What Is A Gaytheist?

When I read the February, 07 2012 ruling regarding Proposition 8, I knew it was time to finally tell people why I call myself a Gaytheist. There was something in the language of that ruling that seemed to speak directly to me. One moment I was reading the news, the next, I was reading a letter addressed to a self I try to keep quiet inside me; the self that was forged by encounters with people who claim their ignorance and cruelty as God’s will, the self I named “Gaytheist.”

How To Have A Right-On Civil Union

“Purple Gays, all in my brain! Lately, things, they don’t seem the same!” — Jimi Hendrix

On September 30, I entered into a civil union with Kate, my partner of nine years and mother of our four year-old daughter Mabel. We were able to do this not because we love eachother or because we have a demonstrated commitment to one another, but because we were lucky: lucky to live in one of a handful of states that allows some vestige of equality in marriage rights. Not everyone is as lucky as we are. It is my hope that one day, everyone will have the option to do as we did, and celebrate their respective partnerships in a Right-On Civil Union. The following is a list of suggestions compiled from our own Right-On Civil Union (plus money-saving Hard Times Bonus Tips!).  I humbly present the following list to those of you who may wish to follow in our footsteps and/or learn from our mistakes.

Summer Scrapbook 2011

Click to magnify the majestic mightiness that is this self aggrandizing landscape photo.

The Summer of 2011 has been a most majestic and mighty season, rife with victory, spiced with bravado.  It is a rump roast sliced from the hind quarters of a noble beast (perhaps a liger), turning on a spit over the fires of glory.  As we savor it, our hearts swell with secondhand triumph made bittersweet by the piquance of sorrow, for despite its lush and verdant beauty, its free-floating firefly constellations at night, the dancing gold of its lakes, ponds, and oceans by day, each succulent bite consumed brings us ever closer to the simultaneous bitch slap/nut punch/horrifying full nelson of winter.

For me, the Summer of 2011 was a barely-averted altercation with a stranger at a camp store.  It was hiking the rocky bluffs at Devil’s Lake in Wisconsin.  It was almost getting my ass kicked at the Am Vet’s Lodge in Higgin’s Lake Michigan. Yet it was so much more. This summer brought the Resurrection of Santa’s Village kiddie amusement park, a jaunt to the Circus World Museum, an encounter with John Muir‘s clock, as well as the Ghost of Peter Falk.

Without a doubt, my particular cut of this delicious creature was rich and rewarding.   I pay tribute to it today in the only way a middle-aged midwestern woman such as myself knows how: in scrapbook format.

A Marriage Of Mass Destruction

It’s been an exciting week.  In a stunning and historical turn of events, the Illinois Legislature has voted to allow civil unions for gay people.  It’s a law that will soon permit me and every other gay person in the state to destroy the institution of marriage…by entering into an institution very similar to marriage.

I know.  It’s crazy, it’s a little hard to follow, but that’s the conservative line on the issue.  Not being a conservative myself, I can’t pretend to understand their ideology.  I just know that they’ve invested in us a power beyond my puny minority-mindset comprehension: the power to destroy everything for everyone by simply doing it.

A Modest Gay Marriage Proposal

“A Modest Gay Marriage Proposal” was originally published on November 8, 2009.  Since then, fabulous things have happened: the Gay Marriage ban in California was overturned, as was Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell (maybe).   History continues to be in the making, yet it hasn’t helped me make an honest woman of Kate, my partner of 8 years.  Our 3 year old daughter Mabel remains a bastard.  I’m still pissed. 

Gay marriage was defeated by popular vote in Maine this week, delivering the cause a stunning roundhouse punch right in the Guccis. I, for one, have spent this week marinating in a dark concoction of vinegary frustration and venomous fury to the point that if I were to be tossed onto a grill and parcelled out on paper plates, I have enough taint to inflict at least 20 serious tummy aches at a church picnic.