The pizza is thin and — above all — very, very salty. It tastes as if a much larger piece of food had been cooked down into salty two-dimensionality — a salt reduction. Like on those old science fiction movies where things are shunken by giant lasers. Or like Lot’s wife.

Their health score is an 87 — and high eighties ain’t a B+ in health scores. We’ve tried the margherita and the pepperoni — the restaurant is close to our home and the space itself is inviting, with a bar right inside and some nice common space outside, a little bridge of over a man-made pond in back swarming with tadpoles, a shared patio with Mason’s Haunt next door. We’ve ridden our bikes there a couple of times now — You can get to the restaurant using roads other than the bike-averse Loop road, and that’s one of the reasons we wanted to like it. We had hopes about our little ecosystem of bike jaunts and renourishment and beer.

It’s positioned as upscale, with the sponge-textured wall tones, black uniforms for the staff, Morretti beer, and the framed posters of Florence etc. that are obligatory for a certain haute mall vibe. But these are so much lipstick on the salt-lick if the food is as bad as it has seemed to this eater.

The 61st Annual N.C. Azalea Festival brings many visitors back to its source of inspiration this April, Greenfield Lake. Dr. Houston Moore planted the roots for this celebration of beauty and history in 1934. Moore spent many years reaching out to local civic organizations and Wilmington’s City Commissioners to aid in the beautification and protection of Greenfield Lake, and financed part of the project when City Commissioners later declined further funding. In 1947 Dr. Moore obtained endorsement for his vision of an annual azalea festival, and this dream was manifested in 1948.

My husband, architect Gordon Hall, designed and completed building our home in Greenfield Lake in May 2007. We had bought the lot a couple of years prior to that and had what many people considered to be better options at that time. Better in the sense that they would have grown in value more quickly, provided higher quality schools and a safer and more structured environment. I disagreed. I saw a bewitching garden full of mystery and danger that would be able to hold my interest. Greenfield Lake was my first true love in Wilmington. I was so smitten that I never perceived her faults until much later. Even then, I didn’t care. To me she was the bohemian queen cradling the beautiful life I desired above a swamp filled with alligators, while strangers danced in the shadows. Others, not so blinded by love, still find joy in the park’s many attractions and amenities.

The Wilmington Shakespeare On the Green Festival will perform “Comedy of Errors” and “Taming of the Shrew” in May and June. Admission is free, however donations are graciously accepted. While concessions are available, patrons are encouraged to bring their own picnic to enjoy. Once the performance begins the sun quickly descends, giving the dimly lit amphitheater an intimate mood. Shakespeare’s words ring through the treetops while frogs and crickets keep rhythm in the background. It is a hypnotic experience.

Greenfield Grind Skate Park has become increasingly popular among the local fearless and visiting thrill seekers. When observing, I try my best to look hip but can barely contain a shriek as they take flight. These are heroic artists who seem unconcerned with anything other than a ride on the perpetual wave of frozen sand we call concrete. If you are lucky enough to be there during these moments, it is magical.

More earth bound creatures will find serenity encircling the lake’s fragrant gardens during the five-mile scenic path. Passing the tennis courts may fuel inspiration when you hear rapidly pounding exchanges and happily expelled grunts.

Families can be seen on most weekends feeding the water birds and turtles or romping in the playgrounds. There are also several picnic shelters and grills for public use. Paddleboats and canoe rentals are available seasonally and provide opportunities to become more intimate with the wildlife. If your movements are graceful you will be introduced to close up views of Snowy Egrets dangling like jewels from Cypress branches and turtles bobbing on the waters surface. A deep splash may indicate that an alligator is near and if you’re lucky he’ll be wearing that famous smile. The Cape Fear River Watch offers weekly educational and wildlife observation tours, as well as events that bring the community together to cleanse the park of trash and debris. The next “Greenfield Lake Cleanup” event is scheduled for April 19th from 9:00 am-1:00 pm.

Greenfield Lake offers an abundance of entertainment opportunities in a stunning environment. Hopefully we’ll see a few new faces around the block.

My personal, quiet Zone 8 worship began the very first day I stepped into the large greenhouse structure that serves as, well, greenhouse, vintage seed-bin storage room, and check-out station. I was immediately taken in by the enormous butterfly kite hanging illuminated by the sun from the ceiling. Mouth still agape, I looked down to see that I was being greeted by an old, white-chinned Golden begging for a scritch behind the ears. Already I’m in love with this place, but it doesn’t stop there. The music throbbing through the warm, earthy walls of green is the soulful—bordering on melancholic—voice of the barefoot diva herself, Cesaria Evoria. Folks, let me tell you, I’m not much into religion, but on that day, I felt something of a spiritual nature take hold of me.

The plants—acres of them—and the funky hippie staff are great too.

Greenhouse

Butterfly

Zone 8 interior

Entrance

So let’s start with linguistic definition and the nature of communication… dare I say ontology when it comes to identifying humans who ask for handouts. Ranald’s original post is fairly unassuming and is most admirable as a true journalistic endeavor: to present the facts. As for the tourist, I think it’s important, especially in a town where there are in fact so many people who are homeless, to adequately define the word “vagrant.” The commentary by Rachel is both commendable and accurate by “suggesting” this with her use of quotation marks in response to tourist’s choice of nomenclature. A “vagrant,” beyond being an improper term used in the visitor’s email to generalize, indeed to further marginalize “the homeless,” is a criminal. While the particular people she mentioned may have appeared to be violently moved, begging is not a criminally violent act. Might as well call the homeless “scoundrels” or “savages.” Certainly, these are words (like “vagrant”) that prove the visitor’s observations no less than the product of prejudgment as they overlook this simple fact: people begging for money have serious problems, and not all of them drug or alcohol related. I once paid a man to wash my car (who indeed looked rough, and indeed looked scary), only to find out that his homelessness was due, at length, to a battle with cancer. While my example is tertiary, it points out that perception is indeed a problem. The visitor’s email speaks of Wilmington as if it is some sort of Shangri la purely here for tourism and leisure, as if there are no “real” problems here… please.
So again, Rachel’s response is not in the least “naive” in suggesting that the tourist is embellishing. Quite to the contrary, Rachel’s response is both pointing and accurate in regards to “what people perceive” when approached by the homeless…. which brings me to section two of this post… solving problems related to homelessness rather than running away from them.

I’ll try to make what is already “news” short and sweet. In 2011, the Rhodes Army Reserve Center on Greenfield Lake will be no longer used by the government (WWAY TV). It was put on social auction as it were, and bid on by the Good Shepherd’s House (to use the facility as a transitional housing for homeless seeking to end their plight), Girls Inc. (which would employ the facility in order to help youths in need) and Elderhaus (who would house the elderly and infirmed). Many members of the Sunset Park community (map) surrounding the Center came out more or less to “fight” against Good Shepherd and champion Girls Inc. and Elderhaus. The concern for many of the Sunset community (including myself until I explored their proposal further) was that under the Good Shepherd’s proposal, the Center (which I can literally throw a rock at from my house) would become a mecca for crack-heads, shed-squatters, and other manner of villainous “vagrants.” Their voices were heard at city hall and, at length, a vote was made to pass on the Good Shepherd’s proposal without legally giving it a fair shake. Now, one can’t blame the people of Sunset park for being concerned for their neighborhood and overall well being. After all, they work very hard for what they have, and should have a voice.

That being said, it is of the utmost important to distinguish between representations of the homeless as “those in need” versus “those who do harm.” The more negative of the those two do not litter downtown Wilmington in my experience. The prior, however, do, and they are the ones who need help. The “vagrants,” of course, should be treated as such when and if a crime is committed. But it is somewhat disturbing to hear such blatant reports focused on “potential damage” from people who in no way are considering the actual differences between the homeless and the criminal elements in our city… like the tourist, for example, or like some in our city who discounted the Good Shepherd House’s proposal for the Reserve Center. It was, in short, a plan to help those who want help, who want to get off the streets; not a plan to bring more drugs and alcohol to Sunset park. To believe that all the homeless (as our tourists appears to believe) are “vagrants” is purely a paranoia of those who reside in our society’s farthest margins. It is disheartening to find that our city council sided with such misdirected perceptions. A good place to pick up that story more in depth is with WHQR’s Megan Williams, who reported on just how high up this issue goes several weeks ago.

The Downtown Business Alliance is set out to unite, promote and support businesses in downtown Wilmington, NC. We are very proud of downtown Wilmington and we’re hoping this site will help you get around and keep up to date with all the downtown happenings. Please refer to this site often, as information will change regularly.

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http://www.starnewsonline.com/article/20071118/NEWS/711180364

In the spirit of Ian’s post about local restaurants (Being and Being Local), I thought I’d post about my visit today to this new addition to the roster. It’s on the northeast corner of the Cotton Exchange – with entrances on Front Street as well as from inside the building, if you park in the free lot @ Nutt & Water streets and walk through. It has previously housed a couple of Italian places and a deli, of various lifespans and quality.

My friend Catherine, who also shares your preference for locally owned establishments vs. chain ones and works assiduously to promote them, specifically downtown, and I went there for lunch today. I enjoyed the place and the service, but I don’t know that their lifespan will beat their predecessors. The food just didn’t meet my standards for comfort food — I have to confess that just putting gourmet in the name with soul kind of set my teeth on edge.

We started with fried green tomatoes, which is kind of unfair at this time of year, but they were on the menu. The best thing about real fried green tomatoes is the rush of strong tomato-vine scent and the way they sort of melt at the same time they still have a little tooth to them, and the very thin, light batter with only salt and pepper to contain them. These weren’t really green tomatoes, apparently some of the less pink of the refrigerator golf balls that come from the produce guy this time of year, and they had none of that musky vine bouquet, nor any particular flavor or texture. The batter/breading was much thicker than I would like, but since there wasn’t any particularly great prize within, it was OK. I don’t really care about a relish/garnish with a good fried green tomato, but I would definitely recommend presenting it in a souffle cup or otherwise on the side, even in a pool, rather than spreading it across the tomatoes to soggify the crust right quick.

The mashed potatoes were fabulous, and they and the macaroni and cheese joined the fried green tomatoes in containing a lot of very coarsely ground black pepper. I’m a pepper fiend, add it to everything including french fries, but even I found the appearance and taste of the copiously included pepper a little daunting. I got the meatloaf, which was also OK but nothing to write home about. It was a little too dense and didn’t seem to have much in it but meat – the best meatloaf I’ve ever had included almost one part of carrot pulp left over from juicing to 2-3 parts of meat, plus onions, etc. This one seemed to rely instead on a wrapping of bacon for juiciness, and while it wasn’t bad, it could have been a lot better. I like meatloaf to be so moist as to be crumbly, and this was very firmly stuck together.

Catherine got the roasted chicken, and while I didn’t try it, she had no complaints and it looked and smelled very good. She too enjoyed the mashed potatoes (we both practically licked the plate). Her other side dish was hoppin john. I laughed at her for ordering the blackeyed peas on the side, as everyone knows hoppin john has the rice and peas all cooked together, but the laugh was on me as here they are not, and out they brought a pile of steamed rice and a bowl of peas. Both the rice and peas looked and smelled good, again, but I didn’t taste them.

We also both had hot tea, which is a nice thing to provide. Next time I go I’ll try to pick a less frigid day so I can judge the iced tea, certainly a key barometer of whether they are even slightly southern. Catherine said the Sunday brunch was great, too, so I’ll be sure to give it a try as well.

Overall, I would say that it’s a good effort and a great place – there is a bar and outdoor seating both on Front Street and inside the Cotton Exchange, but none of those were tryable on this frigid-windy noontime. Our table was comfortable and I kind of liked they way they combined avant-garde-ish china with flatware and napkins and condiments in a tin-bucket sort of thing on the table. The service was very friendly and accommodating, and the presentation of the food was all very nice. We had no problem getting boxes to take home what we couldn’t finish.

I hope you will all give it a try – it’s always nice to be able to park free in the Cotton Exchange lot instead of fighting for a space on the street – and I hope they will tweak a few things to make me happier, but more importantly I hope they will make enough people happy to last a long time after all.

We didn’t say no. We needed those benefactors. But we wished we didn’t, and we felt sheepish. As much as we struggled with the business, I didn’t want our bookstore to be a cause. Rains leeched the ugly ceiling tiles in ominous, sepia Rohrshachs and filled the tinkling bottles on the mildewed carpet in winter. Sometimes, we faced all the books in the cases out to make the supply look thicker, or else chronically brought in much more of a kind of book—poetry, say—than we could ever sell, which is Business 101 suicide. Our little store bathroom smelled like cat shit most of the time (Our pet cat Fellini lived at the bookstore and sat in laps during store hours). We kept buying books we liked, we kept holding little events and clubs and readings, kept struggling, dodged creditors, kept reading.

The system wasn’t working right when customers’ needs weren’t being satisfied. That was our nagging feeling. The guiding, invisible hand was held in abeyance by…charity. At that point in my life, in that relation to things, the word charity seemed like a dirty one. We were dependents when we were struggling so hard to be independents, to be a little independent bookstore, an honest part of the economy. The laws of supply and demand were inverted—or perverted, I thought—and it was our demands and our patrons’ supply of patronage that were being exchanged.

Now it’s years later and we’re living in Wilmington, NC, and I feel different about things. We’re on the other side now, my wife and I. We are patrons. And charity, I realize, is the least of it. We are not condescending to the local stores and services we patronize; we are not donating. Au contraire. As a patron and a father and, after four years here, a new local, I think I see that our customers back then were acting perfectly rational, were Adam Smith-ians after all, but satisfying a variety of self-interest I wasn’t mature enough or perceptive enough (or confused enough?) to appreciate:

Commercial exchanges can be mere echoes, like religious rites whose original meanings have been lost or obscured. Trade is an exchange of value, and our system is structured to ensure that the value on both sides is quickly commensurate. But the market works in sneaky ways, making our choices seem too few, or too many, convincing us that ridiculous things are necessary, pressure-forming the notion of value into a caricature of itself, into “deals” and savings and speed and ease unto inertia.

You give money to get value, and you get what you give.

If you think the only thing Wilmington’s Indochine has over Ruby Tuesday is its food, for example, you’re a dummy. Or a philistine. The experience at that funky Southeast Asian restaurant on Market street, middle of nowhere, is so manifoldly better than a trip to the local, could-be-anywhere chain restaurant that if you’re a frequent flyer at Ruby’s or at TGIFridays, say—as we abjectly thought we “might should be” when we first moved here (I have to tell a story about TGIFridays as well. Remind me.)—you may have already alienated yourself right out of your own boots! You’re floating and unbelonging along. And I should know because I float along 96% of the time too. Indochine and other local businesses provide real value, and I don’t mind “paying extra” for them one bit, paying for books at the local bookstore. What’s in those books you’re buying for half off at the big box anyway—how to win more friends? How to live healthier? Is it a novel you read to feel more connected to others, or more authentic? For God sakes, what kind of investigative practice is that, if the circumstances under which you purchased these objects was Super-Saver?

So of course I don’t see this “extra” as charity at all (anymore). You get what you give. Pomegranate Books, Tidal Creek, Zone Eight Nursery, Two Wheeler Dealer, little wine shops, downtown businesses in general—these are not my cause, I am their cause! Rather, our mutual cause is living well, actually living in an environment of real value and exchange and humanness and human pleasure, the kind written about in books and organized for your consumption in good eateries and friendly gas stations and other beneficent, reciprocating transactions. I hope they don’t think I’m being “charitable” as a patron, these businesses—I’m trying to belong, I’m trying to save myself! I’m just happy they open the doors for me. It’s pure self-interest. I wouldn’t presume to know about your soul, but for me, existence can seem pretty tenuous sometimes. The floating around. I’m not sure I exist or am real. Or real enough. Or worse: The questions of existence and realness do not arise for me for large stretches. (A related paradox I am trying to write about: the paradox of materialism and its disdain). But sometimes, all that stuff about online “worlds” and myspace and globalization and post-literacy and sexy, techno-tribalism and chat emoticons—it all just seems like a bunch of baby-talk to me when I take part in my community, when I belong. I feel most myself when those things seem irrelevant, or fraudulent, or banal. (And, to do the math above, this particular myself-ness is happening to me like 4% of the time.)

Existence is not guaranteed to us, I guess you could say. You have to work at existence by existing—in some particular place, in some body, in some set of failures and contingencies. And exchanges. If you are, then you are somewhere, you’re local or can be local. Wilmington affords so many opportunities to be, and to belong, and to benefit and “benefact”–there’s no reason just to float around.

I’m out of it. Are we about to be annexed?

We’re just outside the city limits here in Masonboro; Whiskey Creek is the southern edge of Wilmington proper. We’re on a well, and get county services like trash but not city goods like recycling, which DIY activity takes up not a small part of our time.

Not sure what all it means — you hear about how much extra it costs when you’re annexed. Someone told me you’re obliged to pay a couple grand for the water hookup sometimes *years* before there’s water running out of it, and that each month you do not use the city water you’ve hooked into, you’re fined (sic!).

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Above Cape Fear River, originally uploaded by brownhen.

The view from Level 5, a bar and city stage downtown. Part of a small photoset here.

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