If your ass is not on that stool with your own sticks in hand, or if you make one fucking mistake, one, I will drum your ass back to Nassau where you can turn pages until you graduate or fucking drop out.

You sit in front of reality TV everyday to kill your time, and you think you are... up to date, because you Anderson Cooper and other empty balloons without their own opinion.

Cookie-cutter curriculums and school policies that require students to sit statue-still or to work in complete silence -- these environments often exclude the individual learning needs, the interest and expertise of children.

Then she sat me down and she looked at me and she said, "I want you to know I've been watching you."

Think about it: before NASA launched the Apollo 11 mission, they systematically thought through everything that could go wrong when you put people on top of explosive fuel tanks and launch them somewhere where no one could help them.

I walked in looking like I was going to the prom, and they shuffle me into a studio and seat me on a spinning, rolling chair.

If you sit a guy on a chair with all this apparatus measuring your physiology, and there's kind of a bomb that goes off, it's such an instinctive response that, in 20 years, they never saw anyone who would not jump.

And then eventually the Russians reach in, drag you out, plunk you into a chair, and you can now look back at what was an incredible experience.

A few months prior to his arrest, he sat me down and explained that for the past few weekends, he and some friends had been going to a shooting range on Long Island for target practice.

So a scientist named Paul Bach-y-Rita put blind people in a modified dental chair, and he set up a video feed, and he put something in front of the camera, and then you would feel that poked into your back with a grid of solenoids.

The curator said to me, "That's ridiculous, you know, this is New York, this chair will be empty, nobody has time to sit in front of you."

And then, as you sit in the backseat of the police car and feel it accelerate toward jail, you can add, "But some things are absolute!"

And before that year was finished, doctors sat my husband and I down and let us know that his tumor had returned despite the most aggressive chemotherapy and radiation that they could offer him.

The interrogator had me sit at a table six days a week and had me writing down about my journey, my work, over and over until I wrote down the confession that they wanted to hear.

Now, this is a consequence of play deprivation. (Laughter) This took a long time -- I had to get Homer down and put him through the fMRI and the SPECT and multiple EEGs, but as a couch potato, his brain has shrunk.