Snow, Coffee, Corduroy and Tungsten

I was accused this week of writing only about the past, using my family as a springboard to retell the embarrassing stories of my adolescence. I was like, duh. Summoning the awesome powers of hindsight allows me to shape each story to my own faulty memory, and suddenly my sister's SAT scores become my SAT scores and that time my brother pissed off the front porch becomes, well, tell you what, I'll let him keep that memory.

But to slay they who nay say, I'll write a ditty about current days and, with a little luck and a couple of drinks, you'll even find it interesting.

The portrait pictures I posted the other day were the result of ongoing negotiations with Laurie -- she's honestly the prettiest person who will voluntarily enter my studio/bedroom/sleep hole, so I needed her full cooperation. In exchange for posing, she received a showcase showdown of Valentine's prizes, including, but not limited to:

[Ghost of Rod Roddy enters]

A fantastic trip to Ikea to peruse furniture! A dinner at the Austin Grill in the heart of Old Town Alexandria! And, to top of this one of a kind experience, a concert in Vienna, Virginia featuring girl-centric music! It can all be hers, if the price is right!

[Ghost exits to dry clean sparkly shirt]

So that's been my life recently -- fulfilling this romantic prize pack to the best of my ability. The Saturday trip to Ikea was excellent -- I picked up the poor man's studio equipment (a black fleece for the backdrop and two tungsten clamp lights), and Laurie began choosing furniture so that she can toss out everything I consider masculine when we find a place together in 20XX.

Saturday night brought on the snow, so most Virginians were busy beating each other with loaves of bread at the local supermarketmart. We braved this southern blizzard (or, as Pennsylvanians call it, slush) and arrived at the restaurant to find it practically deserted (as opposed to Laurie after the meal: desserted).

So, two for two on the day, and as an added bonus Laurie talked me into buying some new shirts and sweaters, showcased in the lovely new picture of yours truly. I think the look gives me a certain Mr. Rogers-if-he-were-a-Japanese-tourist appeal.

All that was left to fulfill my V-Day promise was to drive us over to Jammin' Java, a tiny-ish coffee house to the west that gets some big names from time to time. We went to see Brandi Carlile, who is damn excellent and put on a perfect little show even if her name is missing an "s". I'm a little embarrassed to admit that I'm a fan of a headlining female performer (I call this complex Olivia Newton Johnitis, hereditary from my dad, along with Hates Crossdressaphobia and Getyourhandsoutofyoursleeves Syndrome), but I think she's worth an exception.

So, all said and done, I did a better job than past Valentine's Days (I even sent flowers), beating out the year I gave her toys from a grocery store vending machine (a story in its own right). But does this make me a romantic at heart?

I'll let history decide.