I used to be a Socialist. Well, sort of anyway. As much of a socialist as an 18-year-old in the middle of Mississippi in 1970 with a brand-new high school diploma could be. There I was with my long hair, bell bottoms, new saxophone and a hastily developed attitude of moral superiority that seemed to grow with every day that went by. My circadian rhythms were completely backwards because on weekends I usually went to bed around 4 or 5 am and slept till 3 or 4 in the afternoon because most of the stuff I was interested in being a part of was happening at night.