An inauguration day is a pretty big thing in the lives of most people. I’ve never been President of the United States, mind, but when I was young and foolish, I briefly held the presidency of the Anti-Yogurt League and the day of my inauguration was a splendid affair: after we trashed the dairy section of a major supermarket, we partied like it was 1999 (it wasn’t) all night long at the Elks Lodge (I didn’t even care that my dress got ripped).
Today is Barack Obama’s inauguration, and I hope it’s just swell. It’s his second one, of course, and bound to be slightly less exciting, but I’m hoping he and his family enjoy the festivities (though why so-called Lady Gaga had to get involved, I will never understand).
It’s quite nice that this time round the inauguration falls on Martin Luther King Jr Day. It’s hopeful that the US is closer to Dr King’s dream of a nation where people are judged not by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character (though it’s still obviously swayed by the size of their wallets).
In fact, even racists should appreciate the timing of the inauguration: they’ll be able to bitch about having a holiday honoring a black man while watching a ceremony honoring another black man. Two black men in one day? Why, that’s surely evidence that the white race is being destroyed, and there’s nothing racists love doing more on their days off work than frothing over conspiracies. Everybody wins!
Even though England doesn’t celebrate MLK Day, I still honor it as a day of service. I’m off this morning to read to some old folks at the community centre and then I’ll nip into the primary school to give a brief lecture on the American Civil Rights movement (don’t worry, I’ll be giving them the G-rated version of my experiences at the Million Man March), but I’ll be home in time to watch the inauguration. Christopher has enthusiastically embraced the spirit of the day himself and has promised to service me later this evening so all in all, 21 January 2013 will be a real celebration of freedom, duty and foot massages—three things that I, as should all good Americans, hold dear.
Everyone Needs an Algonquin 
Agatha’s Public Chimes In