknown future. The bunk graffiti of the men aboard the huge ships that took them to Vietnam mixed poignancy with bravado. Some of them were going to kill the Cong and others just wanted to remember the girlfriends and families they left behind. Almost all included their hometown along with their names on the canvas bunks above them.

Because music was such an integral part of the war experience, the exhibit includes multiple headphone setups and many songs that evoke the era (Edwin Starr's "War," Marvin Gaye's "What's Goin' On" and many others). I'd forgotten just how many recording artists acknowledged their anti-war feelings in song. I learned that after Hendrix's electrifying version of the Star Spangled Banner at Woodstock, his music was banned by the military. Truly, it was a very different world back then.

The best reasons to make sure you see these exhibits is because they are so interesting in a personal sort of way. Should you need extra incentive, the VHS is foregoing admission charges through the end of August, so it won't cost you anything. And whether you have vague memories of that tumultuous time (as I did) or weren't even born yet, (like my companion), you're sure to come away with a new understanding of the Vietnam experience.

Never Too Old to Get Bent

We have a new yoga studio at 312 Brook Road in Jackson Ward called Like Water. What's with the name? As far as I can figure, it probably has something to do with the way my body was reduced to a mass of malleable sweat half way into the class. Not lady-like perspiration, but streaming sweat that made the yoga mat slick and my stick-straight hair start to curl.

A friend had recommended the place; yesterday two other friends were gong to their first class there and persuaded me to join them. Never mind that they were twenty-somethings with far more flexible bodies. Once I got in that uncooled studio and start pretzeling my body, it surprised me what configurations I was able to take on.

As for the mental benefits, between keeping up and sweating buckets, let's just say my mind was clear of any distractions. I left feeling like I had a done a good thing for my body and head (and, as a bonus, supported a local business). Classes are offered at various levels, they're only five bucks and you don't pre-register, you just show up, so it couldn't be easier...or cheaper.

I'm the least coordinated person in Richmond and if I could do yoga, there's not a soul alive who couldn't. You never know when all this new-found flexibility is going to come in handy, either.

Vintage TV Baby

"It takes both hands to hold a Whopper!" Do you remember this TV commercial campaign from the 60s and 70s? I didn't, not that it mattered at last night's Monday Night Moving Pictures show at Gallery 5. The film program featured 11 films from three local filmmakers (Celie Dailey, Chad Middleton and Jordan Bruner) and included everything from naked go-go style dancers, male and female, to parachuting grapes to a balloon heart over Stuart Circle.

The collage of old commercials was a fascinating cultural snapshot. Burger King ads aside, I also didn't remember Aurora toilet tissue. The Chevy ads were hysterically earnest (why would you NOT want a new Vega, Chevelle or Monte Carlo...especially for less than $3500?). Some ads I did recall: Certs is two...two...two mints in one was a familiar refrain. Rolaids consuming up to 47 times its weight in excess stomach acid, as endorsed by a school principal who clearly had a lot of stress (you should have seen those kids fighting on the playground!). And the woman who got offered twice as much Brand X detergent if she'd just give up her Tide; but her husband was a painter and she needed that Tide to get his dirty overalls clean, so she was having none of it.

But I digress, because the vintage commercial film was only one high point of the evening. Music was provided after the films by Cubscout and the Rhinoceros, The Native Young and finally Hot Lava's poppy surf rock. You have to like a Monday night with so much to offer for five bucks.

New Restaurants for my Neighborhood

Jackson Ward
The Belvidere at Broad, located at Henry and Broad is already open starting at 5 Tuesdays through Saturdays. A friend praised the food but thought the lighting was too bright. I'm going later this week, so I'll see for myself. On the other hand, the Belvidere is 2 blocks from my house, so it's likely going to get a lot of my default business if it's any good at all.

Carver
Artistry: Food, Music and Art in the 800 block of West Broad Street, just west of Belvidere. No posted menu yet, but a place with food, music and art only 4 blocks from home can only be a good thing. I'm curious to see how big a role the food will play...and what kind of music they bring in. It could be a killer combination and help build on the momentum that started with Black Sheep.

Monroe Ward
Kenn-Tico, labeled a Cuban Bar and Grill, at Second and Grace Streets, seems to still be in the renovation stages, but a new restaurant on that partially burned-out block is cause enough for celebration. Let's face it, once the worker bees vacate, that's an easy area to park in at night and for those of us in the neighborhood, it's one more ethnic option within walking distance.

Dinner anyone?

Things Heated Up Nicely

Yesterday was so incredibly hot, especially in a second-floor apartment with no air conditioning. A thoughtful friend came over with a bottle of chilled Sauvignon Blanc (Palo Alto Reserve from Chile) which we drank under the fan before heading out to the air-conditioned comfort of Verbena, a place neither of us had visited in over a year.

We had hoped to eat upstairs but that plan was thwarted when we were informed that the upstairs air conditioning was not working...which meant that even the downstairs was warmer than it should have been. Not ungodly warm like my apartment, but we were two booths from the kitchen and my bare legs were stuck to the booth with sweat in no time at all.

I continued the Sauvignon Blanc theme, jumping continents to South Africa and friend enjoyed Albarino ("hay and honeysuckle," mmm) but the heat tempered our appetites, so we kept it to appetizers: clams with andouille sausage and crab cakes. The chocolate pate was softer than most, but given the heat, not surprisingly, and really quite lovely.

One of the waitresses, whom I'd known for years but whose personal life had intersected with my past, chose not to say hello, displaying awkward avoidance (guilt? embarrassment?). Funny, she should have no reason not to speak to me; instead, she just looked hot and uncomfortable working that floor.

But then, it's August, so it's supposed to be hot; that's what summer in the south is all about, right?

I'm Trying Out this Perpetual Motion Thing

I feel like the last time I took a breath was yesterday about noon and it's been non-stop ever since. First I went to the Jonny Z Fest over on Shields where I ran into loads of people I knew, either selling their wares or volunteering for art's sake. It was hot as hell and totally worth it. There's so much artistic talent in Richmond and I love seeing so much of it on display. Plus I had the chance to discuss the My Bloody Valentine show with half a dozen concert-goers.

Next up was the reopening of Geometry Park, now re-christened Paradise Park. Colorful paint made a huge difference to this oasis, which I thought always had a hard-edged industrial vibe. The kids' hand prints, leaf prints and mural added a lot to the charm of the new park and the extensive shade was much appreciated. Does anyone not have memories of hanging out here for one reason or another?

Then I took a couple of lobster roll virgins to Black Sheep to be de-flowered. Yes, they were impressed with the hunks of succulent lobster on buttered rolls and now it's their job to help me spread the word. Best of all, it was after 2 by the time we lunched, so the the Black Sheep crowds were gone.

Dinner was at Julep and included plenty of ambiance because of the fact that none of the street lights came on last night. As I sat in the restaurant eating and drinking, it was kind of eerie to observe the growing darkness outside, unaided by any artificial city light. It did make locating my black car more challenging than usual, even with the able assistance of the waiter Ben.

Today began with two friends and a bottle of Horton Sparkling Viognier and ended at Tarrant's with mimosas and lotsa food. One of my friends is moving to San Francisco in a week, so she felt obligated to have an east coast crab cake while she still could. She also provided a hilarious story about a mutual acquaintance which I had never heard before (actually only the participants knew of it) and it was the kind of amazing, "you did what?" story that you think only happens in movies. Melting wax from Michael's is all I'm going to say.

I was all set to take a deep breath when I looked at the clock and realized a friend will be stopping by for wine before we go out...in an hour and a half. Perhaps I should get cleaned up and ready to keep going.

What You Missed at First Fridays

I had to start at ADA Gallery to see the Morgan Herrin piece because I had been lucky enough to see the beautiful female form he did last year that ended up being sold to Lance Armstrong. The new work was also beautifully sculpted in wood, with the head, breasts and legs of a woman emerging from a relief globe. I'm not sure whether his greater strength is depicting the female form or turning wood into something so smooth and fine. In either case, it was a don't miss piece last night, despite not officially being on view (thanks, Rachel).

Next up was Ghostprint Gallery where street artist Josh McPhee had assembled a collection of street art and posters. The show was beyond amazing; almost 200 examples of socially conscious art, political statements and flyers. Ghostprint had done a show of street art over a year ago and I had bought one of Josh McPhee's prints then ("The City is Ours"), so I knew this was an artist who would gather an outstanding assemblage and he delivered magnificently. If you missed First Fridays, you need to make a point to go see this show right away. It's that good.

Went to Thanky Space's final show and it was a little bittersweet. The designated one-year project begun last September by Victoria and Travis is nearing its end and Victoria told me she is most satisfied with what they learned and what they accomplished with the endeavor. In just the past year, Thanky became known for off-beat exhibits that were always worth seeking out and those of us art lovers who appreciated their eye for the different will miss their presence as part of the FF line-up.

Ended up in the courtyard at Adams for Heather's last gathering of the season in this magical space. She's been offering a variety of arts for the past 4 FF's and last night's included music and projected images and, of course, her usual grilled hot dogs and assorted beverages. In past months, there have also been art exhibits and artisans selling their crafts. This unique space, with its brick wall mural of mountains and up-lit trees is like a secret cave for those who know about it or are lucky enough to stumble into it. If you missed it, you'll have to wait until next year to see if Heather starts it up again.

The only downside of the entire night was Thea at Ghostprint telling me that her evening had started with a visit from the Fire Code people, checking for capacity and exits. Do these people really have nothing better to do than sabotage the most successful art event and draw for downtown that this city has managed to create? Surely their time and the city's money could be better spent on abandoned buildings and unsafe houses. We need this harassment of the arts community to end.

Older Hipster Crowd Represents

The crowd at Gallery 5 last night for the Tulsa Drone/Suzukiton/Ancient Sky/Heliotropes show was treated to a musical smorgasbord.

I mean everything from the psychedelic and jazz-infused to full-on metal/hardcore and ending with the experimental ambient goodness that is Tulsa Drone.

I am a big fan of drummer Kevin Cornell from Marionette, but I'd never heard him as part of Tulsa Drone.

Last night offered the chance to correct that oversight...and talk to Kevin about Marionette's new EP, of which I was gifted with an advance copy.

It's excellent stuff and I'm eagerly awaiting their CD release party next month.

Tulsa Drone is one of those local bands who don't play a lot of shows, so you have to catch them when you can.

And, as I found out, they'll be well worth it.

I was also impressed with Ancient Sky (a band with two Richmonders who ended up in Brooklyn in its line-up) playing bluesy Americana rock with elements of jazz and gospel thrown in for good measure.

It was interesting stuff and I didn't feel like I'd heard it all before.

I mentioned to my photographer friend that the crowd was not one I'd seen before at G5.

Patiently, he explained that it was the older hipster crowd who used to go to lots of shows, only now they have to get babysitters so they don't go out much.

But apparently even older hipsters aren't willing to pass up a rare Tulsa Drone show, so there they were, out in force.

Use it or lose it, I always say.

Of Sarcasm, Guns, Distortion and Tomatoes

So the problem with writing a blog is that when you you don't write for a few days (okay, a week), certain people begin to give you crap about your absence (or even link to your hopelessly dated blog).

I'd like to say I've been too busy at my new job, except that I still don't have one.

On the bright side, I have plenty of time to get out.

I did a three-day weekend at the beach visiting my sister and her husband and four of their single male friends..

They don't seem to have any female friends and I'm okay with that.

I usually make this trek, but two of the guys were new to me this year (and I'm single for a change), so it ended up being a lot more fun than ever before.

Let's just say one of them was smart, funny, sarcastic, surprised me with a box of hand-picked chocolates and was willing to take a long walk on the beach at midnight.

As I told him, well done.

Went to the final performance of Hamlet at Agecroft and watched the spit fly from the front row again.

When Joe Carlson took that flying leap across the stage, the entire audience gasped in amazement...which almost distracted those of us of the female persuasion from those gorgeous arms of his.

Silversun Pickups at the National Tuesday night turned out to be quite a good show and particularly appropriate, coming so soon after My Bloody Valentine, from whom they clearly draw influence.

It was a good week in Richmond for us distortion lovers.

I had to go see "500 Days of Summer" at Movieland because I need reinforcement that love sucks and you never get what you want.

Wait, what?

No, I knew this movie's realistic depiction of love gone wrong would be well done and it was.

Just a bit too close to home perhaps.

Did I mention the excellent soundtrack? The Temper Trap is very high on my play list at the moment.

And, finally, Lee Gregory's tomato tart last night was one of the most tantalizing uses of local tomatoes of all kinds I've put in my mouth in a long time (and only the first of three delicious courses).

It's a colossal understatement to say that he will be missed come September.

As a bonus, I ran into the birthday boy, Jeff, out celebrating his 37th with the little woman.

It's always interesting to see where local chefs eat when they go out.

If I keep up with my blog better, will you guys quit dropping hints looking for juicy updates in my hum-drum life?

I Do Know Loud

My first concert was the Who.

My virgin ears didn't know what hit them.

When I saw Kings of Leon in Chicago two years ago, my ears rang for 2 straight days and nights.

I saw local band Stink Eyes perform inside ADA Gallery and it was so loud across the street that I was told people were complaining about it there.

They can all bow down at the sonic altar of My Bloody Valentine.

I think my ears may actually be bleeding...despite the earplugs I (and most of the audience) had in.

 This audience came for the noise and MBV delivered.

And they came from all over the East Coast since this was the band's only mid-Atlantic show.

I saw people I never see at shows tonight.

And everyone of us had brightly colored earplugs inserted deep in our ears so as to have some trace of hearing left tomorrow.

But we can also say we saw MBV and that alone is worth the price of any hearing loss.

But it might be a good idea to talk really loudly  if you see me anytime soon.

Adam's Bottom Made Up for the Rain

The law of averages finally caught up with me.

I've been attending Richmond Shakespeare Company's summer performances at Agecroft for years.

Unlike my tall friend Thomas, who finds these evenings painful (citing the heat and those awful plastic chairs), I love the outdoor ambiance.

I think it's great the way the actors use the stone walls to climb over, when they spout dialogue from windows or gesture to the stars.

I especially like enjoying a play that begins in the light of a summer evening and ends in darkness and, when I'm lucky, moonlight.

Last night was the final, final performance for A Midsummer Night's Dream, a play whose run I had missed because it coincided with my fortnight at the beach.

And, yes, I'd seen them do this very play just a few months ago at Second Presbyterian, but Midsummer is a play that begs to be performed outside.

Which it was for about 35 minutes until the threatening sky finally opened up and canceled the rest of the show. I felt better that the actors seemed to be as bummed about it as the audience was.

Luckily, my front row seat had already afforded me a very cool moment before the rain came.

Adam Mincks' character Nick Bottom (who had just been assigned the role of Pyramus) was reveling in anticipation of the role when he grabbed my hand, looked into my eyes and delivered his lines to me.

So yea, I thought I was pretty special for a hot minute there...until an off-stage voice shouted, "Actors, halt!" and that ended that.

I'm not complaining in any way, though.

After years of outdoor productions, this was my first rain-out, so I was probably long overdue.

Up next: Hamlet...and I feel sure the gods won't rain on me again.

Eat This Lobster Roll Now

A lobster roll is the simplest thing in the world: big chunks of lobster meat, enough mayo to bind them together and a perfectly buttered and toasted split hot dog roll.

If you appreciate this sublime combination, I would suggest you go immediately to the Black Sheep and order the Nor'easter...preferably with a side of bread and butter pickled veggies.

If this meal doesn't transport you to a summer day up north, then I can only be very sorry for you.

When I was ten, my family spent a month on vacation in Maine.

What stands out in my mind is how cold and rocky the ocean was, that we could light the fireplace every night (and it was July!) and the sheer amount of lobster we ate.

When I bit into that lobster roll in Carver today, I was transported to that month of lobster heaven.

The Black Sheep is a neighborhood place for me, so I don't need reasons to go there (today's visit was to spend time with Adam, of local band Marionette, a friend and a really interesting guy).

I do see an awful lot of their lobster rolls in my near future.

Memory jogging qualities aside, this lobster roll is summer on a plate.

Lust, Location and Locals

I go to the 48-Hour Film Festival screenings because I am curious about what the local film community can come up with just two days.

I go to see people and places I know caught on film.

I go to be amused and surprised and sometimes even enjoy something cringe-worthy.

As usual, this morning's festival delivered.

Some personal highlights:

A mocumentary about vegetables as sex objects. Tomato lust was seriously funny.

A roommate film shot on my block that featured my house, my fence and even the tree my dog regularly pees on.

Last weekend I saw them shooting it and this week I got to see the finished product.

Female roommate drama and a green terrorist made this an hysterical film.

A twisted take on going home, featuring one of my favorite local actors, Brandon Crowder.

I usually have to pay 25 bucks to see Brandon crack me up with Richmond Shakespeare and today I got to see him play it straight for only $7.

Well done.

It was my third year at the 48-Hour Film Festival and it's become one of my favorite annual events, Byrd Theatre seats aside.

If we ever get new seats, I intend to stay for all three screenings for even more lust, location and locals.

Neko Case Redux

Didn't I just post about seeing Neko Case a few months ago?

Well, yes I did, but that didn't stop me from heading to Norfolk last evening to see her for the second time in less than four months.

Actually, what's more amazing than wanting to hear that voice again is that I was willing to make one of my least favorite drives...east on 64.

Hate the road, hate the traffic, hate the lack of view.

But it was all worth it when she took the stage at the Norva and graced us with that unique voice of hers.

As someone once said to me, "Oh, come on, no one else sounds like that!"

Even after being shocked by her microphone ("This thing shocked the shit out of me," she said, "and burnt the inside of my mouth."), she continued without missing a beat.

Surprisingly (or maybe not for Norfolk) the show was nothing like sold out.

In fact, there were even bar tables and stools set up at the back of the floor (as I had seen once before for Pete Yorn there) because there was enough room to do so.

After the sold-out show at The National, it was kind of nice to hear Neko without being shoulder to shoulder with the masses.

Actually, it's kind of nice to hear Neko Case anytime...anywhere.

Even if driving back at 1:30 a.m. gets a little lonely.

Ah, well. It gave me time to dream of better days...

D.I.Y. or Die

You can't fail doing what you love.

That was the theme of the documentary "D.I.Y. or Die" which was screened tonight at Gallery 5 as a benefit for the Richmond Zine Fest, coming in November.

The film was like a video handbook for independent artists and featured a dancer, painters, musicians (Dave Brockie and Jay Mascis, to name only two), a circus artist, a sculptor and writers, among others.

It was divided into parts: Inspiration, Publicity, Dealing with Adversity and Commerce, with the artists offering their unique takes on each topic.

The common thread was that D.I.Y artists are not doing it for the money, but for the love of their art. Their passion, despite the economic shortcomings that usually go hand in hand, was impressive.

Also shown was "Grrrlyshow," featuring interviews with various female zine writers (Jewish, black, Israeli, gay) about how they got started and why.

Interview footage was interspersed with vintage film clips highlighting the can-do attitude of women and girls; the film was a sort of pep talk for budding zine enthusiasts by those in the know.

The Richmond Zine Fest has already secured 26 table participants for the November 6th and 7th event and will continue to take submissions until September 30th.

The first night will coincide with First Fridays Artwalk, which should guarantee a full house.

The art will remain at Gallery 5 not only during First Friday and the Richmond Zine Fest, but throughout the entire month of November.

 Last year's festival was excellent and it only lasted one day.

This year, there will be no excuse not to experience the unique art form that is zines.

The Yes Men/A Yes Man

After two weeks of vacation at the beach, it was satisfying to get home and find e-mails and messages from so many friends insisting that we meet up as soon as possible on my return...as in every night this week was spoken for by mid-day Monday. I already have lunch plans for two days next week and assignations for three nights. Not bad, not bad at all.

Last night was dinner at Black Sheep (Artichoke Heart Galette, yumm, and a La Brea Tarpit for dessert) and then the documentary "Yes Men" at Gallery 5. This 2006 film was about the Yes Men, a group of activists who practice what they call "identity correction" by pretending to be powerful people and spokespersons for prominent organizations. They create and maintain fake websites similar to ones they want to spoof and then they accept invitations received on their websites to appear at conferences, lectures and on TV. The film focused on their impersonations of WTO big shots, giving speeches and presentations. It was hysterical and appalling at the same time. Only a college audience rejected the bullshit they were spouting, while the adult audiences appeared to buy into their line of crap completely. G5's second Tuesday of the month screenings are always worth checking out, for future reference.

The rest of the evening was devoted to us walking Jackson Ward (and running into my favorite neighbor Larry,who was a little tipsy after a few drinks at the Crossroads) and back to my place for some excellent getting-to-know-you-better conversation. It may not have been a night at the beach, but the evening had a lot to recommend it...mind, body and spirit-wise.

Dating 101

In one evening, I went from not having dated since 2003 to two dates in one night.

Is it morally wrong to have a date with one guy at 6 and another at 10?

I'd been in a relationship and out of this dating thing for six years and I'm not sure what the rules are anymore.

On the other hand, perhaps I should forget about the rules and just see what happens.

I'd forgotten how intoxicating it is to spend time with men so eager to learn me.

It was a dark and stormy night...briefly

Got home from an enjoyable Matt Kearney show at the National just as the big, sloppy raindrops started to fall. As I opened the door to my house, an enormous crack of thunder exploded. There was the invitation...it was definitely time for a walk.
I grabbed the umbrella and the dog and we headed out to explore the neighborhood even as the sky flashed with lightening. Neighbors I knew were sitting on their porches doing just what I was doing: experiencing a little midnight drama. It wasn't a hell-fire and brimstone kind of a storm that we were walking through, but just enough going on to disturb the skittish dogs and make our stroll more bracing than usual.
Already that front seems to be more distant- sounding, but the temperature has dropped even since I got home and the dog and I got a much more exciting final walk of the day than normal. A couple hours of music followed by three quarters of an hour of storm teasing made for a fine Friday night's activities. ..if you like those sorts of things. I do.

Wooing of the Highest Order

For those seeking a little romance on a summer night, you have only a few chances left to see "Henry V" presented by Richmond Shakespeare Company in Agecroft's courtyard. Yes, "Henry V" is one of the history plays, and yes, it deals largely with one of England's important battles with France, but the play ends with Henry's lovely and terribly romantic wooing of Katherine. Whether you're watching with a significant someone or nursing a broken heart, you really can't help but be moved by the sincerity of Henry as he tries to convince Kate of his love; it's clumsy wooing and it's absolutely beguiling. What woman wouldn't be won over?

"And while thou livest, dear Kate, take a fellow of plain and uncoined constancy; for he perforce must do thee right, because he hath not the gift to woo in other places; for these fellows of infinite tongue, that can rhyme themselves into ladies' favours, they do always reason themselves out again."

If romance isn't enough of an incentive, there are several outstanding performances worth seeing. Phillip James Brown is back as Henry and as powerful as last year. Joseph Carlson as Pistol is a force of nature, at turns lustful, playful squeezing his wife, and then distraught when he learns that she is dead. But my favorite, again, was Brandon Crowder as Dauphin. Has a Richmond actor ever been so completely captivating to watch every second he is on stage? Even when others are speaking, his reactions, his gestures, his malleable face provide the most compelling kind of entertainment.

But take my word for it, the romance is what will stay with you. Or maybe that's just me.

All By Myself

After so much good live music last week, I've been in withdrawal this week (Tuesday's show at Gallery 5 did not do it for me, although I was happy to help support the worthy cause of Ugandan children). So tonight I will head to Lewis Ginter Botanical Garden to hear the Cowboy Junkies, albeit wishing I had some friends to share the show with.

I do love Margo Timmons' voice and I have always wanted to hear them do "Oregon Hill" live, so I'm hoping an evening of live music will provide the perfect musical distraction. Given that the band has been making music for over 20 years, I'm expecting an older crowd. It would be great if something wonderful and unexpected happens, but at the very least it'll be a beautiful voice and live music and for me, that's always a good thing.

Sunday Supper at Six Burner

Even the unemployed can afford twenty bucks for a three-course meal so I met up with my beer geek buddy for their Sunday Supper.

I knew how wonderful these meals were but my friend was bowled over by the sheer amounts of well-prepared food that arrived.

We began with the Pork Pate with grainy mustard and cornichons.

Since everything is served family style, this appetizer arrived on a platter with six (six!) perfectly toasted baguette slices, each with a generous slab of pork pate, a sprinkling of micro-greens and a slice of cornichon.

The pate was divine and while I had to limit myself to only 1 1/2 pieces to leave room for the entree, my grateful friend scarfed up the remaining deliciousness.

Next came a turkey sized platter with scallops in butter, grilled asparagus, Romano beans and polenta.

You get to choose two side dishes to go with your entree and we were given a bonus third.

The scallops were perfectly cooked and both green veggies provided a crispy contrast to the soft richness of the scallops.

The polenta was the creamy goodness that we used to envelop the other three.

Again, I ate what I could and left the rest for my friend who kept crowing about how generous the portions were.

Dessert was lemon pound cake with a whole strawberry sauce and whipped cream.

The cake was as buttery as it was lemony and the perfect foil to the lightly cooked strawberries.

 It was so good, I didn't even notice the absence of chocolate, my usual dessert suspect.

All of this was accompanied by a 2007 Mulderbosch Sauvignon Blanc I had chosen before my friend arrived (yes, I have a sentimental attachment to South African wines, but given their quality and price, why not?). 

Luckily, he approved of my choice (yea, yea, ripe fruit, crisp acid, fresh cut grass) and we worked that bottle right down.

I don't know what you usually do on the first Sunday of the month for dinner (this month's was on the second Sunday due to Broad Appetit last week), but Six Burner's superb offering is definitely worth checking out.

The staff teases me because I bring a different friend every time.

Go ahead make fun of me, but I want everyone to know about this great deal so it won't go away.

Second Saturdays Artwalk on Broad

I'm ashamed to say I didn't know about Second Saturdays on Broad...and I live right in the neighborhood. Basically, it's a second chance to catch the First Fridays Artwalk exhibitions if you were otherwise occupied on that Friday (I was at the Decemberists show).

I knew I wanted to see the Richmond Illustrators show at Ghostprint Gallery, which was just excellent. The illustrations ran the gamut stylistically and many had quite reasonable prices attached to them. I also checked out shows at Quirk, ADA, Visual Arts and Thanky Space. I even got a chance to stop by Gallery 5's yard sale and picked up a couple things to help support the very worthy cause that is G5. That stop gave me a chance to volunteer to help with clean up and taking the remains of the stuff to Diversity Thrift for donation tomorrow.

As I ran into people I knew and others I had the pleasure to meet this afternoon, it became clear that there are plenty of people who are busy on First Fridays but don't want to miss seeing what's new in the galleries every month. Hopefully the Arts District will get the word out to the community so that more people can take advantage of a free Saturday afternoon to peruse the latest art. And if you need further incentive, parking is a snap on Saturdays down here, Lift and Tarrants are open and serving and it's a great opportunity to check out the neighborhood in daylight. Jackson Ward's architecture alone is worth an afternoon's stroll, IMHO.

Leaving My Comfort Zone (the city)

Holmes convinced me to try the new Barrel Thief Wine Shop and Cafe on Patterson last night (he'd already been there) and while I prefer not to venture further west than Thompson Street, it was better than I expected. We shared a couple of bottles of 2007 Crivelli Barbera D'Asti and at only $16 a bottle, I was sold on the retail pricing aspect of the place. The wine had hints of cherry with strong tannins and went down smoothly.

We sampled the cheese plate (3 selections, which change daily, in good-sized wedges with bread and crackers) and the crab quesadillas and something they called a brownie, but in reality was a flourless chocolate chunk of heaven (and at only 5 bucks, a real bargain price for dessert these days). There was a 3-piece jazz combo playing (sax, upright bass and drums) from 7 to 9 or so and they added a nice vibe to the evening.

Will I go back? Location aside, well-priced wine is always a draw, so only time will tell.

Of Pheasant, Phone Numbers and Gay RVA

Yesterday was full of randomness for me. First I got invited to the Jenny Lewis show at the sold out 930 club. No thanks, I've had enough Jenny Lewis to last me a long, long time.

Went to Lift for lunch and ran into a bartender friend I hadn't seen in a while...who then asked if I'd be interested in meeting for lunch (so I passed on my number). While I was eating, a musician I had interviewed last summer spotted me and came over to catch up (turns out her husband is laid off, too) and got my number.

Walking home from lunch, I said hello to a guy sitting on his front steps. He was still looking for the "good" in the morning, he said. When I told him I'd been laid off since December, he bested me by telling me he was laid off last October. He's in the audio/video industry, so when he heard what I had been doing, insisted on getting my number so he could pass on some contracting work for local music shows. Sweet.

Dinner was Bistro 27 with the most amazing pheasant ravioli in a sage-butter sauce. It was so soul-satisfyingly good I didn't have room for dessert and for me, that's saying something.

Finished up at the Gay RVA LAunch party at New York Deli where my hard-working friend Scott was making the rounds. Scott is the organizer for the upcoming Richmond AIDS walk and he and I have spent plenty of time sharing stories about unemployment, men and life. We decided that next up is an afternoon at the river with much wine and lots more conversation.

I am not a phone person, have always hated to talk on the phone and used to avoid it like the plague. I have now shared my number with four people in the last 24 hours. Maybe I've become more of a phone person than I realized. ..so call me why don't you?

I'd Return to Cookie Mountain

I had been warned not to see TV on the Radio live; friends who've seen them said they disappoint in concert. Maybe this is just a ruse to keep more people from joining the audience at TVotR shows, but last night's show at the National delivered everything I was hoping for: arty, soulful, innovative music falling squarely into that post-punk sound of which I, personally, am so fond. Layer in some afro-beat rhythms and you have the recipe for a perfect evening of sound.

The band is far more integrated than the audience was. Considering some of the musical influences of TVotR (Stevie Wonder, reggae, Talking Heads, Prince) it would have been nice to see the kind of racial mix that I've seen at Prince shows. Even when the lyrics are profound and pointed, TVotR's music begs the audience to dance or, at the very least, move. We did.

I had a great time at the show, serendipitously sandwiching myself between two music lovers (one of whom asked for my number...!) so we could discuss the opener, Dirty Projectors (all those beautiful vocals, that intricate sound!) and the resurgence of 60s-influenced folk music that's so big right now. Between the excellent conversation and the stellar show, I now have to go back and question the friends who warned me against attending this show. Or maybe I just want to rub it in that they missed something really good...

Treble in Trouble

Punk rock? Indie rock?

However you label the music of Ted Leo and the Pharmacists, no one can deny that it's smart music, topical and toe-tapping.

Last night's show at the Canal Club didn't have the amazing vibe that last years' show at Gallery 5 did, but it was definitely a good show nonetheless.

Leo told us right up front that it would be a show of mostly B sides and new stuff and then launched into an A-side, igniting the crowd's enthusiasm and not really letting go of it.

Local openers Prabir and the Substitutes did their usual melodic and poppy brand of rock and roll that they do so well.

The Washington Post's event listing has singled out these guys as a "Don't miss" performance several times now when they have played in Northern Virginia (inevitably mentioning their hipster haircuts), so word is out that they put on a great show.

And those of us who made a point to arrive early enough weren't disappointed last night (except in that Prabir has trimmed his magnificent mutton chops way back) either.

Now on to tonight's musical choices: TV on the Radio at The National, Band of Horses at The Norva or David Byrne at Charlottesville Pavilion?

Somehow I'll just have to choose...

A Sound Question

What is up with sound problems at The National lately? Tonight's Passion Pit show featured sound problems during Cale Parks' opening set and again during The Harlem Shakes' set (the lead singer went so far as to call out the sound guys, telling them to fix it).

Just last week there were sound problems at the Decemberists' performance and not long ago, the entire audience saw how peeved Neko Case was when there were sound glitches during her show.

As several concert-going people I know have now pointed out, there are plenty of good sound people in Richmond. How is it that sound is an ongoing issue at The National? All the backstage amenities in the world aren't going to lure bands if we get a reputation for sound problems. The Shakes' singer was right: fix it.

Food for Thought

What was good about Broad Appetit? Having 18,000 people come to my neighborhood to enjoy a beautiful day in Jackson Ward. The Sweetest Thing Bakery's coconut cupcakes (and their chocolate cupcakes...and, okay, their strawberry cupcakes). Being able to check out some of the galleries' shows in daylight.

What needs fixing with Broad Appetit? For a state with more than 140 wineries, how is it that the only wine choices at the festival were James River Cellars and Lake Anna Winery? And street/fair food vendors (gyros, corn dogs) had no place at an event that supposedly celebrated Richmond's best restaurants.

More than one person I spoke to noted that this year's festival felt dumbed down. With more restaurants represented, the variety of offerings was disappointingly blase. How many booths offered shrimp and grits? Crab cakes? For those seeking the unusual or creative, it was a real challenge to find them.

Of course, the important thing is that Broad Appetit benefited the Central Virginia Food Bank. But the bottom line is that if the event causes any of the attendees to come back to try some of the restaurants they sampled, it was a worthy event.

The Hazards of Love

Ah, the Decemberists, a band that has long inspired strong devotion amongst its fans. Last night's show at The National was different, though, than the last time I saw the band in April 2007. At that show, the audience wasn't just completely engaged, they were respectful and absolutely silent during ALL of the band's songs. The ONLY noise the audience made was the clapping in between songs.

Fast forward two years and legions of "fans" have joined the Decemberists' audience and, unfortunately for the band and the devoted, these people did not hesitate to hoot, holler and talk during the band's performance of its rock opera, "The Hazards of Love" last night. Too bad, really, because the Decemberists' music deserves a listening room atmosphere in order to be fully appreciated. So much more complex and unique than your average indie act, this is , for lack of a better term, chamber pop, and there's so much to hear that is lost when people are shouting inane things like, "I love you!" and "woo-hoo!"

One of the sound guys told me that at a recent Decemberists' show in Atlanta, the audience wasn't just loud and shouting throughout, but actually climbing on top of each other. The band was completely perplexed as to how their music caused such a reaction.

I'm so glad I got to hear the band perform their opus live last night. I'm so sorry that the audience didn't shut up and show the band the respect such talent deserves.

$7 Heaven on a Plate

Passionfruit Sorbet.
Coconut Creme Brulee.
Devil's Food Cake with Whipped Cream & Raspberry Sauce
All on one plate? This is one dessert?

Can I describe to you what a perfect combination of tastes and textures, all in the name of the sweet, this generous dessert was? Probably not.

I got a heads-up from the bartender about how amazing the sorbet was (and I believed).
I am a huge fan of coconut and it's not on enough dessert menus.
There was the requisite chocolate because it's not dessert unless it's chocolate (unless it's coconut cake).

Six Burner, this dessert combo scratches so many itches. Nicely done.