End of the World

It's been one whole day now that people in California have been able to apply for same-sex marriage licenses and we, surprisingly, haven't been struck yet with any calamities from the almighty.

Maybe She approves.

Although I've never dabbled on the other side of the fence myself, except, maybe, sort of, I'm hoping that the gays I've known take advantage of this. Not that I want them to later experience the crushing bitterness of divorce or anything just to be equal, but, really, what the people down the street or across town do in their homes really doesn't interest me that much. Nor do I think that two guys or two women marrying each other will change how we think of marriage in the slightest.

It's two people who love each other, being together for more than tax reasons.

I was touched to read that George Takei was the first one in line to get a marriage license in West Hollywood. That's so cool, and I'm very happy for him. He may have never thought it would happen in his lifetime (he's 71, according to the article), and now he can live his dream.

He probably doesn't remember me, even though we met. And by "met" I mean that we were eating in the same deli in Burbank in the late 1980s and were seated right next to each other at the counter. He may have asked me to pass him some mustard in that beautiful deep voice of his, and I'm sure I obliged once I noticed who he was.

I nodded at him to show that I recognized him, and he sorta smiled back. I like to think he was happy I didn't call him Sulu or make a fuss, but now I'm wondering if he wasn't disappointed I didn't make a pass at him. Back then I was desirable.