Opinion
ZM/yNebraskan
Since 1901
Ecfitor Sarah Baker
Opinion Page Ecfitor Jake Glazaski
Managing Editor Bradtey Davis
Ghost of Guyla
Legislative bill founded upon
contradictorythinking
Anti-discrimination laws against gays in
the workplace are already in place on a feder
al level. In many states, they’re in place for
local government jobs.
Now the Nebraska State Legislature has a
bill before it that could surpass those laws in
terms of scope. It’s LB 19, a law extending anti
discrimination protection to gays who work at
businesses employing 15 or more.
If one is against discrimination as a policy,
the more well-rounded that policy is, the
more sound it becomes. Extending this pro
tection to the gay working sector of Nebraska’s
population not only makes sense in terms of
fairness, but it strengthens the state’s appeal
to any long-time minority groups that may
seek protection.
The real question isn’t, however, whether
it’s more fair or not or even whether discrimi
nation in general should be practiced. Rather,
LB19 is likely to receive heavy opposition sim
ply because it is about gays, and, given
Nebraska’s recent vote on the Defense of
Marriage Act, that is reason alone for many
senators to vote against it
dome senators cnoose to Deneve mat gay
behavior, as it does not keep with a regulated
Biblical style of living, is a choice and not a
makeup of one's genetics. Therefore, they file
homosexuality under the "character” portion
of job qualification, asserting that if one
chooses to be gay, it could in fact affect their
performance negatively, like drinking, lying or
stealing might
Balderdash. We believe that sexual orienta
tion and work habits have no connection to
each other, just as not every Christian who
walks down the block adheres to a nose-to
the-grindstone ethic.
If, to these close-minded senators, being
gay is a choice of character, then certainly
choosing not to be gay is one and of some
defining characteristic to a person. Couldn't
you see it? "Well, you've chosen not to be gay
... Means you're a good worker.”
What’s more strange is that some support
ers cite successful gays as a reason gays don't
need economic protection. Consider the fol
lowing excerpt from the Daily Nebraskan
regarding research from Guyla Mills, a woman
who led the charge on DOMA, and who,
despite now working and living in Virginia,
finds it necessary to pollute Nebraska with
these thoughts:
"In her own research, Mills said she found
out the average income for subscribers to a
gay newspaper to be $60,000, well above the
national average. "'If that’s true, it means they
don’t need economic protection,' she said.”
Now, if it were possible one could even dis
cern anything from newspaper subscriptions
(think the many stock millionaires that opt for
the Wall Street Journal provide an apt picture
of die nation?) consider die logic of her state
ment
It punishes gays for being successful. If
they’re successful, well then, they must be
good workers. But they’re not because of poor
character. Make any sense? Mills must think
that these nefarious gays who all make
$60,000work in the pornography industry.
These constructed arguments that go
around and around in circles do nothing more
than mask a dislike for gays and “their land.”
Until such voting factions and early baby
boomer attitudes work their way out of
Nebraska’s Legislature, it’s not likely much is
going to change. That doesn’t mean we can’t
support it
Edfcorial Board
Sarah Baker, Jeff Bloom, BradeyDavfe, Jake Gtazeski,
Matthew Hansen, Samuel McKswon, Kimberly Sweet
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A world hanging in balance
The first thing you have to
get used to is die taste:
You don’t expect it to be
quite as salty as it is, but you
get used to it. In time, you
come to welcome it - even
‘want* it-in that peculiar
way only people who have
experienced the hunger can «I3K0
understand. GldZ&Ski
I looked up to his face; he
laid his head back lightly
against the pfflowi the look of exhaustion and of con
tentment spread across his face like a slow jam.
Slowly I stretched myself along his length, gently
lying down cm him, letting first our chests, then our
stomachs meet, our legs intertwine, my face hover
ing ower his just a bread* width.
I smiled. He opened his eyes and smiled at me I
leaned in and Irisski him-not a deep kiss, but press
ing so that our respective stubbles nibbed against
each other And the friction-the friction,you have to
get used to that, too.
The kiss broke. Hemade a motion; I shook my
head.
“Steep,* I said
He looked at me, his eyes took on that sweet-and
sour look. He pursed his lips, and I responded by
moving over next to him, lying down on the bed 1
pulled the cowers up and over us both; I could fed his
warmth instantaneously
Steeping with another person is tricky business,
but we had gotten used to it by then. Ybu want to be
dose all the time, and that's fine. But you cant steep
that way If you want to steep together you have to
give each other room.
Or at least, I need room.
i lay on my side, ana soon <
thereafter I could feel his hand
down my back, slowly. The pads
of his fingers began at my shoul
der and made their way to the
small of my back; and then,
beginning there; he traced his fin
gernails along my spmp_
The first time he had done
that two yeaxs before, I had shiv- I
end.
But this time, I breathed
deeply and enjoyed the four
smooth fingernails tracing a
musical staff of sorts along my
back. He followed this night by
playing little notes of kisses along
my neck and shoulders. With
each loss, I felt his chin and his
nose, and as he did this, he
wrapped an arm around me and
pulled me dose to him.
Our bodies fit. We always fit
together so perfectly. I had, in the
romantic throes at the beginning
of our relationship, thought it
meant we were destined for each
other: Not any more. That destiny
had been fulfilled.
I said his name softly, as
drowsily as I could. He responded
only with a heavy breath through
the nose along my collarbone.
*1 need to get up early tomor- j
row* I said.
He groaned the slightest bit of
malcontent, stopping his endeav
ors. He planted a kiss on my
shoulder and pulled away. The
bed shifted as he nested into his
spot (m the bed.
TWo years. A long time.
I lay with my eyes open. I was- 1
n’t tired, but I needed to sleep. The I
light from the streetlights shone j
the room blue, and he let his ]
breathing drop slowly, more slow
ly, toward sleep. I listened to him
breathe until I knew he was
asleep. I stfll wasn't tired.
Ithougbt about that first night
we went (Mi a date, of the look of
his fire in the dirty TGX Friday’s |
light. I remembered him smiling
and thinking of how secret it all
was, how ft seemed to the rest of
Ihe world we were just two pals,
two buds, two chums, while our
feet touched underneath the j
table, and our hearts stretched
and readied for each other over
the impossible distance of the
red-white striped table
This secrecy, in the good
ffanes, makes things stronger The world disapproves,
and we’te glad it does as we grasp one another in a
stairwell when no one is looking.
“Secret Agents ofLoooove,” we would say, laugh
ing, before our mouths were full of each other Thena
quick straightening ofthe tie and back to the world of
the nonnal, the world of the heterosexual.
But in the harsher times...
I sighed deeply aslthought about the times when
things weren't so positive. There’s a lot of pressure to
keep the relationship^“real" to keep it“impassioned."
Straight people draft have to worry about that
No, they get hitched. \
You get hitched, and you're damned if you do,
damned ifyou don’t War have towork through it%u
can't just throw your suitcases into the trunk and be
gone forever \bu have to at least come back. The law
requires iL
Granted, after a while, your lives become so
entwined... I repositioned a little, lying on my back
now; on the bed and sheets we both picked out and
bought I don’t even remember how we split it We
used to split things.
Long-distance calls, dinners out. Then we moved
in, and it all started to trim: What was a gift, what was
a motion of affection became typical household
wares.
I looked at him as he slept Be was a heavy sleep
er His lip6 parted slightly as he breathed. My sweet,
sweet love. How did we stick together through all the
bad spots?Would we last through all the future ones?
It was a mystery I couldn't strive.
With thatbit of mystety, I turned on my side, fac
ing hm and watched him breathe.
1 can live with that mystery; I just wish I didn't
have la
Requiem of a
lost love
1 turned the
cotton swab a
couple more
times, but still no
yellow wax came
from my ears,
I remem
bered as I sat in
McEwsn
iiiy gray nannei
robe on the white
toilet seat that I
used to dean his
ears for him. "Hminm.ni bet sure as shit
she doesn't do that for him.”
No way in hell is she going to do that
for him. But I did.
He used to sit, toot on the toilet seat in
my bathroom. Like my dogs do when I
pull fat ticks from their soft ears, he
would sit patiently as I swirled the swab
around and around. Gently, gingerly,
always careful not to go in too fan Careful
to swab up the globs of yellow that col
lected frequently Icould wait two weeks,
and these wouldbeatub of thick wax just
waiting for me to come in with my
fohnsonb swabi
He would laugh and say, “You get
some sort of side pleasure out of doing
this, don't you?”
I would also give him facials. He had
terrible pock-marked skin from a hellish
battle with acne that started in junior
higi and foflowed him througi his 20s.
green-white domes thati^restoic^tea
volcano cm his chin in between the black
stubble, threatening to erupt at any
moment
“Just let me squeeze this one,
1 leaned forward, my curious eyes
focused on his zitas he examined it in the
minor.
“No way in heU Get away”
He would swat my hand then pick
with his own, and finally he would
squeeze, and 1 watched it explode.
“Ouch!"
No, she would not dean his ears for
him.
And my tears he used to wipe with his
deformed thumb a birth defect He had
ing in Kansas City but it was still really
crooked.
I knew the very apartment buildins
he used to live in untithe was seven, and
then his family moved to Lincoln. We
drove by it once on a romantic getaway I
remember we stayed in an old historic
hotel deep in the heart of K.G
The smdlofthedtywas awful in July
but the hotel was beautiful. We gotasuite
even, andllet him have me there.
In that large bed, our tan bodies
warm underneath the white sheets and
his green eyes looking up at me in sur
prise when I said, “Its okay, you don't
have to stop.”
“I love you so much, sweetie.”
Umova” IsakL
And later thatnigit I got mad at him
and stmmed out of me restaurant In die
Plaza because, damn it, it wasn't that
nice. A sports bar for Christls sake. I had
wanted to go toafancy Italian restaurant
Why was I wearing my brand new dress
after all?
The tears guided from his throat as
he chased me down the street and
begged me to stop. I was so ashamed of
myself for pulling such a stupid charade
in the first place.
Then, I wanted to cry when he
caressed my dark head that rested on his
naked chest that night
*1 love you so much. I'm sorry,- he
had said in the dark.
N Desperation hung from the walls as I
pretended not to hear his apology and
wenttosleepi
The following night he took me for a
carriage ride, and wenssed as we walked
down the street beaded to Gino^s, where
we ate Italian.
The brown caramel-based sun came
through the sunroof as we drove through
Iowa to get back home that summer
Sunday evening. His black Saab was
sleek, and his hand smoothed my tan
legp in warm circular strokes.
I looked at him, my hand combing
the short brown hairs on the back of his
neck. I remember we were singing to
George Strait and he said, “This is my
moment”
lknewitwasmine,tDOi
Just like the stormy evening spent
doing the crossword by candlelight in my
mother’s kitchen. Sne has these tall
cathedral cedines, and the windows are
about 15 feet talL They wrap elegantly
around the kitchen.
Navy black sky flooded the room as
the dear, wet drops painted the glass,
and there was the steady flicker of vanilla
hpan ranHW
Latec we danced to EUa Fitzgerald. I
remember standing on his feet as he
whirled me around, our sods slipping
and sliding an the white, sparidy tile
Then there was the night we were
walking to the car after stuffing ourselves
with dam and spicy Iamb Vindaloo at an
Indian restaurant I mentioned that my
feet were tired, and suddenly he was lift
ing me into his arms, ;
He carried me all the way to the park
>t as we laughed and shared red
kisses underneath the black and
white polka-dot sky
So would they have a moment, 1
wondered? Maybe they would, but he
lowed me the most I know this to be true.
And when the love was gone, I could
hardly bring myself to blame him for
what had been my fault, too. Htfs been
with her for about four months now
Ofcourse, Fin over him. He was never
right for me anyway, but I would still
dean fais eats if he sat down on my toilet
