It's 1999 and how strange that looks, the one, the three nines. Writing the date in longhand has a science fiction quality to it, like I'm in my very own 1950s space robot movie. The strange thing is, I'm alive, it really, really is 1999 and there ARE such things as space robots. It is the time of the New Year's Resolution. Today, diets begin.
People start jogging.
Old clothes are thrown out. Desks are cleared. Office supplies bought. We shall all march together in military cadence toward a better horizon, vilifying sugar, sloth, low income and the various subdivisions of the 7 Deadly Sins. I firmly resolve not to drink lima bean juice.