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This is our backyard.

Of all the beautiful towns it has been my fortune to see this is the chief. 

– Letter from Mark Twain

 

You know how much we love Hartford.  Mark Twain loved it, too.  Oh, and we have marriage equality. 

When are you calling the movers?

Activism, then and now.

As promised, insight into my first, and, prior to this Saturday, only foray into protests.  Long before brunch and doodles.

Speaking of, below are some photos of our eleven hour brunch (with an hour break for protestin’) this Saturday.

Baby's first protest.

 

Me, on the floor, making some protest-y "art."

 

Mo provides little musical interlude.

 

Lilies, two ladies weddin' hat, and a cranberry mimosa hiding in the foliage.

 

Moi, exhausted in the 11th hour of the brunch. Literally. Note that I am still drinking a mimosa at 11:00 PM. And that may be an abandoned pint of bloody mary on the window sill.

Big day.

More coming.

Happy ladies.

Sweet friends.

The Constitution State.

“Today Connecticut sends a message of hope and promise to lesbian and gay people throughout the country who want to be treated as equal citizens by their governments living proof that marriage equality is moving forward in this country.”

Ben Klein, Gay and Lesbian Advocates and Defenders.

 

Michael McAndrews, Hartford Courant

 

Mark Mirko, Hartford Courant

 

Shana Sureck, New York Times

 

I have no words.

Once, in college.

It will be even cuter on The Bods.

So we’re not the most familiar people in the world with this protest gig.  We are, however, quite familiar with brunch.  We love brunch, and, if I do say so myself, we’re good at it.

Since this protesting puts us a bit out of our comfort zone, I decided to united the two — that is, protests and brunch — and Mo has decided to indulge me as long as I “don’t go overboard again.”  Silly Lady.

I’ve named the Ladies’ Saturday gathering “Liberty and Lox.”

Lyrical Uncertainty will be prunching with us (get it?) but, before fully committing, wanted to know how we planned to fill his pre-protest belly.  Our offerings — Praline French Toast Casserole, Roasted Poblano and Chorizo Mexican Egg Casserole, oven roasted potatoes, fruit salad, and bagels and cream cheese and (of course) lox — were sufficient to get him in the go, go gay spirit.  Sweet Muffin is supplementing our cranberry bog cocktails and mimosas (both of the virgin and regular persuasion) with her world-renowned Bloody Mary’s.  (Incidentally, Muffin, mine are quite renowned as well.  Maybe next prunch we’ll have a “bloody off.”  Sounds messy.)

According to her evite response, if Robin “can shift [her] earlier commitment, [she] will be there with bells on!”  I happen to know that this earlier commitment of which she speaks is her “Princess-has-a-standing” nail appointment.  Though I respect and almost-as-devotedly share her commitment to scheduled grooming, now that I have mocked her on the interwebbles I am confident that Robin will change that “maybe” to a “yes.”  Also, I’m guessing she has a big girl coffee pot, and I want to borrow it.  Coffee for 15 - 20 people via Keurig cups seems a little arduous.

Oh, and just like in Kindergarden, there will also be an arts and crafts table for protest sign making at the pre-protest brunch.  That’s actually a bit of a lie — we only have one table, and I expect we’ll choose to put food on it.  There will be an arts and crafts section of the floor, more likely.

As a new party dress seemed inappropriate for the occasion, I hit up Cafe Press for festive protest-y tee shirts for Mo, The Bods and me. I also got some buttons to equality-up the rest of the group. Since Mo and I will likely be covering up our super-yea-gay-duds with jackets when we go outside (it is mid-November in Connecticut, after all), I got us hats, too.

Alas, there will not be a hat for The Bods, as he is still in ye olde Elizabethan collar, and likely will be for awhile, as he has managed to figure out how to get his back leg into his collar for easy licking access.  Little twit.  That said, Bodsie’s shirt will be visible at the protest because, though he does wear shirts, he does not wear jackets.  (Or pants.)

By the way, that protest from back in the Seven Sister days I referred to in the title of this entry?  I’ll need to save that tale for another day.

On a serious note:

We received a(nother) great email from a friend, who I do declare needs a moniker.  We’ll call him Cowboy, and ignore the fact that he sometimes comments here as Great Googly Moogly.

I have read a lot in other blogs about the issues involving the race of voters and the approval of Proposition 8.  I decided to stay out of it because I had nothing to add, but I will share Cowboy’s insight.

“I don’t know if you’d read Nate Silver’s website during the election. He’s a phenomenal polling analyst. He compiled all the polling data from every state throughout and predicted the outcome almost perfectly. He was wrong about the congressional district in Nebraska that went blue, and he thought Indiana was going to stay slightly pink and go for McCain. Only off by a little bit, and Indiana was extremely close. Otherwise, he got every other state right.

Anyway, I’m sending you this because there may be some fallacies floating around about which voters were responsible for Prop 8’s passage. According to Nate Silver, it wasn’t the new voters.

Check out his analysis of this.

Anyway, he’s done amazing work. The maps on the top right of his site — the results versus his predictions — are worth noting. His compilation of the polling data included a sampling of more than 2,000,000 people. Amazing.

But the Prop 8 vote . . . he seems to think it was the elderly who were to blame, and points out in somewhat gentle fashion that it’s only a matter of time before those voters will be gone and replaced by people who grew up in a more tolerant era.”

I love smart friends.  Ride ‘em, Cowboy.

A small part of the solution [Updated].

We just dropped a note to some friends and (friendly) family members about the Join the Impact Proposition 8 protests taking place in all fifty states this coming Saturday.

You may have read that though the California “Yes on Proposition 8″ and “No on Proposition 8″ campaigns raised basically analogous funds ($35 million and $38 million respectively), there was an astounding disparity in the number of volunteers (100,000 and 10,000 respectively).  Not surprisingly, various news outlets have attributed Proposition 8’s passage to the fact that the number of Proposition 8 supporters on the streets dwarfed those of opponents.

Any complacency on our side indicated by those numbers seems to have been eradicated in the week since last Tuesday — we have been moved and heartened and by the number of Californians who have attended the spontaneous Proposition 8 protests.

We have also been galvanized.

This Saturday, November 15th, protests will take place in every state to oppose scaling back the right of same-sex couples to have their families recognized as equals amongst their peers.

We will Join the Impact, and hope you will, too.

You can the location of protests in your state here.

[UPDATE:  Remember OFOTL?  She was one of the recipients of our call to arms email yesterday.  In reply, she reminded me of this quote, attributed to Burke, an Irish Conservative (!):

"All that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing."

She also points out that the times of the protests aren't totally clear on the site that I linked to, so here they are:

10:30 Pacific, 11:30 Mountain, 12:30 Central, 1:30 Eastern.

Simultaneous.  Neat.]

The cream of Manchester.

I am suffering from some sort of seasonal malaise, and so is The Bods.  Mine lately involved struggling not to hack, sneeze, and otherwise expectorate my way through Saturday night’s stunning, stunning performance of Mahler 5 by the Philadelphia Orchestra and, most notably, Mo’s former teacher. 

The Bods’ malaise involves licking himself until he creates open wounds, and then licking the open wounds until they become infected.  Two trips to the vet later, The Bods now takes four different medications.  He has an Elizabethan collar, and a diagnosis — stress.

Remember the damn slow painting and floor installation upheaval and how Mo and I were at our wits end?  Apparently so was The B.  Not having a sweetie to take it out on, he went with self-harm.  Poor little bear.

On Saturday morning, Mo loaded snotty me and collared he into the subie and down to Philly went we.  We stayed with our dear Philaphriends, giving us not only the opportunity to have a downright spiritual brunch (in the foodie way, obviously), but also the opportunity to continue in earnest our shameless, transparent politicking to convince them to move up to our wee city.

Saturday night we got all dudded up and went to the symphony with the Philadelphia bon ton.  As I mentioned, I struggled to not embarrass Mo by achieving the distinction of “audience member who ruined the night with her aheming, whooping, and barking.”  I was, mostly, successful.  We got to have a beverage and good conversation with Mo’s teacher afterwards, and I am forced to report that the Glenlivet did more for my illness than any of the myriad over-the-counter remedies I’ve employed during the course of this thing.

As for Boddington, he’ll take a shot of tequila with a kibble back.

It’s almost a relief.

Happy Monday morning, we have something completely trivial to report!

Page Six has an interview with Lindsay Lohan where she admits that she is dating a “wonderful” woman (but did not name the woman) and that she is “maybe, yeah” bisexual.

Put on a helmet.

I rarely just link, but, please read this.

Sinclair tells us how to get over Prop 8, and, more importantly, ourselves.

A more perfect union.

I’ve been in the doldrums.  Of all things, I spent election night on a boat with “Republicans,” one who threatened to jump overboard when it was obvious that Obama had taken it.  A second called me godless.  A third was afraid that her missed call from her son, a college student voting for the first time, meant that he was killing himself over the Obama victory.

She was serious.

If I were you, Arkansas, and thank heavens I’m not, that lady’s the one who I wouldn’t want want raising children. 

I would love to see how she would have felt had she had to wander into the Santa Ana, California city clerk’s office yesterday to try to find out if she was still married to her husband.

My joy in reclaiming the word “patriot” on Tuesday night is tempered, despite my earnest endeavours to feel otherwise, by the outrageous revocation of the civil rights of a small minority by a fanatical, or stupid, populace. 

We are so much better than this.  We must be.

In a few days I will rally, and see this as the catalyst that Mo so correctly identifies it as.  (In fact, she totally called this.)  I will get myself together and prepare for the next battlefront. 

Right now, though, I am just angry.

UPDATE:  Better people than I, of course, got over their malaise and took action.  Here’s the brief filed yesterday regarding the Proposition 8 “amendments” vs. “revisions” issue.  Volokh doesn’t think it will work, Sullivan didn’t either but now he’s softening a bit.  I also would note, for the record, that unlike Sullivan — who I admire — I absolutely believe in litigating this.  In all fifty states if necessary.  I am drawn, though, by the DOMA argument linked above.  It would make a stunning first national success.