Last night I went to the classy Blue Chip Inn of Monticello, Iowa to watch the presidential election.  If the half-assed effort I put into my Political Science major yielded anything other than a degree that makes me virtually unemployable, it’s a healthy cynicism toward the political process, particularly the ability of one candidate to make any significant change.  Still, as I watched Obama deliver his acceptance speech, I was drawn in by his charisma and passion (and the fact that he gave a shout out to the homos in the first few minutes), and I actually began to feel a sensation that resembled genuine hope.  It could have been the beers talking – I was expressing my patriotism by downing Sam Adams Winter Ale for $1.75 a pint (hella value) – but I really did find myself getting the chills despite Barack’s occasional platitude.  As I watched my country take an enormous step toward equality, I started to experience something that for the past few years has been unfamiliar to me: a pride in my president and my citizenship.  

…And then, just like that, California fucked it up.  California, the unique, progressive state I have been so proud to claim every time someone along my AmeriCorps journey has asked me where I’m from, voted yesterday in favor of Proposition 8, an amendment to the California constitution that bans same sex couples from marrying.  More than half of the voting population from one of the most liberal states in the nation thinks my love for a woman is too sinful and/or icky to deserve a legal status equal to that of their miserable unions.  Let me be the first to say to the “Yes on 8” voters of California: That’s fucking gay.  You must be very proud of yourselves for upholding “the sanctity of marriage”.  I hope you and your second husband enjoy tonight’s very special episode of The Bachelor.  Thank you for reminding me to hold true to my cynicism.  I have decided to shift the energy formally devoted to my fleeting patriotic enthusiasm to my newest endeavor: sleeping with all of your daughters.