Pro: They have mastered the art of shining in the dark.
Con: They can’t be bothered to shine in the daytime unless you’re really close to one.

1. A boy being caught with his shirt tail untucked and hanging out of his pants.

2. Chewing gum anywhere on the school grounds at any time.

3. Not returning an empty cafeteria lunch tray to the dish washing area.

4. A boy’s hair growing over the tops of his ears by a little as 1/32 of an inch.

5. Running in the hallway.

6. Talking in class.

Any one of these crimes against humanity committed within the boundaries of my mid-1960’s high school campus would get one sent to Honor Court.

It was my sophomore year at college, and while my fellow classmates were busy studying for finals, I was training for our local taqueria’s first hot-pepper–eating contest, knocking back as many habanero peppers as I could before passing out. I didn’t have any career plans then and must’ve changed my major at least a dozen times, but the idea of becoming a hot-pepper–eating champion put a fire under my ass, the likes of which I would never experience again. Rather than concocting some elaborate story as to why I was pacing our dorm at midnight while completely sober, I decided to confess my aspirations of becoming Boston’s first hot-pepper–eating champion.

Just last week, my health care company put me on hold and switched on its automatic music long enough for me to hear “Parsifal” in its entirety, something I have never accomplished at an opera house. And opera is only a small part of my health company’s repertoire. Where else could one hear the entire oeuvre of the Captain and Tenille before being told that a representative would be available shortly and being switched to Chris Bottie and Diana Krall? It is like to listening to a college radio station or WBAI without the politics.

I like jogging even though it hurts my ass.

I jog alone. Always have done. Always will. I have no desire to join those run club cults. The ones that require $500 bowel movement tracking GPS watches, taut and tanned legs, spongy art gallerist trainers, banal flirtation between lonely souls, post-run oat flat whites, and sex-freak vests.