Gay News Bureau

OF PARKING SPACES, INSANITY AND CUTE COPPERS

Yip — Mon, 12 May 2008 11:59:19 +0000

Wednesday, 5:15 A.M.

I get to my office for a fun-filled day of cookbook publishing. I park in my building's driveway, unlock the office door and decide I'd rather play on the Internet than work. Hey, it's MY business. If I want to play before working, who's to tell me I can't?! So there I sit, checking out Geekfest and a few of my favorite www's.

At about 6:30, I see a man walk up to the front door of my building. He pounds his fist on the door. Doesn't knock, POUNDS. WTF?! He walks away. I open the door. He's about 10 feet away on the sidewalk. 'Can I help you?' I say. 'Yeah. MOVE YOUR FUCKING CAR!'

~~~~~

A description of my building, driveway and parking lot to help you form a mental picture that you probably don't want to see, but I'm going to tell you about anyway. It's relevant to this fascinating story.

My office is next to an apartment building. There's a narrow driveway between the two buildings – about 12 feet wide – that I own, leading to a small parking lot (which I also own) behind my building. The only access to the parking lot is this narrow drive.

It's not an easement drive.

It's mine.

The parking lot is mine.

They came with the building when I bought it about 15 years ago. The property line of the apartment building ends at a small sidewalk that runs parallel to my drive.

Sometimes, people living in the apartments park their cars in my drive or parking lot. Usually, I ask them not to park in my lot, and it's not a problem. They all have assigned parking on the other side of the apartments, but they have to walk all of 75 feet or so to get to the main entrance of their building. If they park in my lot, they only have to walk about 10 feet.

In the scheme of things, this is not a life or death situation. Just an inconvenience for me to move my car whenever they want to get out, and for them, because they have to wait for me to move. Besides, it's private property.

MY private property.

I don't park in their area, I don't expect them to park in mine.

Ok, now back to this riveting tale. (Soon to be a major motion picture starring George Clooney as Yip [I wish], Ashton Kutcher as the troubled door pounder, and somebody [ANYbody] from Grey's Anatomy as the cute copper. Special cameo appearances by Gene Hackman, Morgan Freeman and that girl from Little Miss Sunshine...just for the 'cuteness' aspect.)

~~~~~

'MOVE YOUR GODDAM CAR!' I stand there for a second, trying to figure out what's going on. The guy is glaring at me. Under different circumstances, I would have thought he was kind of cute...in an unhinged sort of way.

There aren't any cars on the street, this guy's on foot.

'Why should I move my car?' I say, confused by his ranting and yelling.

'JUST MOVE YOUR FUCKING CAR! NOW!!' He's screaming.

In a split second I realize what's going on. He's apparently parked his car in the lot behind my building. When I got to work, there were no cars in the driveway, but I can't see what is or isn't behind the building.

'I SAID, MOVE YOUR FUCKING CAR! YOU'RE BLOCKING ME!'

'Umm, you know you've parked….'

He takes a few steps toward me, 'FUCK YOU! MOVE YOUR GODDAM CAR NOW! YOU SON OF A BITCH! I'LL MOVE THE CAR IF YOU WON'T AND IT WON'T BE PRETTY!'

When one is as old as I am, there's not a lot left to be scared of. But this guy is scaring me. I recognize most of the people who live in the apartments, but I've never seen him before.

Does he have a gun?

Is he drunk?

Is he on drugs?

One thing I know for sure, he's emotionally unstable. Even though I really dislike being threatened, I decide that discretion truly is the better part of valor.

'Ok, calm down, let me get my key…'

'DON'T FUCK WITH ME! HURRY UP AND MOVE YOUR FUCKING CAR! HURRY UP, GODDAM IT! IT'S GONNA GET UGLY IF I HAVE TO MOVE THE FUCKING CAR FOR YOU, AND I WILL!'

'Calm down. I'll move the car…'

'HURRY THE FUCK UP! MOVE THE GODDAM CAR NOW! YOU WANT ME TO MOVE IT FOR YOU? HURRY UP GODDAM IT!'

I get my key and get in the car. He's driving a late-model Ford pickup, which is a few feet in front of my car in the drive. As I'm starting my car, he puts the pickup in gear and lurches toward me, stopping inches from my front bumper. I back out, he screeches tires and shows me his middle finger. (That was a clever touch. Original, too.) He burns rubber down the street.

Wow. I go back to my office, trying to figure out exactly what just happened. All of this took place in the span of about 1 and one-half minutes.

I call the police. A (nice looking!) cop shows up and takes my statement. I describe the guy and his pickup. I have his plate number, give it to the copper who runs it in his computer. Nothing of interest regarding the plate number comes up.

I say to the cop, 'I appreciate your coming. This may be trivial stuff, but the guy really did scare the crap out of me.'

'Glad you called. This is what we're here for. If this happens again, call us immediately. He could be 'on' something. We don't want this to get out of hand, or physical.'

Got that right!

(BTW, casting is now being arranged for the Broadway musical version. Unfortunately, Ethel Merman is not available for the part of Yip.)

Categories: Travel News.

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Come Out for OutSmart Magazine Publication Party

Gay News Bureau Staff — Thu, 08 May 2008 23:41:30 +0000

The May issue of Houston's OutSmart magazine--with seven full pages devoted to gay Eureka Springs--is now . . . well, out.

Celebrate this major marketing and public relations achievement and get your copy of the magazine at Marquee's (former location of Caribe Restaurante y Cantina) on Thursday, May 15 at 6:30 p.m.

«With all it has to offer the GLBT traveler, Eureka Springs should be considered on par with Key West, Provincetown and Palm Springs as a gay vacation paradise,» writes OutSmart contributor Bradley Williams.

With the publication of this major travel story, a great many more Texans will know about Eureka Springs.

Because, in addition to Houston, OutSmart is distributed in Galveston, Beaumont, Conroe, Clear Lake City, Spring, Dallas, Austin, San Antonio, El Paso, Longview, and College Station.

Here's the link to the on-line version of the story:

Gay-reka!

Next up is Kansas City's Verge magazine which is planning a 10-page spread on gay Eureka Springs for June.

Categories: Travel News.

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Sprechen Sie Deutsch?

Yip — Tue, 29 Apr 2008 23:12:10 +0000

I just bought a Berlitz German language course. When we go to Austria and Germany in June, I would like to be able to say a few words that aren't English. What the hell. It was only 20 bucks.

I know that everyone over there under the age of 75 speaks English, probably better than I do, and learning the language isn't absolutely necessary to get around Europe, but I think it would be kind of fun to order dinner in German. Or at least say hello to the clerk in a store in the native tongue.

We here in America could learn from the Europeans. In a number of different things. One is language. They ALL speak at least a couple of languages over there. Different situation, I realize. Over there, one could travel the same distance as Nebraska to Arkansas and pass through 3 or 4 countries, each with its own national language. It's no big deal for them, but we bitch and moan when we hear 'Press ONE for English'. I've done it too. 'This is America, damn it! Learn to speak English! Assimilate or get the HELL out of here!'

My worry is that I'll butcher the language badly. When I mean to say, 'I'll have the poached salmon with broccoli, please.' it will come out, 'My sister cannot daytime with large table.'

Fred speaks German quite well. His mother was raised in Munich. But he won't say anything unless he can say it flawlessly. Perfect sentence structure, with all nouns and verbs in exactly the right place.

It's really irritating.

I'll try to say something to him in German, thinking I've gotten the point across, and he'll say 'You want to put a verb in that sentence?' or, 'You sound like a goddam Prussian!' Apparently, to a Bavarian, sounding like a Prussian is sort of like telling a Massachusetts Yankee they talk like a hick from Alabama.

I don't really care if I don't speak whatever the German equivalent of The Kings' English is, as long as they know I'm at least making an attempt, feeble though it may be.

So far, I've learned to say,

'Hello. My name is Yip.' and

'How are you?' and

'I'm very good, thank you.'

When I meet Fred's Aunts and Uncles, it will, no doubt, come out something like,

'My name is good! Thank you day!'

I'm hoping that if I smile a lot they won't be too offended.

As Fred always says, It's really ego-deflating when you try your hardest to speak the language, and whomever you're talking to says - in perfect English - 'Would you feel more comfortable if we conversed in your native language?'

I took a conversational German course a couple of years ago. This is what I remember from the course:

'Today is Monday. Grandma comes on Monday. Where is grandma? Grandma is not there. That makes me sad.'

Those phrases should come in handy when ordering dinner.

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Untitled

Yip — Mon, 28 Apr 2008 13:49:48 +0000

Three-day stubble-OR- why won't it grow on TOP of my head?

I didn't shave Wednesday.
I didn't shave Thursday.
Now it's Friday.
I didn't shave this morning.
I could blame my not shaving on being late for work, which is not entirely true.
More accurately, I just didn't want to do it.

I was sitting in front of the tv, scratching my itchy chin, watching Matt Lauer do his thing in London and just figured what the hell. I don't have any appointments today that would require a smooth face, so screw it.

The only problem is that the weekend is coming fast.
As most any man knows, Man Law Number 17 requires eschewing the razor on a Saturday and Sunday. Shaving on the weekend is just not right.

Unless that man must attend a funeral or wedding. Even then, shaving depends on who is getting married or buried.

If it's mom being buried, God rest her saintly soul, you shave. Or if it's mom, and she's getting married for the fourth time (the trollop!) you shave anyway. After all, she is mom.

If the deceased is somebody your spouse met at a Tupperware party,

'We really should go. At least to the viewing. She was such a sweetheart.' You don't shave.

(Unless you know the spouse is going to bitch about your rough face for a few hours. Then, just for household harmony's sake, you lather up, thinking how good that beer is going to taste after what's-her-name is planted.)

So here I sit, thinking how scraggly I'm going to look by Monday morning.

I have the kind of beard that comes in patches. It won't look butch and handsome, like those guys on Gray's Anatomy, it will look more like I have some sort of rare disease.

And, no matter how much I will it, hair WON'T grow on top of my head. It's heartbreaking when you have more hair on your chest than you do on your head.

Thank God I'm just a plain old Friend of Dorothy and not one of those metrosexuals. I'd hate to have to shave my chest too.

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This is a repeat...

Yip — Sun, 27 Apr 2008 23:34:00 +0000

At least it MAY be.

I haven't had a lot of time to write my annoying missives lately, so I've dug into the Yip Files for a couple of past posts that may (or may not) have been added to this blog. I hope I'm not repeating myself by putting the next few installments in here.

Just letting you know - you may get a feeling of deja vu when reading.

Bear with me. There will be some new nonsense before long.

Her name was Lisa.

In a break from my usual inane rantings........

~~~~~~~~~

30 years ago this month:

My roommate at the time, Mark, had been out of town. «Yip, I'm coming in tomorrow night. Plane gets in about 10:00. Can you pick me up at the airport? Use my car. The keys are on the hook in the kitchen.»

About 9:15 I hop into Mark's bright yellow VW and head for the airport. It's a nice, warm evening. Lots of moonlight, not much traffic. I pick Mark up at the gate and we head back to his Midtown, K.C. house. At that time, there was not a lot of development between downtown K.C. and the airport. It was pretty much farmland with an occasional old drive-in motel.

We're driving along, talking about California, the flight back, how many drinks Mark had indulged in, the lousy airline food, (back then they still served food),
when an old pickup truck sped by us. Must have been doing at least 80 mph.
«Oh! Babycakes is in a hurry!» said Mark.

A few minutes later, we round a bend of the highway. There's something up ahead that just doesn't look «right».

I slow down a little.

«What's going on up here?»

There are car headlights pointing at us, but.....there's something different....something....out of the ordinary.

Then it hits me.
The headlights are vertical. One above the other, about 3 feet apart. Not horizontal, like they should be.

Oh shit! There's been a wreck.
It's a car off the side of the road, on its side, pointing in the opposite direction of traffic flow.

I pull over, even with the overturned vehicle, which is about 30 yards away from the highway. A taxi pulls up behind us. Dust is flying everywhere, dimming the moonlight. The wreck has just happened. I get out of Mark's car and yell to the cab driver,
«Can you call the police with your radio?»
«I already have.» he says, getting out of the cab. We both trot down to the overturned vehicle, with Mark not far behind us.

It's the pickup truck that had sped passed us moments earlier, apparently going too fast to negotiate the curve in the highway. I approach the cab of the pickup, hoping to find someone in there not too banged up. There's nothing in the truck.

I hear the cab driver, who's at the back end of the pickup, «Lord have mercy! Lord have mercy!» I run to the back of the pickup.

She's there, crushed under the bed of the truck. Her body is covered by the truck from her stomach on down. All we can see is her upper torso and head, with her arms stretched out above her face.
She's dead.
Apparently thrown out during the wreck, the truck rolling on top of her.

The cab driver pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, unfolded it and placed it over her face. Her eyes were half open, a blank stare. She was pretty. Shoulder-length reddish hair, a few strands floating in the still dusty breeze.
The cab driver gently took one of her hands and cupped it in his as he prayed, «Dear God, take this child of yours...........»

The police and ambulance showed up a few minutes later. The three of us gave our view of what had happened. We all had tears in our eyes.

Mark and I didn't talk much on the way back to his house. We stayed up late, stared at the walls and drank Scotch.

A couple of days later I found her obituary in the paper.
Her name was Lisa.
I think of her often. And of the cab driver.

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Glasses on the way!

Yip — Wed, 23 Apr 2008 21:56:19 +0000

Back from the eye doctor.

I've never, in all my life, had my eyes examined. Interesting experience, that I'm not sure I want to go through again. It wasn't as invasive as the prostate exam I had a few weeks ago (that's a subject best not discussed in polite company, so I won't. I assume everyone reading this is 'polite'. I could be wrong.) but it wasn't a lot of fun. Bright flashing lights, looking through all sorts of complicated machinery, so forth. The interesting part was the Dr. (Insert a nice «oooooo!» here.) He was cute! Quite tall, about 6'3 or 4, I would guess.

I'm a sucker for tall guys. And, he had hair. Lots of it. Thick and wavy. (bastard!)

So, he told me to look through these little glass things, asked me which seemed better, if they were fuzzy or not, and filled out a bunch of paperwork. Then I got to pick the frames. Not a SINGLE Dame Edna 'wings with rhinestones' pair in the lot. They had everything from skinny little slits to oversized Sally Jesse Raphael owl-eyes. But no 'wings'.

Shit.

I picked out a pair. They're nice, I guess, as far as glasses go. I get them in 2 to 2 1/2 weeks. It's gonna be nice to see what the world looks like.

At least I think it will.

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The eyes are not getting any better....

Yip — Wed, 23 Apr 2008 13:42:22 +0000

One of the benefits of the second job I have is insurance coverage. That's a biggie.

In the past I've looked into policies for myself, as a small business owner, and found the premiums to be outrageously expensive. Expensive enough that I didn't sign up. So, now that I DO have insurance, I'm taking advantage of it.

I have to wear safety goggles at the job. I have some problems with close-up vision. Can't read the newspaper (or anything else, for that matter) without reading glasses. The job requires reading small numbers and letters, so I have some «standard» bifocal safety goggles. They don't work very well, so I've set up an eye doctor appointment for today. Prescription safety goggles! Woohoo! I'm gonna see if I can get a pair with rhinestones and «wings» that extend above the eye about an inch or two. Like Dame Edna's.

I'll be the mega-star of C Shift!

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Wedding bells in Uruguay

Gay News Bureau Staff — Mon, 21 Apr 2008 03:14:15 +0000

Last Thursday, Uruguay became the first nation in Latin America to marry a gay couple, after a law allowing couples living together to formalize their union went into effect at the start of the year. Couples who have lived together for five years, regardless of sexual orientation, will be granted spousal rights at the federal level under Uruguay's «cohabitation union law.» Though several cities, including Buenos Aires and Mexico City, have inclusive civil union laws on the books, Uruguay's law is the first nationwide measure in Latin America.

As expected, the Pope is in a holy uproar over Uruguay's move to join Canada as the second nation on the American Continents to support civil and human rights for all. His Holiness is reportedly quite annoyed that he will be required to take time out of his busy schedule of covering up the misdeeds of altar-boy-buggering priests to take a firm stand against the «moral decline» of Uruguay.

Go figure.

Meanwhile, here in the United States of America, formerly known as the world's «beacon of freedom,» unemployed--and unemployable--mental patients rove in packs to harass the occupants of America's outposts of common sense--like Vermont, Massachusetts, and Eureka Springs, Arkansas.

Here at Gay News, we're pretty sure there are readers who have been leaning forward, wondering if we're ever going to say anything about the duty-free import of unhinged lunatics that was foisted on Eureka Springs during Spring Diversity Weekend by Eureka's own un-medicated patients, otherwise known as First Christian Church pastor «Flip» Wilson and Eureka's lone Jericho Rider, Kevin B. Thompson.

(We're mostly sure that people are wondering because they keep asking. «Are you ever going to write about it? Huh? Huh? When?)

Well, OK. We will. Now.

If you missed Spring Diversity Weekend, here's the short version:

Long time readers of Gay News will remember-- when Eureka's Domestic Partnership Registry was passed, three times, by a unanimous vote of city council, local First Christian Church Pastor Phillip «Flip» Wilson tried, and failed two times, to mount a referendum designed to defeat the ordinance. Eureka laughed him off... so he escalated by calling in the American Family Association (AFA) to teach Eureka a lesson. Eureka laughed at the AFA too.

But the AFA, ever willing to exploit every opportunity to increase their bottom line, decided to make a movie about the ominous gay menace in Eureka Springs. (On sale now for just $14.95!) They called it, «They're coming to your town,» and the mockery went viral. Suddenly, everyone was laughing at the AFA (and cheering Eureka Springs) nationwide.

Not that reality made a dent in the zealotry of our self-righteous heroes. They escalated again.

This time, according to AFA movie star Mark Kiser, the AFA went door-to-door in Eureka Springs to every church, asking why the local churches wouldn't beat up on homos «like Jesus said.» Every single local church declined to help the «righteous mission» of the AFA....which would tell most normal, well-adjusted people that they were trying to do the wrong thing, in the wrong place, at the wrong time. But not our guys.

Since they couldn't find anyone in Eureka Springs to support their point of view, including Eureka's most conservative churches, they got the bright idea to send out what they referred to as a «Macedonian Call» to every organization that is crazy enough to fly halfway across the country to harass people in Eureka Springs, Arkansas.

We can only assume that Fred Phelps is holding bake sales, selling «Christian» cookies to pay off his $11 million dollar federal fine, because the AFA and Jericho Riders couldn't even find a group that specializes in harassing gays and lesbians to import for Diversity Weekend. They had to settle for agitators who spend their time marching against Planned Parenthood and burning the Koran on the front steps of mosques.

So the bottom of the barrel was scraped, and the scrapings came to Eureka Springs to shout through bullhorns at all the people who happened to be in Eureka Springs on Diversity Weekend...some of whom were, in fact, gay. Most of whom were, in fact, Christian heterosexual parents who had spent a whole lot less time in jail and drug-rehab than the unhinged folks who have the self-aggrandizing delusion that they're in the world to save gays... and Christians who have read more of the Bible than a single verse in Leviticus.

If you're wondering what all of this has to do with Uruguay, it's this:

There are places in the world that might seem out of context when it comes time to recognize that the world does not, in fact, end when governments give rights and recognition to legal, committed, loving relationships. All over the world, reasonable people are realizing that it is in the interest of society to support consistent love, that the «family as the pillar of society» can, and should, accommodate gay families too.

The debate has moved past sophisticated, industrialized nations like Canada, Belgium, Spain and the Netherlands--where gay marriage is legal. It has now expanded to include nations that the US once mocked as «third world,» like South Africa and Uruguay. Argentina is expected to follow in the steps of Uruguay...soon.

Here in Eureka Springs, Arkansas, «the hole in the buckle of the Bible Belt,» it's impossible to find public support for the viewpoints of people who like to claim that the world will end.--immediately--if gay people get to visit their sick spouses in the hospital and leave legacies to the partners they built those legacies with without punishing tax penalties.

The world is changing rapidly for the good. As Uruguay and Eureka Springs goes, so goes the nation.

So here's to you, Uruguay. May we be the first to congratulate Adrian Figuera and Juan Carlos Moretti, Uruguay's newest First Couple.

Oh. We're not the first? Of course not.

Thank God.

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A MORNING CONVERSATION WITH THE KITTY

Yip — Tue, 15 Apr 2008 19:25:43 +0000

*BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!*

The alarm goes off.

Shit.

It's 3:45 A.M. It feels like I went to bed only 20 minutes ago. I usually go to bed around 7:30 in the evening. 8:00 at the latest. I have to, in order to get up at 3:45.

I fall out of bed and walk, unsteadily, over to the dresser where the clock is. I have to put it over there, forcing me to get up to turn it off. If I had it right by the bed, I'd roll over and punch it without ever waking up. I stand by the dresser for a second, trying to get my bearings.

No, I'm not dreaming.

Yes, I'm alive.

Yes, it's 3:45 A.M.

Yes, I have to go to work.

Shit.

I think about the old donut commercial (Dunkin' Donuts?) with the old guy walking around his house in the early morning, «Gotta go make the donuts! Gotta go make the donuts!»

I hear the kitty at the bedroom door, «Meow.» Fred and Dan are, of course, asleep. Anyone with any sense at all is asleep. Damned cat isn't. He's heard the alarm. «Meow.»

I'm NOT a morning person. I'm a night owl. Always have been. I come alive after 10:00 P.M. I cannot talk in the morning, and I don't want people to talk to me. Not even a cat.

«Meow.»

He wants breakfast. I stumble out of the bedroom, down the hall, through the living room, through the dining room, into the kitchen. Cat is winding around between my legs. He gets kicked across the floor a couple of times, but is not deterred. He continues to wind between my legs, rubbing in a way that is supposed to butter me up, I guess.

«I love you. Please give me breakfast. I love you SO much! PLEASE give me breakfast!» (I speak fluent kitty so I know what these little 'meows' mean.)

I see the little red light on the coffee pot. Thank God I remembered to turn the timer on. Thank you, Juan Valdez and Mrs. Olsen. In a few minutes I'll have a Dark Columbian, Mountain Grown heartbeat. (It's the RICHEST kind!)

«Meow. I SAID MEOW! I love you! Please, please give me some breakfast!»

«Jesus H. Christ, cat! Fine. Here's your damned food.» I open the fridge and get a can of Grilled Salmon Surprise and spoon a glob onto his saucer.

«About damned time!»

«Don't push it, you furry little beast.»

«Mmmmm. This is good! Don't you have to go to work or something? Why are you standing around here? LEAVE already!»

I shower and brush my teeth. I open the bathroom door and there's the kitty.

«Meow.»

«In your dreams, cat. You've had breakfast. Besides, Fred will give you another spoonful when he gets up. Then, in a couple of hours, Dan will get up and give you another spoonful. You could just have a few bites of the dry stuff, you know.»

«I'd starve if I had to eat that all the time. It's nasty. Are you going to make a tuna casserole for dinner tonight?»

«Starve? Riiiight. You're about 12 pounds overweight as it is. I don't think you'll be starving anytime soon. No…I'm thinking we'll have sloppy joes tonight.»

«Yuck. You better go to work. You're gonna be late.»

«What the hell do you care if I'm late or not?»

«I don't. I just want you out of here. It's time for my morning nap.»

«See you in 12 hours or so. Stay out of the wine while I'm gone.»

«Okay!» *Dear God, humans are dumb.*

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Despite Official Silence, Domestic Partnership Registry Continues to Grow

Gay News Bureau Staff — Tue, 15 Apr 2008 03:51:11 +0000

In the days leading up to and immediately following Spring Diversity Weekend (April 3-6), a dozen couples from five states--Arkansas, Missouri, Oklahoma, Missouri and even Florida--signed up for the Eureka Springs Domestic Partnership Registry.

That brings the total number of registrants to 342 individuals (or 171 couples) from Arkansas and 10 other states.

Collectively, they have--in just under 10 months--boosted city revenues by $5,985 by ponying up $35 per couple for a Domestic Partnership Certificate.

Their collective impact on the local economy is incalculable. Or, rather cannot be calculated because no one tracks the spending of newly-hitched domestic partners. Yet.

But, if each couple spent a mere $200 on a hotel room, restaurant meals, drinks and souvenirs, that would translate into $34,200. If they stayed for the weekend and spent $1,000, then local cash registers would benefit to the tune $171,000.

Presumably, at least some of those couples came with friends and/or family members who spent as much or more as the happy couple themselves in art galleries, clothing stores, gift shops and nightclubs.

You do the math.

But the issue is--or should be--one of sense, not just dollars. Because the Eureka Springs Domestic Partnership Registry--the only one in the state, mind you--is an historic piece of legislation that acknowledges that loving and lawful adult relationships and families come in all kinds of shapes, sizes and flavors, each worthy of recognition and respect and honor.

For couples who will gladly drive or fly a thousand miles to have their primary adult relationship officially recognized by a municipality (at an average rate of 17 couples a month) demonstrates just how much deep personal meaning they attach to the notion.

Conversely, Eureka Springs should feel honored to be able to give them something they obviously regard as having great personal value--and may well not be able to get closer to home or in another vacation destination.

Imagine just how much more successful the Domestic Partnership Registry could be if it were actually advertised and promoted by the City of Eureka Springs or the Greater Eureka Springs Chamber of Commerce . . . .

Categories: Business News, Travel News.

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Permanent link: Despite Official Silence, Domestic Partnership Registry Continues to Grow (Write a comment).
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