I am certainly not what you'd call an adrenaline junkie. I don't, as the saying goes, live for the high. "Thrillseeker" is not a word that would pop into your head should my name be mentioned. More likely terms would be "sofa" and "torpor." But on the other hand, neither would you associate me with the sleep hormone, melatonin. I may not be going for the gusto and grabbing life by the short hairs, but I'm also not snoozing my life away. I am at least awake. If life takes attendance I am conscious enough to say "here", however weakly, from the back of the room. Look, Evel Knievel was the most famous daredevil for many years, right? And when was the last time you heard anyone mention Evel Knievel? The whole point of the 70's was that there could be a ridiculous cultural figure like Evel Knievel, with a ridiculous name like "Evel Knievel", and no one batted an eyelash. And Bonnie Franklin. Who ordered Bonnie Franklin? In the 70's, there was a place for a Bonnie Franklin, you didn't have to be talented or attractive to make it on television. Bland, homely women were all the rage. When Evel Knievel attempted his ill-advised jump in a preposterous rocket-powered motorcycle over the Snake River Canyon in rugged Twin Falls, Idaho, many people openly wished that Bonnie Franklin was riding along, clinging to Evel as he fell woefully short of his goal and plunged into the terrifying but scenic abyss. Or Marsha Mason.

I am having a hard time coming up with a secreted substance that can be reasonably associated with my personality. This is the door to a joke, it beckons to be opened, but there are so many options I just can't be bothered.