Today is my birthday (note to identity thieves: I am lying). I am starting my

50th year (which makes me 49 for the math-impaired). 50 can scarcely be considered middle-aged; odds indicate that my life is 2/3rds over

(or, more cheerfully, I still have 1/3 left).

According to Social Security Administration statistics (Popular baby names), in the 1950’s, Mark was the 9th most popular

name for male babies; several of my oldest friends had even more popular names (James, Robert, John and David; Steven is right behind me

but Fred is way off; my first girlfriend — a 4th ranked Susan — called me Michael, #1 in the 50’s and 60’s). In the ’60’s my name

had risen to 6th place. But, for the last 30 years, it has fallen steadily in popularity (I blame the rise of the Radical Right); just

look at the 90’s (Popularity of the name Mark) — not

even in the top 100 anymore. My Mom told me Mark meant ”hammer or strength” — I don’t know where that came from.

The day I was

born was the wettest 24-hour period in New Mexico’s recent history (and that was during the last great drought). Not that I was born in

New Mexico. I was born in Hawaii, where the wettest 24-hour period was probably wetter than 24 years in New Mexico. I was born in the

middle of the ocean, where Anglos (Haolies) were late-comers and a cultural minority, a truly multi-ethnic, multi-lingual paradise, a

place of ancient cultures and traditions. For 20 years, as of July, I have lived in the middle of the desert, where Anglos (Billigaana,

etc) were late-comers and are a cultural minority, a truly multi-ethnic, multi-lingual paradise, a place of ancient cultures and

traditions. Some might say I haven’t come very far; seems just far enough for me. I remain grateful and hopeful.

I had a long and

complex dream this morning, which I should have written down immediately. A few things have stayed with me. In particular, I remember an

old(er) man, saying, ”I refuse to train people to serve a machine that is indifferent to them.” Then, he said, ”There is no

higher calling than to foster social interaction.”

I assume this old man is me. I like to think it is future-Mark once again trying

to reach back to younger-Mark across time. More simply, we are the same person who was a baby and will be old. The ‘rage against the

machine’ message clearly resonates with me. But the ‘social interaction’ message isn’t so clear to me. Is this it — the moment you

are reading this? mjh