They're here, they're queer, and everyone is over it.
Everyone in Beverly Hills, anyway. It is totally, unquestionably, just another day at the courthouse. Walk in, and to the left are are three judges, in robes, and a cop, just shooting the breeze. To the right are two couples in shorts and t-shirts, filling out forms. There's also a middle aged man sitting on a bench, all by his lonesome, with a big grin on his face. Either he's one of those guys who has nothing better to do than hang around courthouses and public libraries all day, or he's like me. As I told the security guard, I just wanted to see with my own eyes that they're actually issuing licenses.
And they are. The guard said that aside from the modest line when the courthouse opened, it's been quiet all day. I love it. I love that everyone's reaction was all, "Well, of course you should be able to get a marriage license. What's the big deal?" Or that they're too self-absorbed to care that OhmyGOD, the Gays are getting married! To each other! Like,"Huh, really. *Yawn*. Can you get out of my way? I'm late for my pedicure."
I remember my first National Coming Out Day. Late 80s, central Pennsylvania, the steps of Schwab Auditorium. There were hecklers. And, of course, the omnipresent Willard Preacher. (Jeez, that guy has not aged. Weird.) You know, back in the bad old days, when you had to walk through five feet of snow, uphill, both ways, in order to be gay. Not that it's so easy now. But, still, wow. At least today, in Beverly Hills, it seems that a whole lot of people really are over it.
And they are. The guard said that aside from the modest line when the courthouse opened, it's been quiet all day. I love it. I love that everyone's reaction was all, "Well, of course you should be able to get a marriage license. What's the big deal?" Or that they're too self-absorbed to care that OhmyGOD, the Gays are getting married! To each other! Like,"Huh, really. *Yawn*. Can you get out of my way? I'm late for my pedicure."
I remember my first National Coming Out Day. Late 80s, central Pennsylvania, the steps of Schwab Auditorium. There were hecklers. And, of course, the omnipresent Willard Preacher. (Jeez, that guy has not aged. Weird.) You know, back in the bad old days, when you had to walk through five feet of snow, uphill, both ways, in order to be gay. Not that it's so easy now. But, still, wow. At least today, in Beverly Hills, it seems that a whole lot of people really are over it.