In New York and Rhode Island, new governors were elected in 2010 and placed legalizing same-sex marriage at the top of their agendas.
In New York, the State Senate passed a same-sex marriage bill despite a Republican majority, with some Republicans crossing over to vote in favor of the bill.
In Rhode Island, a General Assembly with a 65-10 Democratic majority in the House and a 29-8 Democratic majority in the Senate couldn’t even get a same-sex marriage bill to committee.
Eventually, the Democratic leadership settled on a watered-down civil unions bill, which is facing the usual moral opposition from the right, but also opposition from the left for saying it doesn’t go far enough. With a committee vote scheduled for tomorrow, that bill is now in peril.
They say New York has the most ineffective government in the country. I beg to differ.
“I know many people are concerned about the destruction of the sanctity of marriage, as well, and they view this as a threat. But let me ask you something, ladies and gentlemen, what are we really protecting when you look at the divorce rate in our society? Turn on the television. We have a wedding channel on cable TV devoted to the behavior of people on their way to the altar. They spend billions of dollars, behave in the most appalling way, all in an effort to be princess for a day. You don’t have cable television? Put on network TV. We’re giving away husbands on a game show. You can watch “The Bachelor,” where 30 desperate women will compete to marry a 40-year-old man who has never been able to maintain a decent relationship in his life. We have “The Bacholorette,” in reverse. And my favorite show, which thank God only ran one season because it was truly distasteful, was “The Littlest Groom,” where 30 desperate women competed to marry a dwarf. That’s what we’ve done to marriage in America, where young women are socialized from the time they’re five years old to think of being nothing but a bride. They plan every day what they’ll wear, how they’ll look, the invitations, the whole bit. They don’t spend five minutes thinking about what it means to be a wife. People stand up there before God and man — even in Senator Diaz’s church — they swear to love, honor, and obey; they don’t mean a word of it. So if there’s anything wrong, any threat to the sanctity of marriage in America, it comes from those of us who have the privilege and the right, and we have abused it for decades.”—
A good friend of mine had a baby on June 17th, (I was alerted via text message), and just got around to announcing the birth and posting photos on Facebook today. As the days went on and no photos appeared on Facebook, I started to get nervous. This isn’t soooo crazy; I probably know ten couples that have had babies in the last four months, and they usually get a photo up on Facebook within hours - sometimes even a gratuitously vivid photo! For the last two days, I had nearly convinced myself that something terrible had gone wrong. In fact, my to-do list today reminds me to email our mutual friend to see if she had any news.
Happily, the baby is healthy and everything is fine! But apparently I need Facebook to tell me that! Facebook = proof of life.
Welcome, little one. I’d rather swaddle you in rose petals that update my status any day.
In April 2008, I was part of a Post team that won a Pulitzer Prize for the paper’s coverage of the Virginia Tech shootings a year earlier. Lolo died a year earlier, so it was Lola who called me the day of the announcement. The first thing she said was, “Anong mangyari kung malaman nang tao?”
What will happen if people find out? I couldn’t say anything.
After we got off the phone, I rushed to the bathroom on the fourth floor of the newsroom, sat down on the toilet and cried.
When I was in high school I had a friend - a few years older - who was an illegal/undocumented person. Observing how she lived her life was fascinating and I was endlessly frustrated, both with her and the system. This NYT first-person article is truly courageous.
“There was no networking in my father’s world. No “construction meetups” for him to hear inspiring talks or meet someone who can help him with his business. Everything fell solely on his shoulders and if he fumbled it meant his livelihood. He used duct tape for bandaids of cuts from saws and errant hammer mishaps, so don’t tell me about carpal tunnel. When you complain about wanting a standing desk, I think about how he laid cement on summer days. Your seminar for “building and managing a great team”? Let me give you my dad’s phone number so you can ask him about making sure workers who each speak only one one of three different foreign languages communicate well enough with each other to get a roof raised.”—
If you don’t like the choices a woman makes about who she sleeps with and when, you are more than welcome not to sleep with her. But to continue to judge single women for having the audacity to sleep with who they want to — something that single men are generally congratulated for — is to perpetuate an antagonistic dynamic between the sexes that has seen its day.
“Lilit and James were spotted canoodling at a Brooklyn hotspot called The Couch. The two reportedly caught a flick and shared a sumptuous meal of organic homemade Hamburger Helper and that wine that was left over in the fridge from last week. A source who didn’t actually see the couple but totally lives in their building and met them one time said, “They seemed to be in a relationship with each other. Their mail even comes to the same mailbox.”—
Thank you for your interest in dating me. Due to the high volume of interested applicants, I will not be able to reply to all. Allow four to six weeks for processing. A $10 processing fee may be imposed for incomplete or illegible applications.
For much of my life, I wanted to be other people; here was the central dilemma, the reason, I believe, for my creative stasis. I was always falling short of people’s expectations: my immigrant parents’, my Indian relatives’, my American peers’, above all my own. The writer in me wanted to edit myself. If only there was a little more this, a little less that, depending on the circumstances: then the asterisk that accompanied me would be removed. My upbringing, an amalgam of two hemispheres, was heterodox and complicated; I wanted it to be conventional and contained. I wanted to be anonymous and ordinary, to look like other people, to behave as others did. To anticipate an alternate future, having sprung from a different past. This had been the lure of acting—the comfort of erasing my identity and adopting another. How could I want to be a writer, to articulate what was within me, when I did not wish to be myself?
Jhumpa Lahiri, a striking woman, a beautiful child.