This morning when I went out to run, I saw the parents moving their sons and daughters into one of NYU's dorms. I was reminded of my move 17 years ago and the subsequent roommates that followed.First, there was the guy from New Mexico. The first week he told me that the television programs I watched were full of demons, and that he would pray for me. Really? I think he moved out four weeks later. I still say there is nothing wrong with what I was watching - soap operas and Regis and Kathie Lee. And then there was the second roommate the second semester. He drank Dr. Peppers like there was no tomorrow. And he recycled. And he thought it would be cool to stack those cans from the floor to the ceiling. We had ants. Everywhere.The third roommate and I managed to live together a year. He wasn't there a lot. He went to jail. I forget why. And then his jaw was broken in a bar fight, and it was wired shut one semester. He also wore my clothes. And we had words. It was fun, and I wouldn't trade it for the world.