Lonely. Boston is lonely, the skyline stands out so sharply against the cold whipping blue sky, that my hands starts to shake and I have to sit down. All I see are cold glass windows and buildings that house people churning away. I long for the before, I want to go back, I want to go back. To see her was to step in a waft of cold sharp morning air amongst lukewarm waves of lazy car exhaust. People were like fleeing dust marks on movie reels, but she held steadfast, splitting the waves side to side, holding me in her lee.

I am back, or perhaps I have left. AA4811, and I kept my face pressed out the window watching this minuscule world, full of small earthy-colored pinpricks moving in comic precision. The display was hypnotic, everything in infinite detail and suddenly this whole situation seemed unbearably funny and I couldn't help but to wish for my plane to crash.

I wished to die. It started as a dormant snag that snowballed into a speck of a crumb, and soon spread, dominating everything for a single purpose, dominating the whole of my thought with a determined helplessness that reasoned against reason, hoping purely and sincerely for catastrophe since I knew perfectly well that it wouldn't happen now, because it was too late. I was safe to kill myself, since I wouldn't die. I kept my nose pressed against the glass though, and waited for the explosion that would rip this can apart and empty the sardines out into free-fall towards the ground. My physics knowledge lacks air resistance, so I just calculated '32 seconds' and mused whether it would be enough time to call my family and friends on my cell handphone, feeling the wind whip by, tumbling slowly, weightless because I was falling, immortal because I was dying. Tumbling around and around while gleefully announcing on the phone to teary acquaintances that I was going to be dead to the world, and a martyr on television over bold sensational letters.

'Mother Sentenced', the headline read, and pictures of young innocent beautiful full-of-potential angelic cherubim divine composed enlightened children filled the screen, faces and bodies and background moving slowly and dramatically in a slight editing gimmick. Angry faces of the mother filled the screen, and short contextless meaningless excerpts from conversations passed by on tickers like drops of water running down vertical windows, leaving trails of dotted self-destruction and surface tension in their wake. It was hard not to feel detestment for the mother, for after all, she was Sentenced, no? Another necessary evil gone in this dust. Did you hear? She DROWNED her child.

I bought a book about Indians but not about India, and I read it on the plane with other Koreans not in Korea. The small purple doll was suffocating in my bag, because I had undid it from my collar as I arrived at New York. She had wound it several times around a button, but by the time I got off, it was hanging by only a double loop. A Nantucket Nectar and an Au Bon Pain sandwich made themselves down my throat like seductive snakes, nestling comfortably in the warmth of my belly, sleeping warmly and peacefully.

The rumble was only the turbulence. The left side touched down first, and as the plane shifted to bounce on its right side, I realized with fright and fascination that we were about to top over. The pilot must have done something, because we were all pushed back and then everything was a blur, the blue seats and the white interior running together like wet paint into Cerulean Blue like Robin Blue like young eggs of beautiful enlightened potential. I stopped praying then, nauseated.

I stepped out, dragging my bags behind, and I was surprised to see that the leaves were already falling off. It was almost fall. It was fall. We all sat in silence, all four of us thinking smoking writing listening sitting, waiting for the right time to come before we did split into our respective decisions.

I left last.

It's 2003. David Beckham is on magazine covers in nail polish. Bravo is grabbing TV ratings with a show in which stereotypically Fabulous gay urbanites make over a hopeless, hapless hetero. And at last a vocal fight for same-sex marriage is gaining steam, largely because the status quo makes no sense. It's okay for me to go on a 4-day meth binge, hitchhike to Vegas and get married by Elvis to a 67-year-old "dancer" named Dakota while having a phoenix tattooed on my left butt cheek, but if 2 women want to own a house together and adopt a Turkmenistani orphan with cystic fibrosis it's a death blow to the ancient, sacred institution of marriage? Nevah! Mount the barricades for a new Brown v. Board of Education!

Sadly, this enthusiasm is premature. My generation, raised with an un-closeted Ellen and Grace-advising Will, may be comfortable enough with gender-neutral marriage legislation, but support drops precipitously as ages increase.

More worryingly, it drops precipitously with each increase in media exposure. Last month's sodomy-legalizing supreme court ruling sent Gallop-measured support for legal gay sex -- let alone marriage -- tumbling from 60% to 48%, its lowest level since the mid-'90s dark ages. Instead of winning new converts, a concerted PR push for universal marriage rights may send squeamish baby boomers into the arms of the 700 club.

Even if the backlash has, so to speak, no lash, a fore-lash is far from assured. The law's letter aside, most Americans see marriage as a religious act, not a legal act, and most Americans are devout, at least by 1st-world standards: only a tenth identify as nonreligious, for example (compare with more than 50% in most of Western Europe). The word "marriage" itself carries deep religious connotations; people who haven't set foot in a church since the Carter administration won't hesitate to have a wedding there.

The obvious answer, of course, is to change the word. Call gay marriage "civil union" and support is already well above 50% in the blue states on the map -- no years of painstaking persuasion required.

"Civil union" is unsatisfying, though, in a "separate but equal" kind of way. What about equality? What about liberty? What about the principle of the thing?It is, after all, the American Way to fight for Truth and Justice, and fighting feels good, righteous anger feels good, principle feels good.

This is about more than principle, though. Right now, there are hundreds of thousands of couples losing custody of their kids, hundreds of thousands unable to craft airtight wills, to gain hospital visitation rights. Right now, there are tens of millions of children in orphanages, un-adopted. None of this can wait 2 decades for America to sort out its insecurities.

Plenty of comparisons have been drawn to the civil rights struggle 40 years ago and we would do well to remember what worked and what did not. By Any Means Necessary felt good, but the necessary means were pacifism, not militancy; it was not Malcolm X who succeeded but Martin Luther King.

For my school paper. I was kind of pissed off that they made the headline "Gay marriage civil rights issue, equality should be enforced"; nobody'll read it with that title. Half the point of writing it on this topic was for it to be called something wildly provocative, like "Now is not the time for gay marriage". Same principle as It's not about choice.

I ran errands today. I got a haircut, I bought hair dye (both red and black), fudge bars, water, a curtain rod that is too small for my 8 foot windows. It seems Wal-Mart only makes curtain rods 6 ft long. Umm, I know, you're thinking I should have measured, but I did; but I must have forgotten, or became too hopeful. I'm not sure, but I kept the receipt, and I'm going to go return it.

So today, I dyed my hair red, and then, I dyed the tips black. It actually looks pretty cool.

So I talked to people today, and it turns out that my Jenn is sick again. She had her brain surgery, and came out of it fine. Now she has been diagnosed with cervical cancer. The poor girl is always sick it seems. They are going to have to do a biopsy soon. Well wishes are much appreciated, and all if any will be passed on to her. In farther news, she just turned 17 a couple weeks ago.

Seems the Gravity Games are coming back to Cleveland next weekend, I hope the weather is much nicer than it was last year, since it was way too hot then. Jane's Addiction and Hoobastank are going to be playing, along with other local bands.

I applied for another job today.

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