First, a moment of reflection on the 21st anniversary, (seems impossible), of that awful, awful day…

I never met Liz II.  I know a lot of people who did.  Two were even knighted by her.  Seems like she was pleasant enough, funny, they say, and dedicated to her haphazard succession, (thanks to her uncle’s abdication), to the throne of England.  When fate deals you varietal grapes…you make champagne, I guess.  But let me be unpopularly clear, she was, for 70 years, the titular head of an evil empire.  I grant that she was not personally responsible for the arc of cruel dominion during its heyday of ubiquitous colonization, but even as Britain’s empire crumbled, sincere apology, contrition, certainly not reparation, (maybe Hong Kong), was never part of her benevolence.  It’s the concept of royalty that irks me more than the “good queen”.  I mean, the preposterous idea that if you follow the inbred bloodline back far enough, you’ll find a cosmically ordained sovereign rather than some random dude named Floyd who was clever enough to figure out how to play the “I-am-your-leader-bow-down-and-give-me-most-no-make-that-all-of-your-shit” game.  And those who swear allegiance to such balderdash, with little or no concern for the heinous activities perpetrated in the service of their majesties, must share culpability.  The blood spilled, the wholesale genocide of indigenous people in the quest of religious Crusade and empire building cannot be balanced by a kindly, regal wave or a clever conversation with Paddington Bear.  The Maya, the Inca, the Maori, last week the last Tanaru, all annihilated by command or decree or hissy-fitted whim of some undeservedly entitled boob or boobette.  Our world has become a messy, mean-spirited, greedy, power-hungry place and pretending royalty is a thing that benefits anyone not privy to wearing the family jewels, is just plain stupid.