The final verdict on the Beatwalk bands is tied. Early on, I’d decided that the Bookworm Exchange’s jazz trio was Not My Thing, but as I paced from store to store, I kept returning, and they eventually settled back down and played something light and soothing. And then of course, there was the armchair, the large comfy armchair that I had to occasionally fight the other patrons for.

I engaged the bookstore’s owner in conversation, to see if I could get an impression of the money trail. It was quite short. The five bucks that adults pay to listen to these bands (children are free, which explains all the little rug rats running around in excitement) go directly to the bands after a tiny cut is taken out by the business owners association. The bookstore owner ruefully admitted that his band usually cost him more than the (on average) $65 check he received back from the association for the Beatwalk night, but claimed it was still cheaper than an ad in the paper (and proceeded to quote a price which made me black out in horror).

The wifi signal continued to be problematic at the Bookworm, fading in and out. I could imagine all the books exerting their bookish influence to shield the store from this newfangled wifi, and truly, if I hadn’t been determined to blog on location tonight, I wouldn’t have bothered even trying.

On the other hand, the Starbucks down the street appeared to act as a conduit for the wifi in the ether, sucking the signal into some sort of wifi black hole in the middle of the store. Probably one of T-Mobile’s contractual requirements.

Ruthie and John over at the Gallery were playing wonderful music, and as one of the patrons coaxed them to play something and started singing in Italian, it made my goosebumps come up all over. You just can’t beat an Italian tenor for making women swoon. Someone get that guy to come back next month.

In Revival Lighting, Jazzukha was romping around in the small space. The drum rhythm was infectious, and parents were happily prancing around with their children. The vibrations went right through my body, forcing my heart to beat in time. I stood in front of the ceramic light switch panels for half an hour, but couldn’t decide.

Across the street, Victoria (of Victoria’s Sweets) was so excited about her sweet shop she was visibly jumping out of her skin (or possibly she had sampled too many wares). Standing in front of the door, she stopped passers-by and demanded they try either the huckleberry popcorn or the caramel and almond popcorn (I had one of each). “We’ve been here a whole month!,” she enthused, “the community loves us!” Well, of course they do — you sell sugar, and that’s what love is made of: sugar and chocolate. I asked if she had been concerned about the low-carb craze. “Not at all,” she stated confidently, “we’ve used this as an opportunity to educate ourselves and we carry low-sugar, sugarless, and sugar substitute candies.” She dragged me over to the window to show me some Sugar Daddy socks. They matched a Sugar Daddy Tshirt that they were resting on. While I stared at the display, she went back to accosting the passers-by. “Try some huckleberry popcorn!”

All very well, but I had to move on. I still had quite a dilemma on my hands. Was I supposed to choose my dinner location based on the food, or the musical entertainment?

If you go: Columbia City is a straight forward hop, skip, and jump away, for us Eastsiders, making any destination in Seattle look like a maze of twisty passages. Parking is a snap with the public parking lot (dollar an hour) and side streets.