Pride and drunkenness. It's all good.

Okay. I’m not anywhere near the Blue Line. But the it’s the Pride Festival this weekend in Long Beach and craziness has ensued. Addie and I live right near the parade route... as well as an assload of bars frequented by gays. Right now they are yelling. A lot. They are more excited than usual. I’m assuming it’s the California Supreme Court marriage ruling - bless their logical, scientifically-based even-handedness.

I can hardly blame my homosexual neighbors for going overboard. No worries - I can put in earplugs tonight. Carry on with all zeal.

Legally and otherwise, a little more state-acknowledged love in the world can’t be a bad thing right? Right. Parking around here is murder on the best of days though, and that - not really ironically, but metaphorically - is a killer. Okay. I’m willing to sacrifice. Metaphorically.

I knew some homosexuals in my undergraduate in Alabama. It cost them a lot just to be themselves. Now, two of my work colleagues are gay and they are wonderful, vibrant, normal people. I live in a neighborhood that is mostly gay. Two doors down from us, lives a guy ran that for city council here in Long Beach. I voted for him. He lost. He’s an environmental scientist who has a partner (male, of course) and two kids, one black and one white. We walk by and the kids are... kids. They have skateboards and scooters and they are normal. Fucking normal I tell you. It is beautiful. Let them be married, I say. Them them all be married.

It’s about time, after all.

Namaste, my homosexual brothers and sisters. Thank you for being yourselves and bringing more love into the world. Drink up. You deserve it.