One year ago today, I walked into my horrible boss's cubicle and gave my notice.
When I was born, the Viet Nam war had just ended, but we are still fighting it. 33 years later, a soldier from that war is running for president, while I stand on the cusp of middle age. There's something wrong here.
In commemoration of my birthday, I need my readers to do a couple of things:
1. Turn your stereo up full blast.
2. Rock out.
3. Do something disruptive.
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"He's a poet, he's a picker. He's a prophet, he's a pusher. He's a pilgrim and a preacher, and a problem when he's stoned. He's a walkin' contradiction, partly truth and partly fiction, takin' ev'ry wrong direction on his lonely way back home." --Kris Kristofferson, The Pilgrim
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