I Can't Help Myself

“You’re moving to the Bible belt?” and “I can’t believe you’re moving to a red state.” These were things I heard before making the move from the New York area to the south.

I assured these doubting Thomases that Asheville was an exception to the stereotype, that there were all denominations of churches, synagogues, sweat lodges – you could probably find an establishment that worshipped tattoo artists. All are welcome here. Rainbow flags abound. Boy was I smug when November’s election turned my state from red to blue right there on the screen for the whole country to see. And while it’s true that there seems to be a Baptist Church every ¼ mile, I didn’t feel Christian judgment encroaching in the least. Until now.

I joined a writing group in town that critiques fiction pieces. It’s a group of 15 – 20 men and women of varying age, sexual preference, and writing experience. It meets one Saturday a month. Four pieces are scheduled ahead of time and emailed to the group. You come in with your own copies marked, and the pieces are discussed. The leader of our group recently announced that we could submit query letters (letters soliciting agents and/or publishers) for critique if we wished.

I wish I could tell you that I was there - to see the critique of a particular query letter happen with my own eyes. I was out of town. Up north. But out of curiosity, the other day, was going through my emails and decided to read the four pieces I had missed.

The author of the query, let’s call him Bob, is trying to sell his book idea:

Guide to Sex for Christian Couples.

Where exactly do I begin. Let’s see, first I’ll clear the rage out of my eyes. Okay.

“Christian couples” we all know he means:
1.) Married
2.) Heterosexual.

At the very table where this letter was to be read, there had to have been at least four gay people. Four people at the table, who by the standards of this book-to-be, will be labeled an abomination. What about the divorcee or widow at the end of table who is possibly enjoying a new relationship as her wounds have just recently healed? What about the young man in his twenties who loves his girlfriend very much, but isn’t in the right place for marriage yet? Do these people just not count? Are they going to hell?

I can’t help myself, I have to give you a quote from Bob’s query:
“When we needed this information, there was nothing on the market like our proposed book (there still is not). The Christian oriented books were too spiritual to discuss techniques; the books that discussed techniques were distinctly non-Christian and often promote dangerous practices such as anal sex or sex in the water.”

In the list of chapters, there is one titled, “Bad Ideas”
Bad like, god will set you on fire if you try that?

Bob is serious. When I really think about his seriousness, my laughter subsides and the situation becomes not so funny. This is the kind of s*#t that could produce A Handmaid’s Tale type society if too many people thought this way.

Here’s another quote:
“The text is intended to be in popular style and tone with a readability index of 8th grade”

Yeah, no s*#t.

I wish this type of Christian, like Bob, would stop living their lives only for the future – their own death. In living their life for the sole purpose of arriving in heaven, they are extremely cruel and divisive to any other group. I think Jesus would be upset. He was a liberal and a hippie and would probably hate Bob's guts.

I hope Bob’s computer spontaneously combusts so he can’t write the book. I think it’s bad for the world.

Here is my wish for the world – THINK, READ, THINK, READ, THINK, READ, AND FOR GOD’S SAKE, BE KIND TO EACH OTHER. STOP THE DIVIDING. STOP THE DIVIDING. STOP THE DIVIDING.

Table Talk

We enter the French restaurant Bouchon in downtown Asheville, and it feels like New York. The simple elegance mixed with cozy and cosmopolitan energy brings to mind Le Singe Vert in Manhattan and Bar Tabac in Brooklyn.

During my last years in New York I had a little bit of coin and a corporate life, and occasionally enjoyed a dinner such as this with a group of women. Tonight however, I’ve come solely for libations. I hope the ladies at the table won’t notice that,
1.) I’m not ordering food
2.) That my breath smells like cheese and salty meats. (My husband and I have just previously eaten dinner in the form of a Christmas care package we’ve just received from The Wisconsin Cheese Man.)

It’s not that it’s so awful being broke. I just hate having to explain myself. And really, doesn’t everyone just want to belong? I set myself up with a Stella Artois, and try to remember that I’ve made these life changes on purpose.

It’s my good friend’s birthday, and five of us ladies are gathered to celebrate her. There is much laughter and many “so what’s going on with you?” s, and a wonderful feeling of community that a handful of unique women can conjure when enjoying each other’s company. I don’t even smell the pomme frites anymore.

In true Bohemian Asheville fashion, there is talk of thrift store shopping, “you got that beautiful sweater shawl for four dollars?” Talk of Yoga, centering the body and chakras. One has a hybrid car. One tells us about a green building project that her husband has organized; another’s husband is making his own flavored simple syrups at home. There is an invitation to go Christmas Eve caroling. How next year we all need to buy tickets to the Christmas jam downtown because they have the best music. And, “Isn’t the organic market downtown wonderful?” Yes! Yes! Yes! These are a lot of the reasons my husband and I are drawn to Asheville.

The lady sitting on my right I’ve never met. Let’s call her Carminda, because it’s weird, pretty, and unreal. Just like she was. As smaller conversations break away at the table, Carminda shares with me a moment of discovery she had several years ago that she and her husband should be divorced. They were standing in a used bookstore and ran into a woman friend. Carminda could see the woman’s aura and it was mingling with her husband’s aura in a way that made it plain that they belonged together. ... ... Okay. I like weird people. I really do. But perhaps that moment crossed the line for me and I longed for some hard edged New York realism. The good news is, I'm a million miles away from Manolo Blahniks, investment bankers, The George Washington Bridge and Rockefeller Center.

According to my companions, the food was fabulous. Of course they offered me tastes of pomme frites and French mussels, but I declined. I hate bringing attention to myself. Two ladies took their leave, one being Carminda. Three of us remained. When the birthday girl ordered the Crème Brûlée sampler, we all took a taste. You know what? It was lousy. All three of us agreed. There were four flavors that were trying so hard to be unique and special, when in fact they were borderline repulsive. The lavender flavor in particular, tasted like a creamy lavender body lotion that one might coat their legs with. A gentle reminder that decadent is not better.

Merry Christmas from Mountain's Most Wanted

Buncombe County has it's own channel. It's your usual info on school closings for weather, recycling info, county job information, and other such notices. It's underscored with music, and now of course, it's all Christmas music.

But it gets weird, in my opinion, when they start scrolling information and mug shots of "Mountain's Most Wanted" with Christmas choirs singing in the background. The song choices of this station wouldn't make the list of light hits - such as "Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer" or "Santa Baby". No, they are dramatic orchestrated versions of "Angels We Have Heard on High", or "Oh Holy Night" featuring Celine Dion belting it out and crashing cymbals in the background. We hear this while we can read about Danny Soandso and his list of felonies. This dramatic music continues at a lower volume, as a new segment comes on with a Sheriff giving us tips on fighting scams during the holiday season. Merry Christmas. I guess.

BBQ Billboards

Southerners loooove their BBQ. Fine. But why are the interstates and roadways hung with billboards of cartoon, humanized pigs? It's disturbing. Particularly the one I saw of a smiling, chalky looking group of pigs sitting for dinner, their chubby arms up on the table, anxiously waiting to be served...a plate of themselves? Seriously, it's gross. These sign maker's attempt at humor is macabre to say the least. Excuse me, Mr. Restaurant Man, please-stop-it.

Traffic - Or the Lack Thereof

I hop in my car and usually get to downtown in five minutes flat. It's unbelievably fantastic. There are no horns blaring, no agressive cut ins, no "eff you"s. It took a few weeks to get used to the 20 mph speed limit on Haywood in West Asheville and in general, to the citizens ALWAYS abiding by speed limits - everywhere. Even on the interstate. It's a world away from the road rage of the New Jersey / New York area. Now that I'm used to the change, it's nice. I'm more relaxed. Shoulders are down. No super hurry. Music's in the CD player. Enjoy the ride...