Just Like Me

My day was a three-act play, with only the briefest of intermissions.

Act 1: The server is not responding

I may be a Luddite, but I at least live in a world of connectivity. My octogenarian parents, who do have cell phones, mind you (unlike me), are also at the mercy of some rinky dink Northern Neck internet provider that could only be classified as intermittent at best.

They're used to this, probably because they were still on a dial-up connection into the Obama administration, but I'm not. So when I got down there for my annual visit to complete and e-file their taxes, you can imagine my frustration to find that the internet is missing in action,

Apparently what they do when this happens is call the provider, whose pre-recorded message informs them that service will be spotty for the next few hours. Mom and Dad take this in stride. "It always goes out when there's bad weather," Mom says, as if this is a legit explanation.

And by bad weather, we're talking breezy and occasional rain showers, so nothing catastrophic.

Since I can't do what I came to do, I spend the morning on other requests like baking oatmeal raisin cookies, mending a hole in Mom's favorite cardigan and organizing kitchen cabinets. Finally, after lunch the Internet returns and taxes can not only be filed, but accepted by the IRS before the possibility of another government shutdown descends.

But because I had to wait until afternoon to begin doing taxes, it's late afternoon before I hit the road back to Richmond for my final foray to the Environmental Film Fest.

Act 2: Al Gore was right

Arriving back in J-Ward at 5:20 for a documentary that began at 6 meant a sprint to get cleaned up before grabbing an umbrella and walking over to Cabell Library for Leonardo diCaprio's passion project, "Before the Flood."

I arrived with five minutes to spare. As you might expect, the room was full of people already alarmed about global warming rather than people who needed a cinematic slap in the face to realize how quickly things are going to get dire.

Like how by 2040, it'll be possible to sail over the North Pole. How the ice there used to be hard and dark blue and is now pale blue with the consistency of ice cream.

For closer-to-home concerns, there was Miami, where the city is currently involved in massive project to raise streets and install pumps to rid roadways of the seawater which currently rises through the city's drains to regularly flood the streets.

And while a shift to solar power seems like a no-brainer, both China and India are making more progress on that front than the U.S. Island nations contribute the least to global warming's causes yet feel its effects most. Oh, and once again, a reminder that raising cows is the most inefficient use of land so we all need to cut back on meat.

Probably most shocking was the make-up of Congress in 2016: 38 climate deniers in the Senate and 131 in the House. We pay these people to be ignorant?

Let's just say that by the time I left Cabell, I had accepted that Greenland is going to go away, along with most of Florida and Norfolk, which represents an enormous security risk for the country given the naval base there.

Walking home after a day of waiting for Internet and being reminded that life as we know is on the way out had me ready to climb into bed and call it a night.

Except that ten minutes after I got home, the phone rang. Holmes and Beloved were en route to Acacia and didn't I want to join them for dinner in 20 minutes?

Act 3: RSVP for one

Another quick change of clothes and I too was headed to Acacia, where I found them at the bar already sipping pink bubbles. When I asked the bartender what we were drinking, his response was, "Chateau Langlois Cremant de Loire Brut Rose, the same thing you guys drank the last couple of times you were here."

So we're creatures of habit, apparently.

Since we'd gotten a late start, we jumped right into appetizers: white anchovies with grilled Romaine, radicchio and Forme d'Ambert (because Beloved can't go to Acacia and not have them), crab fritters studded with lump crabmeat and deep fried deviled eggs. A nice light start, in other words.

The occasion for the Tuesday celebration was that it was Beloved's first day back at work, albeit abridged to a four hour workday, since she broke her elbow back in late December. While she'd been in a cast and then bandage, they'd not done their usual dining out. Holmes said his credit card bill had dropped precipitously while she just wanted to be among the living and eating well again.

The bartender regaled us with his theories on dogs (puppyhood is key) while giving an enthusiastic thumbs-up to our dinner selections: a Wagyu cheesebuger that made Beloved moan with pleasure, pork schnitzel that Holmes declared the best he'd ever had in Richmond, bar none and my market fish special of grilled flounder with a beet and arugula side salad.

Usually we linger, but Acacia was clearing out, so we did, too, landing back at Holmes' man cave for molten chocolate cake, some unexpected and perfectly lovely Francoise Chidaine le Chenin d'Ailleurs Brut and a listening party that began with Elvis Costello solely because that was where his last solo listening party had ended.

Usually he does the record selection with input and requests from the womenfolk, but I waited until he was in the loo to peruse his collection on my own. Almost immediately, I made a stealth find, namely "The Way We Were" soundtrack and pulled it out. He's no Streisand fan but she and I are and he'd never mentioned having this album, much less played it for us.

The album/movie resonated for both of us because we'd been young when we'd seen it but recalled how it had destroyed us with its story of two people who fell in love but ultimately couldn't be together. Back when we first saw it, neither of us had had enough life experience to realize that sometimes that's how life pans out so it had upset us. Scarred us, even.

Tonight it was just a treat to hear, as much for classic songs Beloved immediately recognized by name - "Red Sails in the Sunset" and "Wrap Your Troubles in Dreams" - as for the three interpretations of the heart-tugging theme song. Oh, Hubbel.

Holmes tried to top that by pulling out the "Local Hero" soundtrack done by Mark Knopfler, but it was a whole different animal, albeit a satisfyingly 1983 one.

The big score was a compilation album called "The Best of '66," full of originals and covers, some of which defied belief. Why would anyone allow the Brothers Four to cover "Help?" Most egregious of all was the New Christy Minstrels' soul-less take on Nancy Sinatra's "These Boots are Made for Walking," which had not an iota of sexiness left in it despite the lyrics.

When I made a request for the soundtrack to "Hair," Holmes pivoted in his bar stool extracting the album from behind two others on a shelf directly behind his head. The man has hundreds of albums and he somehow knew exactly where this one was.

I'd wanted to hear "Good Morning, Starshine" but our group was unimpressed by Lynn Kellogg's version, leading Holmes to dub this "The Night of the Covers." On the other hand, "Aquarius" by Ronnie Dyson played just fine.

My favorite part of the 1968 album? That the song "Black Boys," sung in the original cast by Diane Keaton (news to me), bears a dedication to Governor George Wallace. Well done, kids.

At midnight, we realized we needed to bring this party to a close, but since Beloved doesn't go to work now until 2:00, we relented and put on more music. Finally at 1:15, we put on our grown-up pants and shut off the turntable for the night.

Total non-sleeping time spent at home today: an hour and 15 minutes, a new record.

But that's okay, intermissions are for amateurs. When old records call, I'm ready for my close-up.

Pegboard and Yarmulkes

Tonight was all about the round and the Jewish.

Modern Richmond was opening the doors on the infamous round building at the corner of Thompson and Floyd and as a former Floyd Avenue denizen for 13 years, I was understandably curious about a place I've been by literally thousands of times.

Apparently so were a lot of other people, since I arrived at 5:34 (doors opened at 5:30) and found the 1954 round building, which had originally been built as medical offices, already getting crowded with fans of modernism.

Walking through that magnificent wooden door led to a semi-circular lobby with the original curved benches on one wall and a water feature facing it. At the moment, there's no water, just a curved blue mat to suggest water, but I heard someone say that Ellwood Thompson, the new owners of the building, are planning to restore the water feature. In front of the benches was a low coffee table that echoed the curves of the benches and wall and had been hand-crafted by the doctor's son.

It all looked like something from a '50s movie.

One guy walked in and immediately got a goofy grin on his face. "This was my doctor!" he shared, meaning he knew what it had looked like before ET had renovated it. I give ET credit, though, because they'd remained mostly faithful to the original design, as evidenced by some of the linoleum flooring and blue pegboard cabinet doors.

But easily the most fascinating part of the interior was the ephemera, all framed and hanging on the circular walls. A December 31, 1954 invoice from Laburnum Construction Corporation showing charges of $50,346.00. A drawing of a proposed addition (fortunately never executed)  that looked like a growth three bubbles attached to the back of the building. Letters from architect to assistant about contract bids. And plenty of black and white photographs of the building and interior back when the surrounding trees were young and skinny.

Making my way through the back patio, I overheard a man ask the bartender in the event he used both his drink tickets (which came with the price of admission), would it be possible for him to buy more? Kind of makes you wonder how much he was enjoying modernism if he needed an alcohol drip, but I don't judge. In fact, when I got ready to leave, I found him chatting with a woman and without explanation, handed him my two drink tickets.

"What's this?" he said, confused but looking pleased. Heard you might need some more drinks, I told him, and I'm not using mine. In return, he gave me the full-on grateful stranger smile and I could leave, knowing I had done my good deed for the day. Or enabled a problem drinker, whichever.

After dropping off the car at home, I walked over to VCU Cabell Library for author Jonathan Sarna's lecture on his book, "Lincoln and the Jews." And if I thought Modern Richmond was crowded, you should've seen the overflow masses for the lecture. Additional chairs had to be brought out.

I found one of the very few single seats available and chatted up my seatmate, who, like me, came to Richmond 30 years ago, except after growing up in Michigan and living in New York City for years. Turns out he's a math professor on the medical campus with an interest in Jewish studies. For that matter, I spotted a handful of men wearing yarmulkes on a Wednesday evening. Two rows in front of me was the VCU religion and philosophy prof who used to live two doors down from me on Floyd Avenue.

It's all so inter-connected, isn't it?

Sarna was as funny as a Borscht Belt comedian and as knowledgeable as one of the most prominent historians of American Judaism (which he is) should be and, as lecturers go, absolutely captivating to listen to.

He began by sharing a story of traveling to Jerusalem as a teen with his family and being gobsmacked at seeing a sign for Abraham Lincoln Street. His father stopped a passerby, asking who this man was, not that he didn't know but he wanted their story. The Israelite patiently explained to Sarna and his dad that Lincoln was a prominent Jew from America who'd made a huge contribution to the United Jewish appeal.

And that was only one of the times that Sarna had the audience laughing in between dropping fascinating historical facts on us.

He said that Lincoln's life span coincided with the rise of Jews on the American scene. That Richmond's Jewish community dates back to the American Revolution. That Abe was the most biblically-literate president in U.S. history and had a wicked wit evidenced in his writings

To prove Abe's affinity for the Jews, he showed us a chart detailing 120 of Abe's friends, acquaintances, appointees and the like who were Jewish. Hell, Sarna showed us an 1862 letter from Lincoln saying, "I believe I have not yet appointed a Hebrew" ("That was the first affirmative action!" he cracked) and then doing just that by making a Jew assistant quartermaster with the rank of captain.

But where Abe truly burned brightest in his efforts to be inclusive was with his appointment of the first Jew as military chaplain of a Jewish-led regiment. Only problem was the army turned the appointment down because the law stated that chaplains had to promote Christianity.

So what does Abe do but work behind the scenes to change the law and like a good politician, buries it in a bigger bill giving Union generals a raise because after all, who's not going to vote for that?

So that's right, non-Christians can serve as military chaplains solely because of a law Lincoln shaped. He also omitted any reference to this being a Christian nation in his Gettysburg Address, instead referring to us as one nation under god (any god), a fact which had Sarna making Wiccan jokes.

Talking about Abe's visit here after Richmond fell, he quipped, "You've heard of that, right?" and got a big laugh, but his point was to tell us that while here, Abe met with an important Jewish Richmonder, telling him that he wasn't going to persecute the south but let them off easy as part of his post-war reconstruction plan.

And when he was shot at Ford's Theater, it was a Jewish doctor who cleaned the wound and declared it fatal. It was then that he effectively rested his case: Abe had changed America with his rhetoric and actions concerning the Jewish population.

When the talk ended, Sarna began the Q & A by saying, "This is everything you always wanted to know about Abraham Lincoln and the Jews but were afraid to ask, so ask good questions," delighting the 50+ crowd who knew the reference.

After nothing but guys were given the microphone, he finally asked, "We've had three men ask questions. Are women allowed to ask?" and some female students finally got their turns.

No one wanted the Q & A to end, but the head librarian pointed out that we could probably do this all night (during which I'd expect to hear, "Thank you very much. I'm here all week, try the veal!") except it was time to move on to the reception.

There weren't nearly as many great jokes at the reception as there'd been during the history lecture, although one quip caught my ear: "Once you go Jew, nothing else will do."

I could just hear Sarna's inevitable response had he been standing there. "You've heard of that, right?"

Not until tonight, but it's never too late to learn. We'll call it Lincoln's legacy.

Put Me in Your Feed, Darlin'

Setting out to focus solely on booze and Jews meant winding up hearing about condoms in a vintage bowl by the bed.

Walking into Cabell Library for the "Jews and Booze: America in the Age of Prohibition" lecture, the only woman friend I know capable of singing opera - and now with two little ones under 5 - exhorted me, "Keep on writing! It's the only way I know what goes on in Richmond anymore. You're in my feed!"

I swore to do my best.

Naturally, I'd expected the talk to have its share of students and it did - including the guy next to me who claimed he was there solely because "that period of American history fascinates me," bless his heart - but there was also a large adult Jewish contingent because Cabell is now the proud owner of an 18th century Torah that had just been put on display.

Having learned at past forays to events at the JCC that I could never be mistaken for a Jew and decades past being mistaken for a student, the only group I neatly fit into was "people who take off their glasses to read," as exemplified by the guy reading a (gasp!) newspaper in the row in front of me, his glasses resting across his thigh.

Just as I was about to force conversation on a complete stranger and suggest we look for others like us in the room, a fellow culture-lover I've known for years took the seat in front of me, saying hello and then whispering that her father used to run liquor.

While processing that unexpected nugget, the program began and author Marni Davis began explaining the long and complex intertwining of Jews and alcohol.

It wasn't so much that Jews were drunks, in fact, she pulled out much period evidence to the contrary: testimonials from back in the day asserting that they could consume alcohol with rigorous moderation and that reason would overcome any passion for drunkenness.

But they'd brought from their home countries a deep-seated knowledge of how to make (mostly whisky) and sell it, convenient since U.S. residents had been heavy drinkers since the Colonial period. And truly, would you have stayed in this god-forsaken wilderness without alcohol? Exactly.

That appetite for booze offered a way for recent Jewish immigrants to establish themselves economically since all you needed to start a saloon was a few bottles and someplace for men to stand around and drink. Their needs are really very simple.

Then the Protestants decided that Prohibition was a great idea and proceeded to force it on the entire country, railing against the Irish immigrants and their whisky and the German immigrants and their beer and putting out alternative facts that these drinkers were having a negative effect at the ballot box. Horrors!

Part of what the Protestants got their panties in a wad about was that the Jewish saloon keepers saw no reason not to serve blacks and whites, problem being that whitey didn't like that, especially with Jim Crow taking over. How dare Jews not follow the well-established color divide in this fine country?

Gadzooks, when you look back right through to the current administration, it's tough to find a period in this country's history when arrogant and clueless white men weren't imposing their will on everybody else.

Like a good speaker, Davis had found a local link and showed an image of a label reading, "Straus Gunst and Company, whisky distributors, Richmond, Virginia," as if we didn't already have some sense of how long Ole Virginny's been making hooch.

Instead of staying for the post-talk reception and looking like a fish out of the Chosen People's water, I instead went to a comedy show at Crossroads Coffee along with scads of other people inside and on the patio. As many times as I've been there for music, I've never seen a crowd this size being entertained.

Of course, this new world order means everyone could use more reasons to laugh, too, besides at the inanity of those in charge.

I found a safe spot with a good view by a table with a gay couple who insisted I wasn't crashing their party by getting so intimate with their space. The more vocal of the two also provided running commentary about each of the bits ("Oh, no, she is not going to talk about that!" Um, she did), which I enjoyed immensely since it was delivered in such a soft voice.

There were four comedians scheduled, followed by an open mic night for which 20+ people had signed up for 13 spots, so things never lagged and the reasons to laugh kept coming, just from different faces at the back of the room.

No surprise, aspiring comedians riff on what they know. Their exes (and why they don't want to hear about your ex). Why lifeguards should charge by the pound for rescue. Having a bookie grandmother who ran numbers. How it's easier to give up crack than food because there are no crack commercials on TV to tempt you.

There was even dating advice. "Sleep with a Mom! They have the best snacks ever!" I've heard of a lot of reasons for sex, but snackage is a first.

One guy - bearded, large belly with a generous shirt - got up, looked over at an audience member - gray bearded, large belly with a generous dashiki - and announced to the room, "Look, that's a future version of me." Ouch.

The always-entertaining Mary Jane French took the stage to say,"I'm one of those trans-gendered women you've been reading about," before sharing that after surgery, her new girl parts looked so sore and swollen that she looked to her mother for advice. Asking her when the traumatized bits would look human, her Mom (sounding as sensible as mine), gave her the blunt truth.

"Human? I don't know, but it'll look better with time." Some mothers just don't want to talk vaginal beauty with their daughters. MJ assured us that she'd been given the real thing, though, no scientific simulation or pale imitation. "This isn't a Hydrox, this is a real Oreo."

The same comedian who'd asked for a show of hands of who's ever peed on a couch before (there were several in the air) ended with a clever comedic sign-off, saying, "Thank you for having me. I apologize."

As anyone's bookie grandmother can tell you, better to toss out an apology later than ask permission beforehand. Just as long as the apology's not too late.

And, please, keep it real. No Hydrox, thanks.

Oh, (Karen) Kay!

Gershwin at noon is irresistible and, let's face it, they can't take that away from me.

Patrick Smith was giving a lecture, "Grasping Gershwin: The Man Behind the Music," complete with musical clips.

So I wound my way through VCU's Cabell Library, only to hear "Hello, Karen" from behind.  It was a favorite poet who'd recognized me by (what else?) my tights.

Once in the lecture room, I saw a friend, singer and accordionist also in attendance.

Goofy for Gershwin, all of us.

Smith talked about Gershwin's musical siblings, talented musicians all, except for brother Arthur who was merely a "musical enthusiast."

Personally, I consider that the highest compliment.

We beard about Gershwin's years on Tin Pan Alley, his mega-success when Jolsen recorded "Swanee" and his foray into symphonic jazz.

It was that battle between high brow and low brow music that Gershwin took as his challenge and mission.

Naturally I was taken with the story of Gershwin's great love, a woman named Kay (coincidentally, also my middle name) whom his mother forbade him to marry (she wasn't Jewish) so he carried on a life-long affair with her.

That love manifested itself in the music he wrote for the musical, "Oh, Kay!"

Now that was an essential piece of Gershwin trivia I definitely needed to know (and my needs have been quite the topic of conversation lately).

The engaging Smith talked about the experimental concert for which Gershwin composed "Rhapsody in Blue" and how he heard "music in the very heart of the noise" of the train he was riding on as he composed it.

Of course the tragedy was how young Gershwin died of a brain tumor, silencing his musical output.

Luckily, he'd already put his philosophy out there.

"Don't die with you music still inside of you. Listen to your intuitive inner voice and find what passion stirs your soul."

Every day, all day. And night.