Competitive Obedience: Really?

I never know what I'll get when I go to Project Resolution, the free monthly event featuring local filmmakers' films and discussion after each.

It's just about guaranteed to be interesting in one way or another and sometimes I am blown away by what I see.

Last night's event started with a film of stills from the Zombie Walk, set to music by Screamin' Jay Hawkins.

Another, "Blackbeard Attacks Hampton, VA," was shot on a pirate reenactment day and appealed to the (male) filmmaker because of all the guns being fired.

Sometimes the film is a rough cut, as with the "Cupcake" film we saw and the audience made suggestions about how to better end it.

"Red Light Syndrome" was about all the roadblocks that inevitably happen once a person realizes how badly they need to go to the bathroom.

"Santo Diablo" was about "borrowing" a roommate's can of chili and the dire consequences of doing so.

Obviously, inspiration comes from many sources.

One of the most charming was a film about a dog following his ball around town. The film was very much a postcard to RVA, showing various scenic locations as the dog sought someone to play with him.

Afterwards, we learned from the filmmaker that she spent a great deal of time training the dog, who will eventually participate in, get this, "competitive obedience" trials.

I think the term "competitive obedience" could be used in a whole lot of creative ways to describe human behavior, especially in a mocking way.

You know, like, "She dumped her boyfriend because he wasn't competitively obedient enough to suit her."

Think about it.

Project Resolution: not just a movie-going experience; sometimes you can expand your cultural vocabulary at the same time and you're always going to be at least entertained.

There's a bar, free popcorn, a raffle of DVDs and a chance to tell local filmmakers what you really think of their work.

That's a lot of entertainment for a Sunday night, if you ask me.

Wining Away A Beautful Day

When you wake up on the next to the last day of November to discover a warm, balmy day outside and it's three weeks until the official start of winter, it's time celebrate.

I don't know if you noticed, but it didn't even smell like November today. The scent of the warm air overtook the smell of decaying leaves, a truly lovely thing.

But what to do with such a gorgeous day?

In my book, a great way to appreciate a beautiful day is a road trip and it didn't take any convincing at all to get B.G.F. on board and heading west to Pollak Vineyards in Greenwood, on the other side of Charlottesville.

Founded in 2003 and opened to the public in 2008, this small family-owned winery was a first for both us, which is saying something because B.G.F. has made a hobby of tasting his way across the state.

None of the reds had the kind of weight and body I seek out, but they're new to this, so perhaps there will be improvement with time.

After all, you can't expect a 22-year old girl to have the personality and intellect of a 40-year old woman, either.

There's no substitute for time, as a stoned musician once sang.

Heading east to Barboursville, we went to Burnley Vineyards, one of the older vineyards in that area. B.G.F. knows the owners and had visited many times, so we had a very cordial and leisurely tasting as everyone caught up with each other.

There was even some wine geek talk of Thomas Jefferson's wine preferences and drinking habits.

B.G.F. is particularly fond of their Riesling, so some came back with us in the trunk of his car.

I was surprised to see they had a Zinfandel for tasting since it's not a grape grown in Virginia. I was not surprised to learn that they buy the grapes elsewhere.

The last time B.G.F. and I spent the day wine tasting was over the Labor Day weekend and the temperature was much cooler than today.

On the other hand, the drive back that time was in broad daylight and tonight's was post-sunset and getting darker by the mile, despite having left at close to the same time.

Tonight, the darkening sky was really something to behold with a dramatic cloud band of contrasting blues and grays, gradually giving way to those cotton batting type clouds surrounding the moon.

I think the weather gods would heartily approve of our spending today driving the countryside, admiring the scenery and tasting the fruits of the earth.

It certainly worked for me.

Rowland Fine Dining for Live Music Tonight

One of my friends is a multi-instrumentalist, although I'd only heard a recording and never seen him play live.

Tonight he was going to play Rowland's, so the plan was to start somewhere else and end our night there.

Barrel Thief was suggested because they were having live jazz, so the three of us met there for a couple of bottles of Domaine Vissoux Beaujolais Primeur and some snackage.

Two of us had soup (mine was roasted red pepper and crab, his was butternut squash) before we shared the antipasto platter.

I followed with some stinky cheese (the Truffle Tremor) and she had an Italian panini.

I finished with the chocolate truffle sampler.

There were several dates going on around us it seemed, including a woman who both my friends knew, but weren't especially fond of.

It is most assuredly a small town when it comes to running into your past here, isn't it?

Leaving the far reaches of town, for me at least, we headed into the Fan.

As I was approaching Rowland from Shields, I was surprised to hear a great deal of laughter and conversation from within.

There was already a lively crowd in the place, but we managed to grab three bar stools near the front for the best view.

My friends got something to drink and I ordered dessert. Yes, again.

This time it was the chocolate creme brulee and although it wasn't quite as dark as Black Sheep's version, it was quite good.

When the peer pressure became too great, I ordered a glass of Temperanillo.

The problem was more fullness than lack of desire for wine, but then, two desserts will do that to you.

My talented friend and the other two musicians played a variety of covers, a lot of Beatles, some Bob Marley and such.

It was interesting to see them follow each other as they had had limited practice time together, but they made it work.

They played for close to two hours and seemed to be enjoying every minute of it.

I have to say I love what a bowed instrument adds to a rock song... and what six extra strings add to a guitar.

I asked one of the musicians, who was from Asheville, N.C. about his music preferences and he said it was so rare to be engaged in a music conversation by a stranger.

Then he lamented the absence of much besides dance bands and jam bands in Asheville.

The jam band thing I can see from what I know of the town, but not so much the dance thing.

We talked about the evolution of new musicians discovering older material. He was a huge Doors fan, but born in the late 80s, which always cracks me up.

It's probably a good thing that there are people out there willing to listen to the music that I've already heard to death.

But I can always enjoy hearing a talented friend play music, no matter how far back they pull from.

Which is not to say that as soon as I got into my car afterwards, I didn't turn up the volume on The XX, because I did.

Hearing old music, even the truly great and classic stuff, just makes me appreciate the new stuff more.

And sometimes talking to strangers about music is the best way to hear about something new or interesting.

Or even just surprise somebody with my topic of choice; Personally, I love it when people do it to me.

Thankful for Randomness

I didn't do a "what I'm thankful for" post on Thanksgiving Day like so many bloggers did.

It's not that I'm not thankful for my family, friends and health, because I am.

But some of the things for which I have been extremely grateful in the past I no longer have, and that made for some poignant omissions as I took stock.

It wasn't even a pity party, just more of an acknowledgement of less to be thankful for than in the past, so why write it up?

But of course, there are dozens of small things that happen all the time which I could be focusing on.

People say nice things to me on a startlingly frequent basis; this has always been the case for me and I have no idea why (friends have suggested it's my aura, but who really knows?).

This morning, for instance, as I passed a guy on my walk:

Him: I see you out here every single day!
Me: Because I walk every day.
Him: That's spunk! You've got some sass and that comes through when I see you.
Me: Use or it lose it, you know.
Him: And on top of that, you are gorgeous.
Me: Thank you.

As I walked away, I thought about how fortunate I am that I get random compliments like that, especially now that I have no significant other to supply them.

And, let me be clear, I am nothing like gorgeous, what spunk I once possessed has been knocked out of me by 2009 and the sass is just part of my personality.

But even so, it was a very unexpected and sweet thing for a stranger to tell me.

I don't know how often such chance things happen to other people, but for me, it's a cosmic bonus when so much else in my life is lackluster these days.

And for that I am thankful, which, I suppose, makes this yet another banal blogger "what I'm thankful for" post.

Sorry to be so trite.

Prabir and the Goldrush at Six Burner

It was my Beer Geek Friend's birthday and he wanted to see a movie, so we planned to see the 7:30 showing of "An Education" at the Westhampton.

We preceded that with a stop at Cafe Caturra, where I arrived first to a mostly empty room. The bar server suggested I spend the time waiting for B.G.F. by sampling some wines at her bar (the Jefferson Petit Verdot and the Sawbuck Cab) before making a decision.

I accommodated, my friend arrived and we ended up drinking a Zinfandel. Go figure.

To nosh, we had two crostini orders, one braised short ribs and caramelized onions and the other goat cheese, roasted red pepper and sweet balsamic reduction.

The crispiness of the bread made them a bit difficult to bite, but once bitten, the bread was deliciously chewy.It's safe to say we both enjoyed the contrast between the two toppings and demolished all.

The movie was good, full of realistic 1961 details such as men taking off their hats upon entering a building and the debate over a university vs. a Mrs. degree.

The plot could be loosely summarized as a story of the inner struggle between enjoying life now or planning for the future, a sort of journal of a young girl trying to establish priorities in her inexperienced life.

It wasn't nearly as cliched as an Americanized version of the same story would have been, and we agreed it was worth seeing.

Later I decided to swing by Six Burner to see Prabir and the Goldrush's set around 11.

This combination rock/classical group of musicians always packs the room; it's the makeup of the crowd that changes show to show.

Tonight, I would guess, there were a lot of visitors and out-of-towners in attendance and an enthusiastic bunch they were.

I ran into Andrew and C.B., which gave us a chance to talk tacky lights, seasonal activities and music until the performance began.

The boys had both worked today, though, so they were beat.

Luckily not too beat to enjoy dessert, however, and for me, it was my first look at new chef Philip Denny's dessert menu.

I had the Red Velvet cupcake, Andrew had the persimmon bread pudding with caramel sauce and C.B. had the eggnog creme brulee with mini gingerbread man cookie.

We all took our desserts down to the dish, as in no rinsing required.

Prabir and the Goldrush put on a rocking show again, using the violin as a kind of stand-in for keyboards.

Prabir loves to rock out (that's always evident) along with belting out his sad-sack, smart-ass and self-deprecating lyrics.

Not to be overlooked is the fact that 6B later in the evening is a great (and free) atmosphere for hearing this kind of music at the perfect volume.

No doubt Goldrush will be back next month with more of Prabir's classical hooks and if you haven't heard them yet, they're interesting enough to make a point of checking out.

If nothing else, it's great fun to watch Prabir enjoying himself so much.

Jump Starting Myself

Lots of people shop on Black Friday, but I'm not one of them.

And not because of the crowds, either, I just hate shopping any time (except grocery/wine shopping) and avoid it like the plague.

Some people would say this calls my femininity into question, but I'm okay with that.

So instead, I found a friend who wanted to accompany me to Bark Park and we loaded the dogs into my car.

But when I turned the key, all I heard was that sickening sound you get when your battery has abandoned you.

J-Ward is still a ghost town, so I couldn't think of a soul who could give me a jump, but then I remembered that I didn't need anyone to get jumped.

Years ago, I had been given the perfect Valentine's Day gift: one of those multiple-use auto devices that checks your tire pressure, puts air in a flat and jump starts your car.

Score!

I hooked that baby up and before you could say Happy Valentine's Day, I was off to Auto Zone to buy a new battery. It wasn't how I intended to start my day, but I do consider it an accomplishment to have jumped a car myself for the first time in my life.

Seriously.

Lunch was Carytown Burgers and Fries, because nothing says post-Thanksgiving like red meat.

Clearly, we weren't the only ones craving cheeseburgers; the place was non-stop busy the entire time we were there.

After an alternately pleasantly warm/cold and windy hour at the dog park due to dense and fast-moving clouds, we headed home.

I decided it was basil harvesting time. The basil growing in my dining room window since May is over a foot tall and quite full, so I picked enough to make several batches of pesto.

As the food processor pulsed all that basil, it smelled like summer in my kitchen, especially with the sun shining so brightly through the window.

There's nothing like freshly made pesto to enjoy all winter to remind you that it will eventually be warm again.

Don't be fooled, though, that's not optimism talking, just fatalism.

Bark Park in the Fog

I loved how foggy it was this morning when I was out walking and where better to see fog than from above?

The beagle and I had been wanting to check out the new Bark Park at Chimborazo (one of my favorite city spots anyway) and I was guessing the view of the fog would be great from that vantage point.

And it was.

One of the best parts of the new dog park is the winding walk you take to reach it; for those not so inclined, there is parking immediately by the dog park, but you'll miss some great views, fine, old stone staircases and double back paths by doing it that way.

When we arrived, there were three owners and three dogs in the large dog enclosure and none in the small.

My dog is more small than large, but there'd be no one to frolic with over there so we approached the gang, just behind another dog owner.

He got as far as inside the gate with his pooch when two of the other dogs started snarling and attacking him.

The owner was visibly upset and it took too long to get the other dogs off his. He immediately left the park, so the beagle and I decided to head over to the small dog pen just to be safe.

The light was beautiful behind the overcast sky and the fog was just rolling around below.

One of the prettiest views was of the sunlit rooftops in Fulton Bottom from that overlook. The bare-branch trees against the back lit gray sky looking toward the river were almost etching-like.

I'd brought my camera, so I took pictures of Richmond in the fog on a Thanksgiving morning while the dog sniffed his way around the fence, where he discovered some dog poop, the size of which made it clear that a very large dog had been in the wrong enclosure with a very bad owner who did not pick up after his pet. I'm just saying, it was enormous.

We really liked the new dog park and will almost certainly make it a regular destination from now on.

Looking back up the hill from it, you can see very little identifiable, so it's easy to forget where you are and just take in the view and surroundings.

As we headed out, I spotted an almost perfectly heart-shaped rock on the ground.

As I bent down to grab it, I thought how completely inappropriate it was for me to find such a thing.

And while the front was indeed a perfect heart, when I looked at the back of it, there was a big, jagged chunk taken out of it.

Ohhh, I get it.

I Came for Comedy at The Camel

Staying in town for a holiday instead of fleeing as most do always affords a different kind of rva experience.

It's not just the abundance of parking spaces in the city, it's seeing a couple playing Frisbee right smack in the middle of Clay Street in the middle of the afternoon.

It's driving through the Fan and seeing most restaurants close to empty (Acacia being the exception; it was hopping), despite nearly everyone being off tomorrow.

It's knowing that no matter where you go, you're going to run into other people in the same boat, looking for a little activity on one of the slowest nights of the year.

Fortunately for me, a friend had organized a comedy showcase at The Camel; he was also performing.

The six comics had different styles and shticks, so it was fun to give each one my full attention and see if they could make me laugh.

Some of the material was groan-worthy and some was quite funny.

One guy was only 18 and very new to this, but acquitted himself well for one so young.

Another guy's entire monologue was based on self-denigration, but he seemed to be okay with that.

One guy read us clever haikus he had written.

There was much talk of sex and weed because, after all, they were all guys.

I laughed a lot at the music jokes, but maybe I just don't get enough music humor in my life.

Talking to my friend afterwards, he admitted he'd been pretty nervous during his set.

After all, it requires him to stand in front of a crowd and put himself right out there.

Of course, blogging can also involve putting yourself out there, but at least you don't have to see your audience's faces while you do it.

I haven't decided if that makes him more courageous or just points to the fact that I'm not nearly as amusing.

No matter.

I prefer being the amused to the amuser any day of the week.

Deluxe Delivers Braised Irony

A good part of the town has already headed out over the river and through the woods to whomever's house they are going.

That much was clear as the streets became emptier and emptier of cars today.

Andrew and I made plans to meet up for drinks and dining and I wanted to choose someplace off our beaten track, so I suggested Deluxe.

Upon arriving, his first comment was, "We're here for ironic reasons, right?"

Of course we were; what other possible reason could there be given the crowd there?

We had no idea who these people were or where they came from (although we had our suspicions), but both bars were full, so there was much fodder for discussion and that was good enough.

And there was one item on their menu I wanted to try.

It was the Braised Short Rib Grilled Cheese (pulled short ribs, Swiss cheese and caramelized onions on Texas Toast), which turned out to be exceedingly tasty.

The sandwich was thick with slow-cooked meat and the sturdy toast held it together well, except for the occasional onion oozing out.

I ordered a side of braised greens which were far better than I anticipated, perfectly cooked, garlicky and just the right tartness.

I wasn't expecting them to be so delicious.

We didn't stay too much longer after eating. Even with a couple glasses of wine, it was just too much like shooting fish in a barrel.

By the time we left, it was raining again, so Andrew set off for the gym to stay buff and I set off in search of dessert, a quest that often leads me to Garnett's these days.

They really do have a superb array of sweets and they're priced better than almost everyone else ($4 pie, $5 cake), so it's practically an engraved invitation for someone like me.

Forgetting all about chocolate, I got the Hummingbird Cake, that southern classic and loaded with my favorite coconut and with a creamy sweet frosting I'd have licked off a beater.

Tonight was the first night that Garnett's has had wine, as good an excuse as any to try Pasion Malbec and San Vito Chianti whilst chatting up F.R.O. about dating and the challenges of meshing lives.

Once we realized there were no solutions there, we moved on to food field trips and making plans for excursions to further our food knowledge.

It's all a learning experience, as someone once told me.

Dessert lovers would be wise to put Garnett's on their radar when they need a final stop for something sweet that won't break the bank and isn't available on most of the dessert menus in town.

And now that there's wine, those lovely desserts have the perfect accompaniment.

For those of the other persuasion, beer should be in house by Monday.

Being a Renegade at the Byrd House Market

I wanted to get as many local foodstuffs for my Thanksgiving feast as possible, so I went to the renegade Byrd House Market this afternoon to see what I could score.

I had no real idea of how many vendors would be there or what they might have, especially given the gloomy, damp weather but it was worth a shot.

I have to say that I think I would get the locavore stamp of approval for my purchases.

I found several bunches of carrots for glazing with butter and brown sugar, potatoes for mashing, sweet potatoes because it's T-day, and perhaps yummiest of all, Brussels Sprouts and beets (and local goat cheese) for roasting.

I know a lot of people are not fans of Brussels Sprouts, but when they're roasted in bacon fat and then mixed with the cooked bacon, walnuts and a little salt and pepper, they're magnificent, whether you're a fan or not (rule of thumb: bacon makes everything better).

Given what a local meal the first Thanksgiving was (and we all know it was at Berkley Plantation and not Plymouth; the Pilgrims just had better P.R.) I thought I did pretty well in gathering a terrific representation of Virgina's finest for my Thanksgiving table.

And, yes, even the bacon is Shenandoah Valley local, from Polyface Farms.

Plymouth?

Bah! It's Virginia's bounty that will define my Thanksgiving meal.

Julep: Eating and Entertaining

Restaurant choices are limited on a Monday night, but the addition of the rain meant that we were almost guaranteed a quiet night, no matter where we went. We decided on Julep, M.H.F. and I, and it turned out to be an inspired choice. We began with wine because we like wine, but also because on Mondays, bottles are half off. We got the 2008 Nepenthe Sauvignon Blanc, Adelaide Hills, as a concession to M.H.F., who's been having headache issues with red wines lately. It had a lovely floral nose and we were quite satisfied with it.

For salads, I did the field greens with grilled pears, goat cheese, cucumber, apple wood-smoked bacon and lemon balsamic vinaigrette and M.H.F. had the southern Cesar with the pecorino, anchovy butter croutons and Creole Cesar dressing. Both were wonderful.

I followed with sweet water crab soup, with sweet potato gaufrette, mushroom and olive oil poached tomato. This soup was worthy of bowl licking and perfectly seasoned. My friend then got the tempura shrimp and grits, a favorite of mine for the hunks of Andouille sausage and that big, beautful shrimp. I've yet to finish it, but I always try; she couldn't finish the job, either.

At this point, B.S.F. joined us, so we further took advantage of the wine special and he mimicked our orders with the crab soup and the shrimp and grits. I'd like to say he had no imagination, except that I think it was our raving that helped him pick his meal. Two slices of the chocolate marquise followed with a bit more wine as well as brown drinks.

Despite all three of us being single, two of us are absent from the dating pool by choice and the third is just out of yet another red flag short-term relationship. One of our enthusiastic discussions centered on the uses of food to replace sex. Good idea or bad? Break off into small discussion groups and let us know.

As the last two guests from the upstairs dining room came down to leave, the couple told us that they had been eavesdropping on us the entire time. They seemed quite pleased with what they had heard (the woman, especially, said she'd been dying to join our girl talk before B.S.F. arrived) and thanked us for being their evening's entertainment.

And here I thought we were just a couple of unattached women stuffing our faces with Julep's superb new southern cuisine, and we were really doing so much more. Here's to us.

Two Topics To Tiptoe Around

When we look back at 2009, I doubt any of us will remember it as a banner year.

But for me it's been just the worst.

In a matter of eight weeks, I lost employment, health and love.

Happily, the only lingering traces of my extreme pneumonia are an annoying occasional cough, but the other two areas of my life are a bit more problematic.

So for the benefit of others out there like me (my fellow unemployed and dumped), may I suggest that you avoid asking us a couple of questions that only serve to remind us of our state of being and which we really don't want to answer anyway.

The first is, "Any luck finding a job yet?"

Let me assure you, when we are again employed, we will be shouting it from the rooftops, telling strangers and boring everyone with details.

Until then, it's just another time we have to acknowledge our failure.

The other question to be avoided is, "Why aren't you dating yet?"

Uh, because I'm still working through this whole broken-hearted thing? Because I'm not ready to? Because there's no point?

Believe me, if a woman like me is deliberately opting out of trying to find a partner, there's probably a good reason.

Nagging her to make the effort is not going to change her readiness for it, and it's definitely not something she needs to hear.

Or read, as in in my freaking horoscope: A new love is simply a new person awakening the feeling of love that was already inside you. It's nice to have someone unlock it for you, but not necessary. It was always there. 

Oh, really?


Take it from someone who knows, your laid off and dumped friends are happy to talk about almost anything except jobs and love.

I'm sure you can understand.

Liza Kate Sings for Silent Music Revival

What a way to go.

I finished out my weekend listening to the dulcet tones of Liza Kate, providing the musical accompaniment to two silent films at the Silent Music Revival at Gallery 5.

The first was 1967's OffOn by Scott Bartlett, the earliest American work combining film and video; the film cells were hand-tinted with food coloring.

The second was a collaboration between Luis Bunuel and Salvador Dali, both of whom wanted to put their dreams into a film. Un Chien Andalou is from 1929 and was full of graphic and sexual references that would never have been acceptable in the U.S. at such an early date, like, say, eyeball slitting and bare breast fondling.

Liza's beautiful voice was a haunting soundtrack to the avant garde films, pulling the audience in when the visuals didn't.

I've seen her perform many times before, but my favorite memory is a Gallery 5 show she did a couple years ago when she took the stage after the previous performer and the audience paid her no mind, continuing to talk away.

But Liza was having none of it. She addressed the crowd loudly and directly, saying that she was just a girl with an acoustic guitar, so it was going to be necessary for the crowd to shut the fuck up if they expected to hear her.

You never heard a room go so quiet so quickly.

And that's the beauty of the Silent Music Revival, besides it being a free event, of course.

The audience comes for the pleasure of a vintage silent film and an outstanding local musician or band. Who'd want to talk through either of those delightful things?

Harry Shearer: Pushing It Up to 11

WRIR's benefit at the Byrd Theater featuring Harry Shearer and showing the classic 1984 film, This is Spinal Tap, had something for everyone: fans of the Simpsons, fans of Saturday Night Live and, as evidenced by the age of some in the crowd, fans of hair bands and especially Spinal Tap. And like any special event at the Byrd, it began with Lin Lundy playing the mighty Wurlitzer.

When Shearer took the stage, his first comment was, "I actually thought I might rise from the floor and play my organ, but they said that was already taken care of." It was a line that couldn't have been scripted and couldn't have been more appropriate for his Spinal Tap character, bassist Derek Smalls (he of the strategically placed foil-wrapped cucumber in the movie).

Shearer went on to share his opinions of the corporatization of radio ("absolute and devastating"), media monopolies ("Even if C. Montgomery Burns can live forever, Rupert Murdoch can't.") and the recording industry ("A record exec couldn't recognize artistic rights if it crawled up his backside and bit him in the pancreas."). Perhaps most tellingly, he said that he makes fun of this stuff because he is so serious about it.

As for Spinal Tap, Shearer claimed it was the first non-porn movie to make money on VHS. Oasis singer Liam Gallagher supposedly walked out of a screening of the movie because it was too real, a comment Shearer says the creators have heard countless times. He also clarified that there will never be a Spinal Tap sequel and that the Simpsons will never leave the air.

By that point, the WRIR-loving audience was eager to get to the 25th anniversary screening of the rockumentary that gave us the concept of pushing it to eleven. Or, as Shearer encouraged the enthusiastic crowd as he introduced the film, "Rock on!"

Of Falsettos, Scotsmen and Moons

One of my favorite local bands was playing at Sound of Music Studios tonight, so my bright idea was to walk two blocks to the Belvidere for a glass of wine, then walk two more blocks to hear Marionette play and, at the end of the evening, I'd only be four blocks from home. Brilliant.

As I was walking to the Belvidere (quickly, I might add, because it's freaking cold out there), a guy was riding a bike toward me. When he spotted me, he began to sing in a perfect falsetto, "Hey there, lonely girl...lonely girl." I didn't think I looked particularly lonely, but that didn't stop me from laughing out loud, at which point he told me to have a good Saturday night.

Sipping wine at the bar, a Glaswegian who now lives in Houston sat down next to me. The accent was immediately recognizable because I have a good friend who lives in Glasgow. He was hysterical doing an American accent (it's embarrassing to hear; our vowels are so flat, our intonation so nasal) and admitting to the hubris and drinking prowess of the Scottish male. He was young, attractive and in great shape, that is to say, not at all my type, but a charming conversationalist and I have no doubt that his accent gets thicker as the evening gets later.

Marionette's performance was part of their CD release party and they put on an excellent show as usual, with an enthusiastic crowd who gradually became overheated once the front doors were closed. Everyone just kept removing layers and hydrating more frequently. It is Saturday night, after all, so there was a whole lot of hydrating going on anyway.

And when the show was over and I was walking those four blocks home, I couldn't stop staring at the waxing crescent moon in the sky. It reminded me of a favorite poem about how something as seemingly random as a sliver of a moon has the power to remind a person of distant people and places. Not to sound moony or anything like that, but it's true.

821 Cafe and a Tattoo Tidbit

Despite having had chili for lunch, I was craving 821's black bean nachos; maybe it's the weather. Just as my food arrived, the stools around me filled up with Mike Moses and his fellow tattoo artists. I met Mike about a year and a half ago and was impressed by his abilities outside of being a tattoo artist: musician, gardener, painter and raconteur. I have one of his prints,"Sister Sleep," so I was interested to hear that he just hung a show at Empire which will open December 4th.

I haven't seen it yet, but two things are always guaranteed at Mike's shows: it'll be interesting work and the cost to own one will be minimal. I'd be the first to acknowledge that economic times are tough, but I'd also be the first to say that artists have to eat, too. I'm crazy about having local art all over my walls; I enjoy it on an additional level when I know the artist. It's a reminder of a talented person I know.

But I digress. My nachos arrived, I ate a good three quarters of them and eavesdropped on a conversation about cleaning out the ink wells at a tattoo place. At stake was the issue of whether to use paper stick Q-Tips or plastic stick Q-Tips to clean out the traces of ink. This discussion required a level of expertise I didn't possess, so I stayed out of it, paid the check and was about to walk away when one of the guys finally weighed in.

"Plastic stick's better. Paper sticks get soaked and bent." Now I know.

Sound as Art at 1708 Gallery

Imagine how difficult it is to present sound as art in the very visual art world. This afternoon, 1708 Gallery presented two sound artists, John Henry Blatter and Stephen Vitiello, to discuss the challenge of allowing the ears to work like eyes in perceiving what is art. The two artists had different takes on the importance of the visual element in sound art; Blatter felt strongly that experiencing his sound works spatially is very important. Vitiello, who has been working in sound art longer, preferred a purely aural presence.

Blatter's current site-specific piece, New Works, is a collection of 135 speakers arranged rhythmically and randomly on the wall of 1708. At any one time, 18 channels are playing the voices of people sharing their stories. Blatter was seeking strong emotion in the audio he collected from friends and strangers. Voices come and go as a visitor spends time in the space.

Vitiello addressed the difficulties of incorporating sound art into galleries and museums focused on visual art. He explained that sound art can not just be listened to through headphones in a room because it is created to be heard in space. He likened the hurdles sound art has had in dealing with the greater art world to those that challenged video artists back in the 70s and 80s, but acknowledged that finally the past nine years have brought about a heightened appreciation, acceptance and understanding of sound art.

Nine years! Not quite a decade, but it's not like it happened in the blink of an ear, either.

Happy 4th Birthday, Bistro 27

My evening got off to an auspicious start when a favorite friend showed up at my house with a bottle of Roderer Estate L'Ermitage Brut 2000. It was amazingly creamy, with tiny little bubbles and a long, crisp finish; in other words, heaven for bubble lovers like her and me and, frankly, we left not a drop. While we sipped our bubbles, she was good enough to do some blog and character analysis for me; I always enjoy her interpretation of life and love because it's so different than mine.

The plan was to meet a friend of hers at Mama Zu's for dinner, but once we arrived, the swelling crush of humanity waiting for tables was overwhelming and F.F. lost all interest in being part of that madness. I've admitted before that Mama Zu's is not a personal favorite, so I had no qualms about finding another destination, although my friend had had enough and decided to head home.

I knew this week was the fourth anniversary for Bistro 27, one of my longest running J-Ward neighborhood hangouts, so I decided to go celebrate with them. And by celebrate, I mean eat obscene amounts of food and wine while engaging in assorted restaurant talk with some delightful bar sitters out for their bi-weekly date night.

My meal consisted of calamari with squid ink over polenta, an earthy and soul-satisfying sausage and potato soup, and a scallop and crab ravioli in tomato cream sauce. I should not have been able to walk out of there after so much excellent food; Carlos' advice was to eat light tomorrow to compensate. My wine of choice for the duration was the 2007 Almira Los Dos Grenache and Syrah and despite being full to the gills, I had a chocolate mousse with fresh berries to finish.

My fellow bar sitters engaged me in conversation to augment their city dining knowledge. It seems they go out every other week to an independent city restaurant and wanted my thoughts on where they'd been and where I'd recommend for future outings. They've been city diners, despite being suburban residents for years, so our discussion included such blasts from the past as Chetti's, Moondance and Bird in Hand, as well as some of their more recent outings, like Edo's Squid, Popkin's and Gibson's. I love the date night tradition (maybe I'll even eventually want to have one myself again) and their willingness to experiment with new places. Wouldn't it be a better restaurant world if more people followed their lead and enjoyed the restaurant bounty our little city has to offer instead of doing the safe, easy thing when it comes to dining out?

Me, I already knew what a gem Bistro 27 is, but a delicious little birthday celebration meal like I had tonight is still an excellent reminder of the stellar food that is to be found in rva...if you get out to enjoy it. As one of my new suburban friends asked, "Do you ever eat at home?"

Why would I with all Richmond has to offer?

A Mid-day March for Women's Right to Vote

One hundred years ago today, a group of women met on what is now the VCU campus to form the Equal Suffrage League of Virginia (later the League of Women Voters of VA). To honor that first step towards fuller rights for my fair sex, I participated in the Votes for Women Suffrage March just now.

It was wonderfully retro, with women especially in vintage clothes and hats, many wearing sashes proclaiming "Votes for Women" and with the Antonia Accordion Suffrage Orchestra leading the way. We wore buttons commemorating the occasion and carried signs and placards proclaiming the goal of the E.S.L. as we marched to 919 W. Franklin Street, the house where Anne Clay Crenshaw and other Virginia women met to strategize how best to go about obtaining the vote for half the population.

There were remarks by Panny Rhodes and Monica Rao before the dedication and official naming of 919 W. Franklin as The Crenshaw House. The women in the audience found much to laugh and cheer about during the event as we acknowledged how far we've come in terms of equal rights over the past century. But we were doing it wearing pants and short skirts and shorts, only one indication of the seismic changes women's roles have undergone since that significant gathering on Franklin Street back on November 20, 1909. Never underestimate the female of the species.

Heard on Grace Street Today

The stretch of Grace Street between Laurel and Lombardy is always fertile territory for a certain kind of passer-by on my daily walks. Today, for instance, three guys were approaching me when one of them stopped dead in front of me, put his hand to his waist and gave me a deep bow, saying, "Hello, Beautiful. You're still walking? You're keeping it tight!" I'm not exactly sure what that meant, but I feel fairly certain it was a compliment.

A block further down, a guy came toward me and said, "Good morning. You are looking sooooo fine!" and there was as much leer in his voice as there was on his face. He looked like an animal licking his chops before devouring something; I kept moving.

But the coup de grace was the guy sitting on a brick wall on Hell Block, taking deep pulls on his 40 oz. at 10:00 in the morning. When he saw me, he said, "If I leave this here, can I walk with you?" Now that's a very generous offer from a man who clearly appreciates his morning drink, but I had to decline. There was no telling if his 40 would have been there when we got back and I couldn't live with myself if I had been responsible for the man's loss.

Do you think it was the shorts?