Writer's Con One Short This Year

The Roanoke Regional Writers Conference last year wasn't a bad scene. For starters, Sharyn McCrumb was there along with some excellent writers around Virginia whose work appears in notable mags nationwide.

There was even a full-time blogger there sharing tips on the blogosphere.

I had been hoping for an encore this year, but received no emails regarding the 2009 conference.
While Roanoke is very cosmopolitan for its size - an assertion I've long stood by - writer's conferences are pretty rare, so I knew that I wanted to attend.

I called the place that housed it last year: The Jefferson Center. They said they have no idea if it's going on in '09, but they aren't hosting it.

I wrote the webmaster of the Literary Ladies' Luncheon - who made reference to the 2008 conference on their site, but still no dice on tracking down the event for '09. All of this after Googling the hell out of anything that sounded remotely close to Roanoke Regional Writers Conference.

So how do I finally here about it: via a thank you for attending email from the Arts Council of the Blue Ridge, saying how last weekend's conference was a fine affair. My email address must not have been on the head's up mailing list.

Being angry is completely futile, but feeling utterly disappointed is pretty called for. I mean, how can Roanokers have any claim to how little buy-in the arts have in our city when someone like me - seeking an opportunity to pay good money toward this conference and its speakers - can't even track down the date or place or host of an event?

I'll not claim that I am so fine a writer that the conference was in any way cheapened by my absence, but I'll tell you what was: the conference's and host's coffers. Not to mention the score of small-press books I always buy from the speakers.

Maybe next year I won't have to beat down someone's door just to patronize the arts.

Busing: Day Six

Okay, so something odd has happened with my little bus experiment. No, I wasn't mugged or molested, nor did I meet my new best friend or come to the conclusion that the mumbling guy who stares out the window is actually chanting the winning lottery numbers for a month from now.

Nothing that exciting. Mostly, I've noticed that I have gravitated away from the bus in direct proportion to how well my wife and I have adjusted to being a single car family. This wasn't my intention, evidenced quite clearly by the completely unused week-long bus ticket I still have in my wallet as an unwillingness to admit that I pissed away $14.

We just made slight adjustments here and there, as we often to, and the change to using only one car was tacit and unconscious, but is almost complete, nonetheless.

I still took the bus to work this morning, and I might take it home as well. And this itself might become a routine, at least while the Jeep is in the shop. But it's clear to me now just how completely personal and private transportation has ingrained itself in our lives.

Many rightly argue that - even if you wanted to be a fan of mass trans in a smaller city - you could only go so far because everything from the layout of certain businesses to city zoning are predicated largely on an assumed level of personal transportation.

Of course, now I'm scratching my head as to whether we could survive with just one car. Hmmmm. Though both cars are paid for, the lack of insurance alone could pay for my bus tickets. Hmmmm.

Carmike 10 ahead of the game

In times of economic downturns such as these, there are a few industries that will inevitably suffer: travel, leisure, and film. While the MPAA whines about piracy being the bane of sluggish theater profits (they said the same thing about VHS and DVD as well), they seem to have ignored the abundantly clear fact that spending $30 per couple to glean 90 minutes of entertainment isn't the best investment (though - apparently - neither are my mutual funds as of late).

And yet, thanks largely to Movie Tirades, I've found myself wanting to see more and more movies, either on DVD or, especially, at the theater.

The theater is the one place where I'm a total sellout when it comes to buying concession: I want a drink and snacks. It's a part of the experience for me. If I can't afford them, then I simply go to the theater less rather than go without.

However, while other theaters are scratching their heads wondering what the heck to do about falling attendance, Carmike 10 has stepped up to the plate and taken some action in a few key ways:

1. Student discount. This theater didn't use to have one, which put a bad taste in my mouth because their typical tickets are pricier than some other theaters (currently an adult, night show costs $9.25). I would cringe when my friend, who - for some reason - was only interested in the Carmike 10, would ask if I'd like to join him. Now, though, they have the discounted student rate of $7.50, which - while I've seen better - is a great step in the right direction.

2. Midday shows. While their noon shows are still the same price as any other matinee, stepping up and being one of the only theaters with such an early show is a big plus. Despite my affinity for catching a good flick, I like to go in when it's light and come out when it's still light, so that I don't feel like I've spent the whole day in a movie.

3. Popcorn bucket. When I bought my Indiana Jones $6 bucket of popcorn, I had to convince my wife that it would end up being a good deal. With 50 cent refills for the next few months after Indiana hit the big screen, surely we'd make up for the difference and get out money's worth.
Then they extended the bucket's use until the end of 2008. Now, the same bucket is good for all of 2009! That's the kind of deal that will keep me coming back to Carmike 10. I've gotten quite a few 50 cent buckets since then, and I've got 11 months and change still left on it.

4. Going digital. I'll admit, there's not a whole lot of difference prima facie in digital and analog for your average film, but now that Carmike 10 has made the digital conversion, they can offer 3D movies (I'm anxious to try my first very soon). For many theaters, this conversion will come at a tremendous cost - a price that has to be handed down to the customer, unfortunately. But with Carmike's other recent incentives, I don't see it dissuading me anytime soon.

So while many theaters bemoan these tough times, Carmike 10 is doing what it takes to get people in the door, and - in my case - it's working.

Ding, dang, dong goes the Star Line Trolley

While heading south from downtown on an errand, I decide to give the new Star Line Trolley a try. I've seen these old-style cars roaming about downtown several times, and had heard somewhere that they're free.

So on Jefferson Street I stand at the adequately marked trolley stop which reads that trolleys come every ten minutes. I wait right at ten minutes, so it seems the assertion is correct at least as far as I can speak to it.

The car itself is pristine, though that's really to be expected based on how new it is. It has a very charming interior, with brass rails, leather handholds, and nice wooden benches (if a little slippery at fast stops). The ceilings are high, with good lighting and an embedded sound system (though there is no music or announcements during our ride).

The day is cold, but the trolley remains adequately heated. Four, small airplane-style monitors show static-laden flashes of some image or other, like I'm suddenly on the set of the film They Live. I don't know if these normally display routes and stop info or play The Sound of Music on loop.

Aside from me and my colleagues, there are two other people aboard: one, a woman who gets off maybe two blocks from where she'd been picked up, and the other a homeless guy seemingly enjoying the heat while taking a nap in back.

It's quite early, so I'd like to think the hour and the weather explain the low ridership.

Carilion Roanoke Memorial marks the end of the line, where my colleagues and I get off as does the homeless guy.

Our return trip is much the same, though the driver has country music playing softly in the background, and the monitors are just empty, sans the flicker of some pirate signal trying to break through. One more rider gets on with us, and another along the way.

I like the idea of the Star Line Trolley. I just hope that it's used in lieu of hopping in a car to drive a few blocks to meet someone for lunch, run and errand, or go to a doctor's appointment. I hope that its character encourages a strong ridership and perhaps brings more people into downtown who might otherwise avoid it due to poor parking.

In the end, I just hope it's a good idea.

Busing: Day Five

On Friday, after taking the bus to work, I decided to purchase a monthly bus pass to commit myself to the higher calling of busing. I walked the two blocks to the Campbell Court station and parted the haze of cigarette smoke from the half-dozen smokers lighting up just outside the south-facing double doors.

I went to the counter, and looked at the rates to make sure I had enough cash. Stepping up to the teller window, however, I found a note reading: Out to lunch. I checked my watch; it was 3pm, making me immediately envious of the bus station worker's lunch break.

I left and came back later, again set on a monthly pass. It was a Friday right before a weekend when I'd have a car, and I knew I already had a ride for that evening, so I asked: "Can I get a monthly pass starting Monday?" and she screwed her face. "They're month to month. You get one for the calendar month, not for a month from when you bought it."

So I decide to go for a week-long pass. "Well can I get a weekly pass for Monday?"

She again looked like I might have a second head I have always been unaware of. "Well the week starts Monday and goes through Saturday. We stopped selling them for this week."

"You're not selling them now?" I asked.

"Nobody would want to buy a week-long pass on a Friday," she said. "But we selling the one for next week."

"That starts on Monday?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"Okay, I'll take one of them," I tell her. She tells me the price: $14.

I pay it, though the math is immediately suspect. If I ride to work to and from home each day, it's $3/day for 5 days, equally $15. If I lock myself into a week-long pass, I save one dollar.

I guess I do get to ride on Saturday, in case I want to be gung-ho and come to work on my day off.

Dining Out: Hollywood's Restaurant and Bakery

While this may have little to do with new Hollins-area restaurant Hollywood's, I just need to say that our going there was an accident. We were headed to a local place that will remain nameless. Small, quiet, earthy, and utterly closed. Why the hell small business is surprised that it has no customers when it spends half the time closed is a riddle that baffles me.

Anyway, Hollywood's was a decent second choice, to be sure. The environment was pretty typical: plenty of room, good lighting, and the bakery wares calling to customers from just left of the entrance.

We'd planned on only dessert and coffee, but my wife ordered the cheese fries as an app with dessert to follow, forgetting to check ingredients. Alas, the fries came out with bacon bits, but the waitress was very nice about taking them back for some "vegetarian" fries (potatoes is a vegetable, right?).

I had the peanut butter pie, which was good. My wife had a cake called "Better Than Sex" that I liked a little better (though perhaps not quite as much as advertised, given the name).
The service was good and the prices were very reasonable.

We ate with friends who had full meals that were well portioned, and looked good, though we resisted asking for bites just to have something for the review.

For a Friday night, the place had a good draw, though not on a wait or anything. While Hollins is a little outta my hood, I could see returning to try some of the other desserts, of which there are plenty.

Yoga Nights

Most nights, I'm the only guy in the Uttara yoga studio, which means I'm pretty taciturn, and must - as a result - look lost because I'm often asked how I am or if there's anything I need.

The studio is on the second story of a building downtown that used to be a loft apartment, with sturdy wooden floors, spacious rooms, and a nice view of downtown through huge windows. It's candlelit most nights, though there's sometimes a soft glow from low-lit lamps.

The lounge area looks straight out of India, or at least what I have in my head as India, since I've never been there. Pillow seats surround a low table; there are lots of deep oranges and reds. No one seems to linger much in the lounge, though - probably because the classes are stacked and while you're leaving your class often there's another group trickling in, and you immediately get the feeling that hanging around and talking would be rude.

Tonight, I go for what's called Integral Yoga, which is more meditative than other kinds, though I'm still sometimes sore the next day. The kinda sore you get when you helped a friend move or played too much Wii bowling: a mild ache of secondary muscles that are typically the couch potatoes of my everyday locomotion.

I'm pretty bad at yoga in general. That's not to say I'm not flexible, but in many of the poses I look a lot more like the Karate Kid than Mr. Miyagi, since it's all about balance.

Of course, you have to be flexible in another way, too, so I found out when we began chanting. Okay, so I've never chanted outside of the shower before, but it really added to the whole experience, and I'm open to new things.

By the time our hour and fifteen minute session was coming to a close with a relaxation breathing exercise while lying prone, I sorta fell asleep. My wife lightly brushed her hand on my arm and I came to, hoping I hadn't been snoring.

So if you're up for a totally different kind of exercise, and you despise running as much as I do, give yoga a try. They have lots of different kinds, a variety of times, and good parking (which says a lot considering it's downtown Roanoke).

Busing: Day Four

Upon shaking my wife's piggy bank for another two quarters, exactly two state quarters shot into my hand, so I knew it was going to be a good day. I went with an iPod today to avoid speaking to anyone in lieu of reading the same copy of Wired magazine. It was a moot point, really, since there didn't seem to be too many riders today.

The driver was different: a younger woman. And while I'm sure it's my imagination, it seems like none (or very few) of the regulars are on board, as if in protest to the new driver and showing a sort of driver loyalty. I know the time's the same; I've got that down cold now.

I suppose it could be that today is a Friday and - just like most anywhere you go - things are just a little off on Fridays. Like the fact that everyone in my building seems to shed ten years instantly every Friday, clad in designer jeans and more casual jackets - clothing that magically makes them seem younger in every other way.

The two young black kids who get on each day (the only regulars today, so far as I can tell) whip out their riding credentials like a television police detective: quick flop open, then back. So they don't actually have to scan them, it seems. I rub my hand over my goatee and wonder: Could I pass for a high school student if it meant free rides?

Mill Mountain Theater draws ire

By now you may have heard about Mill Mountain Theater closing down, and perhaps you said to yourself: "Ah, that's too bad. I should have gone to the theater more."

Well, you might be singing a different tune if you'd just purchase tickets, 'cause those of us who spent our sparse dollars on trying to support local theater are being handed nothing but ambiguity in return.

Will the last show "Driving Miss Daisy" happen or not? While 20 theater employees are now surfing the unemployment line, I'd like to know what kind of show they had in mind.

But, hark, on their Web site it's business as usual. If there's mention of closure, I sure don't see it, and yet there's still the ability to buy tickets, even season tickets, and for a show or shows that will likely not even happen!

My ticket was open-ended, which means that, if they put on "Daisy" I can still attend, but what about season ticket holders who're now stuck with a few extra sheets of toilet paper? Not to mention mine were for box seats: a gift, but now sans employees, I guess it's BYOB.

Theater spokesman Jason Bingham told WDBJ7 that: "It's heartbreaking." I would have to agree: seeing the smoke but not yelling fire to the 20 employees hereafter referred to as The Damned is heartbreaking.

Way to give less than 24 hrs notice of your closure and still sell tickets, Mill Mountain.
If I do get the honor of seeing "Daisy" you can bet that whether the theater rises from its ashes or not, it will be my last show.

Busing: Day Three

Raining again. I got the bus stop right on time only to discover I had no quarters, and the only other bills I had were a ten and a twenty. So, I run back home, fly in the house, and proceed to raid my wife's piggy bank, into which she only puts dimes and quarters (mostly quarters by, say, a five to one ratio).

I shake it in the dark of my bedroom only to get a quarter and four dimes. I shake again and feel something larger, so I grab it and go. But by the time I'm passed the laundry room some subconscious (and far more astute) part of my brain says: "Something ain't right" so I look at the two coins to find that the second one is one of those Sacajawea dollars. There might be three of those things in the whole half-gallon growler that passes for my wife's piggy bank and I shake one out.

So I got back and get the right change, yelling at the dogs to get out of my way so I can run back to the bus stop. I make it, luckily, with about a minute to spare.

The ride is uneventful, not even the chatty Cathy who normally talks up the driver the whole way is speaking. Probably the rain. Some guy gets on and pays with what sounds like 150 pennies. An SUV seems to have forgotten basic physics and passes us on the left right where Campbell becomes a single-lane street due to the cop cars parked in the right hand lane in front of the police station.

At least I have a basic idea of the time now, since I looked at my watch approximately every ten seconds while running to and from the house for exact change.

Eating Out: Café Asia

Gratefully foregoing a Friday night with nothing more to do than sit at home on our respective computers, my wife and I except an invitation to meet friends at the new Café Asia on Valley Gateway Blvd.

The restaurant is beside Kroger's and has been open for a month or two, I gather. Our friends had been there twice before, and enjoyed it.
So, starting out with my staple - an Asahi beer - we ordered sushi for apps. My wife's a vegetarian, and I'm a pescetarian, but that still left plenty of options. We had the avocado roll, which was very good. To our delight, the owner/operator brought out some fried tuna roll for us to try, which was equally smashing.

I had the Thai rice noodles with shrimp, which was a lot like an angel-haired version of pad Thai with a little less of a peanut taste. I meant to save some, but cleaned my plate like a good, raised-in-the-'80s kid.

The bill wasn't bad: $35 with tip for two people with a drink and sushi. The menu is eclectic to say the least, with pho and stir fry as well as wanton noodles and sushi. Let's put it this way: if you like Asian food, there's something there you'll dig on.

The owner is very friendly, and there were at about 2/3rds capacity, near as my unobservant eyes could glean, so I hope they have found a solid locale.

Would any readers like to see a pic of my entrée when I eat out and write about the place? If so, please comment below or use the contact email to let me know.

United Way Soiree at Blue 5

Last night my wife and I go to a get-together at Blue 5 downtown put on by the United Way, Roanoke division. We meet downstairs and catch the tail end of happy hour - enough time for two of the only beer on tap: Blue Moon. Not a bad choice, if you have only one.

My wife and I begin in the customary fashion: mingling without mingling and talking to each other like we’re absolute strangers. Two beers deep, we start to meet some of the United Way folks, who are no doubt partially attracted by the less gregarious in the group of about 40 people, the rest of which were mostly shirt and tie types who’ve come right from work and have a solid 3 or 4 people there to talk to.

We meet the CEO of Roanoke United Way, who also hails from Phoenix, swapping stories about urban development and what the current economic downturn (shall we say) means for Roanoke. Not to make it sound like deep, Larry King type of conversation or anything.

We talk to a couple of other very pleasant people before heading upstairs for dinner around 7 or so. A chalk sign reads: “Route 2 playing tonight” but also reads: “Happy New Year!” so I don’t really know how reliable the live band intel is. Around 8, though, Route 2 takes the stage - a base player, a guitarist who plays like that blind guy from Road House and a lady wailing on the violin.
The food is good: I have the catfish, and my wife has a few veggie sides.

And so, we leave around 830 with a reasonable tab, full bellies, and a few business cards to log into my address book. All of the United Way folks say that Roanokers are a generous lot, economic downturn or not (and sometimes in spite of such circumstances). So it’s a good night, with a place I’ve never been and many faces I’ve never seen - all of which seem to like it here in Roanoke, which says a lot in 18 degree, windy weather.

Busing: Day Two

It’s raining, so I wanted to get to the stop like yesterday - at the exact second before the bus arrives. But, since I didn’t look at my damn watch yesterday, I have to arrive early and just stand in the rain for a while. I try to read my latest issue of Wired magazine, but the pages are getting wet despite my best efforts, and holding my briefcase in the crook of my arm is a pain in the ass anyway.

So I just stand there and debate on playing the brick breaker game on my BlackBerry. If someone else comes up and waits with me, I’m sure I’ll break out the trusting phone just to look too busy to make conversation.

I can’t help but notice the drivers staring at me as they cruise by. Do I stare at people waiting for a bus when I’m driving? I can’t tell exactly what their stares imply. It looks like it could be pity, but there’s something else there. By the time the bus passes by on the other side of the road (meaning it will be to me very soon) I think I have the looks figured out. It’s a tacit thanks, to me and to fate. They’re saying: I may not like my car payment and my insurance payment, bu that’s all right, because I’m not that dumb ass standing on the corner in the rain.

When the bus comes, I swear is earlier than yesterday. I look at my watch but immediately forget the time because I have to juggle everything to get out exact change. I have no idea what would happen if I used two dollar bills. Would I get change, or would the bus driver reproachfully scowl at me or roll his eyes in digust? I don’t risk it, but put in the dollar bill and two quarters as quickly as possible.

Busing: Day One

With the truck in the shop, I’ve decided to ease the familial burden of being carted to and from work by my wife and take the bus for a month instead. This may not sound terribly exciting, but - based on my busing experiences in the past - it could prove rather comical, which is my hope.
Well, I was lucky enough to know where the bus stops because I’ve taken the bus on a couple of other occasions at the height of the gas prices last year. At the time, I looked around for a solid 30 minutes before I could find one, though, because I was looking for stone benches or those little waffle-like seats under a Plexiglas roof like I knew in Arizona.

Apparently in Roanoke, busers just endure the elements because the only indication you have that a location is a bus stop is a sign about the size of a half-gallon of milk (hence all of my wandering). But this morning, I knew where to go, and I had a rough understanding of when I needed to be there after checking the time tables online.

So I walk maybe a quarter mile from my house and see another person standing in someone’s front yard where the nearest bus stop resides. I wonder if the homeowner who inevitably has busers lingering in his yard everyday gets some sort of stipend from the city, or got a discount on his house. Perhaps the realtor only took him through the back door and showed him the front porch when no buses were due.

I stand at the bus stop merely for a matter of seconds before the bus arrives, and I completely forget to look at my watch to check the exact time. The cost is $1.50 one way, which is a fair bit more than I would pay in gas for my car to drive downtown to work.

Granted, I live pretty close to work - maybe ten minutes away - and I have free parking compliments of my employer. So, given those circumstances, the bus is a bit of a ripoff, but I’m going to give it a whirl.

In the past, when I took the bus, I had my wife come to pick me up at work when she got home, completely negating any lack of carbon footprint or cost of gas that I’d previously intented. This might have been that I have to catch my return ride at the Campbell Court bus station, which can get a little shady, or it could have been the principle of not paying another $1.50 for a ten-minute ride.

Well, here goes. Stay tuned for occasional updates on how this month progresses.

Welcome to Tramping Roanoke

This blog has recently been transferred from another site, so while there are a zillion posts hitting at once, they were formerly posted every few days as they will be hereafter.

Living in Roanoke, VA is probably a lot like living in a lot of places, but in this blog, I hope to show the truth, beauty, and comedy of my fair city - reveling in her imperfections as much as in her grandeur.

I hope to inspire plenty of reader feedback: comments, questions, insults - whatever it takes to get some of my fellow Roanokers to participate.

I have lived in Roanoke for two-and-a-half years now - still very much a “newb” to the city, and I hope that writing this will also entice me to try new things, experience different activities, and see parts of the city I might never have seen otherwise (and inspire others to do the same).