…the moment it is announced that Barack Obama is the 44th President of the United States of America.

I will sing and dance and act the fool as the number of Democratic senators rises toward 60 (could we really, actually, possibly get to 60?) and I will pump my fist every single time a bell sings and another Democratic Representative gets his wings.

I will walk onto my front lawn and scream at the moon when Proposition 8 in California, a modern anti-misceganation law for gay men and women, goes down in complete and utter defeat.

I have hundreds upon hundreds of celebrations planned for that night, but…

I apologize, but as soon as I conclude writing this diary I’m going to walk down the block and set my neighbor Jill on fire.

She’s in her her mid-to-late 50’s, is a lovely, smart women who has bought birthday and holiday gifts for both of my children (has even cared for our dog when she got sick) but by the definition of Michelle Bachman, representative from Minnesota in this video…

…poor Jill is an un-American, liberal leftist… and given that she’s acted on these views by protesting and writing letters espousing her views… she has, essentially, committed treason and therefore must die.

I’m starving.

I sat down to eat this morning, toasted a slice of organic, sprouted, whole-grain Ezekiel bread, frosted it with the fat-free

“I can’t believe its not,” then raised it to my mouth.

But I never took a bite… on account of the Gay Blintzes.

…at the direction of unrepentant terrorist Bill Acorn, Buddhist Democratic candidate Barack O’Leary, who is not eligible to run for President on account of the fact that his birth certificate says he was born in Europe, instructed a voter registration group known as Filbert to conspire with the Iraqi government to give risky loans to black people, which has caused the nihilistic practice of the U.S. government bailing out Walmart, which is especially bad when you consider the fact that Tony Rezko, who is currently in prison for letting gay men and women get married in Kenya, is trying to force them to unionize, a practice that maverick Sarah Palin said “No, thank you” to as mayor of Alabama when she wasn’t steadfastly monitoring whether or not Vladimir Preston was or was not rearing his head out from Mexico, which we need to build a wall around, because the mostest importantest thing to the U.S. Americans is who is going to pick our orange juice for $50 an hour, which we can’t do on account of the fact that Raila Odinga wants to tax not just the RICH, but the Sexual Education Class for kindergartners, which is why YOU MUST VOTE for What’s-His-Name, who ABSOULTELY AND COMPLETELY has a plan to catch Harry Pelosi, and whom Republicans only nominated because the rest of their candidates were total ball-sacks.

I love my country desperately, which is why I nightly, cornily, off-keyily, sing “God Bless America” to my children before they go to sleep.

America is the country that saved my grandmother, uncle and father from the last days of the concentration camps in World War II and allowed my mother’s family the chance to rise from lives as dirt-poor Russian immigrant peasants to free, educated people.

It is on the this piece of earth that I, myself, have been allowed me to find a life-partner, birth two healthy children and make a decent living thinking up and writing down stories, which, in my eyes, is beyond a luxury.

But THAT is all in the past.

Miscegenation:

The term “miscegenation” has been used since the nineteenth century to refer to interracial marriage and interracial sex, and more generally to the global process of racial admixture that has taken place since the Age of Discoveries, particularly through the European colonization of the Americas and the Atlantic slave trade.

Historically the term has been used in the context of laws banning interracial marriage and sex, so-called anti-miscegenation laws.

It is therefore a loaded word and is considered offensive by many.

My 6 year-old daughter, Josephine, REFUSES to learn to ride her bicycle, mostly because the act of doing so doesn’t make any sense to her.

How is it possible that she can balance and steer and turn and start herself by herself without falling — SMACK — on the asphalt.

“You’re not going to let go of me, right? Right? You’ll hold on? And you’ll run with me, right? You promise you won’t let me fall and even if I fall you won’t let me be hurt? Promise? Promise PROMISE?”

I try and assure her, as best I can that its going to be alright, but we keep ending up getting emotional… and frustrated… and angry with each other because I CAN’T actually “promise PROMISE” she won’t get hurt and she can’t seem to imagine the possibility that she can DO something she’s never done before.

Faith. It all comes down to faith.

And so the two of us struggle along… me running and holding and catching and trying my best to tell her it will someday happen, even though both of us are starting to believe that its NEVER GOING TO–

Wait. Hang on…

The end of inequality and institutionalized hatred, at least where California is concerned, can be achieved in the righteous and hopefully overwhelming defeat of PROPOSITION 8, formally titled the “I So Much Hate Teh Gays Act*“, but more widely referred to in my household as the…

“Though My Name Is Steve I Seem To Get An All Hot And Bothered In My ‘Nether Regions Whenever OTHER Steves Are Nearby And Since I Am Deeply Ashamed Of My Own Truth, I Need To Punish These Other Steves By Making It Look Like I So Much Hate Teh Gays Act“*.

So yesterday I wrote a diary pleading for lawyers to help the Obama campaign ensure the vote on election day and the response was overwhelming and heartening.

Lots of “I just signed up” and “I’m in” and “They’ve got my info”, and yet, for every person who stepped up, there was another who said, “I want to help and have sent an email, but no one has gotten back to me.”

Well, to that, I smile and say… we are reaching the St. Crispen’s Day in this election.

St. Crispen’s day?

Henry V. The English badly outnumbered by the French. And in Shakespeare’s retelling, Westmoreland, cousin of King Henry, wished for more troops…

WESTMORELAND

O that we now had here

But one ten thousand of those men in England

That do no work to-day!

…but Henry did not share Westmoreland’s need, wanting instead to hoard the glory…

KING HENRY

What’s he that wishes so?

My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin;

If we are mark’d to die, we are enow

To do our country loss; and if to live,

The fewer men, the greater share of honour.

Or, translated, XLI or 41, which is the amount of days left until the election.

What?!? Only 41 days?!? Scary?

Nope.

Because we gots ourselves a plan to vote…