"You don't seem like the kind of person who'd care, but it's a whole fish including the head and tail."
So what kind of person do I seem like?
It was our server at Stables on Belmont who'd offered the information when I'd ordered the grilled rainbow trout with mustard greens, blistered tomatoes and lemon poppy basmati rice. I assured her I'd have no problem with the entire fish and I didn't. In fact, when she returned later, there wasn't much left besides the head and the tail.
One hand outstretched for the plate, she paused. "Unless you're going to eat the cheeks," she observed, mentioning her fondness for fish cheeks and collar, an affinity I share. Let's just say that she held off on clearing the plate until there was nothing left in the fish's head except eyeballs.
And I have before, but I didn't tonight.
And that was after my theater posse- Pru, Beau and Queen B - started the meal with country pate and its sidekicks: pickled red onion, grainy mustard, oiled bread and cornichons, accompanied by a lovely Sancerre.
Although we'd gotten there early so we could make a play, it wasn't long before other groups started coming in, too, including a young couple that could have been poster children for the West End, or, better yet, UR. I can make derogatory generalizations about UR to Pru because that's where she graduated from and always considered herself an outlier.
She caught what I was kicking, brilliantly noting, "The white entitlement is blinding," and shielding her eyes while I cracked up.
A couple Pru and I knew also came in and stopped by the table to chat. They've been married something like 24 years, so when he dropped one of his stock jokes, his wife rolled her eyes, saying she'd heard that old chestnut dozens of times (Bumper sticker: "I don't mind if you're straight as long as you act gay in public").
"It's Joke #23," he said defensively.
While I opted for bourbon chocolate mousse and a glass of Penfolds Grandfather 20-Year Tawny Port (an especially civil ending to a meal, I thought) and Queen B had butter cookies with lemon curd (so veddy British), the happy couple ordered coffee and a cheese plate. We'd nearly finished our desserts and Pru and Beau were sipping their coffees and still there was no sign of their fromage.
When our server stopped by, Beau was succinct. "Cheese?" he inquired, raising an eyebrow. Leaning down to answer him, she announced, "I think he's cutting it now." Everyone cracked up like we were in middle school and, voila, it soon showed up.
Talking about what had been going on in our lives lately, the subject of several of Beau' recent nincompoop moments came up, apparently after a good long while with none. "Nincompoopery builds up," Pru explained of the recent spate.
"It's like bile," Beau posited, ever the savant, setting Pru and I off again.
One of the restaurant's staffers had commented on several of our ensembles, prompting Pru to tell him that she'd had a hand in them all: choosing Beau's shirt, gifting me with the orange Italian shrug and giving Queen B the fantastical necklace she was wearing. I shared that we were en route to Richmond Triangle Players for "Grey Gardens," causing his face to light up. "You all look perfect than!" he crowed. "Take me with you!"
We didn't, of course - who's got an extra ticket to "Grey Gardens," after all - but the compliments were nice.
The play laid out the weird lives of Edie Bouvier Beale (both mother and daughter have the same name, necessitating "Big Edie" and "Little Edie" monikers) through song and occasional dance, detailing how they went from rich to ruins living with dozens of cats and raccoons, lots of poop and no running water in the Hamptons (referred to as a "mean, nasty Republican town").
I mean, Little Edie was engaged to Joseph Kennedy, Jr., at least until her crazy mother Big Edie told him stories about her nudity and promiscuity that scared him off ("It was my sobriquet, Beautiful Body Beale!"). After all, had he not been killed in WW II, he was the Kennedy who was supposed to end up President, remember?
All the songs allowed Big and Little Edie to show off their singing chops (and goodness knows, Susan Sanford and Grey Garret have them), but Pru and I agreed there was something deeply disturbing (as I'm sure was intended by the playwrights) about hearing Big Edie sing a racist ode like "Hominy Grits."
Next to watermelon
There ain't no tellin'
Dem's da bestest vittles
Us colored folks gits!
When the scene ended with the keys cover being slammed on the pianist's fingers to stop it, some guy in the audience called out, "Dah-licious!" for the scene's high camp. At least that's what I'm hoping he meant.
There was also an awful lot of humor like, "He lost both legs at Iwo Jima. Romance was inevitable," not to mention a gospel choir singing and testifying all over the stage. A Norman Vincent Peale character singing "Choose To Be Happy." And, of course, the tragedy of Little Edie being called back from NYC once she does finally escape, only to resign herself to spending the rest of her life doing her demanding mother's bidding.
Because real life often doesn't end neatly or happily.
Afterward in the ladies' room, one woman announced that she now needed to see the cinema verite documentary to better understand these weird characters. Pru, Beau and Queen B had watched it again just last week in preparation, Beau for the first time.
Her friend shot back, "I saw it when I was eight. My mother showed it to me on VHS or something." I looked at her askance. Why on earth would your mother have shown you something so disturbing at such a young age, I had to ask.
"To mess me up?" she guessed, not exactly smiling at having to dig that deep.
Hominy grits aside, that's the Grey Gardens legacy for you.
Showing posts with label susan sanford. Show all posts
Showing posts with label susan sanford. Show all posts
Sunday, June 16, 2019
Monday, July 23, 2012
Blushing Brides and Basic Bitches
Romance yielded to a cruel, cruel summer.
Friends recently returned from a romantic trip to Italy where they were married and tonight they celebrated with all of us who didn't make it across the pond for the wedding.
The celebration was held at the Roosevelt, so Virginia wine flowed and the buffet table groaned with Southern delights.
Fried chicken sliders and Gabriele Rausse Vin de Gris may be the most sublime reception food I've ever tucked into.
The highlight of the night, besides so many people I rarely see in one place, was the slide show created by the blissfully happy looking groom.
Throughout the evening, images of Italy played on the restaurants wall: colorful boats in a harbor, winding, cobblestone streets, hillside towns, everything that makes Italy seem like a desirable destination.
But once everyone was pleasantly lubricated, we saw the true work of art, a visual testament to what Italy does to two people in love.
The pictures of the bride, whether in her white dress or a t-shirt and shorts, were exquisite.
Maybe it was the Italian light, maybe it was the thrill of marrying her handsome hunk of man meat by saying "Si" instead of "I do" but every picture of her was drop-dead gorgeous, no matter how or where she was being photographed.
Let's just say guests cheered and clapped every time her radiant face showed up on the wall.
And, yes, the far fewer pictures of the groom showed a clearly happy man, too.
After hours of celebrating, things began to wind down and my date and I got ourselves to a very different kind of revelry.
It was the Ghost Light Afterparty at Richmond Triangle Players.
You know, where a roomful of theater types and lovers spend five or so hours singing whatever they want for the amusement of us non-singing types.
This month's theme was "Cruel, cruel summer" and the stage was appropriately set with a beach umbrella and several brightly-colored beach chairs.
Since we'd missed the first couple of hours, everyone was pleasantly tipsy when we arrived to buy a bottle of Rose' and slid into our third row seats.
How tipsy? When the stellar accompanist Ben asked, "Can I do the other song?" after a rendition of George Micheal's "Faith," host Matt laid it down.
"You can do whatever the hell you want."
And therein, my friend, lies the beauty of the Ghost Light Afterparty.
Everyone does whatever the hell they want.
We got to hear "Broadway is not just for gays anymore!" from the 2011 Tonys.
We're asking every hetero to get to know us better, oh...
So put down that Playboy and go make a plan
To pick up a Playbill and feel like a man
There's so much to discover with your different sex lover
Yes, even we breeders had a reason to enjoy a night of Broadway.
Susan Sanford was the night's guest because of her impending departure.
At one point, she took the mic and said of her last role, "Spring Awakening, neither spring nor awakening. Discuss," and went on about her business.
She, along with hosts Matt and Maggie, wore large purple flowers in their hair.
Composer Jason Robert Brown was described as "the love child of Stephen Sondheim and Billy Joel" and it was meant (mostly) as a compliment.
Tonight we even got comedy from Mary, who warned the crowd, "This is raunchy as hell if you're easily offended," before going on to explain the concept of the "basic bitch."
Come on, we've all known a few.
DeeJay sat while Audra sang "Popular" to him, shaking his head "no" when she sang, "You'll be good at sports."
Not likely.
Some of the cast of the new Joe Jackson musical opening next month did "Love Got Lost" with violin, cello and a stellar vocalist.
Susan did a mad-lib to the tune of "Don't Cry for Me, Argentina," substituting (what else?) Richmond, Virginia.
She joined Anthony, BC and David for a "Seymour-off," pointing out that despite the song "Suddenly Seymour" being done at every GLAP. there had never been any female representation.
"I'm bringing the female," she warned.
We got a white girl rapping Biz Markie's "Just a Friend" with dancing back-up singers, male and female.
Now, that's a rare treat.
In a nod to the evening's theme, Garth Brooks' "That Summer" put in an appearance and Liz did Cole Porters' "Too Darn Hot."
Late in the night, host Matt observed to no one in particular, "It's so hard to hold on to a drink and do the things we need to do."
That's life, sweetie.
Before we knew it, GLAP was ending, the dance music came on and bodies began gyrating everywhere.
The only thing missing was a finale of "Hit Me Baby One More Time," so I'll just have to hope to be hit next month.
Otherwise, it will be a cruel, cruel summer.
Friends recently returned from a romantic trip to Italy where they were married and tonight they celebrated with all of us who didn't make it across the pond for the wedding.
The celebration was held at the Roosevelt, so Virginia wine flowed and the buffet table groaned with Southern delights.
Fried chicken sliders and Gabriele Rausse Vin de Gris may be the most sublime reception food I've ever tucked into.
The highlight of the night, besides so many people I rarely see in one place, was the slide show created by the blissfully happy looking groom.
Throughout the evening, images of Italy played on the restaurants wall: colorful boats in a harbor, winding, cobblestone streets, hillside towns, everything that makes Italy seem like a desirable destination.
But once everyone was pleasantly lubricated, we saw the true work of art, a visual testament to what Italy does to two people in love.
The pictures of the bride, whether in her white dress or a t-shirt and shorts, were exquisite.
Maybe it was the Italian light, maybe it was the thrill of marrying her handsome hunk of man meat by saying "Si" instead of "I do" but every picture of her was drop-dead gorgeous, no matter how or where she was being photographed.
Let's just say guests cheered and clapped every time her radiant face showed up on the wall.
And, yes, the far fewer pictures of the groom showed a clearly happy man, too.
After hours of celebrating, things began to wind down and my date and I got ourselves to a very different kind of revelry.
It was the Ghost Light Afterparty at Richmond Triangle Players.
You know, where a roomful of theater types and lovers spend five or so hours singing whatever they want for the amusement of us non-singing types.
This month's theme was "Cruel, cruel summer" and the stage was appropriately set with a beach umbrella and several brightly-colored beach chairs.
Since we'd missed the first couple of hours, everyone was pleasantly tipsy when we arrived to buy a bottle of Rose' and slid into our third row seats.
How tipsy? When the stellar accompanist Ben asked, "Can I do the other song?" after a rendition of George Micheal's "Faith," host Matt laid it down.
"You can do whatever the hell you want."
And therein, my friend, lies the beauty of the Ghost Light Afterparty.
Everyone does whatever the hell they want.
We got to hear "Broadway is not just for gays anymore!" from the 2011 Tonys.
We're asking every hetero to get to know us better, oh...
So put down that Playboy and go make a plan
To pick up a Playbill and feel like a man
There's so much to discover with your different sex lover
Yes, even we breeders had a reason to enjoy a night of Broadway.
Susan Sanford was the night's guest because of her impending departure.
At one point, she took the mic and said of her last role, "Spring Awakening, neither spring nor awakening. Discuss," and went on about her business.
She, along with hosts Matt and Maggie, wore large purple flowers in their hair.
Composer Jason Robert Brown was described as "the love child of Stephen Sondheim and Billy Joel" and it was meant (mostly) as a compliment.
Tonight we even got comedy from Mary, who warned the crowd, "This is raunchy as hell if you're easily offended," before going on to explain the concept of the "basic bitch."
Come on, we've all known a few.
DeeJay sat while Audra sang "Popular" to him, shaking his head "no" when she sang, "You'll be good at sports."
Not likely.
Some of the cast of the new Joe Jackson musical opening next month did "Love Got Lost" with violin, cello and a stellar vocalist.
Susan did a mad-lib to the tune of "Don't Cry for Me, Argentina," substituting (what else?) Richmond, Virginia.
She joined Anthony, BC and David for a "Seymour-off," pointing out that despite the song "Suddenly Seymour" being done at every GLAP. there had never been any female representation.
"I'm bringing the female," she warned.
We got a white girl rapping Biz Markie's "Just a Friend" with dancing back-up singers, male and female.
Now, that's a rare treat.
In a nod to the evening's theme, Garth Brooks' "That Summer" put in an appearance and Liz did Cole Porters' "Too Darn Hot."
Late in the night, host Matt observed to no one in particular, "It's so hard to hold on to a drink and do the things we need to do."
That's life, sweetie.
Before we knew it, GLAP was ending, the dance music came on and bodies began gyrating everywhere.
The only thing missing was a finale of "Hit Me Baby One More Time," so I'll just have to hope to be hit next month.
Otherwise, it will be a cruel, cruel summer.
Monday, July 16, 2012
What is the City but the People?
Never let it be said that my tastes aren't diverse.
There's the emo lover in me.
She's the reason I was at Plan 9 for an in-store performance by Derek Evry, a pop/punk musician from Arlington.
Think Jimmy Eat World or even Green Day.
The first half of his set was just him and an acoustic guitar and included a stellar cover of A-ha's "Take on Me."
As my companion noted, "He's brave to do an acoustic cover of this."
And yes, I love No BS Brass band's instrumental cover of the '80s classic, but slowed down and with only acoustic accompaniment, it was a truly beautiful song.
He even got the crowd to join in on the chorus and a surprising number of people did.
Drummer Ben joined him for the second half of the set and it was then that I turned around to see it pouring rain through the open door.
We hadn't heard a drop over the music.
The music got louder and fuller with Ben's drumming and included a song about playing shows ("Tell Everyone") and Derek's comment, "On this one I get to play riffy stuff instead of just rhythm guitar."
You know, riffy stuff. It's a musical term.
Both guys were excellent musicians and despite the volume, sounded terrific.
By the time the music stopped, so had the rain. I picked up a couple of albums and we were off to 821 Cafe for eats.
Although I am devoted to 821's black bean nachos, I went renegade and got the smoked salmon instead.
I thought it would go better with my iced tequila since 821 isn't much of a wine place.
Delivering my plate, my server (a former Sprout favorite) apologized for the absence of pita.
Instead I had wheat toast points, which were a fine vehicle for the enormous slab of smoked salmon, dill cream cheese, capers and red onions on my plate.
Really, it was an appetizer for two and I was only one.
So, nutritional needs met, we moved on to Virginia Repertory Theater at Willow Lawn.
Okay, let's just call a spade a spade: Barksdale.
Tonight was a gender-reversed exploration of "Coriolanus," a Shakespearean tragedy I'd never read, much less seen produced.
Nay, your wit will not so soon out as another man's will; 'tis strongly wedged up in a blockhead.
The story of a celebrated warrior who refused to exploit his war wounds and victories for political gain was fascinating on a number of levels.
First, there was the A-list female cast playing all the male roles.
Twenty five women and four men.
It's not the odds I'd want in the real world, but onstage for Shakespeare, it made for a singularly distinctive theater experience.
He is a lion that I am proud to hunt.
Susan Sanford was commanding and funny in the tile role, much as she was "Spring Awakening," which I'd seen for the second time yesterday.
Having seen her perform and enjoy herself at the Ghost Light Afterparty several times now, I had to laugh out loud when her line was, "Have we no wine here?"
Her occasional "huh?" added contemporary touches to her couplets.
But then so did the cell phone exchange between her and her enemy.
Let her alone, lady, as she is now, she will but disease our better mirth.
The story of a disgruntled people who cast out their warrior leader because of the way he treats them had particular resonance during this, an election year.
No Shakespearean tragedy is short, but the pacing on this one kept things moving and never lagged for a moment.
Before I knew it, Coriolanus had been victorious, dumped by his people, embraced his enemy (Molly Hood, as always strong, as Aufidius) and won back over by his tearful mother (a magnificent Alan Sader as Volumnia).
For certain, drops of salt have always been part of a woman's arsenal.
I know; I grew up with five sisters.
So, while I've seen some first class female drama in my lifetime, last night's was right up there.
I can only hope that director BC Maupin continues to charge ahead with his intent to produce the Bard's entire canon with gender-reversed explorations.
Count me in for watching girls take over boy parts.
You can take that any way you like.
The evening ended with music at Balliceaux because after great tragedy, I needed a little Brazilica.
Amazingly, I got world class stuff with Quarteto Olinda, four Brazilian guys on their first tour of the U.S.
That's right; they'd payed the Kennedy Center and Lincoln Center and now they were in Richmond.
I won't even bore you with my usual "is this a great town or what?" lecture, but there it is.
Kudos to the Virginia Center for Latin American Art for sponsoring the event.
The group's music, forro de rabeca, is based on the Brazilian folk fiddle, which I was surprised to see is played not on the shoulder and under the chin, but from just in front of the armpit.
And tonight it was played by Claudio in a vibrant orange flowered shirt, singing in Portuguese and moving his hips most seductively.
My partner in crime and I got our cold beverages and took seats on the back of the second booth so as to see all the dancing and the energetic band.
The four piece had that fiddle, a drummer, percussionist and, most surprisingly, an electric bass.
The percussion was zydeco-like and all four musicians traded vocals which were almost like chants.
And the crowd responded by dancing up a storm.
Toward the end, pairs of dancers would lock hands and other couples would dance through the "tower" of their arms.
After that, boys lined up on one side and girls on another, and people danced through the middle, Soul-Train-like.
The best way I can describe it is to say I felt like I was at a Brazilian hoedown.
I especially liked a song called "Carolina" maybe because I could imagine them singing "Karina" instead.
But at the end of their exuberant second set, it was time to bring the party to a close.
Reading phonetically from a piece of paper, bandleader Claudio said, "This is the last song. Thank you very much.We will see you next time."
But they gave that last song their all, blending traditional, rural Brazilian music with the unmistakable strains of "Eleanor Rigby" throughout.
Frickin' brilliant.
It was a closing masterpiece that put an exclamation point to a day that began with exuberant emo, fought its way through an estrogen-soaked tragedy and spit us out on the other end with a Brazilian dance party.
And all without having to disease my better mirth by driving to the Kennedy Center.
What blockhead wouldn't take advantage of such a smorgasbord on a Sunday night?
There's the emo lover in me.
She's the reason I was at Plan 9 for an in-store performance by Derek Evry, a pop/punk musician from Arlington.
Think Jimmy Eat World or even Green Day.
The first half of his set was just him and an acoustic guitar and included a stellar cover of A-ha's "Take on Me."
As my companion noted, "He's brave to do an acoustic cover of this."
And yes, I love No BS Brass band's instrumental cover of the '80s classic, but slowed down and with only acoustic accompaniment, it was a truly beautiful song.
He even got the crowd to join in on the chorus and a surprising number of people did.
Drummer Ben joined him for the second half of the set and it was then that I turned around to see it pouring rain through the open door.
We hadn't heard a drop over the music.
The music got louder and fuller with Ben's drumming and included a song about playing shows ("Tell Everyone") and Derek's comment, "On this one I get to play riffy stuff instead of just rhythm guitar."
You know, riffy stuff. It's a musical term.
Both guys were excellent musicians and despite the volume, sounded terrific.
By the time the music stopped, so had the rain. I picked up a couple of albums and we were off to 821 Cafe for eats.
Although I am devoted to 821's black bean nachos, I went renegade and got the smoked salmon instead.
I thought it would go better with my iced tequila since 821 isn't much of a wine place.
Delivering my plate, my server (a former Sprout favorite) apologized for the absence of pita.
Instead I had wheat toast points, which were a fine vehicle for the enormous slab of smoked salmon, dill cream cheese, capers and red onions on my plate.
Really, it was an appetizer for two and I was only one.
So, nutritional needs met, we moved on to Virginia Repertory Theater at Willow Lawn.
Okay, let's just call a spade a spade: Barksdale.
Tonight was a gender-reversed exploration of "Coriolanus," a Shakespearean tragedy I'd never read, much less seen produced.
Nay, your wit will not so soon out as another man's will; 'tis strongly wedged up in a blockhead.
The story of a celebrated warrior who refused to exploit his war wounds and victories for political gain was fascinating on a number of levels.
First, there was the A-list female cast playing all the male roles.
Twenty five women and four men.
It's not the odds I'd want in the real world, but onstage for Shakespeare, it made for a singularly distinctive theater experience.
He is a lion that I am proud to hunt.
Susan Sanford was commanding and funny in the tile role, much as she was "Spring Awakening," which I'd seen for the second time yesterday.
Having seen her perform and enjoy herself at the Ghost Light Afterparty several times now, I had to laugh out loud when her line was, "Have we no wine here?"
Her occasional "huh?" added contemporary touches to her couplets.
But then so did the cell phone exchange between her and her enemy.
Let her alone, lady, as she is now, she will but disease our better mirth.
The story of a disgruntled people who cast out their warrior leader because of the way he treats them had particular resonance during this, an election year.
No Shakespearean tragedy is short, but the pacing on this one kept things moving and never lagged for a moment.
Before I knew it, Coriolanus had been victorious, dumped by his people, embraced his enemy (Molly Hood, as always strong, as Aufidius) and won back over by his tearful mother (a magnificent Alan Sader as Volumnia).
For certain, drops of salt have always been part of a woman's arsenal.
I know; I grew up with five sisters.
So, while I've seen some first class female drama in my lifetime, last night's was right up there.
I can only hope that director BC Maupin continues to charge ahead with his intent to produce the Bard's entire canon with gender-reversed explorations.
Count me in for watching girls take over boy parts.
You can take that any way you like.
The evening ended with music at Balliceaux because after great tragedy, I needed a little Brazilica.
Amazingly, I got world class stuff with Quarteto Olinda, four Brazilian guys on their first tour of the U.S.
That's right; they'd payed the Kennedy Center and Lincoln Center and now they were in Richmond.
I won't even bore you with my usual "is this a great town or what?" lecture, but there it is.
Kudos to the Virginia Center for Latin American Art for sponsoring the event.
The group's music, forro de rabeca, is based on the Brazilian folk fiddle, which I was surprised to see is played not on the shoulder and under the chin, but from just in front of the armpit.
And tonight it was played by Claudio in a vibrant orange flowered shirt, singing in Portuguese and moving his hips most seductively.
My partner in crime and I got our cold beverages and took seats on the back of the second booth so as to see all the dancing and the energetic band.
The four piece had that fiddle, a drummer, percussionist and, most surprisingly, an electric bass.
The percussion was zydeco-like and all four musicians traded vocals which were almost like chants.
And the crowd responded by dancing up a storm.
Toward the end, pairs of dancers would lock hands and other couples would dance through the "tower" of their arms.
After that, boys lined up on one side and girls on another, and people danced through the middle, Soul-Train-like.
The best way I can describe it is to say I felt like I was at a Brazilian hoedown.
I especially liked a song called "Carolina" maybe because I could imagine them singing "Karina" instead.
But at the end of their exuberant second set, it was time to bring the party to a close.
Reading phonetically from a piece of paper, bandleader Claudio said, "This is the last song. Thank you very much.We will see you next time."
But they gave that last song their all, blending traditional, rural Brazilian music with the unmistakable strains of "Eleanor Rigby" throughout.
Frickin' brilliant.
It was a closing masterpiece that put an exclamation point to a day that began with exuberant emo, fought its way through an estrogen-soaked tragedy and spit us out on the other end with a Brazilian dance party.
And all without having to disease my better mirth by driving to the Kennedy Center.
What blockhead wouldn't take advantage of such a smorgasbord on a Sunday night?
Monday, April 16, 2012
Who's the Greatest Star?
Highlight #1 - Ice cream and deflowering
Visit #4 to the James River Film Festival at the Visual Arts Center was frigid (too much a/c) and charming (foreign and subtitled).
The short, "Bregman/As Follows" was about a Jewish Latin American kid about to have his bar mitzvah.
He studies, he practices, he has the ceremony and party.
And then dad takes him to lose his virginity. When he picks him up, he asks how it was.
The boy turns up the car radio.
Dad asks the boy if he wants to go for ice cream. Fin.
A charming film about a 13-year old being thrown into the deep waters of manhood.
Next was "A Useful Life," a Uruguayan film about a guy who'd worked in an art house cinema for 25 years.
When it closes, he has to figure out what to do with himself.
Like many a confirmed bachelor, he has no idea.
It was shot in black and white and the lead is played by a Uruguayan film critic, making for a particularly un-actorly performance.
I saw it as addressing the philosophical question, what do you do when everything you know goes away?
I seem to recall addressing that very issue just a few years ago myself, but not in nearly so stylish a black and white film.
Highlight #2- Half priced and washed out
Sunday supper came courtesy of Carytown's new gastropub, Burger Bach, and I went in eager to try a grass-fed, organic burger.
Instead we bellied up to a bar with four screens (a major negative and in hindsight it would have behooved us to sit at the community table and face Thompson Street) and went seafood.
Turns out every day from 4-6 is half off mussels, oysters and shrimp.
Each came with the option of four or five preparations, so we got mussels in a traditional sauce (garlic, shallots, parsley, lemon, white wine), oysters casino (bacon, peppers, onions, Parmesan) and shrimp in a French sauce (Dijon mustard, shallots, cream, garlic and tarragon).
The place had a borderline chain feel despite being a standalone, the wine list was all New World (although no U.S.) so there were several good South African choices and tons of Australian and New Zealand.
The music was spot on, doing enough interesting alternative to keep my ears pricked.
Anytime I hear Washed Out in a restaurant two night before I'll see them play out gets major points.
A stroll down Cary Street wound up at Amici where the front was completely open in the beautiful evening air.
Lots of people were catching a pre-show meal before Allison Krause but we just wanted dessert: panna cotta and chocolate mousse with a light breeze blowing in from the street.
Highlight #3: Song for a Ukrop
The Ghostlight Party at Richmond Triangle Players had been on my calendar for a month since I always seem to be out of town when they occur.
I knew from the organizer (a fabulous bartender and chatter) that it promised to be a rollicking good time and it was.
We arrived at 8:00 for naught; by the time it did begin, host Matt came out in a black bustier, panties, fishnets, black heels and lipstick.
"Sorry for the late start. Clearly we're on drag time," he said to much laughter.
And that's how the party began and I use party loosely because you pay your five bucks and you're at the party.
It's worth it for the parade of local theater talent who show up at one point or another during the four-plus hour soiree.
One of tonight's guests was actress Susan Sanford, whom I first saw in "The Merry Wives of Windsor Farms" so long ago that neither she nor I would want to admit it.
Although I still remember it as one of the cleverest adaptations of the Bard I've seen.
Back to my point, which was that despite having seen her in many shows, I had no idea she had such a great singing voice.
When called to the stage and heralded as "the best diva here," she was quick to toss an "Oh, shut up!" over her shoulder.
Everyone was a ham and it was great fun watching them tackle theater music whether they remembered every lyric or not ("Not the point," the host Matt insisted).
And it's a theater-savvy audience with people saying things to each other like, "You can't go wrong with a Richard Rodgers."
Matt switched to a leather jacket, cuffed up girl's jeans and hot pink platform pumps to sing a pouty happy birthday to Ted Ukrop.
Ted allowed that Matt's legs were the best he'd seen in a while.
Sarah Porter got up to do "A Single Tear" (and in Italian, too; it was impressive) since it's the 100th anniversary of the Titanic.
"Do we applaud that?" Matt ruminated out loud to the audience.
Good question. There was a smattering of applause.
We heard "Because the Night" and Joe Jackson's "Breaking us in Two," resulting in a funny moment when Andrew Hamm stopped playing piano and singing and said accusingly to Liz Blake-White, "Wait, you're not supposed to be singing the harmony there."
Her guilty face said it all.
One showstopper was Sanford doing "I'm the Greatest Star" from "Funny Girl" except that she substituted names Streisand wouldn't have known.
Instead of singing "Hey, Mr. Keeney, here I am!" she substituted "Hey, Mr. Kniffen, Hey, Mrs. Piersol, Hey, Mr. Maupin, Hey, Mr. Patton, here I am!" to make it RVA-funny.
And don't get me started about the two guys who shall remain nameless singing "Suddenly, Seymour" to each other as they tried not to crack up.
One guy was asked to remove his shirt before he sang (actually there was also unzipping of his pants).
Once we admired his body, we heard his beautiful singing voice.
That's just how they roll at the Ghostlight party.
The whole evening was truly like a party; the bar was open, there was all kinds of food (little savory meat roll-ups) and sweets (eclairs and cupcakes) and later snacks (pizza arrived around 11:30).
If you didn't want to hear a song, you went to the lobby and gabbed away.
And Matt and Maggie kept the whole show rolling along, collecting names of people who wanted to perform when not dancing or singing backup (Maggie) and making witty and/or dirty commentary between songs (Matt).
Both played mic stand at one point or another.
But let's be real here. Maggie did her job in flats and Matt was working in five-inch heels and major eye makeup.
You gotta give a man credit where credit is due.
That said, we couldn't have asked for two better hosts for an evening of divas, male and female.
By the time we left, all I could think was "Baby, Hit Me One More Time."
Scott's Addition has the best piano bar in Richmond.
I'd be a fool to be out of town for the next one.
Visit #4 to the James River Film Festival at the Visual Arts Center was frigid (too much a/c) and charming (foreign and subtitled).
The short, "Bregman/As Follows" was about a Jewish Latin American kid about to have his bar mitzvah.
He studies, he practices, he has the ceremony and party.
And then dad takes him to lose his virginity. When he picks him up, he asks how it was.
The boy turns up the car radio.
Dad asks the boy if he wants to go for ice cream. Fin.
A charming film about a 13-year old being thrown into the deep waters of manhood.
Next was "A Useful Life," a Uruguayan film about a guy who'd worked in an art house cinema for 25 years.
When it closes, he has to figure out what to do with himself.
Like many a confirmed bachelor, he has no idea.
It was shot in black and white and the lead is played by a Uruguayan film critic, making for a particularly un-actorly performance.
I saw it as addressing the philosophical question, what do you do when everything you know goes away?
I seem to recall addressing that very issue just a few years ago myself, but not in nearly so stylish a black and white film.
Highlight #2- Half priced and washed out
Sunday supper came courtesy of Carytown's new gastropub, Burger Bach, and I went in eager to try a grass-fed, organic burger.
Instead we bellied up to a bar with four screens (a major negative and in hindsight it would have behooved us to sit at the community table and face Thompson Street) and went seafood.
Turns out every day from 4-6 is half off mussels, oysters and shrimp.
Each came with the option of four or five preparations, so we got mussels in a traditional sauce (garlic, shallots, parsley, lemon, white wine), oysters casino (bacon, peppers, onions, Parmesan) and shrimp in a French sauce (Dijon mustard, shallots, cream, garlic and tarragon).
The place had a borderline chain feel despite being a standalone, the wine list was all New World (although no U.S.) so there were several good South African choices and tons of Australian and New Zealand.
The music was spot on, doing enough interesting alternative to keep my ears pricked.
Anytime I hear Washed Out in a restaurant two night before I'll see them play out gets major points.
A stroll down Cary Street wound up at Amici where the front was completely open in the beautiful evening air.
Lots of people were catching a pre-show meal before Allison Krause but we just wanted dessert: panna cotta and chocolate mousse with a light breeze blowing in from the street.
Highlight #3: Song for a Ukrop
The Ghostlight Party at Richmond Triangle Players had been on my calendar for a month since I always seem to be out of town when they occur.
I knew from the organizer (a fabulous bartender and chatter) that it promised to be a rollicking good time and it was.
We arrived at 8:00 for naught; by the time it did begin, host Matt came out in a black bustier, panties, fishnets, black heels and lipstick.
"Sorry for the late start. Clearly we're on drag time," he said to much laughter.
And that's how the party began and I use party loosely because you pay your five bucks and you're at the party.
It's worth it for the parade of local theater talent who show up at one point or another during the four-plus hour soiree.
One of tonight's guests was actress Susan Sanford, whom I first saw in "The Merry Wives of Windsor Farms" so long ago that neither she nor I would want to admit it.
Although I still remember it as one of the cleverest adaptations of the Bard I've seen.
Back to my point, which was that despite having seen her in many shows, I had no idea she had such a great singing voice.
When called to the stage and heralded as "the best diva here," she was quick to toss an "Oh, shut up!" over her shoulder.
Everyone was a ham and it was great fun watching them tackle theater music whether they remembered every lyric or not ("Not the point," the host Matt insisted).
And it's a theater-savvy audience with people saying things to each other like, "You can't go wrong with a Richard Rodgers."
Matt switched to a leather jacket, cuffed up girl's jeans and hot pink platform pumps to sing a pouty happy birthday to Ted Ukrop.
Ted allowed that Matt's legs were the best he'd seen in a while.
Sarah Porter got up to do "A Single Tear" (and in Italian, too; it was impressive) since it's the 100th anniversary of the Titanic.
"Do we applaud that?" Matt ruminated out loud to the audience.
Good question. There was a smattering of applause.
We heard "Because the Night" and Joe Jackson's "Breaking us in Two," resulting in a funny moment when Andrew Hamm stopped playing piano and singing and said accusingly to Liz Blake-White, "Wait, you're not supposed to be singing the harmony there."
Her guilty face said it all.
One showstopper was Sanford doing "I'm the Greatest Star" from "Funny Girl" except that she substituted names Streisand wouldn't have known.
Instead of singing "Hey, Mr. Keeney, here I am!" she substituted "Hey, Mr. Kniffen, Hey, Mrs. Piersol, Hey, Mr. Maupin, Hey, Mr. Patton, here I am!" to make it RVA-funny.
And don't get me started about the two guys who shall remain nameless singing "Suddenly, Seymour" to each other as they tried not to crack up.
One guy was asked to remove his shirt before he sang (actually there was also unzipping of his pants).
Once we admired his body, we heard his beautiful singing voice.
That's just how they roll at the Ghostlight party.
The whole evening was truly like a party; the bar was open, there was all kinds of food (little savory meat roll-ups) and sweets (eclairs and cupcakes) and later snacks (pizza arrived around 11:30).
If you didn't want to hear a song, you went to the lobby and gabbed away.
And Matt and Maggie kept the whole show rolling along, collecting names of people who wanted to perform when not dancing or singing backup (Maggie) and making witty and/or dirty commentary between songs (Matt).
Both played mic stand at one point or another.
But let's be real here. Maggie did her job in flats and Matt was working in five-inch heels and major eye makeup.
You gotta give a man credit where credit is due.
That said, we couldn't have asked for two better hosts for an evening of divas, male and female.
By the time we left, all I could think was "Baby, Hit Me One More Time."
Scott's Addition has the best piano bar in Richmond.
I'd be a fool to be out of town for the next one.
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