IGF CultureWatch

Female desire is complicated.

Lesbians know this. We know it because of "lesbian bed death" - that pervasive phenomenon that makes long-term couples sink into acting like roommates instead of lovers.

And we know it because all of us have friends who have come out late in life, or who have gone back to men after being lesbians forever, or who say that they're "attracted to a person, not to a gender."

Now we have research that - well, if it doesn't quite explain what's going on, at least confirms our intuition that female desire is messier and perhaps more expansive than men's.

Men, say researchers, are easy. A New York Times story on female desire looks at the studies of Meredith Chivers at Queen's University in Ontario.

When gay men are shown film of gay sex or a man masturbating, they get aroused. And they know they are. With straight men, it's similar - show them film of heterosexual sex or female masturbation, and they get excited and know it.

But women are different. Show women film of heterosexual sex, gay male sex, lesbian sex, or monkey sex (really) and women, lesbian or straight, get hot.

What is interesting, however, is that even though their bodies are responsive, women don't always know they are feeling desire - so, a woman who calls herself straight will say that she is only responding to the heterosexual sex videos, even though she is actually responding in the same degree to everything; and a lesbian will think that she is only responding to lesbian sex, even though she has the same degree of physical arousal when it comes to films of gay male sex or heterosexual sex.

Other researchers say that although men with the highest sex drives have a "more polarized attraction than most males" - meaning if they're gay they're REALLY only attracted to men, with women, "the higher the drive, the greater the attraction to both sexes." The article, though, adds the confusing caveat "this may not be so for lesbians."

So - straight women are more likely to be bi if they're more sexual, but lesbians are more likely to be lesbian?

Female desire is complicated indeed.

Researchers are divided over whether this male/female difference is due to biology, hormones, culture, or a confluence of the three.

What they do know is that women feel desire in the mind, no matter what is happening in the body. Some women can think themselves into orgasm (lucky women!) Some women are more turned on by the idea of unfamiliarity, of sex with strangers (thus lesbian bed death); others find their desire dictated by intimacy and emotional connection (hence the women who are "heteroflexible.")

These things are independent of physical arousal, since physical arousal for women happens all the time.

"Fluidity is not a fluke," sexologist Lisa Diamond told the Times. Of the women who told Diamond that they were lesbian, only one-third reported attraction solely to women. The other two-thirds felt genuine, periodic attraction to men.

This means that, if we were all honest in our labeling, the majority of women would need to call ourselves "bisexual" or "queer," instead of "straight" or "gay," as we do. The research says that there are far more women attracted to people of both sexes than there are women who are attracted to only one sex. If only one-third of lesbians are completely women-centered when it comes to desire - and only two percent of the country is lesbian - then that is a tiny number, about 2 million.

Of course, being a lesbian is about more than desiring other women. It is also about a female-centered culture, about consensus building, about emotional bonds with other women. That is what we mean, usually, when we talk about a lesbian "community" - and why lesbian communities often have such a different feel than gay male ones.

Yet despite all our focus on processing and intimacy, we need to remember that lesbians - and all women - also have an expansive sexuality. We underrate ourselves by focusing on "lesbian bed death" instead of all the ways we are sexual. Thank goodness for the surge in queer burlesque shows, sexy lesbian club nights and the last season of "The 'L' Word," all of which remind us that lesbians are sexy, and sexy is fun.

Female desire is complicated; how we experience lust is complex. Here's to more sex for women however we label ourselves.

My grandfather used to quote the old axiom: Give me a lever, and I'll move the world.

What he meant was that the right tool makes the task possible.

We have many tools at our disposal as we react to the taking away of our marriage rights in California. National protests. Lawsuits. A new ballot amendment. Lobbying legislators. Wearing the White Knot.

But there's one popular tool that's more of a blunt instrument than a lever: boycotts on businesses because their CEO or other employees gave personal money to Yes on 8.

There are good boycotts and bad ones. This is the bad kind.

I know it's tempting. We're very angry and very hurt. We want to lash out. And so when we hear that Cinemark's CEO donated $9,999 to Yes on 8, or that a manager of the West Hollywood restaurant El Coyote donated to Yes on 8, or that a business is owned by a Mormon, then we want to strike out. We boycott.

Last weekend, for example, people protested Cinemark theaters across the country, in addition to the unofficial boycott.

But this is not the solution, for an important reason: it sets an unfortunate precedent.

A boycott is good when a company is bad. When it harasses its LGBT employees; fires them for being gay; will not promote them; sells anti-gay products or services (say an anti-gay t-shirt).

A boycott is bad when a company is being targeted because of the personal donations of someone in the company - especially when the company itself is pro-gay or gay neutral, as Cinemark is (it has high ranking, open gays in its leadership, it supports LGBT film festivals, it's running Milk). Or, for example, Marriott - which, yes, is owned by a Mormon family, but which also scored 100 in the 2009 HRC Corporate Equality Index.

Why is it a bad boycott? First, because it makes no sense. It's as if we are punishing an entire family because one member let loose a racial slur. And unfair, overzealous actions like this tend to lead to backlashes.

Second, because it is likely to fail. Boycotts are tough to sustain (look at the way Baptists tried to boycott Disney); and when they wind up having no significant impact, it makes the group boycotting seem less powerful.

Third - and most importantly - this sort of boycott is bad even if it succeeds. It's bad because companies are very reactive to losing business, especially in hard economic times. And corporations do a lot to protect themselves. I fear that the result of these sorts boycotts - if they are successful - will be for companies to add a "no personal political or campaign donations" clause to their employment contracts.

Journalism organizations already often do this, so that reporters do not seem to have a conflict of interest with stories they report. You could see a company deciding, "Well, if an employee goes rogue and supports some political cause other people disagree with, we may lose business. So might as well tell employees that they can't make political donations of any kind."

That might sound terrific - until we think about it for a minute. The last thing we want is for a giant group of corporations to start limiting personal donations to causes. Many of us contribute to LGBT advocacy organizations. It would cripple our causes if we were unable to keep financial supporting Lambda Legal and NGLTF because our jobs told us we could not.

And do we really want companies to fire employees whose personal donations raise the ire of the community? What happens when a company is based in Florida, say, and its learned that it's CEO gave money to support civil unions; should a protest of anti-gay Floridians mean that the CEO is let go?

Instead, let us remember that people are not businesses. Businesses change practices due to attacks on the wallet; people change their minds through attacks on the heart.

Punishing Cinemark or Marriott or El Coyote for the foolish personal choices of a few leaders is unlikely to change (already pretty gay-friendly) corporate policies. We must build rapport with those leaders instead; we must talk with them; we must introduce them to gay people and explain from our hearts why their positions are wrong. And we must save boycotts for the companies that actually deserve them.

Boycotting is a blunt instrument. Let's not smash through our own interests accidentally. Instead, let's use a lever. And move the world.

My friends, I'd like you to meet someone, a true American, a great American: Jane the Plumber.

Jane, my friends, is an actual plumber, as opposed to that Joe the Plumber guy, who didn't have a plumber license and may have been related to a big financial scandal.

No, Jane is an actual plumber. Maybe she lives in Michigan. Maybe she lives in Arizona. Maybe she lives in Florida. But she is a plumber, and she is a lesbian.

Let me tell you about our friend Jane the Plumber. Jane stays up at night because her partner, Sue, has breast cancer. If the couple lives in Michigan and Jane is a plumber for a public facility, then Jane isn't allowed to share her health benefits with Sue. In May, the Michigan Supreme Court ruled that the state's constitutional amendment saying that "the union of one man and one woman in marriage shall be the only agreement recognized as a marriage or similar union for any purpose" means that public employers can't give domestic partnership benefits.

So Sue will either need to have benefits of her own, or must look to public assistance for help.

Jane is worried about whether the law will recognize her as the parents of the two children she raised with Sue, the birth mother, if Sue should die.

If Jane lives in Mississippi or Florida, her kids are in particular danger - both states have gay adoption bans. Judges in Florida keep ruling the ban unconstitutional - the latest judge said so this past September - but the law still stands.

Jane also worries about visiting Sue in the hospital, especially if they're traveling. She's heard horror stories from friends who say that, despite the fact that they carry legal paperwork around with them at all times giving each other power of attorney, some hospitals arbitrarily forbid gay partners to stand by their partner's sick beds and make decisions for them.

Because Jane and Sue live in a state that doesn't recognize domestic partnership benefits for public employees - maybe Michigan, but perhaps also Florida, if Amendment 2 passes there in November - then Jane also won't get bereavement leave if Sue dies. She'll have to take vacation time or sick time.

Jane is also worried that Sue's parents may fight Sue's will, and take their house away. Jane and Sue were married in a United Church of Christ chapel, but their state doesn't legally recognize the marriage - and Sue's parents have said that if the state doesn't recognize them, they won't either. If Sue dies, her parents would be able to make decisions about burial and cremation in absence of a will, not her partner Jane.

Jane and Sue pay more for their home and auto insurance policies; they also pay more in taxes. Depending on the whim of the franchise owner, they may pay more to rent a car; hotels in some states can refuse them a room. In many states, an employer can fire Jane or Sue just because they're gay, or deny them a promotion. Only 12 states protect Jane and Sue from employment discrimination. Twelve.

My friends, this election matters for Jane the Plumber. It is a decision between a candidate - John McCain - who says he doesn't believe in gay adoption, and whose running mate "tolerates" gay people; and a candidate - Barack Obama - who believes that gay people should have all the civil rights of straight people, and whose running mate said he believes the rights of gays and lesbians are protected under the Constitution.

Joe the Plumber, if he really were a plumber, may have to pay more taxes on his $250,000 a year income when he buys his plumbing business, but Jane the Plumber will suffer significant harm under a McCain administration - harm that can cost her her children, her home, and her last hours with her partner.

My friends, Jane the Plumber is counting on us. She is counting on us to go to the polls on election day - and she is counting on us to vote for Obama. She has a lot at stake. Let's not let her - or ourselves - down.

Is there a new definition of "out"?

Time was, you weren't officially out (especially if you were a celebrity) until you declared it in public. You had to stand before a microphone and say, "Yes, I'm gay," or "Yes, I'm a lesbian."

Or you had to speak to Barbara Walters. Or become a spokesperson for a gay organization.

Or you had to give an exclusive magazine interview, where you declared - as Ellen DeGeneres did in 1997 - something like "Yep, I'm gay."

Clay Aiken did exactly that last week with his People magazine interview. The cover line? "Yes, I'm gay."

But unlike Ellen, who caused a firestorm of response and a temporary halt to what has turned out to be a long-lived career, people mostly looked at the Aiken cover and either shrugged or said they supported him.

Why the shrug? Because gayness is no longer something extraordinary or indecent. It is not longer about the Love That Won't Dare Speak It's Name.

Instead, it's become a lot more like heterosexual love - something to parade on red carpets, to sweeten with children, to commit to in sickness and in health.

Which makes me wonder: Is the Aiken cover the death knell of the public proclaiming of gayness?

Take Aiken's counter-example of Lindsay Lohan.

Lohan has no magazine interview where she declares, "For sure! I'm gay!" I've seen nothing on record where she identifies herself as a lesbian.

Instead, she has simply been very public about being in love with DJ Samantha Ronson. Not in the creepy, Tom-Cruise-jumping-on-a-couch kind of way, but in a quiet, respectful way. The women have been photographed holding hands everywhere; they seem to always be together.

And when Lohan was asked how long the two of them had been together on a call-in radio show, she simply answered, "A long time."

In other words, Lohan and Ronson act just like famous (and not-so-famous) heterosexual couples do.

There was no public proclamation, because there was no need for one. The world has changed, and with it, the definition of what it is to be out.

Public proclaiming always felt to me to be both necessary and unfair. On the one hand, what heterosexual had to give a magazine interview assuring people of his or her straightness? (Unless, of course, that heterosexual was actually "secretly" gay and trying to hide it.)

On the other hand, if we didn't proclaim in public - if we didn't take the microphone on National Coming Out Day or gather our families to tell them explicitly that yes, we're gay - then we were invisible.

Straight people could pretend that we didn't exist. And people who don't exist don't get civil rights.

I'm not saying that we're in the clear now. Of course we're not. We are still far, far from achieving full equality, and there are still plenty of people who don't think we should be able to recognize our relationships.

Studies have shown that knowing gay people makes a real difference in how straight people view LGBT civil rights - and celebrities often feel like friends. It is always wonderful to have a new, particularly beloved, celebrity join our parade. Clay Aiken is welcome.

But I think acknowledging one's gayness to oneself and others is becoming less a question of COMING out and more of simply BEING out.

We are more likely now, I think, to just be ourselves, living our lives. To hold hands with our girlfriends. To join our husbands at back-to-school meetings. To snuggle on the train.

Being out is something all of us can do. We don't have to talk to a magazine. We don't even necessarily have to have "the talk" with our families or friends. We don't have to have some intense, confrontational (or cathartic) coming out.

Instead, we can invite them to our weddings, and talk about our husbands and wives and boyfriends and girlfriends the same way heterosexuals do.

We no longer need to proclaim our sexuality in public, because it is no longer assumed that all people are heterosexual. We no longer need to shout, "We're here! We're queer!" to show people that we exist.

We only have to be open about who we are and who we love.

And that is a world I'm happy to live in.

I've recently discovered something about myself: I'm not a partisan.

I thought I was. I'm a stalwart Democrat. I have strong opinions.

But even though there are issues I feel strongly about - gay civil rights, universal health care, abortion rights, the role of government in society - I tend to believe that a person's political party doesn't define them as a person.

And that means that a person's political party doesn't necessarily reveal their positions on political issues.

Sometimes they do.

In the way that you can generally guess that if someone is gay they are also a Democrat, you can guess that if someone is a Republican they are more likely to be socially conservative.

The company we keep does define who we are, to a limited extent. After all, who among us hasn't found that our views on some issues were influenced by the political party we choose to support?

But not all gay people are Democrats (hence the Log Cabin Republicans), not all Republicans are socially conservative, and not all Democrats believe in gay civil rights.

Americans like labels.

I'm thinking about this because I work in a mostly gay office, where almost everyone follows politics closely and has strong opinions.

Last week, during the Republican National Convention, many of my colleagues dropped by to ask me what I thought of the speeches, what I thought of Sarah Palin, what I thought of John McCain.

And one of them said: "I just don't understand the Log Cabin Republicans. How can someone be both gay and Republican?" Someone else, commenting on a news story on the web, compared gay Republicans to Jewish people who worked for the Nazis.

I understand the feeling here.

Many Republicans have proven themselves to not be friends on our issues. John McCain, for example, has never voted for any gay rights bill. Sarah Palin's church is one that tries to convince gay people that they can become ex-gay - and that this would be healthier, more fulfilling and more pleasing to God.

But just because some Republicans feel this way, and because the party as a whole does not accept the fight for gay civil rights as part of its platform, doesn't mean that Republicans are de facto evil. Republicans are not, in fact, Nazis, and it is offensive to call them so.

I grew up with Republicans. My mother, my father, most of my neighbors, the parents of my friends - pretty much all Republican. Only a few of my high school teachers admitted to being Democrats.

I myself thought I was a Republican until just before my 18th birthday, when I registered as a Democrat.

Most Republicans, I think, want what most Democrats want: a country that is prosperous, with people who are able to work, own homes and have families. A country where everyone has an equal shot at the future they choose for themselves. A democracy where we can criticize the government, make fun of our president, and choose the leaders who best represent us.

Republicans and Democrats just have different visions for how you get to that place. As for socially conservative issues - well, the Log Cabin Republicans are clearly on the right side of those. It's not an oxymoron to be a socially liberal Republican. Think Abraham Lincoln. Or think of my mother, now canvassing for Obama because it makes her sick to think of her party not allowing her daughter to marry.

There are times when it is worth staying in a party or a city or a country in order to help it move forward.

If I had to define myself politically, I'd say I was a pragmatic centrist. I believe that to advance our civil rights, we need to work with everyone who will work with us. I believe that we need visionary idealists to set goals that are high above us and far away, but that change itself is often slow and incremental. Large successes are built on a stepladder of smaller ones.

Republicans are not the enemy. They are not crazy and misguided by definition, though there are crazy, misguided Republicans just as certainly as there are crazy, misguided Democrats.

Republicans are just members of a party we have not converted yet. But we will never convert them to the support of gay civil rights if we dismiss everything they say as being idiotic and morally wrong.

No, Republicans are not the enemy. They are simply Republicans. They comprise about half the country. And if we want our rights, we need to work with them to show them why they should want our rights, too.

I was there.

I was on the floor of the Democratic National Convention when Barack Obama accepted the nomination in a thundering speech. I was there when the flags waved, when the fireworks exploded to the vibrant strings of movie-music, when confetti was shot from an air gun and pushed by the wind.

I was there, and what I remember most clearly are two things: the standing ovation when Obama mentioned coming to an agreement over gay rights, and the woman with the rainbow flag.

First, the applause. Applause lines are applause lines, and candidates at their own conventions have many of them.

But when Obama said, "I know there are differences on same-sex marriage, but surely we can agree that our gay and lesbian brothers and sisters deserve to visit the person they love in the hospital and to live lives free from discrimination," everyone around me stood up.

And I was not standing by liberal California or New York, either. I was next to the Arizona delegates, across from Wisconsin, behind Iowa. They all stood. They all cheered wildly, as if he had been talking about them personally, about their own families, about their own rights.

Second, the rainbow flag. There was an African-American woman in the Ohio section, dressed in vibrant purple, and the entire time Obama was speaking, she held her right arm straight up, holding an American flag and a rainbow flag together.

She didn't wave them happily. She didn't bring her flags down during the quiet parts of the speeches, the way everyone else did.

Instead, she was her own silent protest, her own one-woman reminder, that justice needed to be done.

These things, together, are the two that most heartened me at the convention.

Yes, I have drunk the holy water. Yes, I believe we must vote for Obama, because he is our best chance at full civil rights right now, and this is a point where we must take every opportunity we can.

Yes, even so, I noted that with other examples, Obama uses the collective "we" - he'll say things like, "We run little leagues," when I'm sure he has never run a little league in his life; but gay people are always "brothers and sisters." To him, we are still the other.

But in this election, noting things like that are interesting, but trivial. This is an important election, a serious election. There is a gulf between Obama and McCain (especially with the nomination of the very socially conservative Gov. Palin) and if we are committed to fighting for our civil rights the way we say we are, then we must vote accordingly. We must keep perspective.

Nevertheless, more moving to me than being included in Obama's laundry list - although that was important - was the genuine thunder of feeling expressed by the delegates. They are in this with us. That's what it felt like. These Democrats from around the country, from large empty states and small crowded ones, these governors and senators and union workers and retirees, they feel our rights are important and vital, and a central part of "change" and "hope."

They are our allies, and most of them are straight.

And that woman, that woman with the flag. She reminded me that it is people like her, people who stand up and announce who they are before the applause when acceptance is not certain, people who stand up and say, I am gay and I deserve full rights, it is those kinds of people that draw attention to places where the government must stitch together the torn places and create justice.

Is it people like this woman who draw attention to a cause and change hearts one by one.

What truly propels us forward is the will of the people. The small, lonely, fierce voices of the oppressed and the loud call of the collective will. Government, we must remember, is rarely the center of change. In our democracy, government usually acts in response to the people, it does not lead the charge.

And the will of the people has changed in our case, is changing.

Not everyone. Not everywhere. But maybe enough to make a difference. Maybe enough to sweep away the last of the federal legal barriers to our civil rights.

We stand for ourselves and now others are standing with us. We are winning. There is no going back.

Pragmatism has a name, and it's Joe Biden.

When Barack Obama announced his running mate late last week via text message, I nodded. Yep.

Biden is a smart choice. A practical choice.

But also an interesting choice.

First, to the practical. Biden has broad and deep foreign policy experience, something Obama lacks. This is important in the America of the present, the America that is fighting wars in Afganistan and Iraq while the Russian and Iranian governments continue to make disturbing noises.

Biden has a long, Washington-insider history, something which Obama had fought against during the primaries, with all his talk about change and a new way of governing.

Biden also is popular among blue collar workers and Catholics, constituencies that Obama has found tough to woo.

So the choice of Biden is a safe choice. It's safe for most of Obama's liberal constituency as well, without being too scary to conservatives, the way a Hillary Clinton or Dennis Kucinich would have been.

Take the gay and lesbian example. Biden voted for the Defense of Marriage Act, but also said that he thought gay marriage "was inevitable." And he said that in 2003, five long years ago.. He is for civil unions, and voted against the bill that would written "marriage is between a man and a woman" language into the Constitution.

A year ago, when asked about 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell," he responded, "I've been to Afghanistan, I've been to Iraq seven times, I've been in the Balkans, I've been in these foxholes with these kids, literally in bunkers with them. Let me tell you something, nobody asked anybody else whether they're gay in those foxholes. Our allies - the British, the French, all our major allies - gays openly serve. I don't know the last time an American soldier said to a backup from a Brit, "Hey, by the way, let me check. Are you gay? Are you straight?" This is ridiculous."

He voted yes to including sexual orientation to the definition of hate crimes. He was integral in helping rid the country of the discriminatory HIV travel and immigration ban.

In short, his positions on gay issues are a lot like - Obama's.

Now to the interesting.

Biden isn't always careful about what he says.

For example, he called Barack Obama "clean and articulate," which has a racist edge. And last year, he declared that he didn't think Obama was ready to be president.

But Obama was able to put aside these insults and slights and look to the bigger picture. Joe Biden is someone he agrees with. Joe Biden is someone he admires. Joe Biden is someone he believes he can work with.

The pick of a running mate is said to have very little impact on an actual election - instead, it's seen as a candidate's first presidential decision, the way to get a small taste of what a candidate's presidency would be like.

What Obama shows here is a willingness to move beyond petty grievances for the common good.

And this is an important trait.

We need a leader who can work with people - in this country and others - who believe all sorts of things and who say all sorts of things.

We need a leader who is not afraid that he will highlight his weaknesses by hiring people who know more than he does in their particular area of expertise.

We need a leader who can bear up under insults and not take them personally.

So, I'm impressed by Obama's choice of Biden. Biden is not who I was hoping for - I was crossing my fingers for the very unlikely pick of Hillary Clinton, or the very possible Gov. Kathleen Sebelius, who made it to the final top three.

But Joe Biden is a choice I respect and can live with. And it shows some very interesting things about Obama - that he can be practical when he needs to be, and that he won't just try to surf the unsteady winds of oratory; that he can look at the big picture, instead of being focused on issues of personal loyalty or slights; and that he isn't afraid to be surrounded by people who may know more than he does.

These are the sorts of differences that make a difference. These are the sorts of things that show us the kind of president Barack Obama will be.

What does it mean to be an American?

Some people seem to think it means wearing a flag pin. Or slapping a "Support Our Troops" bumper sticker on the family auto. Or singing "God Bless America." Or putting our hand over our hearts when the national anthem plays.

But these things have nothing to do with being an American at all. They are only rituals, expressions of blind patriotism. They are, I suppose, a sign of nominal respect, but really they are lip service. Anyone, after all, can wave the American flag, no matter what they believe.

No, to be an American is to cradle American values in our hearts - and the first of these is our bone-deep love of liberty.

We show this love not by proclaiming it or wearing it on our sleeve, but by acting in it's service - that is, by exercising our political rights. By voting, for example. Or running for office. Or speaking out to ensure that the state recognizes that we are all created with certain inalienable rights, and whether we are gay or straight, we should have access to them.

Not long ago, I visited Philadelphia to see the Liberty Bell. The Liberty Bell was the abolitionist icon and it should be the gay icon, too. The bell hangs solidly now in a fragile glass room, overwhelming the visitors who solemnly stand beside it to have their pictures taken. It hasn't pealed since 1846, and yet the message it rings out is explosive.

"Proclaim liberty," it reads, "throughout all the land."

Liberty is a dangerous notion. It means that the poorest have as many rights as presidents; that someone doesn't need moral approval from the majority in order to be a full citizen. We are moved by the Liberty Bell, but it isn't because of its craftsmanship. No, we love the Liberty Bell because of the crack that divides the bronze without sundering it.

We love the bell for reminding us both that freedom is vulnerable and that divisions of opinion don't destroy it.

America is that bell. Solid, loud, divided in its unity. That very division, in fact, is what makes us American. Homogeneity is for dictatorships, theocracies, kingdoms. Diversity and division, not obedience and trust, is what ultimately gives strength and beauty to democracy.

Liberty means freedom, and we now understand that freedom is the ability to have full political agency, whether you're male or female, black or white, gay or straight. To be an American is to exercise this agency. To be a gay American is to remind others that there is nothing more American than fighting for our fundamental rights.

Unlike flag pins or car stickers, the Liberty Bell isn't a symbol about bowing to blind patriotism. It isn't about doing things the way they've always been done in order to convince someone (who?) that you're a good American.

The Liberty Bell shows us that to be a good American, in fact, is to keep liberty - not patriotism - in our hearts.

For gay citizens, this is especially important. No one needs to approve of us. Not the president, not the courts, not the legislature, not a majority of citizens. Approval is not what we're seeking. And the Liberty Bell isn't about that, isn't about moral approval. It's about the clear, deep tone of freedom.

What GLBTs are looking for is what is promised to every American - liberty and the freedom to pursue happiness.

I love how Independence Day follows Pride so closely each year. They seem to go together, Pride and Independence. America was won not because people bowed to the conservative majority - majorities are always conservative - but because they rebelled.

They didn't go along to get along. They took risks and fought for their rights as citizens and human beings.

This is what we do, too. Every day that LGBTs march for our rights, write our Congressional representatives, expose governmental hypocrisy on our blogs, talk to others about equality, is a day that we are taking a stand for liberty.

Pride shouldn't stop - doesn't stop - at the end of June. It continues into July, where the gay story becomes part of the American story.

Let's ring our bell. Fighting for equal rights is fighting for liberty. And in America, liberty rings for us all.

"Marriage," the minister said, "is a going forth, a bold step into the future; it is risking what we are for the sake of what we can be."

Marriage is a risk.

We forget that, I think.

It seems very mainstream, this marriage thing, it IS mainstream, it's something that has been part of the culture for thousands of years.

It is so ordinary, that there are some gay people who look at the fight for equal marriage and shake their heads. "But what is the REASON you want to get married" they say. It's a patriarchal institution, it's anti-queer, it restricts freedom. It has a mean and sordid history, marked by the memory of women treated like property, of miscegenation, of contracts between families of power. It's more progressive, they say, to not get married. Marriage will ruin the gay community, they say, blur its edges, make us the same as everyone else.

Maybe. It's definitely traditional, marriage. Indeed, many of the things we're fighting for - the right to marry, the right to serve openly in the military, the right to not be harassed at a job - really, all of these things are the same thing. We are fighting for the right to be ordinary.

But being ordinary doesn't mean not being brave. You can be both traditional and risky.

My friends Cid and Glenda got married last weekend. It was my first lesbian wedding - I'd been to civil union ceremonies before, and had a domestic partnership ceremony myself years ago. But this was the first lesbian wedding I went to that was legal, the first one I attended where the minister concluded by saying, "By the power invested in me by the Commonwealth of Massachusetts . . ."

Everyone was crying in the congregation when the Rev. Elea Kemler said that. It moved us, to hear a public acknowledgement of the love of two women - to hear a state acknowledging the love of two women. To hear an entire congregation stand up and say, "We do," when the minister asked "Do you who know Cid and Glenda give them your blessings now as they enter into marriage?" being a witness, that was moving.

The public acknowledgement of our relationships and our lives is important to us as gay people. We crave it, because we have been so long hidden in the dark.

That is part of the risk, of course. Two women who get married are taking a public risk, opening themselves up to the hatred, disgust and criticism from those on the right who do not want to understand.

But even braver than that public risk is the private risk.

We don't think about it much, because marriage is in fact such an ordinary thing. We are at the beginning of wedding season now, and brides are everywhere in their white dresses, posing for pictures in gardens amid the flowers of their bridesmaids.

Marriage is a thing straight couples progress into as a matter of course.

But marriage is so new to us still - official only in Massachusetts and now, joyfully, California- that before we marry, we still think hard about it. Our families are likely not pressing for our marriage. It's not expected. It's certainly not required.

And yet marriage is risky. That's why not everyone does it. It asks for a leap of faith, a commitment to loving and supporting someone you can never fully know. Half of all marriages fail. What other venture to people dare to try with a 50 percent failure rate? Would you go to college if you knew that you were as likely to drop out as stay in? Get a job if you knew that there was an even chance you'd be fired?

Marriage is a risk. It is brave. When we fight for the right to marry, we are asking for a chance to be challenged. We are not taking the easy way out. We are saying that in spite of the odds, despite the large possibility of failure, we are willing to live in hope.

"So it is not to lofty words, or institutions even, that we appeal at this hour of commitment," the minister said. "But rather to the resources which you two draw from deep within yourselves - the deep well of human need, united and loving, forgiven and forgiving, whole and complete before a broken and imperfect world."

Marriage is a risk. Let us celebrate those like Cid and Glenda who take it.

Young gays and lesbians want to be married. And have kids.

That's what the first survey of the aspirations of gay and lesbian youth discovered.

Rockway Institute reported that more than 90 percent of the lesbians and more than 80 percent of the gay males they surveyed "expect to be partnered in a monogamous relationship after age 30."

About two-thirds of the males and just over half of the females said they thought it was very likely they'd have children.

What's extraordinary about this is just how very ordinary it is.

Ordinary for mainstream society, I mean. When we think of straight young people, we assume they want to get married and have children. There are always those who don't, of course, but they tend to be eccentric outliers.

The gay community, though, has long assumed the opposite of itself (especially gay men), and the mainstream world has assumed the same. Gays were thought to be promiscuous. Gays were artists, not parents. Gays were the outrageous life of the party, not couples who were in bed by 10 p.m.

But maybe the ordinariness of the survey results should not be such a surprise.

The survey participants were 16- to 22-year-olds in urban areas; they've grown up in a world where there are out gay members of Congress, out celebrities and rock stars, out mayors and athletes and CEOs and writers.

They've grown up with gay-straight alliances in their schools, with classmates who had out and happy gay parents, with discussions about whether saying "That's so gay" constitutes prejudice.

Gay and lesbian youth want stable marriages and children?

Of course they do.

Because they have grown up in an America where being gay is starting to seem unremarkable. Where being gay doesn't need to mean living a particular way. Where being gay doesn't have to mean putting limits on your future.

Young gays and lesbians don't want to destroy "traditional marriage" the way social conservatives fear. They want to be traditional - and one state, Massachusetts, allows them to do that. Hopefully others will follow.

These young gay people want what many heterosexuals want: a home, a family, a purposeful life, a job they can pursue with passion. They want to work without fretting they'll be fired for being gay; they want to marry their sweetheart without having to hire a lawyer to make sure they can visit each other in the hospital; they want to raise kids without worrying that their child will be beaten up for having gay parents.

It is my theory - but I don't know this to be true - that as gay and lesbian role models diversify, as we have images of lesbians who drive trucks and lesbians who are fashion models, images of gay men who style hair and images of gay men who are dedicated dads, more people will feel comfortable (and have felt comfortable) coming out.

As it becomes clear that gay people are not all one thing, more people will realize that it is not fitting into the "lifestyle" that proves you are gay - it is not the "gay accent," or the lesbian's comfortable shoes, or the love of club music, or being a Democrat - it is simply loving and being attracted sexually to people of the same gender.

There have always been gays and lesbians who wanted monogamous partners and children, but until the past couple of years, they've been hidden from mainstream society by the gays and lesbians who get more attention - the promiscuous, the party-goers, the style tastemakers.

We love that part of our community. The absolutely fabulous gays are the ones that help define us as being creative, artistic, fun. They're the ones who help us feel special. Different.

But we're also the same.

And that basic similarity is what young gays and lesbians see right away. They have access to it. They know - already! at their age! - that they can have the life they want, whatever that life is.

They can do the party circuit. They can be successful government officials, or artists, or business owners. They can be parents.

Being gay doesn't limit them, because being gay is only one part of who they are. Or perhaps it's that the definition of being gay has expanded. It no longer means only eternal singlehood and a furtive life lived in gay bars and dark city parks. If a lesbian wants to be married, she doesn't have to pretend that she's living with her "best friend." If a gay man wants to be married, he doesn't have to marry a woman and then seek sex in public restrooms.

Now she can marry a woman, and he can marry a man.

And our gay and lesbian youth are planning to do exactly that.