At the age of seven my parents shipped me to a summer camp in Angola for fat kids. I weighed about 90 lbs at the time, which is quite a lot of a seven year old. In order to slim down we all spent an hour a day cocooned in one of those attack dog training suits wrapped in a fresh gazelle skin and made to run about in the cheetah enclosure (cheetahs are not native to Angola). Let me tell you, nothing makes a fat kid run faster than a blood thirsty 100 lbs cat chasing him down, except for a 100 lbs cake. There was no cake to be had at Mr. Dos Santos’s camp though, well, not for the kids. That was for the cheetahs. Needless to say, when I returned stateside two years later I gave up simple sugars and sonnet writing for life. Don’t ask about the latter, it’s a long story.