Rid yourself from any nagging, tremulous tendencies. Cause a little disturbance. Let your titties loose in public. Get in a fight you can't win.

In 53 years, when you're on your deathbed, sucking on your oxygen mask at a steady flow, you'll giggle to yourself at intermittent streams of consciousness as you reflect on all the reactions you managed to evoke from horrified strangers.

Those "little disturbances" is our performance art.