A strange legal fight is happening in California. Closing arguments on the legality of California’s BAN on same-sex marriage were held on Wednesday, in San Francisco, framing the issue as a war between the civil rights of gay men and lesbians and the traditional understanding and role of marriage. Making the battle even more weird is the fact that Ted Olson and David Boies are co-lawyers for the Good Guys. Maybe Ted, known in the old days to be a very tough conservative, got soft after celebrity wife Barbara went down for the count as a passenger on American Airlines Flight 77 when it was flown into the Pentagon during the September 11. Barbara was en route to a taping of the television show Politically Incorrect. David, was, as you may remember, chief attorney for good guys of a different sort when he battled for the Democrats in the mockery of an election that brought Yale drunkard George Bush to power in 2001. I saw Ted and David together on the Bill Moyers TV show last year explaining their passion for gay rights.

Voters in hypocrisy-laden California – dumbly called a liberal state – passed Proposition 8, not long ago, a measure designed to deprive gay people of the right to marry. Now, its constitutionality is being challenged in a federal court. Charles Cooper, a lawyer and, apparently, incompetent philosopher, defended Proposition 8 with the irrelevant remark that “Without the marital relationship, your honor, society would come to an end.” Insofar as it bears on this case, he might as well have said, “Your honor, there is new evidence that Tony Gwynn is a greater hitter than Ty Cobb was.” But even if what Cooper says is true, what of it? Is it a moral truth that this society should not end and be replaced by a better one? Actually, this debate first took part in the famous (or not so famous) debate between Lord Devlin and H.L.A. Hart 60 years ago. Devlin said society would collapse unless homosexuals, gamblers, prostitutes and other such riff-raff were stopped in their tracks. Hart rightly pointed out that, at most, this society in its current form would change if the riff-raff were viewed as, well, as raff-riffs. (Or he said something with less pizzazz, but to that effect.) Society has no right never to be restructured.

Cooper said that marriage is, simply put, for making babies. Well, Mel Allen, how about that? We need Proposition 8.1: “People who are infertile should not be allowed to marry.” Add 8.2: “People who are beyond the age of child-bearing should have to get divorces.” Tack on Proposition 8.3: “No married people should ever be allowed to engage in sex just for the fun of it.”

Cooper said marriage exists to benefit the community. Is he kidding? The benefit must be in opening up career possibilities for a group of shysters called “divorce lawyers.” Given the mad scramble to get divorced, what else could the benefit consist in? When did you last hear one person say to another, “Let’s get married, if only to do our part in benefitting the community”? That’s what makes the rush of so many gay people to marry so funny. As it is, gay couples can now just split up. If they marry, then they can do their share of contributing to the divorce lawyers’ jackpot.

But if gay people want to have children, two things can be said about that. (1) Let ‘em. (2) Don’t let ‘em. I say the first because I suppose they can raise children as well as heterosexual parents can. I say the second because surely they can only raise children as badly as heterosexual parents can. The world is in shambles in exactly 404 ways and the existence of kids is one of them. We don’t need another kid; we need another mountain. How could a nice Jewish fellow from Brooklyn like Hal David have gotten it so backward?

So, where do I stand? I don’t; I am nearly always sitting or lying down. Still, if forced to say something about Proposition 8, the main thing about it is that it is stupid. Second, I suppose it is immoral. Third, I’m sure it is unconstitutional. Fourth, I am damned if I know why homosexuals care. Why should they mind that heterosexuals have a monopoly on the ridiculous? Ted Olson says it is a grievous harm to his clients not to allow them to marry. He is crazy. Domestic partnership gives gay people the right not to pay divorce lawyers. That sounds pretty good to me. If there are any special privileges married people have that gays don’t have, simply cut it out! Give the gays the whole kit and kaboodle minus the ceremony. Give them that, too, among their friends, if they want it. As for the record in City Hall that reads: “domestic partnership only; unfortunately, no holy marriage”, let us have other records reading: “Holy marriage only; unfortunately no domestic partnership.”

The greatest convenience I have as a wealthy land owner is the size of my driveway. It is 1000 feet long and ends with a circular drive that tacks on another 170 feet or so. I need all of it; it is not a luxury. I need the space to accommodate all the technicians who seem to live with me.

In attendance this morning was an AT&T staff with its nicely equipped truck. Stationed behind the truck was the garage door man’s large van with an assortment of tools that made him nobody to sneer at. Further down the line was the alarm company guy who gave us the happy news that our security box was fried. Bringing up the rear was Comcast’s big gun, the Escalation Team. On previous days, Comcast had sent us its regular B-team to solve our internet woes. Of course, that failed and yesterday the A-Team arrived. I was singularly impressed but I should have known better. The issues overwhelmed them and today I was treated to the ESCALATION TEAM These are the pros of pros.. Mike, the King of Escalation, said our problems were solved. Well, sort of. He has to send in a special cable team to finish up work that even he, Mike, can’t handle. Two weeks from now, the bury-the-cable guys will go to work. In the course of all this madness, ground had to be torn open to get at the cables. Who knows? Perhaps in a few days, a special goon squad will come from AT&T to put the ceiling panels back on – the ones that the AT&T darlings tore off to do their magic. I am even pollyannaish enough to dream they will put back into the garage the step ladder they borrowed to do their work. I could probably do that myself but I’m mad as hell and won’t take it any longer.

Well, so far so good. Of course, you have to discount the fact that nothing is free in a capitalist society. A growth economy that, thanks to me, seems to erupt like Mt. Vesuvias precisely 3 or 4 times per year is making me wonder if I should dig deeper into my pension funds. So far, I take a minimum distribution of about $2500 per month which is supplemented by my social security check of roughly $2100 each month and a small pension the source of which I don’t understand but contributes another $1200 per month. I really don’t know who gives me this money or why. At any rate, because my wife makes an unseemly six figure salary at her job and also collects social security, we get by at a level of comfort that no Sudanese person could ever understand. Still, I am wondering if I need more. At any moment, the house may come crashing down on our heads. Last week, we staggered around in the dark because our flashlights’ batteries failed. We dared not open the refrigerator door under pain of warming up the milk and other sundries. Our toilets are again working, which is a boon for my wife, not me. I found that my estate could handle my excrement since no neighbors live close enough to watch my activities.

Our granddaughter is no lightweight when it comes to spending our money. What will she be like when she is 7 years old? Her school bills are a nifty $500 each month but we don’t begrudge her. Her clothing and toy bills are over the top, and about that I am not so indifferent. If we don’t pick up the bills, however, then her mother would have them and her resources are a bit less than those Sudanese folk I have already alluded to. Her Daddy, a completely separate entity from Mommy, hasn’t had a job in many years but he is a good kid who is trying his damndest.

Like Martin Luther King, I have a dream that one day all grandparents will rise up and live out the true meaning of grandparenthood and that all the world will recognize that they are created equal in rights to all other citizens. Only, I am not holding my breath.

You are now married 40 years. Your spouse is institutionalized. That means you are STUPID. Here are the facts.

One of you needs institutionalizing because old age does that sort of thing, you know. Can you protect your accumulated wealth or does it all have to go to care for the one who is ill? Answer: Your money is gone. Spouses have a legal duty to support each other. The income or assets of a working spouse must be used for the care of the spouse in the nursing home.

If there’s not enough income to pay for long-term care, couples must start liquidating their holdings, selling stocks and bonds, cashing in C.D.’s and those pension funds. Once their assets sink low enough ($2,000 in most states), the person who needs care can qualify for Medicaid.

By clever division of assets, with the help of a pro, you may be able to keep up to $109,000. Medicaid calls this “exempt resources.” That is tops. That is, if you start out with over a million bucks. Otherwise, you can’t keep even that much. Maybe as little as $21,000. Maybe nothing, if you are lucky and start out dirt poor.

Now that your spouse is on Medicaid, you are not home free. You no longer have to pay the bills BUTMedicaid will want its money back, a process known as “estate recovery.” Medicaid will not take funds from the miserable jerk who is not dumb enough to be the sick one but when he dies, it will attempt to collect from his estate. Medicaid gets paid before the children (unless they’re under 21 or disabled) or any other heirs. Medicaid is only a loan! It wants its money back.

Since sickness often comes with warnings, you may think divorce before institutionalization is the way to go. Wrong! Sure, you can divide the assets to protect the one who is healthy and sane but the leftover junk – the spouse headed for the long term care facility – will be pounced upon for her cash right down to where she needs Medicaid. Not a nice thing, you know.

What’s left? Since warning signs usually come early, don’t neglect them. Murder done early enough for you not to get caught as an asset protector is not the best way to go but the only way to go. Divorce is messy and costly. Remember, too, that everyone married more than 40 years is sick of it all. Usually, it only takes 25 years and people stay together because they are dumb and/or chicken-hearted and yellow-bellied. So why wait until sickness is around the corner? Get a good start on the good life and call it quits via a good axe job after 20 years. You can beg the spouse to commit suicide but that never works because he/she prefers you to go first. Here’s the proof.

As I tiptoed through the bedroom that belongs to me Thursdays through Sundays, around 4 A.M., on my way to the shower, I was very glad the TV set was still on. It lighted my way and I was spared breaking my bones, which would have been the consequence of tripping over dolls and toys by the dozens.  I stopped to listen to a commercial.   The model was pushing a brand of fish oil pills and she declared, “They say that if you have your health, you have everything.”   She was right; “they” do say that.  I have heard that a million times.  There must be a grain of truth in it or why would it be said by so many people so many times?    On the surface, it seems to encapsulate as much wisdom as “They say that if you break your bones twice a year, you will be very glad.”   No one says that, so why do they say the former?

Maybe it is because, if you are very unhealthy, you can’t do any of the things you would like to do.  Maybe it is because, if you are even moderately unhealthy, you will be too stuck on yourself and will not do the many things you ought to do. Maybe it is because people are just plain dumb and say all sorts of things they haven’t carefully considered.  Maybe it is because, if you don’t say anything, people will think you are just plain dumb and, saying that, is a nifty substitute for “Nice weather today.”

I find myself stuck on wondering about things I am not sure others ever wonder about.  Yesterday, I pestered my wife to the point where she said, “Are you plain dumb?” I used to live on Oakwood Street before I got married.  There were sidewalks and houses on each side.  On each side of what?  Down the center of the whole kit and kaboodle was the part on which autos drove and/or parked.  As a kid, I used to call that “the gutter.”  It is what all my friends called it.  Well, we were wrong.   My wife explained to me that a gutter is something else and that what I called “the gutter” was more properly called “the street.”     Well, then, was I wrong to call that whole conglomerate, “Oakwood Street” a street?  Which was the street?

I got no satisfaction from dialoguing with the good woman.  She insisted “street” applied equally well to the kit and the kaboodle as well as to the portion that was for autos, trucks, bikes, motorcycles, pushcarts and stickball players.   “What about punchball players?” I asked.   “Them, too,” came the response.  I pondered.  “Is ‘them, too’ grammatical?”   She ignored me for at least 30 seconds so I pressed on.   “Waiting for the answer.”  “To what?”   “I want to know if ‘them too’ is grammatical.”

“Yes, it is grammatical.  Think of it as short for, ‘The street is for them, too.’   You don’t have a problem with that, do you?”   I told her that I don’t have a problem with anything because I have my health and therefore I have everything.

She told me I was being just plain dumb.  That sounded right, so I dropped the matter and went back to whatever I was doing.  Unfortunately, I cannot tell you what that was because I am just too damn dumb.  But wait!   Is being “just too damn dumb” different from being “just plain dumb”? As soon as I can safely raise this question – that is, not get hit with a baseball bat or a brick – I think I will ask that woman.  You know the woman I mean.  The one who shares a bed with the little girl who schemes to break my bones.

Against all odds, I climbed out of bed this morning.  I crept on all fours over to a pair of crutches that belong to my better half and hobbled over to the living room couch that provides mysterious relief within 4 minutes.   I’ve been over this ground with you before so I apologize for the dull duplication, but there is a new wrinkle.

I am very aware of how much I have slowed down.   It was a long time in coming but I have finally abandoned my childish dreams of winning Olympic gold medals, in 2012, 2016 and the last one in 2020.   I have a more sensible aim – to be able to walk 100 yards without stopping to rest.   Well beyond me right now.   First, I must shoot for 50 yards.

To a great extent, I have made my peace with pain and agony.  I hope to feel better in 3, 4, or 5 months but if not, then not.   The worst thing about walking as awkwardly as I do with a contant grimace on my face is that my friends and family feel so bad at the sight of me.   If I suffer at, let’s call it level 4, then they suffer at level 4.5.    I don’t know what to do for them.   It seems clear that they like or love me too much.  I assure them I am fine and dandy but they see through me.   Or think they do but the truth is that I am fine and dandy.   If my pain never goes away but their worry about me does, I will be a winner.

Wanting my friends and family not to suffer on my behalf is a modest enough ambition, and wanting God to grant me this favor is not asking too much although I hate his guts with all the hate that’s in me.  I hope he respects that.

This feels a little like a Leslie Nielsen film, say Naked Gun 2 and 1/2. Why a second entry for today?    I suppose because I made reference to childishness in today’s first post.    I may stop being childish but I won’t stop being childlike.   I may give up the antics of a small child (no more barking at the moon or skipping down the driveway just to show off) but I hope to retain the qualities of giggling like a little kid at small things, enjoying sharing candy with my granddaughter more than clever conversation,  cheering for my favorite athletes and teams, and do whatever else it takes to prove I still appreciate children under 10 more than I do the solemn bores who make political speeches twice weekly.   I’ve grown tired of listening to nightly Washington gossip that fills the airwaves and passes for hip punditry, whether it emanates from the Left or the Right.    I can’t stand Alvin and the Chipmunks but sure do like the fact that Anika likes them and I have no intention of trying to wean her off such pleasures  to give her an early start on Beethoven.

I went to bed last night shortly before midnight and slept soundly until 4.45 A.M.   I feel wonderfully refreshed and I attribute my good fortune to the fact  that last night I vowed not to fall asleep with a million posts on my mind.

My granddaughter occupies my bed for 3 nights per week and I can’t begrudge her that.   After all, the best thing in her life is her grandmother.   Her mother is either struggling to make a life for herself and not succeeding or has no interest in such a project.  It’s hard to know which.   In May, little Anika will be 6 years old and my main ambition is to live at least long enough to see her graduate from high school.  After that, I ‘ll take it one step at a time.    I have a recurring fantasy or daydream.   While her classmates move solemnly down the aisle like zombies to the Elgar march music, she will go skipping down the aisle, stopping briefly when she passes JoEllen to call out loudly, “Hi, Gramma.”    Then, all those nights passed on a narrow couch will have proved worthwhile.