Walk into the luscious new Louis Bunce retrospective at Willamette University’s Hallie Ford Museum of Art in Salem, and you’re immediately confronted with a 1932 self-portrait of the artist.
Wearing a banded fedora and sporting a 20-something’s raffish sneer, Bunce — whose career as an Oregon painter spanned the mid 20th century — glances forward through the decades as if to challenge the 21st century museum-goer: “You’ll never meet another artist quite like me,” he seems to say.
I’ve been reading your advice column in the Coast in Halifax for a while, and it seems that most solutions to relationship problems revolve around sex. Everyone wants it or needs it, we should fuck before dinner, or we can spice up our sex life in this certain way to be happy. What about someone who doesn’t want to have sex, ever? I’ve asked other people for advice, and the answer is usually “take one for the team,” have sex to keep them happy. Is that the only way I could find happiness in a relationship?
The great Russian novelist Fyodor Dostoyevsky invented the modern suspense thriller with Crime and Punishment, the story of a poor college student who murders his landlady with an ax and is hounded throughout the rest of the book by his conscience and a dogged detective who baits him mercilessly until he confesses.
“Nonviolent direct action”: This bit of political jargon might sound like some kind of anarchist crap, but it’s probably what you’ve been doing since the inauguration if you’re newly politically active.
Those rallies you’ve attended, phone calls to senators, and petitions you’ve signed are all non-violent direct actions — actions taken by a group with the aim of revealing a problem, highlighting an alternative or demonstrating a solution to an issue. On Feb. 4, 350 Eugene put on a daylong series of training sessions attended by about 150 people to introduce new activists to the frontlines of making change.
Marijuana is a crutch on which many were hoping to lean for the next four years.
That alone explains why our bronzed chief executive might be looking to snatch it away. Why else would President Donald J. Trump select unabashed marijuana-phobe Jeff Sessions to run the Department of Justice?
Shirley Temple once paid a visit and may have rested her blonde ringlets on soft Hotel Benton pillows.
Symmetrically doomed presidential candidates John F. and Bobby Kennedy each stopped in, as did history’s great scurrying mole rat, Richard Nixon.
Built to capitalize on tourist traffic after the highway now known as Route 34 came through the middle of town about 100 years ago, connecting hayseed Corvallis to what’s now Interstate 5, the Hotel Benton was like a rural pageant queen — more stunning for the low brutish frontier edifices skirting her hem.
“It is difficult to measure the impact the Hotel Benton has had on social, commercial, political and cultural structure in Corvallis,” reads the building’s nomination form for the National Registry for Historical Places. “Being located within one block of the Southern Pacific Railroad station, ten blocks from the university and in the heart of the commercial core of Corvallis, the building served as host to nearly every conceivable event or convention for over 30 years.”
From Nazi swastikas on Old Nick’s Pub to fliers proclaiming “Diversity is white genocide” on cars, Eugene’s Whiteaker neighborhood was plastered with hate in the early hours of Feb. 4, and many in the area are up in arms. Some in the Whit are discussing doing their own policing.
The Oregon Department of Environmental Quality recently sent a warning letter to Dirk & Colleen Brainerd in Springfield for operating the wastewater treatment system without a permit at the Country Inn on County Farm Road in Eugene. DEQ classified this violation as a “Class I” violation (the most serious class of violations), and noted the human health and environmental problems that can be presented by human sewage. DEQ’s inspection also appeared to indicate a lack of maintenance of the treatment system.
• Downtown Eugene is a point of contention again, with some groups advocating for cleaning up the streets of “travelers” and transients through smoking and dog bans. Eugene City Councilor Mike Clark has even called for an additional small jail right near our planned new City Hall. More jails won’t solve the problem and bans just push people out to become someone else’s problem. We need more shelters. We need a day shelter. If you can’t tell someone to go home, at least give people somewhere to go.
Occasionally, there is a point in the history of a place that creates a before and after moment — an event that, in the aftermath, changes a place so significantly it renders it a totally different place from what it was before, forever. Like what the oil pipeline did to Alaska.
With the election of Donald Trump we are witnessing a coup that combines white nationalism, finance capital and militarism.
The Lane Peace Center is bringing Arun Gandhi, the grandson of Mahatma Gandhi, to Eugene on Feb. 16. His talk, titled “Gandhi and Non-violence: Relevance for the 21st Century,” is well timed to help us gain perspective on these surreal and turbulent times.
Match.com, OK Cupid, Craigslist, Tinder: Before online and phone app dating, there were personal ads. A couple lines of type in grey newsprint were all the room you had to find the love of your life. But from time to time they worked.
Certified sex coach Jane Steckbeck has one question for young people who are grossed out by the idea of old folks like their parents having sex. “So,” she’ll ask, “when exactly do you plan on stopping?”
End of conversation, it would seem — yet also a way to open up dialogue about the oddly difficult and infinitely complex matter of sex and sexuality as we age.
These days, resistance is on people’s minds. And Memphis, Tenn., art-punk, self-described “nuevo no wavo” band Nots make an exhilaratingly painful noise that, like the band name itself, stamps a bold, red NO across the face of all the soul-crushing yes-men and sniveling company shills of the world.
I arranged the covers in front of my face to block out the red, blue and green lights on the various machines monitoring Wifey’s vitals. Creating this tiny dark space, I managed to get at least a little sleep during the incessantly interrupted post-knee-replacement surgery nights.
Before there ever lived a boy named Peter Pan, before there existed a place called Neverland, a girl named Molly adventured with three orphan boys on a remote island inhabited by a tribe called, improbably, the Mollusks. One of the boys would go on to be named Peter, and would never grow up, and Molly’s daughter, Wendy … Well, that’s for another story entirely.