I am programmed at 33 to perform childishly

Kurt Vonnegut died on my 33rd birthday. For all I know, he really died on April 11. But for me, Kurt Vonnegut left my world on April 12, 2007. My 33rd birthday.

For weeks, I had been trying to decide what to put on the hood of my car. I could just do random eyes like the rest of the car, but I thought the hood deserved more ... a design that meant something real to me. And about a week ago, I decided it would be the asshole drawing from Breakfast of Champions. For anyone unfamiliar with it, it looks like a giant asterisk so it’s family safe, but it’s something that symbolizes a lot more to me.

Last weekend, the weather was so bad I did not get out the glue. Instead I continued my rereading of Vonnegut’s work that began when I picked up Breakfast of Champions to make sure I got the number of lines right on the design.

I do not go to work on my birthday (if I can help it). I took today off with the hope that the weather would be clear so I could work on my car. This morning I woke up to beautiful weather. I was excited to get to work. Excited to celebrate my birthday doing something I love. Then I heard that Vonnegut had died. He died on the day I planned to put a large googly-eyed replica of his asshole drawing on the hood of my car.

So it goes.