Vote No on Proposition 8

When's the last time that you were literally speechless?  For me, it was Friday night. 

The Gnu and I went out to the local farmer's market, and we bought spicy avocado hummus and jalapeno bread, red roses and ripe pomegranates and juicy peaches, and searched fruitlessly for presents for my father and my beloved herenever , whose birthdays are within 24 hours of one another.  It was a very nice night of domesticity, until a perfectly normal-looking woman popped up and brightly offered us a "Vote Yes on Proposition 8!" flier. 

Now, this is deliberately worded in a confusing fashion: it's known as "The California Marriage Protection Act."  I read that, and I think it's protecting the rights of Californians to marry whomever they like, not the abstract institution of "marriage" according to its most narrow definition ... but, more fool me.  The fliers are friendly-looking and soothing, all in tones of blue and green with cheery little Keith Haring-esque families gamboling all over them.  (Oh, the irony.)  I'd actually looked Proposition 8 up earlier just that day after seeing a "Vote Yes!" sign on a neighbor's lawn, just because I couldn't believe that anybody would actually cheerfully advertise their bigotry in such a fashion.  I had to be misunderstanding the two positions somehow, right?  The problem was with my comprehension, and not with the state of the world?  But, yep ... them's the breaks.

So, the "nice lady" offers me a flier, and I stutter out, "I'm sorry, but I disagree with absolutely everything that you stand for," and the Gnu, familiar with the signs of an impending d_aulnoy  breakdown, intervenes to ask her to clarify exactly what it is she means by "Yes."  And she happily lilted out her little message of hate about how denying some people the right to wed would somehow improve the wedded status of others, and the Gnu hastily said, "Okay, that's what we were afraid of ...." and yanked me away, and I was literally speechless, although, as you can imagine, there is a great deal more that I would have liked to have said to her.

Starting with, what the hell is the matter with you?  And everybody else who feels the way that you do?  How do people actually bond over exclusion and prejudice?  Why?  What on earth do you feel you gain?  And continuing downward into a merry pit of profanity.  I somehow doubt that my dumbfounded facial expression managed to convery all of that (though, given that I have an expressive face, at least some of the implied profanity may have gotten across).  It's a look I'd like to give to a great many people, apparently, because I've been seeing those damned signs everywhere - even in my fairly liberal little town of Californicators - and, well, I might have lied in my opening line.  Friday wasn't the last time I was speechless. 

I'm sincerely hoping that, post-election, there will be a last time, at least for this particular issue, and that anybody who damned well feels like having a happy night of married domesticity with bread and roses and security will have the option.  I'm also sincerely hoping that, instead of me choking on my outrage, the "nice lady" and all her ilk will choke on the ubiquitous it when that happy day comes.

Vote NO on Proposition 8, people.

Vote No on Proposition 8

When's the last time that you were literally speechless?  For me, it was Friday night. 

The Gnu and I went out to the local farmer's market, and we bought spicy avocado hummus and jalapeno bread, red roses and ripe pomegranates and juicy peaches, and searched fruitlessly for presents for my father and my beloved herenever , whose birthdays are within 24 hours of one another.  It was a very nice night of domesticity, until a perfectly normal-looking woman popped up and brightly offered us a "Vote Yes on Proposition 8!" flier. 

Now, this is deliberately worded in a confusing fashion: it's known as "The California Marriage Protection Act."  I read that, and I think it's protecting the rights of Californians to marry whomever they like, not the abstract institution of "marriage" according to its most narrow definition ... but, more fool me.  The fliers are friendly-looking and soothing, all in tones of blue and green with cheery little Keith Haring-esque families gamboling all over them.  (Oh, the irony.)  I'd actually looked Proposition 8 up earlier just that day after seeing a "Vote Yes!" sign on a neighbor's lawn, just because I couldn't believe that anybody would actually cheerfully advertise their bigotry in such a fashion.  I had to be misunderstanding the two positions somehow, right?  The problem was with my comprehension, and not with the state of the world?  But, yep ... them's the breaks.

So, the "nice lady" offers me a flier, and I stutter out, "I'm sorry, but I disagree with absolutely everything that you stand for," and the Gnu, familiar with the signs of an impending d_aulnoy  breakdown, intervenes to ask her to clarify exactly what it is she means by "Yes."  And she happily lilted out her little message of hate about how denying some people the right to wed would somehow improve the wedded status of others, and the Gnu hastily said, "Okay, that's what we were afraid of ...." and yanked me away, and I was literally speechless, although, as you can imagine, there is a great deal more that I would have liked to have said to her.

Starting with, what the hell is the matter with you?  And everybody else who feels the way that you do?  How do people actually bond over exclusion and prejudice?  Why?  What on earth do you feel you gain?  And continuing downward into a merry pit of profanity.  I somehow doubt that my dumbfounded facial expression managed to convery all of that (though, given that I have an expressive face, at least some of the implied profanity may have gotten across).  It's a look I'd like to give to a great many people, apparently, because I've been seeing those damned signs everywhere - even in my fairly liberal little town of Californicators - and, well, I might have lied in my opening line.  Friday wasn't the last time I was speechless. 

I'm sincerely hoping that, post-election, there will be a last time, at least for this particular issue, and that anybody who damned well feels like having a happy night of married domesticity with bread and roses and security will have the option.  I'm also sincerely hoping that, instead of me choking on my outrage, the "nice lady" and all her ilk will choke on the ubiquitous it when that happy day comes.

Vote NO on Proposition 8, people.