A Trim Reckoning

I was just waiting on a friend.

By the time he joined me at Three Notch'd Brewing's Collab House, Bard Unbound was already well into Shakespeare's drinking scenes. Since I was already enjoying the performance, where he was invaluable was with his sampler of four beers, including Falstaff's Folly, a beer brewed in collaboration with the Bard crew.

I tasted through all four, intrigued and open, but did not come out of it any more a beer lover than I went in. Still, it's all about the experience.

Can we still be friends?

Since it had been a month since our last rendezvous - I know, what kind of friends put that much time between laying eyes on each other? - we had plenty to catch up on and a noisy brewery wasn't exactly the ideal place to do it.

Instead, we crossed the river to Laura Lee's, more on principle than anything for me, since a friend had gone on record as saying I never go to the Southside.

Or perhaps I do go and just keep it on the down low.

That would have been tough tonight given the nearly full house (back to back stellar reviews will do that to a place), although we did park ourselves at the far end of the bar away from the crowds.

Personally, I was completely satisfied with a soundtrack of Paul Simon and fresh flowers along the bar.

And the menu! That was a love poem to Spring - the ramps! the asparagus! the softshells! - and we wasted no time in diving into the seasonal pool.

Glasses of Vina Galana Verdejo accompanied roasted tomato soup with whipped burrata and ramp oil, followed by softshell crabs with cauliflower puree, bacon, asparagus and mushrooms in ginger butter and a side of  broccolini with almonds, preserved lemon and shallots in brown butter.

It's not the first time I've led a man to softshells and, with any luck, it won't be the last.

All my friends say.

A favorite Gemini joined us for a bit, showing off a photo of a new-to-her vintage Bianchi, lamenting the porch furniture her mother removed from her porch and insisting she has no memory.

That's why she has me, despite the fact that she's convinced I make up the memories I tell her.

The friend currently working through his larva stage showed off a photo of art, lamented waiting too long to get Shins' tickets and insisted he really needs enough bikes for an ultimate Frisbee team. That would be seven. Seven!

That's why he has me, to keep him in line when he needs it most, which is more often than you'd think.

That's what friends are for.

Strange Bedfellows

On this winter solstice as 2014 winds down, I can think of no more important goal than to stay true to myself and the things I enjoy.

On this solitary Sunday, that was a walk across the Lee bridge and back. Planting the purloined tulip and hyacinth bulbs recently returned to me under sunny, blue skies. Taking my time reading the Washington Post with the last of the shortest day's afternoon sunlight beaming through the windows.

Then, shortly before sunset, I made my way to Hardywood to see Bard Unbound's performance of Shakespeare's drinking scenes, Part Deux.

Nothing smells less like Christmas than a hoppy brewery. On the other hand, I can tell you that three days before Christmas made for the most civilized crowd I've ever encountered at the brewery.

Maybe it was because they were out of Gingerbread Stout.

It was no surprise that holiday attire was everywhere, from bad Christmas sweaters to reindeer antler headbands. But top prize went to the woman who'd braided her hair to hold individual antlers and then knotted the braids into a bun, from which Rudolph's red nose and bright eyes peered out.

I found a perch near the front and waited for them to ring the bell announcing the start of the fun.

A scene from "Twelfth Night" began with one actor in a Christmas sweater "passed out" across a barrel of beer and was followed by a female Elvis impersonator singing "Blue Christmas" while an elf hula-danced beside the stage. Actors wore robes, nightcaps and red union suits and Father Christmas put in an appearance.

It was that kind of holiday entertainment.

The drunkenness of "Twelfth Night" continued until, deep in the crowd, we heard, "Do you make an alehouse of my lady's house?" Why, yes, we do.

The crowd was instructed to drink whenever words related to drinking - wine, mead, sack, drink - were mentioned by the actors. "Okay, let's practice, 1,2,3, drink!" Elvis instructed and then made us repeat it. "That's better. There will be a test at the end of the night."

Everyone but me would have passed with flying colors.

In between scenes, we all sang Christmas carols. For "Little Drummer Boy," we were told to beat on something and most people chose tables and floor but one guy used his head. During "Feliz Navidad," the actor singing got down on bended knee next to me, singing, "From the bottom of my heart" while shaking maracas at me.

With manic energy, much leaping on and off the stage and multiple costume changes, we saw scenes from Henry IV ("So that skill in the weapon is nothing without sack?") and A Comedy of Errors ("Are my discourses dull? Barren my wit?") and Much Ado About Nothing ("Bid those that are drunk, get them to bed"), an especially enjoyable scene which began with a marching band playing the Pink Panther theme on kazoos.

The Tempest gave us, "He shall drink of my bottle," but my favorite came from The Merchant of Venice: "I will do anything, ere I be married to a sponge." Because who really wants to marry a sponge?

The evening ended with a classic and a threat. "We're now going to sing "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" and there are a lot of verses, so do not sing the wrong one. If you do, we will take your beer away." Lyric sheets ensured that no one risked losing their life blood.

I, on the other hand, had nothing to lose.

The thing about the Sunday night before Christmas is that not much is happening, meaning my default plan was a movie. Tonight it was "Birdman" at the Criterion and it was obvious from the crowded parking lot that plenty of the people left in town had the same bright idea.

Although it was three months ago when I first saw the previews to "Birdman," it's only been in recent weeks that I made up my mind to see it. Don't get me wrong, I've been a Michael Keaton fan since "Night Shift" in 1982. But unlike the rest of the movie-going world, I never saw either of his "Batman" movies.

Probably the last thing I'd seen him in was Kenneth Branagh's 1993 "Much Ado About Nothing," where he played Dogberry and - here's where coincidence rears its unlikely head- I'd just witnessed a scene with Dogberry in it at Hardywood.

What, ho, my Dogberry worlds were colliding.

The film was fantastical, imaginative and impressively shot in what looked like all one take. Part black comedy ("Why don't I have any self respect?" "You're an actress, honey"), part farce, part action movie, it was an impressive piece of film and now I can see not only why critics have been raving, but why it's been on so many end of year "best of" lists.

With a script so well written that it's sure to be quoted for years to come ("That was bad, like Oprah/Hallmark/R. Kelly bad"), the story of a middle aged man who's worried that his best work is behind him and that his world has moved on without him was touching in a very real way. What if your best times are over and you just have to accept that?

Keaton's acting was impressive as the man struggling to redefine himself after having been a major star 20 years earlier, but my favorite moments were the same as the ones that made me fall hard for him 30+ years ago. "Hey, what's up?" he says with a subtle nod of the head and that iconic Michael Keaton casual delivery at the most unlikely moment.

When the movie ended, everyone just sat there, still absorbing what we'd just seen. It was big, it was glorious and it was a potent reminder that life is about staying true to yourself and what matters to you. Taking a page from Macbeth, I want to be carousing till the second cock.

I will do anything, ere I end up with dull discourses and barren wit. I shall never begin if I hold my peace.

The Biggest Joke of All

Damn you, Hardywood, you keep sucking me back in.

God knows it's not for the beer, which I disdain, or for the crowd, generally ditto, but when you go and schedule a Bard Unbound performance to celebrate Shakespeare's 450th birthday, I have no choice but to be there.

I will say this. Unlike with the music shows I've gone to there on Saturdays, the herd was considerably thinned tonight so at least I wasn't fighting for a place to stand.

What was very noticeable tonight was the startling number of men with epic beards standing around, so when one bumped into me, I struck up a conversation.

Tomorrow is the mid-Atlantic beard and 'stache championships at the Canal Club and I was talking to Jeff, a competitor from Austin with 2 1/2 years worth of growth and sporting a very fine silver beard and drinking a Hoplar which he was liking quite a bit.

"Do they bottle this?" he asked me, probably the only person in the brewery who didn't know the answer to that. "I'd like to take some of this home on the plane with me."

Nothing like a liquid souvenir.

He pointed out last year's championship winner, also from Austin, a guy sporting eight years' worth of growth with a beard that reached nearly to his belt buckle.

I have to admit, I was seeing some truly impressive facial hair tonight. Already I was glad I'd come.

Jeff and I shook on our new acquaintanceship and I took up residence at the end of a picnic table right in front of the stage for tonight's Shakesbeer at Hardywood, the theme being "Send in the Clowns."

A cast of five proceeded to perform nine scenes from Shakespeare, most of which involved running madly around the brewery and the use of song snippets from a boombox.

Two minutes into it, a very drunk woman at my table observed, "Hey, they're doing Shakespeare in a brewery," just in case we hadn't noticed.

A scene from "Romeo and Juliet" began with two rednecks and involved towel snapping while a scene from "Two Gentlemen of Verona" made use of a stuffed dog and the song "Hound Dog."

There was a hilarious scene from "Twelfth Night" between Sir Toby Belch, Maria and Sir Andrew involving his hand on her breast.

Yes, I've got a handful of jokes. But when I let go of your hand, I let go of the biggest joke of all.

During a scene from "Hamlet," a woman was pulled from the crowd by the gravedigger and told she was to be the water. Her arms immediately began undulating.

Pulling a man from the audience, he said, "If the man goes into the water and drowns himself" and the guy threw back the last of his beer to great applause.

Where better than a brewery to drown yourself in beer?

We got the beginning of the scene from "A Midsummer Night's Dream" where Peter Quince is trying to organize a play for the Duke with his band of half wits ("I will roar you!" Snug the joiner says).

The Bard Unbound troupe - James Murphy, Cynde Liffick, LaSean Pierre Greene, Dixon Cashwell and Elizabeth Ashby- was terrific, milking every line despite having to talk over the drunken masses.

During intermission, there was a Shakespearean insult contest with nine people from the audience competing to win a growler of beer and the title master of insults for the best delivery .

Insults like, "Thou art a mewling, fat-livered kidney pie!"

The second act began with more "Twelfth Night," this time with Elizabeth in a Redskins jersey with a plastic sword at her waist trying her best not to fight.

We got Dromio and Antipholus doing a scene from "Comedy of Errors," with James playing the beleaguered Dromio to perfection.

Besides belonging to myself, I belong to a woman. A woman who says she owns me, who won't leave me alone and who wants me.

Dixon and his stuffed dog returned to do another scene from "Two Gentlemen of Verona," his cheeks flushed bright red from all the running around.

They closed with the play within a play from "A Midsummer Night's Dream," beginning, "Gentles, perchance you wonder at this show. But wonder on till truth make all things plain."

Plain? It was downright hysterical.

James in a blond wig as Thisbe brought the house down when he finds Pyramus (LaSean,humorously refusing to die quietly) dead and modifies his line to, "Oh, fate, come, come to me with hands as pale as...India pale ale."

Damn you, Hardywood, I don't want to have a reason to visit but how can I resist Shakesbeer?

You'd think I'd have the sense to leave the drunken masses to their Friday night goings on but instead I swung by Foo Dog to see what was what.

It was a zoo with people waiting for tables when all I wanted was a bar stool and a couple of things to eat.

The hostess suggested I wait around for someone to relinquish their stool so I did, wishing I could hear the music over the din of shouting pretty people.

Make no mistake, I took the time to admire the mural of Red Riding Hood on the wall, check out the anime movie playing over the bar and glance at the menu, but after a while, it was just not worth it and all I wanted was sustenance.

Of course, five minutes after I placed a to-go order, a stool came open and I claimed it, notifying the bartender that boxes were no longer needed for my food.

Arriving almost immediately, I all but inhaled the five pieces of seared ahi tuna over seaweed salad, appreciating how fresh the fish tasted but quickly tiring of the inane conversation between the two guys next to me.

Where's a bearded talker from Austin when you need one?

Next came miniature lamb tostadas with red onion, cuke, cherry tomato, toasted coconut and Thai peanut sauce, an earthy combination that stood out in contrast to the sinus-clearing notes of the wasabi on the tuna I'd just had.

I'd been in my bar stool for less than ten minutes and already polished off two dishes of street food. I was ready to relinquish my seat to someone needier and it took all of five seconds to cede it to a non-bearded guy loitering nearby.

Some evenings peak early.

Thanks, Bard Unbound. Thou art so much more fun than a mewling, fat-livered kidney pie