My boyfriend and I have been together for two years and we live together. Recently, his ex was killed in a car accident. They were not on good terms, and he often made scathing statements about her. I made the mistake of saying the following several days after her death (after offering him my sympathy on numerous occasions): “I don’t know how to help you grieve in this situation because you didn’t like her.” Obviously, that was a stupid, careless thing to say. I apologized numerous times, and he said that he forgave me. Fast-forward two weeks.
The chanterelle season got a bountiful start this year. A dry summer favors high production in this mushroom. Then rains followed by a warm spell made the first flush not only plentiful but with wonderful shape and form.
A large mural on the former Goodwill building in River Road illustrates what an eco-friendly cluster of neighborhood scale local businesses might look like. There is a cafe, a bakery and small grocery with boxes of veggies out front.
The scene I painted 10 years ago is complete with images of real people from the neighborhood meeting and greeting each other and even favorite Eugene guitar player Eagle Park Slim.
What better time to celebrate the connections being made between kids and local food than October with the harvest season at its height and the school year in full swing. The Willamette Farm and Food Coalition’s Farm to School Program is actively working with the Bethel, Eugene, Springfield and Oakridge school districts to educate students about where their food comes from, provide their families with resources to access healthy, locally grown foods and assist district Nutrition Services in incorporating more locally grown foods into school meals.
When you see the UO athletic department pricing ordinary fans out of Autzen and dumping local longtime suppliers of goods and services in favor of big out-of-state firms, you can tell that the Ducks have been winning too many games.
I visited Halifax, Nova Scotia, last week — for my geographically illiterate fellow Americans, Halifax is the biggest city on Canada’s Atlantic coast — to help celebrate the 20th anniversary of the founding of the Coast, Halifax’s kick-ass alternative weekly newspaper. The paper brought me to town to do Savage Love Live. I took questions for two hours in the auditorium of a brand-new Halifax high school that has a full bar.
I’m deeply involved in the Oakleigh Meadow Cohousing (OMC) project situated in the River Road area along the Willamette River and bike path. Planning is under way with the city of Eugene and we’re aiming to break ground June 2014. I’m also a River Road resident and OMC household member along with my wife and two boys – we currently live just a block away from the beautiful cohousing site where we’ve gathered many times with friends and family.
Gotta hand it to the IRS. I don’t mean literally hand over your owed taxes — although unless you’re a valiant anti-war tax-resister doing civil disobedience, you probably should pay up, especially now that Obama is closing loopholes on tax-avoiding fat cats (no offense to felines of size). I’m saying hand some figurative credit to the Internal Revenue Service for growing a pair (that means ovaries, right?) and taking a stand for justice.
I am a straight male, 30, in a long-term monogamous relationship. I love my wife, we have good sex, and often. When we first got together, I had a mild foot fetish, and she has gorgeous pedis. We have done and still do foot play on occasion. But my fetish has grown stronger as time has passed, and I have grown thirstier for her appendages. They are all I can think about. I am still willing to do everything with my partner and make sure she is satisfied. I don’t want anyone else, and the relationship is wonderful other than this issue.
I’m a 23-year-old homo who came out one year ago. Life has done good and bad things to me. Good things include success in the intelligence lottery, a full ride to college, and now a job with a six-figure income. Sadly, I find that my place in life is different from the place occupied by most other young gay men.
I love the Ruth Bascom Riverbank Trail System. I use it almost every day to take walks with my son and dog. We love that where we live -— next to the West Bank section of the trail system — much of the trail is surrounded by the Willamette River Greenway, a mix of city parkland and open spaces.
After the Lane County commissioners passed an ordinance setting the hours that the Wayne Morse Free Speech Plaza would be open (6 am to 11 pm) and cutting back its space to the smaller 71’ X 73’ terrace, they might as well have renamed it Jack in the Box Terrace.
My question is one of etiquette. My lesbian wife and I live in an apartment. The noise pollution between flats can be pretty bad. Anyone who lives in the building is aware of this, and keeping noise down after certain hours is a common courtesy. I wouldn’t play loud music after a certain hour, or let doors slam, or break out the drum kit. If any of these things happen after around 11:30 p.m. on a work night, I don’t think I’d feel any qualms about going around to whoever is being inconsiderate and asking them to keep it down. But what about noisy sex?
It’s that time of year when the birds are getting restless. Migration is stirring in their bones — hollow bones evolved for long-distance flight. We expect thousands of Vaux’s swifts to roost in the old Agate Hall chimney for a week or so on their way south. Watch for the Audubon Society’s Friday night vigils Sept. 20 and 27 when that happens.
The equinox on Sept. 22 comes as the change in day length is at its greatest. After equinox the rate of change decelerates until the change is barely noticeable during the season of longest nights.
I’m a Savage Lovecast listener, but I’m sending this question to your column because my boyfriend would FOR SURE recognize my voice if I called the show. I’m 25, I live in Portland, and my boyfriend and I have been monogamous for five years. His dick is of average size. It’s not small enough for him to have dealt with the emotional baggage associated with “small dicks.” Yet, I’ve had sex with big dicks, and I would love to try one of those dick sheaths or extenders or whatever.
As the Obama administration continues to market its planned war on Syria as a “limited” strike and “shot across the bow,” the language of the resolution the Congress is being asked to consider and the plans of the president’s national security team belie any such limited intention.
Should it be called football when the third-ranked team in the nation lures a ragamuffin team — that managed two wins in two years — to its stadium with the promise of big bucks and then crushes the hapless opponents 66-3? Sounds more like child abuse.
Every lesbian has a story. Not just the very few of us like Ellen and Wanda who have risen to actual stardom, but every one of us regular lesbos who has come out, bucked the patriarchy by being herself and continued to thrive in this male-dominated, misogynist world. We are so totally AWESOME!
I’m a cute, mostly straight, twentysomething, single, and (safely) sexually active woman. This happens to me pretty often: I hook up with a guy, we start fooling around, and we’re both really into it. I reach down, and he’s full sail. Things progress — clothes come off, etc. — and, as is generally the polite order of things, the lady comes first. (This isn’t the problem.) I’m not aggressive, but I’m not shy. I tell a partner what I like and how to do it. They are always happy to oblige.
The other day, I walked out and got into my car, which takes just plain old regular unleaded gasoline. I drove into town on the asphalt roads, which are a remarkable feature. They’re basically just crushed gravel and tar or pitch (bitumen, technically), which is one of the leftovers from refining oil, and they cover an impressive amount of the surface of the Earth at this point. Less than .1 percent to be sure, but that is still a lot of asphalt.