Back on the Continent

Ideational Content was never supposed to be about Dillon Westbrook, so only tangential comments will be made on the news that, since the last blog post, Dillon Westbrook bought a house and got married (actually, he had the house when the last post went up). There are ideas surrounding the house and the wedding, but only a few are fit for the Continent.

* As those who were there know, Dillon Westbrook and Cori Belew were not married by the state, or any church but by those who were there. You can see previous posts for the political and philosophical reasons for this, but what's really interesting now is the strange legal limbo they've created. Not only are they not married, they are also inillegible for domestic partnership status under California law, which is reserved for same sex couples. They are also not, as far as they can understand from reading a Nolo Press book on the subject, common law man and wife. As far as the laws of the State of California are concerned, they're perfect strangers, barely able to sign for a package for one another, much less make medical decisions, automatically inherit property and the rest of the privileges and responsibilities associated with state-sanctioned marrige. What it would require to change that would be several different legal contracts and powers of attorney, each of which entails at least a nominal fee and/or many hours of research and thinking. Just a proxy window into what gay and transgender couples have been dealing with forever.*

** The DYI wedding was a major success, went off without a hitch. Biggest problem, an organized way to deal with the copious amount of left-over and highly perishable food produced thereby. If you're planning one of these, think ahead, because I (yes, I reverted to first person already, send complaints to address on the sidebar) ended up driving around in a Ford 250 looking for anywhere to drop two tins of leftover steak, 10 lbs of salad greens and more cake than a 500-pound 5-year-old could consume. An embarassing amount of it wound up in the trash.**

*** Starting a new blog, Oakland Work Trade. Concept is kind of self-explanatory, but get the gist here, if you're not spammed by Dillon Westbrook first.***

**** Las Vegas is a ridiculous but strangely integral place. They are about exactly what they are about. I got the meanest looks and even a little verbal abuse when I asked for a mathematically foolish draw at a blackjack table, as if I'd just shat on the pho-marble bar. They really don't fuck around there. The purview of this comment stops at all family discounts and inticements- those are obscene and should not exist, and it turned my only puritanical streak to see anyone under 21 in that town (or anyone 18 without a passable fake id). I would go back there and spend more time, say another 15 minutes.****

***** Owning a house is really perfect situation for a traditional male asshole like me. I get to nest with my new wife and talk all kinds of cute domestic shit, then when I get bored I put on my overalls, go into the "under construction rooms" and tear shit apart. It's knuckle-dragging heaven.*****