Bobservations

When we were in Asheville a few weeks ago, after relaxing in the hotel for a hot minute, we ventured out to find a place for dinner. I’d forgotten it was the last Friday night before Christmas so I didn’t think about crowded spots. But we found a couple, and they sounded good, but, you know, the grass is always greener, so we kept walking.

And then we found Cúrate, a tapas restaurant. We love tapas, going back to one of our first dates twenty years ago, so we went in. Cúrate occupied two older buildings on a slight hill, so half the restaurant was up three steps from the other, with a bar running down the center of both buildings. The lower bar was just for cocktails and appetizers, while the upper bar was basically the kitchen bar where you could order the full menu; we took that option.

And, as things happen in bars, and especially tapas bars, you end up chatting with the people around you about the tapas, which is Spanish for appetizer or small bite; like sushi, you share the tapas and order several dishes.

Now, as I like to say, even though it’s not entirely true, I don’t generally like people; really, that means I don’t chat up strangers, even though sometimes I do. Carlos, on the other hand, will talk to anyone about anything, anywhere, anytime, ever.

We took a seat and  I ordered an Albariño, a Spanish wine from the northwest, and Carlos chose Red Sangria. My wine, as I knew, was wonderful, but Carlos’ was amazing; fermented fruit with brandy and juices and red wine. I died.

Right then a couple sat to Carlos’ left and began studying the menu. The women told her date she didn’t know much about Spanish wine and didn’t know what to get; it was then that Carlos turned to her, he does love to talk, and said:

“If you like, try the Red Sangria, it’s delicious.”

The women turned a side-eye to Carlos and said:

“Uh.”

And turned away. Carlos looked at me like a hurt puppy and I wanted to smack that bitch, but my Fabada had just arrived so, you know.

A moment later, after the two spaces next to me emptied, a couple sat on my right. No sooner had their butts hit the seats did the woman look at me and ask what I was drinking, what we’d eaten and how everything as. We sat and chatted food and wine, and watching the guys cook right in front of us, and it was lovely.

Then Carlos said:

“Oh, Mister I-Hate-People made a new friend and this bitch keeps inching away from me.”

I said:

“Can I help it if people like me?”

Luckily our Chistorra & Chips, and the Buñuelos de Bacalao arrived so all chit-chat stopped.

But, if you’re ever in Asheville, try Cúrate; the food is amazing, and the people, well, most people, are nice,

Remember the big kerfuffle about the Buttigieg dinner in the Napa “wine cave”? Remember Elizabeth Warren slamming Pete in that last debate? So do the owners of the wine cave and the hosts of that dinner and they’re here to set Liz straight.

Craig Hall, owner of the cave along with his wife, Kathryn, say they don’t have $900 bottles of wine as Warren  alleged and, in fact, they didn’t even serve their most expensive bottle, which comes in at $350. Oh, and wine caves are actually pretty common in the Napa Valley because they store wine at cool temperatures.

I know because I’ve been in wine caves and eaten lunch in a wine cave.

I don’t mind the squabbling among the candidates, but get your facts straight, Liz, before you take them to the debate stage.

In April 2018 “evangelist” and youth pastor Acton Bowen was arrested and charged with second-degree sodomy, enticing a child to enter a vehicle or house for immoral purposes, and second-degree sex abuse of a male minor under the age of 16.

This week Acton Bowen was sentenced to 1,008 years in prison after pleading guilty to all counts; he was also ordered to pay $840,000 in fines.

Good.

Is it possible that _____ could be impeached by the House again?

Perhaps; House Counsel Douglas Letter said in a filing in federal court that a second impeachment could be necessary if the House uncovers new [more] evidence that _____ attempted to obstruct investigations of his conduct.

Well, he might actually like that because then he could brag that he was impeached twice, more than any other president in History.

Nobody gets impeached like _____.

Oh how I love me some karma.

Recently WWE wrestler Lars Sullivan was fined $100,000 over comments he made on a bodybuilding forum, some of which were called homophobic. They included comments about the NFL quarterback Philip Rivers:

“Philip Rivers = Crybaby b*tch and is extremely gay. Most of California, especially sothern cal, is gay. Fits well. Hell ‘Philip’ is a gay name in itself!@”

This week Sullivan deleted his Twitter account after it was discovered that he had once done gay adult films under the name Mitch Bennett.

Yup. The homophobe did gay porn. Karma. Bitch.

Again, karma.

New York GOP Assemblyman Brian Kolb was arrested and charged with driving while intoxicated following a crash on New Year’s Eve. Kolb ran his car into a ditch in front of his home; no one was injured and no other vehicles were involved.

This is the same week that Kolb penned a column on the evils and the dangers of drunk driving.

Seriously, you cannot make this shiz up.

We just started watching The Crown—Carlos is a huge royal watcher after receiving a response to a letter he wrote Queen Elizabeth when he was a wee queerling—and it’s really very good. Best of all, at least so far, is Matt Smith as Prince Philip. He is rugged, in that pretty boy way; he looks good in uniform, and better still, he looks better out of uniform.

Just sayin’. That is one royal booty.

Biltmore

Our weekend getaway to Asheville included a trip to the Biltmore Estate. We’ve been several times, though never at Christmas, and the house never fails to amaze. We toured the house, the gardens, the winery … because, of course … and loved every inch of it, so here’s the story of Biltmore along with some of the photos we took….

In the 1880s, at the height of the Gilded Age, George Washington Vanderbilt II began visiting Asheville, North Carolina. He loved the scenery and climate so much that he decided to build a little summer place in what he dubbed his "little mountain escape". His older brothers and sisters had their massive, luxurious summer places in Newport, Rhode Island, and Hyde Park, New York but he wanted the mountains.

And he called his hone Biltmore, derived from "De Bilt", his ancestors' place of origin in the Netherlands, and "More", Anglo-Saxon for open, rolling land. Vanderbilt bought nearly 700 parcels of land, including over 50 farms and at least five cemeteries, and began construction on the house in 1889.

Due to its somewhat remote area, and to make building the home easier and, if possible, quicker, a woodworking factory and brick kiln, which produced 32,000 bricks a day, were built onsite, and a three-mile railroad was built to bring materials to the building site. Construction on the main house required the labor of 1,000 workers and 60 stonemasons. The house is over 175,000 square feet—roughly four acres—with 35 bedrooms, 43 bathrooms, and 65 fireplaces and 43 bathrooms; the entire estate originally covered 125,000 acres but is now a much more modest[?] 8,000 acres.

Vanderbilt went on extensive trips overseas to purchase decor while construction continued. He returned to North Carolina with thousands of furnishings for his newly built home including tapestries, hundreds of carpets, prints, linens, and decorative objects, all dating between the 15th century and the late 19th century.

And finally, on Christmas Eve of 1895, George Vanderbilt opened his home to family and friends from across the country, who were encouraged to enjoy leisure and country pursuits. Notable guests to the estate over the years included author Edith Wharton, novelist Henry James, ambassadors Joseph Hodges Choate and Larz Anderson, and U.S. Presidents. George married Edith Stuyvesant Dresser in 1898 in Paris, France; their only child, Cornelia Stuyvesant Vanderbilt, was born at Biltmore in the Louis XV room in 1900 and grew up at the estate.

Driven by the impact of the newly imposed income taxes, and the fact that the estate was getting harder to manage economically, sold Vanderbilt  87,000 acres to the federal government. After Vanderbilt's unexpected death in 1914 of complications from an emergency appendectomy, his widow completed the sale to carry out her husband's wish that the land remain unaltered, and that property became the nucleus of the Pisgah National Forest.

He didn’t want his "little mountain escape" affected.

However, running such a large estate was overwhelming, so Edith consolidated her interests and sold Biltmore Estate Industries in 1917 and Biltmore Village in 1921. She intermittently occupied the house, living in an apartment carved out of the former Bachelors' Wing, until the marriage of her daughter to John Francis Amherst Cecil in April 1924. The Cecils had two sons who were born in the same room as their mother.

In an attempt to bolster the estate's financial situation during the Great Depression, Cornelia and her husband opened Biltmore to the public in March 1930 at the request of the City of Asheville, which hoped the attraction would revitalize the area. Biltmore closed during World War II; in 1942, 62 paintings and 17 sculptures were moved to the estate by train from the National Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C. to protect them in the event of an attack on the United States.

The Cecils divorced in 1934, and Cornelia left the estate never to return; however, John Cecil maintained his residence in the Bachelors' Wing until his death in 1954. Their eldest son, George Henry Vanderbilt Cecil, occupied rooms in the wing until 1956. At that point Biltmore House ceased to be a family residence and continued to be operated as a historic house museum.

Their younger son William A. V. Cecil, Sr. returned to Biltmore in the late 1950s to help his brother manage the estate when it was in financial trouble and make it the profitable and self-sustaining enterprise his grandfather envisioned. William eventually inherited the estate upon the death of his mother 1976, while his brother, George, inherited the then more profitable dairy farm which was split off into Biltmore Farms.

In 1995, while celebrating the 100th anniversary of the estate, William Cecil turned over control of the company to his son, William A. V. Cecil, Jr. After the death of William A. V. Cecil in October 2017 and his wife Mimi Cecil in November, their daughter Dini Pickering began serving as board chair and their son Bill Cecil as CEO. The house, not including the 8,000-acre property and other businesses on the site, is assessed at $157.2 million …unfurnished.

Designated a National Historic Landmark in 1963 Biltmore is a major tourist attraction in Western North Carolina, with over two million visitors each year.

Checking In.....

Just a quick drive-by this morning.

The houseguests--Carlos' Aunt Gloria and her friend Luz Maria--have been here since Friday and having a lovely time. Gloria came for two, maybe three reasons. 

Carlos started playing trumpet with the Smallville Community Band and they were having a Winter Concert last Sunday. She's always loved listening to Carlos play, so she definitely wanted to see that. 

In addition, she loves Thanksgiving, but November in Smallville is too cold for her, so we told her we'd have Thanksgiving Dinner whenever she comes; and luckily, except for a trip to Asheville yesterday where we got some snow--our Smallville weather will be perfect.

Thirdly, and more importantly, tomorrow is Tia Gloria's 83rd birthday. So, our "Thanksgiving" will be for celebrating that. Around the way gays, Neal and David, as well as David's sister Barbara, will be joining the celebration.

Yesterday, also as a birthday gift, we took The Ladies to the Biltmore Estate in Asheville. They had never been before and loved touring the house and gardens, and, of course, doing some Biltmore Wine Tasting. 

Afterwards, we drove into Asheville and had dinner at the Tupelo Honey Cafe. Fried Green Tomatoes over Goat Cheese Grits, Mama's Meat Loaf, Southern Fried Chicken Saltimbocca with Country Ham and Mushroom Marsala Sauce, Stroganoff, Y’all, and because I cannot see Ahi on a menu without ordering it, Gingered Ahi Tuna Steak. Banana Puddin' for dessert and that was all she wrote.

All in all, a good day, and now we begin preparations for La Brouha's [Spanish slang for witch, not because Gloria's a real witch, but because she likes witches] Thanksgiving Birthday Feast.

Hope y'all are doin' well, and, after some more pre-planned rants and stuff, I'll be back, fresh, on Monday.

Asheville Stands Apart From The Rest Of North Carolina

While North Carolina state legislators are working hard to write discrimination against the LGBT community into law, the city of Asheville, North Carolina, is taking the opposite approach.

The Asheville City Council, in a 5-1 vote--Mayor Terry Bellamy was the only no-vote--this past Tuesday night, approved a resolution that creates a city registry for same-sex couples and endorses more rights for the gay community.

In.North.Carolina.


The new rule calls for the inclusion of gender identity and expression into the city's anti-discrimination employment policy, and it also puts an anti-bullying ordinance in place. The resolution will also create a domestic partner registry for same-sex couples to express that they are a committed couple, which will prevent problems when it comes to things like hospital visitation.

And, most surprisingly of all, it calls for the city of Asheville to support marriage equality.
Westleigh Heath, a member of People of Faith for Just Relationships, says, "This isn't just looking narrowly at these issues just for LGBT [community], I think it's for everyone in Asheville. It's a gift to all of us."

Indeed it is.

source

Asheville, Part Deux: William Christenberry

It was sunny and cool, but not cold in Asheville. We strolled through the downtown area, looking in art galleries, pausing for a coffee and something sweet at the City Cafe. We bought a few ornaments for next years Christmas tree....hey, you can't beat 50% off! My middle name should be Discount.

We wandered through the Grove Arcade, which is an old building in the center of town that has become an indoor mall, only no Starbucks, no Crate and Barrel, no JC Penney; thank god. This mall had all sorts of cool furniture stores, and mountain crafts; deli cheeses and wine......me love the wine. There was the old man playing Bach on the violin--I only repeat this because Carlos told me over breakfast this morning that he went to speak with the man, and discovered the old man was blind.

At the Four Corners Home store Carlos found a lamp he must have; he's a sucker for lamps, don't ask me why. But this one was pretty cool. It was cast of iron and the lamp shades were folded over the iron-work like sheets of paper, hiding the bulbs. It was a bit more than we wanted to spend, and Carlos did try to barter a discount of sorts. In the end, we took a business card and decided to think about it. They do free shipping, so maybe in a month we'll have his lamp.

We also visited the Asheville Art Museum. As with music, Carlos and I have distinctively different tastes. I am far more abstract and want an immediate reaction to a piece of art, while he is more reflective, and likes anything that resembles an Old Master work; he's Old World, I'm New World, I guess.

On the top floor we encountered an exhibition by William Christenberry. I'd never heard of him, but some of his ink-and-brush works were amazing. They reminded me of Chinese calligraphy, although most were of trees he saw while growing up in Alabama. He also had several sculptures, many of tall white house with two windows and a door; he called them K House. Interesting, but I didn't quite get it.

Off to the side, I noticed a dark curtain closing off a section of the gallery. They keep the room draped, warning you before you enter. It housed a piece of Christenberry's work he called the Klan Tableau. Growing up in Alabama from the 1930's he saw first-hand how the Klan worked. In 1960 he heard there was a Klan meeting at the Tuscaloosa Courthouse, and went to see what it was all about. He climbed to the third floor, looking for signs of a meeting, and turned a last corner to find a Klansman, in the robe and hood standing as sentry outside the door. The Klansman didn't speak to Christenberry; he merely looked through the slits in his hood. Christenberry saw his eyes and fled. It began a life-long fascination with the KKK.

The Klan Tableau is something I'm glad I saw, oddly enough; it's also something I never hope to see again; and something I won't ever forget. There are paintings of men in hoods, eyes ablaze; there are hoods with skulls inside; dolls dressed as Klansmen all over the room. Many of the pen-and-ink drawings are on Red, White or Blue canvasses. The instant I walked in the room I found it hard to breathe. It was so oppressive, the images so filled with hate. Paintings and cards, dolls, everywhere. White sheets. Hate. Fiery eyes. Hate. K Houses that I now saw as the shape of a hood; windowed eyes, a door for a mouth.

Christenberry doesn't display the tableau to honor the KKK, or even to dishonor them. It's on display because it's part of our history, and history is destined to repeat itself; if we don't remember what's happened before, it might certainly happen again.

Once we got home, I did a search on Christenberry, and read an article, a review actually, in the Washington Post online. The young man who reviewed the Christenberry exhibit, and the Klan Tableau, found the Klan room old-fashioned and laughable. He said he grew up, like Barack Obama, in what he calls a post-KKK world, so these images were not fearful, they were antiquated.

I disagree. The world isn't post-KKK. The klan is around, perhaps more quiet than usual. I think that's worse than having them march in the streets, having them hide in houses and meeting halls.

And I don't think fear ever gets old. Fear is fear, no matter what group uses it, or what group feels it. It won't go away; it won't get old.

I think it changes shape and continues on and on.

Road Tripping

You know, when you meet someone, that right someone, that someone who seems to share your same values, who seems to want the same things in life as you, who may have the same likes and dislikes, it's a great thing.

That's me and Carlos. To a point.

We met; we clicked. We have the same values and morals, believe in a lot of the same things. He's a recovering Catholic, and I am a not-so-much believer. He doesn't do drugs; I don't do drugs. We both wanted monotony in a relationship....Monogamy! Monogamy, is what we both wanted. Yeah, monogamy, that's it. We aren't party boys, although I had done my share when I was younger. We're more settled, and not in a bad way like an old house, or day old bread; we're just more sure of what we want and no games need to be played.

But we do have differences, which make our relationship, and any relationship, interesting. Carlos loves horses. I once saw Roy Roger's horse, Trigger, stuffed, in a museum in Apple Valley, California. Carlos knows classical music; I know what I like. We were in Asheville this weekend, strolling through the Grove Arcade, and I heard a violin playing somewhere up ahead. Pretty music, I thought. Carlos says, Ah, Bach. He should have a goatee and been stroking it and saying quietly, Aaaaaaaaaaaaah, Baaaaach. He knows his Bach from his Mozart; his Stravinsky from his Tchaikovsky. But I can pick a Dixie Chicks tune out of the air; and I can sing-along to Cher, or Diana, or Judy, or Bette.

I get pop culture. Carlos wouldn't know pop culture if it bitch-slapped him. When the media began to call Jennifer Lopez, JLo, Carlos took it to mean Jello. He calls the woman Jello; of course, she's famous for that so-called juicy booty so maybe Jello isn't far off the mark. But I digress.

You mention Britney Spears to him and his eyes glaze over like boysenberry danishes. I don't know any Britney music, but I can pick her out of a picture, bald head or bad extensions; I know her. If I say I love The Police, he thinks I mean actual police officers, not Sting and Andy and Stewart. But then you see a shot of Maria Callas or Kathleen Battle, and he will give you a lecture on their best arias and their worst behavior. So we aren't that different in that regard. My pop culture references are from this century while his are, well, not.

And driving is another difference. The man has never seen a speed limit sign in his life. He thinks the speed limit is however fast the fastest car is going. You ask him what the speed limit is and he says, I don't know......fifty....seventy? This, mind you, is through Smallville, as I like to call it; without the hot guy in tights.

So there we are today, on the road to Asheville, and he's speeding like I don't know what. The speed limit is seventy, so that means eighty in 'Carlos' speak. And he's changing lanes into other cars! I'm hearing horns honking and watching my life play out like a bad Joan Crawford movie from the early sixties,. So, there I am, in the passenger seat, being a backseat driver. Slow down. SLOW. DOWN. God, I was annoying. If I was driving and had someone like me in the passenger seat, saying the rosary and checking for signs that the car has airbags, I'd floor it and aim for a bridge abutment. I realized to day that I have two choices: I can either do all of the driving, or I can duct tape my eyes shut and lie on the floor of the backseat. It's a coin toss.

So that's a bit more of me and Carlos; so alike; so different. So perfect together. Unless we're driving, or trying to find a radio station.