An Eight-Hour Evening

In a crowded gallery at Chop Suey, a bunch of us gathered to hear zinesters from the U.K. and Portland (as part of the Zines on Toast Tour) read and talk about their experiences at everything from breaking other's people's ankles at a GWAR shows to riding a Greyhound bus to vegan mass catering.

"First there's the benefit of being faceless. Then there's the fact that the reader only learns what the writer chooses to tell them. I am more than the sum of my writing."

It was really kind of interesting listening to 'zine writer Alex read a piece from one of her 'zines about the presumptions people make when they read her zines.

They're the same presumptions people make when they read your blog, and while I really do try to put myself out there, there's an awful lot of me that I hold back. Stuff I think would convey better in person than through the ether.

As it is, I've had commenters presume things about me that are miles from the truth, proving that I don't always clearly represent who I really am. But that's not in the blogging rules, either.

One German-Korean 'zine writer shared her love of how literal the German language was by reading definitions of words that amused her. Hiccups = swallowing up. Nipples = breast warts. Genitals = shame area. Moustache = upper lip beard. Her 'zine is called MorganMuffel, or "grumpy in the morning." She said, "English needs a word for that, too."

There were tales of trying to attack Tony Blair (epic fail), and a new cyclist's story of trying to fit in with the Lycra crowd and falling off her bike repeatedly. And there were confessions. "I changed my name to Alex Wrekk, but my real name is Sunshine. Yes, my parents were hippies."

Zeus Gallery Cafe was mobbed when the three of us got there around 8:30 and our friend was waiting for us in the little lounge-like room. Stretched out languidly on the low, leather couches, she said, "I love this room. I want to bring a guy here and make out. Can you make me a curtain?"

The doorless opening to the room was apparently the only deterrent to making the small space a den of inequity. Yes, I could make her a curtain.

It took several bottles of wine before we got around to ordering and the fact that no one could keep up with which bottle we were drinking at any given moment became a series of jokes a la "Who's on first?" After a while owner Ted just shook his head and made fun of one among us who was having the hardest time remembering (the only male).

My dinner was Hanover tomato, white bean, water cress and Mozzarella salad in roasted tomato vinaigrette, seared foie gras with toasted brioche and seasonal fruit preps, followed by chocolate lava cake with ice cream.

There was a nearby couple holding hands across the table and staring intently into each other's eyes and having low, meaningful conversation, oblivious to the increasing noise of our four-top. Very romantic and I was very envious.

Ipanema Cafe was celebrating its 12th birthday and owner Kendra had promised that any of her friends who didn't show up would be pantsed, which is a little tough to do to someone like me who only wears skirts and dresses. On the other hand, maybe she'd resort to underpantsing me and I didn't want that to happen, so I attended.

Just kidding. I wouldn't have missed it for the world. I knew so many people there, like the abstract noise musician ("Why weren't you at the Eels show?"), the boutique owner in the black buckled dress ("Of course you'd be here!"), WRIR DJs ("Given how oblivious they are, our future is fucked."), comic book store employee ("Aren't we supposed to be secretly dating?"), trombone players plural ("Remember when you asked how my apartment was so neat? That's all Larry."), pizza maker ("I'm still working on my technique."), actor ("You saw that performance?"), the photographer whose work I own ("I could come by and sign that for you.") and people who recognized me from I know not where.

As hot as it was on the patio where I spent my first hour meeting and greeting, it was even hotter inside the restaurant. Ice was melting in glasses within minutes and everyone had a sheen of sweat as we squeezed past each other to the dance floor and the bathroom.

I ran into a musician friend, overdressed for the temperature in long pants and a long-sleeved shirt. Teasing him about his clothing choice, he said he'd just come from working at his restaurant job, which led to a discussion of it. "Ohhhh, so that's what Mac meant when said he couldn't come in to the restaurant because he'd treated a friend badly. Now I get it." Now we all do.

Music was provided by stellar DJs Sara and Greg as well as DJ Troy for a mix of pop, soul, and r & b, causing sweaty dancers to finally fill the floor around 1 a.m.

Time well spent. Happy anniversary, Ipanema and here's to many more.

British Invasion Brunch a Go Go

Maybe it's just me, but when I saw Sprout was having a 60s British music themed brunch, I immediately started looking through my closet for the most mod-looking dress I could find. The winner was a fitted bright pink sheath with white daisies and purple centers. Groovy and ready to go to the British Invasion brunch.

The DJs spinning vinyl for brunch were Sara (of Cherry Bomb) and Greg, so you know the music was spot-on. I waved hello as I took a table and Greg, very dapper in a white dickie with a yellow deep-V polyester shirt over it, blew me a kiss back. Sara was adorable in a brown mini with white lace tights.

And then there was the vinyl playing. Carrie Anne, Mrs. Brown You've Got a Lovely Daughter, Groovy Kind of Love; oh, yes, the music consisted of vintage hits as well as slightly more obscure British finds. All around me people were bobbing their heads and smiling each time a new three-minute gem played.

I was delighted to discover that the menu had also undergone a British invasion with all kinds of rarely-seen English standards for brunch today. Beans on toast, toads-in-a-hole, bangers over mash with onion gravy and my personal choice, chuck roast and Yorkshire pudding. They had their usual brunch choices too, but how often do I have British brunch options made with Virginia ingredients?

The table I sat next to included a girl I'd met at a Marionette show, so I had some built in conversational partners. The first thing she said was, "Nice job on the 60s look." She'd scoured her closet and come up empty, settling for a 60s-style headband and a thick line of eyeliner that curled up at the outside of her eyes.

But my dress couldn't compare to owner Laurie's mod little number because hers with paired with go-go boots. She refused to take credit for them , though, saying that she only has them because she's in a go-go dance group who perform with local bands. Of course, that just made her cooler.

When my local chuck roast and Yorkshire pudding arrived, the trio at the next table sounded like an echo chamber. "Wow," one said. "Wow," said the next. "Wow," said the last.

And it was impressive looking, with two puddings and loads of meat and gravy over it. On the side of the plate was a row of sliced local beets topped with a row of sliced local hard-cooked eggs, adding a bright 60s visual pop to the plate.

Having grown up in a large family, I know the pleasures of long-cooked (and relatively inexpensive) chuck roast and the horseradish-infused gravy did it justice. The puddings were dense, but perfect for sopping up gravy.

It was an enormous portion and I ate most of it before offering bites to my neighbors. One of the girls noted after tasting it that the gravy "tastes like Arby's horsey sauce." Um, you mean it has horseradish in it, I teased. She had no idea what Arby's secret ingredient had been. A teachable moment.

I asked Laurie how many people had gotten the same dish I had and she said very few, probably because they had no idea what it was. "That's why you have to know, to get the best thing on the menu," she admitted. But she's also working on expanding her menu-description skills, the better to help those who don't know.

Paying my bill, I noticed my name on the check and owner Jamie acknowledged that they do know me by name now. "Well, I have been to almost every show here," I had to admit, not to mention more than a few meals. "Yea, we're going to have to put you to work doing sound," Jamie laughed. He's right; I can always stand to add a new skill set.

Just don't ask me to go-go dance.