Book Launch Party

After calling and pricing out eight potential venues, I have set a date for my book launch party.  The results of my calls:  too expensive, too expensive, too expensive, unavailable, annoyingly unhelpful, wrong atmosphere, too expensive, EUREKA.

The EUREKA is Franklin ArtWorks, an old movie theater in Minneapolis that has been made over into a gallery and performance space.  It’s cheap, which was essential.  (“Since your event is in May, you don’t have to pay for heat,” the staff person told me.  Pray for a warm spring.)  It’s got a great bakery across the street and a flower shop on the corner.  It’s got space for the reading and the musical performance that will be part of the event.  And space for the signing and for the reception.  And it doesn’t require me to use a specific caterer (or, for that matter, any caterer).  It doesn’t even require me to use their chairs.  I could bring my own if I wanted to.  Which I don’t.

So here it is: a book launch party for She Looks Just Like You on Sunday, May 16 at 3:00 p.m. at Franklin ArtWorks in Minneapolis.

A Piece of Paper

“Sarah and I got into an argument yesterday,” Hannah tells me as we are driving to school.

“About what?” I ask.

“She said two men or two women can’t get married, but I said they can.”

“You’re both right,” I say.  “Two men or two women can’t get married in some places, but they can in others.”

“Like where?” Hannah asks.

“Well, they can’t get married here in Minnesota,” I say.  Hannah knows this.  She also knows that Jane and I did get “married,” but that “the government doesn’t think it was real.”

These are the things we have to explain to our children.  We’re married, but we’re not.  What you know to be true in your life is not true in the eyes of the government.  Sometimes the government is wrong.

“But two men or two women can get married in other places like Iowa or Massachusetts.”

I remind her of a long-time friend of ours who moved to Massachusetts with his partner and got married there.  Hannah is intrigued.

“Did they get a piece of paper?” Hannah asks.

A marriage license?  I don’t know where she’s going with this.

“Yes,” I say.

“Did they come back to Minnesota and show it to the government?” she asks hopefully.

In her mind, this is probably all that is needed.  Maybe the government here in Minnesota doesn’t know that gay people can get married in some places.  Maybe they just need to be informed.  Maybe life would be better if it followed the logic of first graders.

“I don’t know,” I say.  It may be worth a try.