Ah, San Francisco

Every time I hear about the marriages in San Francisco, it makes me smile.

Most know this, but should anyone not, my wife and I got married for the very unromantic purpose of getting me health insurance when we moved to Miami. Then we didn’t tell anyone for a couple of years.

We’re both committed to the relationship–well, I am, and it keeps my stress level lower to believe that she is, too–but that commitment doesn’t reside in a piece of paper issued to us by the City of Cambridge, hinge on a big public ceremony or somehow reside in piles of wedding gifts. Which is good, since we only have one of the three.

(Though we _have_ been contemplating the having a 10-year anniversary party this June. Don’t know if that’ll happen, though–that’s a lot of logistics, and we’d want to try and spend most of the money where it counts: on the bar. “Feel free to register interest.”:mailto:%6D%64%6F%72%6D%61%6E%40%6D%61%6C%6C%65%74%2D%61%73%73%65%6D%62%6C%79%2E%6F%72%67)

Add to that the fact that we’ve none of the 50s-style traditional notions of marriage that seem to permeate the Republican party’s rhetoric–we both kept our last names (though Anne does occasionally use mine because it’s shorter and easier to communicate to, say, the dry cleaners or for restaurant reservations; _BTW, a belated thanks to Joy and Carl for what may be only the third wedding invitation that got it right by naming both of us as we prefer to be addressed_), neither of us wants to sit around the house eating bon-bons and watching soaps, and although I have been known to cook, I wouldn’t go barefoot in our kitchen (all the catfood bits make it an unpleasant experience), and I figure another six months of regular yoga will put any pregnancy jokes to rest once and for all–and we’d almost certainly be considered part of the problem, not the solution.

All that said, it should come as no suprise to anyone that every time I hear about the little revolution going on in San Francisco I can’t help but smile. I’m sure the Great Braying Ass that is the current Republican Party will find some way to spoil the fun, but I, for one, cannot be convinced that something that has made so many people _happy_ can be in any way a bad thing.

So Fucking There.

(Seriously, June 21st is on a Monday, so we’d probably do it the weekend before. It might just be a big house party, or if enough people wanted to come, we would do something more elaborate. I’m probably fooling myself as to whether this is a good venue to mention all this, though)

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Michael Alan Dorman

Yogi, brigand, programmer, thief, musician, Republican, cook. I leave it to you figure out which ones are accurate.