Of Skulkers and Sweetness

For the record, I really don't get this whole Civil War Sesquicentennial thing. Do other countries mark the anniversary of their civil wars with cultural events? I honestly don't know, but it seems unlikely.

But before I got to "celebrating" bloodshed and strife, I met a friend at Lemaire for sparkling conversation and people watching on a budget. It's best if you ease into these things.

The two of us enjoyed a bottle of Centine, a blend of Sangiovese, Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlot, as much a treat for its soft tannins and fruit-forward qualities as for its $10 price tag.

We paired it with a cheese and fruit plate of Humbolt Fog, Midnight Moon and Maytag Bleu (a steal at $9), with blackberries, grapes and apple slices. It's no wonder that the Wednesday crowds continue to grow as word spreads about what a great deal it is.

Our entertainment was the crowd around us. There was a Jersey Shore-looking couple discussing having their wedding at Lemaire; they stood out with her dyed platinum blond hair and his blacker-than-black pompadour. I'm sure they'll make a beautiful orange couple.

The guy next to me sat down, ordered a bottle of wine and never looked up, not at people, not at the TV, not at anything. My friend suggested he was just eavesdropping, but he couldn't have been hearing anything good because all of a sudden, he got his check and left, leaving half a bottle on the bar. Come back, we'll talk about juicier stuff!

As I walked out, I heard furious tapping on the restaurant's window and turned around to see a couple of restaurant owners waving madly at me.

I had to assume that both had the night off and were availing themselves of the same great deals we had while their respective restaurants chugged along without them tonight. I gave them the international symbol for party hearty and waved goodbye.

Stop number two was the Hartnett Museum at UR, first for a program of Music of the Civil War, followed by the opening and reception for "Civil War Drawings from the Becker Collection."

While I actually recognized a few of the songs, like "Battle Hymn of the Republic" and "When Johnny Comes Marching Home," the rest seemed somehow familiar yet evocative of the period, if only because I just saw Gone With the Wind.

After the performance, the audience descended on the gallery to take in the drawings and engravings made to document the war for the citizenry back home.

With photo technology only able to document still images at that time, war artists were key to capturing the action as it unfolded.

The drawings showed all aspects of war life. There was one of a deserter being executed before the ranks of soldiers (let that be an example to you, boys!). Another showed Cavalry officers driving back skulkers (those shiftless soldiers who tried to avoid fighting in battle).

Most of the drawings were done to be used in Frank Leslie's Illustrated Newspaper, a tabloid- format paper that brought the war home with battle depictions made by artists who risked their lives to detail them.

The drawings were transferred onto woodblocks and then divided into sections for various artists to cut out and then reassembled, resulting in about a three-day lag between receiving the image and publishing it, a feat that only Leslie's paper was capable of.

What was interesting was how the engravers "sanitized" the drawings, changing them to better reflect the paper's views.

In one scene of carnage, a wounded man's agonized face was softened to just look tired. A soldier with his arm badly wounded and dripping blood was blended into a crowd to save viewers from such unpleasantness.

Looking at the drawings, I was struck by the knowledge that they had all been created in the moment, whether in battle, punishment or glory. Many still had the fold creases from when they were mailed back to their editor for publication.

As I said, I don't entirely get the whole 150th hoopla, but these extraordinary documents of a dark time in this country's past are absolute must-sees for their first-hand accounts of life during wartime.

I socialized a bit at the reception, discussing the show with strangers and a couple of acquaintances, before heading out to Rowland to meet a friend to close out the evening. Walking in, I was warmly greeted by a trio of Amuse staff, out enjoying a night off.

Then it was over to see my girlfriend, who'd brought a friend she'd wanted me to meet (sadly, no, not a guy) who raved about my tights, but said she'd never have the nerve to wear such a thing. And yet, she's the one who had introduced my friend to that den of sexual playthings, Priscilla's.

She was amazed and appalled that I'd never been into the store, presuming that every adult has needed pleasure toys or peekaboo lingerie by this point in their life. I had to admit that I hadn't.

I may have lost the points I'd earned with the tights with my lack of a Priscilla's Frequent Customer card, but she was polite enough to keep talking to me anyway.

As I enjoyed the macadamia chocolate tart, one of the Amuse guys yelled over, "You don't need that. You're sweet enough already."

I've been called many things in my life, but sweet's never been one of them. On the other hand, even a blatant lie, when well-intended, can be appreciated.

It's not like it came from a skulker or anything.