Saturday, November 29, 2008

I'm going to be an uncle again

By the time you read this, I will most likely be an uncle again. If my sister-in-law can keep from going too much further past her due date, that is. Depending on how you count, I'll be an uncle for the 13th or 15th time. Another niece or nephew number will be coming along in June. This is happy news, delivered twice, without having to listen to the bubble-headed blonde chattering aimlessly on Channel 7.

Combine that news with the ongoing marriage debates over on the political forum, and I find myself wondering why I haven't become a father. For other than the obvious reason, that is. Maybe it's my biological clock ticking away, setting off alarms before I get too old to deal with a toddler. Or the thought of dealing with a teenager when I'm in my sixties. I'm in my forties, and I've begun to think that I would be a good father, and that Steven would be an ever better one. His patience is much greater than mine, for one thing.

I tell myself we could adopt, or find a surrogate. So my mind bounces off of the logistics. We'd have to move to a larger house. How would a child fit into our life? How would we cope with raising a child, while caring for a parent who's mind has begun an inexorable slide in senescence? Am I greedy in wanting a healthy child, rather than a more readily adoptable special needs child? Either way, could we afford to raise a child on just my income? Would it be one commitment too many?

Is it unreasonable to want to hear my son say "I love you, Daddy" or to sit in a doctor's office as he receives his first shots? Is is selfish to want to experience a daughter's unconditional love, or to want to dance with her at her wedding?

But then it might be wishful thinking. I don't know if it's marriage that's made me consider the possibility. But I'm beginning to think that the moment has passed, that it's too late to provide grandchild number sixteen.

Which is a shame, because I'd be a good father.

Thursday, November 27, 2008

Happy Thanksgiving

The holidays are upon us. For the next month, we'll all be in a frenzy getting ready for Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, etc. We're talking about putting up the tree this weekend, which is at least two weeks early for us. It's early Thanksgiving day as I write, and it's pouring down rain. The turkey is in the final stages of defrosting, and I need to go in and get started on the stuffing.

Before I do that, I guess I need to talk about what I'm thankful for. I'm thankful for the friends and family that have supported us in our "lifestyle choice" over the years. I'm even more thankful that they realize it's not a lifestyle, but a life.

I'm thankful I've got a job that I love. It can be frustrating and overwhelming at times. At times it sends me home, eager to shut down. My co-workers make it worth all the effort and stress. There's an undeniable satisfaction that comes from meeting the day to day challenges of the work day.

I'm thankful for my family, the whole disputatious lot of 'em. The conflicts and frustrations of family life are leavened by an underlying love and caring that always comes through in the best and worst of times. Getting past hurt feelings and anger is easier when you realize that. The lows that are hit when you're right in the middle of a situation may be lower, but the highs are even higher. Six weeks ago, when I married Steve, we hit one of those highs, and it was glorious.

Having been through fights, deaths, births and reconciliations, it came down to knowing that one of us was getting married. It wasn't about being on our best behavior or our worst. It was about being a family, and knowing that one of us was taking an important step forward in life. In the big things, and the little, there's a comfort in knowing that your family will be there for you. Not out of a sense of obligation, but with an innate understanding that love, in whatever form, is simply that: love.

I'm thankful for my parents. I wouldn't be the man I am today if it weren't for them. They're coming up on 49 years of marriage and have set an example of how love endures if you leave yourself open to it. It's not a surrender or a vulnerability, rather it's an openness to experiencing the world with the person whose happiness is essential to your own. They instilled in me an understanding of what's right and good in the world, and a willingness to work towards that. By giving me roots, they've given me the ability to fly.

In these difficult times of real and imagined strife, change and economic stress, I'm thankful for being married. Steve is my rock and my anchor, and has been for the 20-odd years we've been together. His roots have been grafted upon the roots my parents gave me, and have grown to surround them, but not supplant them. We've built a life with and around each other, and have welcomed in anyone who is willing to share it with us. He gives me the room to reach for my wildest dreams, and a place to rest my wings after marathon flights of fancy. I can only hope I do the same for him.

Bringing Steve's mother into our home and into our family has been a blessing, the magnitude of which I can't begin to describe. After 18 or so years of a cross-country relationship, Neva is physically here for Steve, as he is for her. The emotional bonds between a mother and her son have been strengthened and have grown to encompass her other son. These bonds strengthen us and prepare us for the journey ahead. Inevitably, she will one day leave us behind. Her mind and intellect may go before her body does, but her love will be with us until we follow in her footsteps.

This one's for you, my husband. One day we'll look back on all of this and leave it behind, knowing that we've built something that lasted our lifetimes and maybe even beyond. We'll have shared moments of overarching joy and moments of deepest sorrow. We'll have shared that particular grace that comes from knowing we did it together.

I'm grateful that my brothers stood beside us as we wed, and that our nieces and nephews preceded us down the aisle, too. My sisters, our parents and our extended families, their friends and ours did so much to make our wedding day special. They succeeded beyond their wildest imaginings. Most precious of all, they exceeded our dreams.

Happy Thanksgiving, Steve. Know that I love you, most of all.

Friday, November 21, 2008

National spokesgay for the Colbert Report

Click the title. It's completely hysterical and completely un-PC

Thursday, November 20, 2008

What marriage is

The arguments back and forth about the meaning of marriage struck a chord in me. They've inspired the following.

This one's going to wander about a bit, as I try to express where I'm coming from--logic, legality, awe, respect, honor, gratitude and grace come into it. And that just begins to describe the profundity of the moment when I realized that I was married. It's going to get emotional, too. I cry. Deal with it. You've seen the wedding pictures. That's me, in all my weepy glory.

People are right when they say it's about the word or, rather, the meaning behind the word marriage. There is something so deeply and profoundly meaningful about the word marriage that gay couples have been striving and struggling towards if for years.

It's not just a societal norm, or cultural acceptance, or legal recognition, nor is it merely the status of being married. The legitimization inherent in the institution of marriage includes all of those things and more. Steve & I have considered ourselves "married" for most of the past 20 plus years. Having our status in those quotes for most of our time together has meant one thing: we aren't fully a part of all that is important to us. Our families. Our society. Our culture.

It's the same culture and society every citizen and resident of this country lives in. I'm from a Chicago Catholic family (as evidenced by my 6 siblings) transplanted to Northern California. Steve's family background is Pentecostal & upstate Pennsylvania German. We have an idiot brother-in-law, the troubled sister back east, the nieces and nephews we treasure beyond reason. We pay our bills, vote, pay our property taxes. But society still considers our relationship as something less. Less than other committed relationships, less likely to succeed, less likely to last.

It isn't always overt, and is usually more subtle. It can be something as simple as saying to your employer, "I have to leave, my partner is in the hospital" and being questioned about it. Rather than simply being told "Go" like the woman in your office who came in two weeks ago and said "My husband just got taken to the hospital." Your commitment to your partner is being questioned, even if your employer doesn't realize it. Suddenly, you're second class, your relationship doesn't have the same value as another.

Or you can be in the emergency room. Your partner is outside the entry, you know he's there, but you can't have him next to you, because the nurse doesn't think it's important. Worse yet, it becomes clear she doesn't think same sex couples should be allowed in her emergency room. You're terrified and alone, and you let the nurse know that's your domestic partner, and by law he's entitled to be there, by your side. The law says so. And she doesn't care. It's another 20 or 40 minutes before he's finally there next to you, let in by a different, more sympathetic nurse. And when you complain, you're told there's nothing that can be done. That your terror and pain are meaningless beside the prejudice of one woman, who should have known better. You don't even get an apology, not the first time it happens, nor the second.

So when you're next in the hospital, you fill out the paperwork, the powers of attorney, the designation of your "partner" as your care-giver--that piece of paper that exists specifically for those who don't have family around, that would normally be allowed by your side 24/7 without having to say anything except, "That's my husband." or "That's my wife." And you realize the power and the societal depth of meaning behind the word "marriage."

You don't just want it, you need it. You realize deep in your gut that separate isn't equal.

You see how profound the institution is. It's the one word that opens doors, and, at the same time, precisely describes the commitment you have for your partner. He's your husband. No quotes. No snickers. He's the rock you've built your life upon. The one person who's happiness is essential to your own.

That one word, marriage, moves mountains, hearts, and even nurses. In a myriad of ways, you see that it's an equalizer.

You hear of a court decision, and as you read it, tears fall down your face, unbidden. And you let out a cry from deep in your soul, so deep you don't know where that sound came from. You've never heard it before, it's a sound of joy, and sorrow that it's taken so long, and celebration, and the release of a pain, a burden you didn't know you were carrying.

The day comes that you go to the County Clerk's office to take out the marriage license, and you're choked up. You can't breathe, and it's wonderful. A hall is rented, a caterer and a DJ hired. And when you walk down the aisle, you shake. And when your partner takes your hand, your hand trembles. The minister says "Who gives these men to be married to each other?" And you hear your parents' voices, ringing with more pride and joy than you've ever heard, damn near singing "WE DO!" Your hand shakes, as you grip the ring in your right hand, and say "with this ring, I thee wed." And you see a single tear, sliding out of the corner of your stoic, Taurus, husband's eye. So you reach up, and wipe it away. Because that's what you do when you're married.

You hold your husbands hand and comfort him. You share the moments that touch the center of your life together. You go to him. You go with him. To the hospital in Texas, where they treat you as a couple, even (or especially) after you've gone all Shirley McClain on the (male) nurse's ass: "Give him more painkillers!"

Because your "husband" is in pain, and the only thing you want is for it to be eased. For the pain to end.

Years later, when you swear to love, honor and cherish him, you understand that it's the small moments that make it worth it. When he makes you German food, and won't let you in the kitchen until it's done. Or you go with him to see his favorite group down at Humphrey's by the Bay, that silly Australian group that sings those sappy songs about being lost in love. And you have a terrific time, simply because he does. Those are the moments that remove the scare quotes. He's your husband. No quotes. No snickers.

You know it's worth it, then and there, when you say "I do." Every minute of the last 20 years that has gone into this moment. The joys, and sorrows, deaths, births, surgeries, those flat broke evenings when you created a meal out of 1/2 a pound of hamburger and a can of tomato soup. The hours he's spent waiting for you to put down the damn book. The comfort you've felt just knowing that he's there, by your side or in the next room.

You realize, deep in your gut, separate is not equal.

Judges preside as ministers and lawyers fight over whether you should be "granted" the right to marry. You want to take the good book and the marriage code and the god-damned constitution and shove them all right down their throats.

Something so basic, profound, and essential as marriage isn't granted. Or earned.

It just is.

You earn the right to stay married, but that's between you and your husband. It's no one else's damned business. It's not the concern of the Liberty Counsel, or the Catholic Church, or some half-educated fundraiser from Colorado Springs. The only rights granted are between Steven and myself. He grants me the right to be idealistic and to be foolishly enamored of a small British car. I grant him the right to tell me to bring home a gallon of milk, and to be cynical about just about anything except our love for each other.

That's what marriage is.

Saturday, November 15, 2008

I (hope you) saw the news today


Today was an interesting day. Steve & I went down to the Join the Impact rally this afternoon. Some 25,000 marchers participated in the San Diego portion of a nationwide protest against the passage of Proposition 8. Early reports indicate that nearly 1,000,000 people participated in similar rallies in 300 cities nationwide.

Lots of speakers, lots of cheerful people in the audience, all determined to reverse the changes made to the California constitution on Nov. 4th.
Gloria Allred to spoke to finish off the day. Ms. Allred was one of the attorneys who argued before the California Supreme Court for the overturn of Proposition 22. We even got our picture taken with her. Unfortunately, all my pics & videos from earlier in the day got eaten by my camera. Call it technical difficulties (or, more likely, operator error).

Most of the speakers today focused on moving forward in a peaceful, non-violent way, asking the protesters to change the tone of the protests: stop the finger pointing, race-baiting and anti-religious demonization. We're asked, instead, to focus on the larger issue:
re-establishing equal marriage rights for all Californians and, eventually, making sure that those rights are available for all Americans. I tend to agree with that POV, but I must say that I'm pretty much over the Shakespearean protestations of innocence being put out by the LDS and Catholic churches. If you play in the political arena, you can expect people to disagree with you. And if you try to take away people's rights, you can expect a fairly strong reaction. The church ladies know this, and I think they protest too much.

The day ended on a bizarre note. Steve & I took his mom out to our favorite cheap spaghetti place tonight (and proceeded to have penne, lasagna & rigatoni instead). On the way back to the car, we witnessed a drive-by hate crime. Three young white guys--in a late model BMW 3 series sedan--pulled up and egged a black man, right in front of us, yelling something along the lines of "Take that you f***ing n****r". They then sped off. All this poor guy was doing was taking a break from his bike ride home his second job by sitting at a bus stop. And along came three spoiled young scions of the East County aristocracy, may they wrap their car around a telephone pole. The sheriff came, in only 25 minutes. If only my piss poor vision wasn't, I'd have been able to get the license plate number, and there might be a different end to this story. The little bastards might think they've gotten away with it, but I'm watching--even if they didn't make the news today.


Thursday, November 13, 2008

Special Comment



Keith Olberman gets it.

Text below.


SPECIAL COMMENT
By Keith Olbermann
Anchor, 'Countdown'
msnbc.com

Finally tonight as promised, a Special Comment on the passage, last week, of Proposition Eight in California, which rescinded the right of same-sex couples to marry, and tilted the balance on this issue, from coast to coast.

Some parameters, as preface. This isn't about yelling, and this isn't about politics, and this isn't really just about Prop-8. And I don't have a personal investment in this: I'm not gay, I had to strain to think of one member of even my very extended family who is, I have no personal stories of close friends or colleagues fighting the prejudice that still pervades their lives.
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And yet to me this vote is horrible. Horrible. Because this isn't about yelling, and this isn't about politics. This is about the human heart, and if that sounds corny, so be it.

If you voted for this Proposition or support those who did or the sentiment they expressed, I have some questions, because, truly, I do not understand. Why does this matter to you? What is it to you? In a time of impermanence and fly-by-night relationships, these people over here want the same chance at permanence and happiness that is your option. They don't want to deny you yours. They don't want to take anything away from you. They want what you want—a chance to be a little less alone in the world.

Only now you are saying to them—no. You can't have it on these terms. Maybe something similar. If they behave. If they don't cause too much trouble. You'll even give them all the same legal rights—even as you're taking away the legal right, which they already had. A world around them, still anchored in love and marriage, and you are saying, no, you can't marry. What if somebody passed a law that said you couldn't marry?

I keep hearing this term "re-defining" marriage. If this country hadn't re-defined marriage, black people still couldn't marry white people. Sixteen states had laws on the books which made that illegal in 1967. 1967.

The parents of the President-Elect of the United States couldn't have married in nearly one third of the states of the country their son grew up to lead. But it's worse than that. If this country had not "re-defined" marriage, some black people still couldn't marry black people. It is one of the most overlooked and cruelest parts of our sad story of slavery. Marriages were not legally recognized, if the people were slaves. Since slaves were property, they could not legally be husband and wife, or mother and child. Their marriage vows were different: not "Until Death, Do You Part," but "Until Death or Distance, Do You Part." Marriages among slaves were not legally recognized.

You know, just like marriages today in California are not legally recognized, if the people are gay.

And uncountable in our history are the number of men and women, forced by society into marrying the opposite sex, in sham marriages, or marriages of convenience, or just marriages of not knowing, centuries of men and women who have lived their lives in shame and unhappiness, and who have, through a lie to themselves or others, broken countless other lives, of spouses and children, all because we said a man couldn't marry another man, or a woman couldn't marry another woman. The sanctity of marriage.

How many marriages like that have there been and how on earth do they increase the "sanctity" of marriage rather than render the term, meaningless?

What is this, to you? Nobody is asking you to embrace their expression of love. But don't you, as human beings, have to embrace... that love? The world is barren enough.

It is stacked against love, and against hope, and against those very few and precious emotions that enable us to go forward. Your marriage only stands a 50-50 chance of lasting, no matter how much you feel and how hard you work.

And here are people overjoyed at the prospect of just that chance, and that work, just for the hope of having that feeling. With so much hate in the world, with so much meaningless division, and people pitted against people for no good reason, this is what your religion tells you to do? With your experience of life and this world and all its sadnesses, this is what your conscience tells you to do?

With your knowledge that life, with endless vigor, seems to tilt the playing field on which we all live, in favor of unhappiness and hate... this is what your heart tells you to do? You want to sanctify marriage? You want to honor your God and the universal love you believe he represents? Then Spread happiness—this tiny, symbolic, semantical grain of happiness—share it with all those who seek it. Quote me anything from your religious leader or book of choice telling you to stand against this. And then tell me how you can believe both that statement and another statement, another one which reads only "do unto others as you would have them do unto you."

You are asked now, by your country, and perhaps by your creator, to stand on one side or another. You are asked now to stand, not on a question of politics, not on a question of religion, not on a question of gay or straight. You are asked now to stand, on a question of love. All you need do is stand, and let the tiny ember of love meet its own fate.

You don't have to help it, you don't have it applaud it, you don't have to fight for it. Just don't put it out. Just don't extinguish it. Because while it may at first look like that love is between two people you don't know and you don't understand and maybe you don't even want to know. It is, in fact, the ember of your love, for your fellow person just because this is the only world we have. And the other guy counts, too.

This is the second time in ten days I find myself concluding by turning to, of all things, the closing plea for mercy by Clarence Darrow in a murder trial.

But what he said, fits what is really at the heart of this:

"I was reading last night of the aspiration of the old Persian poet, Omar-Khayyam," he told the judge. It appealed to me as the highest that I can vision. I wish it was in my heart, and I wish it was in the hearts of all: So I be written in the Book of Love; I do not care about that Book above. Erase my name, or write it as you will, So I be written in the Book of Love."

Sunday, November 9, 2008

Putting an end to the pity party

Just as I'm all set to go on feeling bitter... someone I know as an online acquaintance turns out to be a true friend. Earlier this morning, over on the political site, I was all set to go off on a trogdolyte who had come on board to gloat over the passage of Prop 8. On that thread, I pulled back from attacking the troll, apologized for being bitchy and went about my business.

I just took another look at that thread, in hopes of being able to post a rational reply, when I found this:

Jim, it's infuriating, but we're winning. This will be overturned. Of course, please do continue to go on about it, and I'm right there with you. I just want you to not feel so hurt anymore. You can see the fear in their eyes. It's 1962, and the Civil Rights Act is coming, and not all the sheriff's dogs can stop it. And you get to know that in advance.


Note to self: memorize the above, and refer to it every time I'm face-to-face with an idiot. At the very least, it'll help in preparing a measured response.

Every once in a while, you come across a random act of kindness that just touches you, and helps restore your optimism & belief in the basic goodness of people.

Thank you, Ricky, for putting an end to this episode of the pity party. (and perhaps a few of the future ones, too.)

And then I calmed down a little (more political stuff)

And a post from yesterday, at that same political site. I was replying to a person who was using the quote below as evidence that "blacks" were responsible for the passage of Prop 8.


CNN is reporting that seventy percent of blacks voted for this amendment.
Without the black vote this amendment would not have passed.
Whites were slightly leaning towards it, while asians and latinos were split.


Shannikka at Daily Kos has something interesting to say on this:

Analysis of Black Vote Results on Prop 8

Bottom line, based on the writer's analysis of the number of registered black voters in Californa, even if ALL of those black voters had voted "yes" on 8, Prop 8 would have won by 80,000 votes.

I don't know about the accuracy of the population counts, or the validity of the analysis of the numbers (I leave that to the statisticians amongst us), but if these numbers are in anyway valid, I suggest that the "the blacks are responsible" argument should be dropped.

Even if the numbers are completely off, the fact remains that the vast majority of voters who voted against Prop 8 were white.

Draw whatever conclusions you will from that.

As to the "unfairness" of targeting the LDS Church, I submit that providing 50% to 70% percent of the funding of Yes on 8 removes the "un" from the equation. Especially in light of the (from a Catholic perspective, I don't know what else to call it) pastoral letter published by the LDS hierarchy back in June, which strongly encouraged Mormons to donate & be active in the fight against Prop 8. The out of proportion effect (in comparison to their actual numbers) of the Mormon participation in the Yes on 8 campaign feeds right into my previous statements re: accepting the consequences of entering the political arena.

Specifically, if a Church (or anyone, for that matter) enters into a political discourse, they must be prepared to accept the consequences of someone disagreeing with them. Which explains why there are demonstrations going on in front of Mormon temples across the state. Yes, I'm angry at the Mormons who voted for Prop 8--but I'm also angry at EVERYONE who voted for it. From my perspective, it's not a religious issue, but a fundamental rights issue. ALL of us are affected, one way or another.

Ultimately, I don't think any one group was responsible for the passage of Prop 8. I believe the No on 8 campaign dropped the ball--for example, by failing to show that, hey, married gay couples aren't all that scary. (I simplify). Catholics, blacks, Hispanics, Mormons, Asians, Evangelicals of various stripes, Whites and, yes, gays and lesbians, all share that responsibility. Proceed from there, without bias or bigotry.

RANT MODE - ON (in which I get political)

On Tuesday night, I published the following on a political site I in which I participate. By Wednesday morning, I'd calmed down (a bit), and was able to write the Still Married post. This morning, I find myself leaning towards the angry & bitter again. Per my husband, it seems that someone in the San Diego media has unfortunately put a microphone in front of Rev. Jim Garlow, one of the San Diego lumpen-preacher-tariat. Evidently, Rev. Garlow has made it clear that he intends to go after the 18,000 marriages that took place between June and November--and he's looking for volunteers to help him. Which leads to the following:

RANT MODE : ON

This one is killing me. A San Diego spokesman for Prop 8 just started talking on our local NBC station about going after the marriages that have already been performed.

I'm ****-ing sick of this ****.

Protect marriage from what? A group of people desperate to HONOR the traditions we come from, despite the prejudice and discrimination we've received for decades. Hell, yes, I'm bitter. Only 30% of the vote is in--and already my marriage is being threatened.

I guess 3 1/2 weeks of full citizenship is all I could have counted on.

Don't tell me it isn't bigotry. That's not the perspective I've got, now that same sons of bitches that want to ban future gay marriages are telling me that next, it's my turn.

All I ask is consistency. For 30 odd years, the mantra I've heard from the right & the religious has been gays are evil, promiscuous & unable to sustain a relationship.

I'm 20 years into my relationship, god-dammit. And now, after 3 1/2 weeks of finally, finally being married, some slimy son of a bitch, self righteous & self serving pig wants to take it away from me. Well **** you. And **** you LDS Church, **** you Focus on the Family and **** you Knights of Columbus. Salt Lake City, Colorado Springs & New York have no ****ing business trying to change California law.

And **** our damned governor & President elect. One of 'em had a ****ing responsibility to do something more than making a statement of support 5 months ago, the other had an opportunity to help set an example of change for the nation, and both of them chose expediency over civil rights.

Thanks, guys, way to lead your state & set an example for your nation.

I'm holding the onto slimmest of hopes that the numbers change over night. Take a look at my blog. Read the ceremony, it's posted right there. Then tell me where I'm wrong on this.

If you think I'm going too far with the above: I challenge you to explain how telling approximately 10% of the people in California that they are to become permanently second class citizens is fair, equitable or, for that matter, constitutional. Then explain how it's fair, equitable or, for that matter, constitutional to go after the legally acquired rights of the 18,000 same sex couples who've gotten married in the last 4 1/2 months. Tell me how it's not religious bigotry & fear run amok.

Look in the ****-ing mirror and tell me.

RANT MODE: OFF


I'm off off to bed, where I hope I can sleep. Maybe in the morning I'll feel like apologizing. Then, again, maybe not.

The passage of Prop 8 is not about restoring or preserving the meaning of marriage. It's about destroying the possibility of marriage for loving couples, and, according to the spokesman I heard tonight, it's also about going after marriages that have meaning--and denigrating them; denying the validity of the relationships that underly those marriages & diminishing the most basic, fundamental civil rights of the people involved.

I've edited the above a little, for clarity.

Friday, November 7, 2008

Hold me tight


Hold me tight
Originally uploaded by jimskater
There are more photos in my flickr gallery

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

Still married

We lost last night. By 500,000 votes of well over 10,000,000 cast. Multiple lawsuits have been filed, in an attempt to throw out Prop 8 . We'll see if they work. There is precedent, but it's rarely invoked. The logic behind throwing out Prop 8 is there, but I don't know if the justices are there yet.

Meanwhile, I know this much: I am married. To the man of my dreams.

I have his love and support, and the love and support of my family and friends.

That's what matters.

The anger and bitterness will pass.

And I'll still be married.

Yes on 8 supporters will try, and may succeed in, revoking my marriage, along with nearly 16,000 others. It'll be heartless and soulless.

And I'll still be married, in my heart and soul.

It may be 20 years before my nieces and nephews can, if necessary, take advantage of truly bias free marriage laws in California. It may take 40 years for the rest of the nation to catch up to where California was 2 days ago.

But I'll still be married.

Because I vowed to love, honor and cherish, til death do us part. I meant it on October 12th. I mean it today, tomorrow, and for all the tomorrows Steven and I have left on this earth together. And, if we're lucky, beyond then.

I don't know what the future will bring, but I know this: we're still married.

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

VOTE NO ON 8

What are you doing looking here, today of all days?

Get out and vote No on Prop 8.




Thank you.

Sunday, November 2, 2008

Quickie: Falling back

I hate falling back. Yeah, we were supposed to get an extra hour of sleep last night. Me, I woke up at my usual time. Except, by the clock, it was an hour earlier. At 4:30 am, I'm not pretty. Not when I stay up that late, and especially not when I wake up that early.

There will be no photographic evidence. Trust me, you don't want to see it.

Dance, Dance, Dance

Video from the reception.

Dancing the night away

Two

Something a little less traditional