Twelve years ago my younger sister and I were sitting at her kitchen table. She handed me a clipping from the Boston Globe and pointed out an ad requesting volunteers for a medical survey on sleeplessness.

“Beth Israel is paying $1500 to those candidates completing the 10-day experiment.”

“$1500. That’s a good wage for two weeks.”

She was right.

I was broke and called the clinic. The receptionist scheduled an interview at noon. My sister taught at a college down the street from Beth Israel and drove me into the Fenway. I walked over to the hospital. I had been born in its Richardson House. This was my first visit to the facilities since my birth.

On the fifth floor I was met by the female doctor directing the test.

“Basically you have to stay up 60 hours straight.”

I can do that.” Sixty hours were two and a half days.

A long stretch, but my need for money was as strong as crystal meth.

“Someone will be with you always.”

Three shifts I suppose.”

Correct.”

“Can I read or watch TV.”

“No, stimuli.”

“No music?”

“Nothing, this experiment is to see how far a human can stay awake without stimulation.”

None.”

“Only the lights.”

“Never off?”

“Never.”

“No touching myself.” I had a thing for Cindy Crawford. Her beauty was locked in my fantasies to be visited for my pleasure.”

“Certainly no touching.”

I recognized that this was torture, but said, “No problem. When do we start?”

I was ready now.

“First we have to do some tests.”

“Okay.” I was in excellent health for a fifty-six year-old man.

The next day I called for the results.

I had failed the physical due to a liver reading considered to be worrisome.

“It’s only temporary.” The Celtics had beaten the Lakers for the 2008 Championship. My brother and I had celebrated the hometown’s feat with a long session of drinking vodka.

“Maybe, but we can’t take the risk.”

I hung up the phone disappointed by my failure.

Later in the week my younger sister informed me that 60-hours sleep deprivation could cause lasting mental problems.

“And possibly death. Good they didn’t accept you.”

“I could have used the $1500.”

“Other harmful side effects of enforced sleep deprivation are Diabetes, Stroke, high blood pressure, amnesia, skin damage, and number of cardiac problems.”

“Okay, so I didn’t need the $1500 that bad.”

It wasn’t the truth.

My younger sister gave me a c-note.

Two days later I bussed back to New York with $80 in my pocket.

I read the newspaper on the Fung Wah bus.

The CIA was under investigation for ‘enhanced techniques’ on the thousands of suspects passing through the off-shore torture camps.

One of them was sleep deprivation.

Vice President Cheney had always insisted that losing a little sleep didn’t hurt anyone and neither did standing on their feet for eight hours at a time.

I begged to differ, because later that month I traveled to Russia.

JFK-Moscow-Kiev-Moscow-St. Petersburg-Moscow-JFK in eight days.

Too many flights in to few days.

Normally I crashed for a good 8-10 hours a night.

I barely caught three in Rodina.

My vim and vigor were shot, but this was nothing.

The CIA had kept detainees up for weeks on end.

Without any cocaine either.

Give me a little blow and I’ll stay up for a week, but my nerves would be very frayed, despite previous Vice President Cheney’s protestation that a little torture was a good thing.

I love my sleep.

Plus I’m old-fashioned about my dreams.

Cue up Cindy Crawford, please.

I am Old School.