Max: 33 and 1/3

Well not quite. I am a mere 33 years and one day old. Or in the Vietnam era parlance heard at a recent Kerry rally, I am 33 years and a wake up.

For the vast majority of the people I know the day was like any other. Outside of Laura, my parents, my sister and my grandmother I received no birthday wishes. And that is fine. For the most part it was just another ordinary day. My wife woke me up in the middle of the night in the mood to get rude. I protested that I had to get up at 7 and rolled back over. At the butt crack of dawn I was up and on the road. I spent the day getting bitched at for things I did not do, holding the hands of a bunch of tightly wired dead end users through basic computer maintenance. I answer such profound questions as, "Do I click on the 'Create Contact' button to create a contact?" Followed up with questions like, "Do I have to do that for every contact I want to create?" After a few millennia, the day ended and I spent the better part of an hour on the I-270 parking lot.

The only major difference between yesterday and a typical day is my parents took me out to dinner. I had the biggest steak I think I have ever eaten. Though Dad tells me there is a steak house in Manhattan that specializes in porterhouses so big they put mine to shame.

Then a night of TV, some lovin' and a good night's sleep.

The good news is, in two years I can finally run for President.