Polyamory ruined my marriage. I was the classic "reluctant spouse" that Sharon Linzey describes ("Lovers leap," Metro Times, Feb. 13-19). Three years into our marriage, my husband told me he'd found someone special on-line. Pretty soon, the three of us were hanging out all the time. He slept at her place sometimes, at our place sometimes. It was all very ... evolved.
For about eight months, it was OK. Then it became merely tolerable. Then it was no longer tolerable.
Then (just as Linzey describes) I had a nervous breakdown. My husband told me "I don't do ultimatums." I didn't bother giving him one — I just told him to leave. Seven months later, our divorce is final.
Why did I go along with it? Because I loved him and wanted him to be happy. Because I didn't want to believe I was confined by an "archaic" belief in monogamy. Because I'd read Stranger In A Strange Land.
I suppose in the eyes of polyamorists I'm a wimp, not yet evolved, unable to let go of control and manipulation, faint of heart and, oh, yes, my consciousness isn't what it could be. I can live with that. I couldn't live with polyamory. —Tatiana Falk, firstname.lastname@example.org, Ann Arbor
Jeremy Voas isn’t the only one who left the Sunbelt for the Rustbelt ("Detroit confessional," Metro Times, Feb. 27-March 5). We used to live in California and Ann Arbor. Now we proudly call Hamtramck home. In Hamtramck truth is like vodka in a water glass — nothing fancy, it just does the job. We have garbage for the world to see. In the suburbs they hide it in plastic bags and move it to someone else’s neighborhood, usually a poorer one.
When Poletown was built, many of the old Polish people said it reminded them of Nazi camps: brick buildings behind fences, railroad cars coming and going. They had a point. Any holocaust — whether it’s against people or the environment — is a moral outrage. Someday I want to stick an invitation on every new car I see north of Eight Mile. Come to Poletown and see where this noxious-fumes-mobile was made. Truth is, your nice car isn’t so nice.
During a recent visit to California a resident, suitably impressed that I was from Detroit, stated, "Wow. Detroit — a real place where people are doing real things." Voas is right. Motown never stopped being great, because it never stopped being real. —Nancy Erickson, Hamtramck
Who needs Chicago?
I just loved Jeremy Voas’ "Detroit confessional." He defined Detroit by the very things I love about the city: Concerts in Rivera Court, spiced lamb wafting out of restaurants on Monroe Street, Johnne Bassett at Nancy Whiskey's or wherever. He captured so well the joy and animosity here, the splendor
amid the ruins, the intangible something that few people build an acquired taste for. I lived a few years in Chicago. I enjoyed having 33 restaurants within a mile's walking distance, a hustle and bustle of people and public transportation, but then it never shut up. Detroit had nowhere near the din. Just friendly places that seldom get overcrowded.
So thanks for sparking my morning with lively words. Welcome to town. —Maureen McDonald, maureenmcDonald@compuserve.com, Detroit
As a Windsor resident I read your article on Canflow with interest ("Waste knot, Metro Times, Feb. 20-26). We in Windsor have been trying for years to get Detroit to stop sending its air pollution over here — never mind about the crap pumped into Lake St. Clair and the
Windsorites have a significantly higher rate of health problems then other residents in Ontario cities. While it is difficult to directly attribute it to air pollution from Detroit, several studies have pointed to it as the main reason.
Since we don't vote in Michigan, the responsible politicians won't listen. In the Canflow case at least the people affected have a vote.
Good luck. Hopefully we can work on a solution that has the creator of the pollution responsible for cleaning its own mess. —Alan McMillan, email@example.com, Windsor, Ontario, Canada
Following a review of Da Edoardo Foxtown Grill (Metro Times, Feb. 27-March 5), we were informed that restrooms accessible to handicapped patrons are available on the second floor and the staff is instructed to escort patrons there via elevator.