Eugene weekly., February 21, 2008, Page 6, Image 6

living out
BY SALLY SHEKLOW
I Do Declare
Cleaning the house together — legally
W
e’re in the paper, baby.
Our local daily’s For the Record
page — right in there with Deaths,
Blood Bank Donors Needed, and Dissolutions
of Marriage — now features a new listing:
Declarations of Domestic Partnership. Yes,
indeedy. The self-same newspaper that refused
to print marriage announcements during 2004’s
brief era of issuing licenses to same-sex couples
(and to this day has yet to print birth announcements of babies born to same-
sex parents) is now providing us space in the public record and advancing our
foray into legitimacy. We’re here. We’re queer. Read all about it.
The names of two-man and two-woman couples printed in our local rag
every day is a momentous shift. Now, just as undeniably as Lewis and Clark,
Steve Prefontaine, and the KKK, Oregon’s homos are at last being woven into
the historic fabric of the Beaver State (don’t go there).
Oregon’s homos are at last being woven into
the historic fabric of the Beaver State.
letters
TO THE EDITOR
REST OF THE STORY
C’mon, Eric Betrand. After reading the
review for Ratatouille in Chow (1/31), I feel
as though there is an important part of the
story missing. The restaurant Ratatouille
is a direct result of the closing down of
the Sundance kitchen. Four of the laid-off
employees of that kitchen came over to
start Ratatouille with the former kitchen
manager’s, Betrand’s, funds.
Eric worked on the front of the house
while the rest of us got the kitchen going. The
entire planning and execution of the menu
was without Eric’s input. As the restaurant
started to get busy, the chefs who created the
food were fi red. So I was surprised to see
in the article that no mention was made of
the hard work that the chefs put into making
that food, that restaurant. I sincerely hope
that this place does well as I believe that we
need an organic and veggie place in town.
Give credit where it is due though, Eric.
In the two years I worked with you, I never
saw you cook.
Winter Hose
Former head chef, Ratatouille
BLAME CITY, TOO
Other than entering history’s annals (don’t go there, either), what does
domestic partnership really mean? I guess the biggest difference is that we’re
legal. We don’t have to worry if anyone should dare challenge our entitlement
to accompany each other into the ER, make end of life decisions or dispose of
our mate’s remains. Fabulous or what?
My Domestic Partner and I have been advised that we now need to add a
codicil to our wills affi rming that we, being of sound body and mind (no jokes
here, please), do hereby attest that we meant what we said and intend for our
partner to inherit our worldly goods, real property and, just for the romance
of it, debts.
The thousand-some couples who have only this month been allowed by
law a smattering of state rights and protections are still a bit giddy even
though most of us have been doing it for years. And by “it” I mean sharing an
address, expenses and cat care.
Take Wifey and me for example. Since 1987, we’ve loved, honored and
tidied up after each other. Fairly domestic and clearly partnered. This winter
when a mysterious illness struck our dear Pussy (not her real name), Wifey
and I jointly rushed her to the emergency vet. We love our cat, but if we could
bring her back to life without having to re-hock our house, we’d do what we
had to. So we teamed up as home health nurses to administer injections,
force-feed concentrated nutrients and drip in 200 mls of subcutaneous fl uids
per day. Funny, during that whole month-long ordeal of reviving dear Pussy,
we never once were asked to show anyone proof of our domestic partnership.
I’m not unhappy with our new status, but “Declarations of Domestic
Partnership” does sound kind of weird. Partly because those words strike
me as such an odd combo. Is it just me, or does the phrase “Declarations of
Domestic Partnership” conjure a kooky Southern belle/housekeeper/cowpoke
— as in “I do declay-ah, where’s the Pine Sol, pahd’ner?” Any other domestic
partners out there having a titch of identity crisis?
Don’t get me wrong, gaining legal rights at long last is a good thing, for
sure. A defi nite step toward justice for all. But now that the daily is printing
names — along with our ages, as many of us pretending to be younger than
we are have been somewhat shocked to discover — we’re also now open to all
manner of nut jobs who might be inclined to pray for our hellbound souls, or
worse. This newsprint roster has been deemed “the Gay Hit List” by one not-
necessarily paranoid friend.
Not that the closet door was ever bullet-proof, but you’d think in exchange
for the additional risk we could at least collect each other’s Social Security or
cross state lines without losing our rights. No such luck.
That’s OK, though. We’re headed in the right direction. With so many queer
Oregonians publicly declaring our domestic partnerships, once-homophobic
folks will surely come to see that the sky isn’t falling and the sanctity of their
marriage is no more questionable than it ever was. Then maybe we can lift
this whole silly cloud of inequality and get on with life.
I would like to thank B.D. May of Eugene
for his letter (1/10) concerning urban blight.
This problem is not only prevalent in the
areas of Adams Street, 24th and 25th
avenues, but it has taken hold of a broad area
of the Friendly Street neighborhood, and no
one seems to care. There is so little pride
among some homeowners when it comes to
keeping their yards clean and trimmed.
Much of the problem lies with the city of
Eugene. The city plants trees in the parking
strips, but does not care for them. Young
trees are allowed to grow not as trees but as
shrubs. Consequently, these bushes, as well
as an assortment of other shrubs planted by
the homeowners in the parking strips, block
the view of drivers at intersections. A city
ordinance meant to control these plantings
is not enforced.
I have lived on Friendly Street for 21
years. I have watched this neighborhood
deteriorate, especially since the city made
this street a connector between 18th and
28th. Adding speed bumps was a sick joke
and a waste of money. Friendly Street was
never intended to become a “freeway.”
Speed and heavy trucks are tearing up
the surface of the street which will not be
repaired in the foreseeable future.
Eugene not only needs to update its
codes, as May mentioned. It needs to enforce
ordinances or remove them. Catering to the
affl uent communities and utter failure to
declare a war on urban blight in the older
sections of the city seems to be the future
plan by the powers that be.
Betty Williams Johnson
Eugene
MAN FOR ALL REASONS
Well, apparently, we in Oregon may
have a rare opportunity in May to have a
small say as to who will be the nominee
for, at least, the Democratic candidate for
Sally Sheklow has been a part of the Eugene community since 1972 and is a member of the WYMPROV!
comedy troupe. Her column, which began at EW in 1999, also runs in several other newspapers and
magazines around the country and Down Under.
6 FEBRUARY 21, 2008 EUGENE WEEKLY
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