It’s official, the Commonwealth is letting people get on with their lives. And, despite all the dire hand-wringing, so far no deity has smote us down for the evil sinning ways of ordinary people living ordinary lives. I think that’s what cracks me up the most about all of the bullshit surrounding gay marriage — the folks who are looking to adopt that staidest of staid traditions are pretty boring.

Maybe, in some hugely hypothetical construct, I could give the Christian right, various Catholic groups and all sorts of horrible “moralists” some teenie weenie bit of credibility if their target were tranny prostitutes, leather boys and uber-fabulous queens (and that is all a very thin-threaded hypothetical argument, since I, in fact, concede no credibility to those assholes touting their superior “morals”). I mean, I can see where the image of a guy in nothing but leather chaps, cock ring and handle-bar mustache may provide a dicey learning moment with your little brood of rugrats. But, worrying about a couple of middle-aged lesbians who have been together for 27 years? What else threatens you, puppies and rainbows?

Right now my only issue with gay marriage is the guy at work who’s taking his partner’s last name. On the name change issue, his radical political statement is clashing with my radical feminism. I am in a quandary, what should a lefty do? Maybe I’ll just call him the old ball and chain.

By the way, it ain’t no accident I live in a city that
made it a point to be the first one ready with the legal bonds.