The Cult of My Narcolepsy

Best place to catch a nap: Reading room, Reynold's Club, University of Chicago. Couch by the fireplace, stretched out, shoes off, my toes in between the cushions, and my face buried in The Onion.

Best prohibited sleep: Mid-afternoon nod-off in "Theories of Media", stadium-seating, dimmed lights, talking about the philosophy of Keanu Reeves in "The Matrix."

Longest recorded sleep: 1986, five years-old. Fall asleep Friday night and wake up Sunday afternoon in the backseat of the wagon, on the way to dinner.

Best music to drift away to: Last two tracks on Coldplay's "A Rush of Blood to the Head."

Warm milk substitute: Cold beer.

Tom Cruise movies I never made it through: "Magnolia" and "Eyes Wide Shut."

Worst type of cruelty: Getting on the wrong plane, flying to Newark, and having to stay awake all night.

Proof it's in the genes: My mom's probably sleeping right now.