One of those smell-the-roses type things

It takes a good deal of courage to be a wrestler in high school. I mean, there you are, in your prime please-don't-make-fun-of-me years, wearing a sheer unitard, a padded helmet, and perplexing footwear. You're grappling with other youngsters is identically silly garb, risking cauliflower ear (much better than broccoli lips, by the way), and, well, being compared to Rick Flair, who, somehow, is still alive, still wrestling, and still weirdly intimidating. Like I said: it takes courage to anything that's so imminently make-fun-of-able (for lack of a better word) and to those of you that did it or do it, I applaud you. Same goes for anyone involved in a glee club. Although, really: glee club? Just don't forget to untuck that polo shirt when you're done. And those khaki shorts are a little tight. Just so you know.

So when I across this article, I was saddened. I quote: "The Minnesota State High School League banned competitions and direct contact contact between wrestlers...after cases of herpes gladiatorum were reported by 10 teams."

And that's just not fair.

That's like getting crabs from a bus seat. If I'm one of those kids, my bookshelf is filled with Nietzsche books by next Tuesday and I'm suddenly listening to a ton of Morrissey. Not fair. In any way.

So let's all take a moment. Maybe your sister just read your diary and called Langdon Alger and told him about that crush you have. Maybe your boss just threw a large, pointy book at you. Maybe your neighbor's toilet just came crashing through the roof, into that pot of beef stew you'd be cooking for a day and a half. Any manner of unfortunate and unwarranted thing has probably happened to you recently and you have our sympathy. But you didn't get herpes from not having sex. Just one of those things that puts everything in perspective.