King and I

I celebrated Martin L. King's birthday by celebrating my own. We have the same birthday, in other words. Every year, I toast the great King and myself.

I turned 60. King would have been 82.

I was a great fan of King. Racists in this country don't believe he should have a holiday, or even much recognition. King was non-violent, and while judgement is still out for me (I think violence may finally be necessary to overthrow tyranny), I appreciated his message not only on race, but on America's imperial wars.

Sometimes you have to wonder whether people who deny King his rightful place among visionaries will ever wise up.

Twenty years ago on my birthday, the U.S. bombed the hell out of Baghdad, softening the city up for the invasion in George W. Bush's bullshit war 13 years later.

I went off on vacation during the first Gulf War and wrote a comedy about war and yellow-ribbon wearing, flag waving assholes sucking up to the arms industry (something many do without even realizing it.)

Arms dealers and do-gooders mingled onstage, planning the salvation and takeover of Baghdad while a soldier taking fire behind a bombed out building tries to point out to them that war is a dangerous thing, not a reason to celebrate and carry on in normal life while pretending all is well.

America's wars. Sometimes you have to wonder whether the politicians will ever wise up.

I had a good birthday, thanks. I got depressed when I turned 50, but 60 gives me pause to think again.

Life is pretty cool, while being much too short.

TS