That's Just the Way We Get By

Well, all you winter whiners, I hope you're happy. I'm freezing.

Walking west against the wind to Carytown this morning to do some holiday procurement required significant layering, leather gloves and adherence to the sunny side of the street.

In Mongrel, where they were practically operating on a one-in and one-out basis, I ran into a woman who used to work for me as an editor, a woman I hadn't seen in 15 years. She surprised and delighted me by saying that she's always noticing my byline, but I know that it's only because of her writing background that she does.

Joe Average, I've learned, rarely notices bylines.

Across the street at Chop Suey, I scored a book for a present, then went upstairs to shop at the Bizarre Market where I not only found a gift, but also heard one of the most romantic songs of all time, Talking Heads' "Naive Melody" and was entered into a drawing to win an overnight at Quirk Hotel.

Granted, it's only four blocks from my apartment, so if I win I'll just think of it as a neighborhood sleepover.

Walking home was so much more pleasant with the wind behind me that I detoured to Deep Groove, crowded with people and dogs, to browse the bins for a gift. At the counter, the owner asked me if I'd found what I'd been looking for. No, I hadn't seen what I'd come in for, so I was buying this.

Don't you know he led me over to a back bin, located a used album by the band I'd mentioned and handed it to me after he peeled off the sale price. "I'll throw this one in," he said. "The album cover's in bad shape but the record's in good shape."

Sure, the one I was paying for cost ten times as much as the one he was giving me, but still. I had to ask why the two-fer."That's how we do things around here," he said and smiled.

Holy Cindy Lou Who, how Christmas-spirited can you get?

At home I wrapped some presents using a sheet of wrapping paper that had been included in the DC City Paper I'd picked up when I was in Washington last week. If I'd known, I'd have picked up a couple more.

You could call it gift wrap with an attitude - black background with silver sketches of candy canes, girls with guitars slung over their shoulders, holly leaves, sunglasses, tubes, your typical hipster trappings tied up with ribbons and a gift tag.

And speaking of attitude, I accidentally stumbled across the brouhaha lighting up Facebook about what was going on at Hardywood today with the Kentucky Christmas Morning release, reading how people had stood in line for five hours only for them to run out of the new release because they'd upped the limit from two per person to six.

Those who'd gotten in line early crowed about scoring beer while those who'd felt safe coming later given the higher bottle limit felt screwed. Some people got home to find they'd been given Apple Brandy Gingerbread stout instead of Kentucky Morning and, boy, were they pissed and, because it's the Internet, no one was holding back online.

To be clear, all this anger and judging was about beer. Santa doesn't appreciate name-calling this close to Christmas, kids.

I put off the most odious chore of the day as long as possible, finishing some writing, reading the paper, hemming a skirt on my vintage sewing machine (because it's a rare dress or skirt I buy at the thrift store that doesn't need to be shorter) before I just made myself do it.

Go to the (shudder) mall.

Believe me, I didn't want to, but I had no choice. More than once, I've been that unfortunate soul who has to go to the grocery store the day before a prediction of snow solely because I'm almost completely out of toilet paper or milk, unlike the kooks who are in there stocking up for excitement's sake as if Richmond's going to have a blizzard.

I've been putting off going to Victoria's Secret for new underwear for far too long, so long that now I had no other option but to go shopping on the last Saturday before Christmas. Inside the store, it wasn't pretty. Decorative displays had been replaced by explosions of undergarments on every surface.

Desperate-looking guys begged salesgirls to assist them while women in packs discussed everything from just the right wedding night attire to where the money came from that the younger of two teen-aged sisters was using to buy a thong ("I thought you only had $9? Where did you get enough money for a $12 thong anyway?" big sister demanded to know while Mom rolled her eyes and looked exhausted).

Waiting in line behind six other people, I had no one to blame but myself. Unlike the Hardywood crowd, I'd already accepted whatever unpleasantries resulted from my late arrival. This ain't no beer line.

Productive day. New underwear secured. Everyone has their Christmas priorities.

Bag It

Oh, jeez, I have to do it again.

If I'm shopping in Carytown, it must be almost Christmas.

Because I dislike shopping so much (food and wine being the exceptions), I avoid it all year long.

I know it makes me a poor excuse for a woman, but I'm good with that.

But with the holiday imminent, I had no choice. It was time to spend my money locally.

Rostov's Coffee and Tea was the first stop, a baby step toward the mass of humanity that awaited in C-town.

Which is not to say that Rostov's wasn't busy because it was.

Apparently unlike me, there are plenty of people out there who would appreciate a gift of coffee or tea.

In fact, I was shopping for one of them.

Who are these people and how did I end up on the same planet with them?

With gifts in bag, the next stop was the strip.

One good thing about shopping late is that parking spaces open up as early bird shoppers leave just as I arrive.

I began at the Bizarre Market upstairs at Chop Suey, wanting to look for homemade options.

Bingo!

From there, it was up Cary past a well-appointed busker with a microphone stand and music stand.

What happened to sitting on the sidewalk with your hat next to you?

I ran into the Man-About-Town and his face told me that the Firehouse brouhaha was weighing heavily on him.

I asked, he expounded and I heard more of the disappointing details of the ouster of the artistic director who had been instrumental in not only founding Firehouse Theater Project, but in steering it to where it is nineteen years later.

Sadly, I heard that he had resigned from the board of directors and since he was a founding member too, it was sad news indeed.

If there's any way this mess can be corrected, I hope for the sake of the theater-loving crowd in Richmond that it is.

For a pick-me-up and as part of my annual Christmas shopping tradition, the next stop was Can Can.

The bartender presumed that brunch menus were in order, but all that was required was a cup of their fabulous hot chocolate.

Not cocoa, but real French-style hot chocolate, more of a dessert than a beverage and mounded with whipped cream.

I drained my cup in a most unlady-like manner.

But then, it's that good.

Properly fortified, the last stop was For the Love of Chocolate, which was a madhouse.

Customers crammed every inch of the place and running into a familiar face (and this is a small town, so it happened a lot) inevitably caused a traffic jam.

Let's just say I got what I needed, was introduced to an artist/DJ and got the hell out of Dodge.

And as I walked out of the store, it was as if the clouds had cleared and the birds were chirping.

I was finished shopping.

Sure, I still had cooking and wrapping to do, but the stores no longer had any hold over me.

And that definitely means it's practically Christmas.

On the bright side, I don't have to shop for another year.

She Shops!

It has been read into the record that I hate shopping (except for grocery). I only shop when I have something specific to buy and even then, I get in and out as quickly as humanly possible. I am a terrible conspicuous consumer.

That said, it's the season of gift giving, so I am forced to shop. Yes, I could do it online, but that wouldn't help the Richmond economy any, would it now? So I invited a favorite couple to join me for a stroll through Carytown to procure presents and end with some seasonal sipping.

And despite the hordes of people clogging the sidewalk in indecision about which way to walk, it turned into a pretty enjoyable afternoon. The leaden sky definitely gave a wintry vibe to it all (looks like snow, everyone was saying) and then there was the usual Carytown color.

We saw a bike strung with battery-powered lights, a purple poodle with red toenails, a three-piece accordion band (including sculptor and parade organizer Lily, who stopped mid-squeeze to throw her arms around me and say, "I love you, Karen!") and the decorated horse-drawn carriage clopping down Cary Street.

In River City Cellars was a dog in full Santa regalia sprawled in the center of the floor, his owners buying New Year's Eve dinner tickets for Secco (nearly sold out) while I bought a gift certificate for a beer geek friend.

At Bygones, the sales staff was fiddling with Internet radio in pursuit of Christmas music when suddenly the Smiths "There is a light that never goes out" burst forth. I was thrilled, as were a couple of those girls, although they acknowledged that should their boss walk in, they'd be in big trouble.

I offered to take the fall, promising to tell the owner I'd requested the Smiths while I shopped (I also found the red gloves of my dreams, but I wasn't shopping for me. Sigh).

At Chop Suey, we went upstairs to shop the Bizarre Market, finding several gifts there among all the handmade items crowded into that tiny space. When my friend went to pay with her debit card, she was amazed to see Bird swipe the card on her iPad ("Yea, it's crazy the apps you can get for these things!"). Interesting buying old-school artisan crafts using the latest 21st century technology.

After stops at Mongrel (a favorite DJ friend had somehow "lost" her 6'-plus boyfriend with the magnificent mutton chops) and Luxor (where I love to ogle dated labels: Julius Garfinckle & Co. Miller & Rhoads, Arden), I was over shopping.

My solution was to go to Can-Can for hot chocolate, easily the best in RVA, in my humble opinion. And since I don't drink coffee or hot tea, when I crave a warm drink, it's my only option.

I'd learned my lesson the last time though, and ordered the small rather than the large (which comes in a soup bowl-sized mug). Thick and tasting like a bowl of liquid chocolate, it made me forget that I was only there because I'd just spent hours (shudder) shopping. The fries didn't hurt, either.

By the time my sweet/salty snack was finished, it was starting to drizzle and time to head home, gifts procured and taste buds satisfied. If only I didn't have to do it again...the shopping part, I mean.

A Festival for the Rest of Us

I gave up on the Watermelon Festival years ago; too hot, too many strollers, too little reward for the effort. But I've been a regular at the Jonny Z Festival since its inception and today was my third. Mercifully, it wasn't the hotter-than-hell weather that it was last year, so vendors were still smiling rather than melting.

Although Joe's Inn was open, it was crowded, so we made do with slices of pizza and lemonade. Mexican Cokes were also very popular, so there was a lot of bottle-swigging going on. I love how old-school it looks.

A lot of the appeal of this festival is that it's populated by the craftspeople and artisans of the Bizarre Market, easily some of RVA's most talented creators. We strolled from table to table, checking out recycled stationary, essential oils and all kinds of jewelry (I may not wear it, but I can admire it). My friend bought a beautiful handcrafted necklace for his new sweetie.

The Farm to Family bus was there and a friend stocked up on corn and peaches, both of which are superb at the moment. I passed a woman with a baby on her back and a melon in each hand; if she'd had a basket on her head, the picture would have been complete.

As always, the music at the festival was terrific. I thoroughly enjoyed Catnip Dreams, an all-girl five-piece with Allison of Hot Lava on drums. They had loads of energy and it's hard to resist all those female voices (not to mention those white sunglasses!). On bass was Laurie from Sprout; clearly she's a woman of many talents. Josh Small was up next and he never disappoints with his heartfelt delivery. I just don't know how he could stand wearing that knit Redskins cap on a day like today.

I think there may have been fewer vendors this year than the last two. In the past I've been able to score an original drawing or print, but the only art today was of the painting variety and nothing called to me, as art should if you're going to live with it. Not that I should be buying art right now, but if I'd seen the right thing, I'm sure I would have been able to rationalize it.

Of course I ran into plenty of friends, especially around the band area, a surprising number of whom I'd seen just last night at the art walk. A music lover need never want in this town, that's for sure.

For the third year in a row, I left thinking that the funky little festival would be exactly the kind of thing Jonny Z. would have thought of, organized and participated in; it's a fitting tribute to a guy who had his hand in so many aspects of this city's culture. I have one of his prints hanging in my bedroom so I'm constantly reminded of his legacy.

Like the button says, "Live your life like Jonny Z." It's not even corny; it's as worthwhile a goal as any I can think of.