The Census

Lots of things are going on in the world that a dedicated news blogger would be posting all kinds of stuff about right now, gay-related and otherwise.  But since it's just my hobby and not my job, I'll let you guys read all about those things from the serious bloggers listed in the column at right.  If you feel like it.

I'm moved, or saddened, or outraged about some of those things, sure.  But I got other serious stuff on my mind right now, and a lot of work and other things taking up my time and energy.  Sometimes you just have to keep your head down and nose to the grindstone, and can't bear to wrassle with all the stupid shit going on the world; takes all you can do just to tend your own little garden, you know what I mean?

But I did perform the one semi-patriotic duty I was called upon to do this week:

Mailed mine in on Monday.  And I was like, totally underwhelmed with it this year.  Name.  Address.  Age, race, and sex.  And that was pretty much it.

And here are all these people ranting and raving about what an awful thing it is, and all the terrible effects it will have.  Please . . . .

Though I would have loved to mark the "married" box for the first time ever; but that was not to be.  Oh well.

Barring that, if I'd known about them ahead of time, I would have liked to slap one of those queer-pink stickers on the back of the envelope at least.  Which of course is utterly pointless; the envelopes all go straight into the trash before the forms ever reach the bean-counting machines, I'm sure, and no one gives a rap.  Still, it would have added a splash of color to the banal memory of sticking the form in the mailbox slot. 

Otherwise, it was a non-event for me, what about you guys?