Rules for sitting next to me on an airplane: (1) no crowing about your investing wins (though moaning about your investment losses is perfectly fine); (2) direct your jokes about how “Hotlanta” is now “Coldlanta” not to me but instead to your barber or, in a pinch, neighborhood shoe cobbler; (3) if you are sporting a leather jacket that has the word “Corvette” featured prominently in multiple places, you’re already behind before you start; (4) when I open my Harper’s Magazine, that’s your signal to end your rant about how you feel that women no longer want to be “just women” and instead do whatever it is you would have done had fate not made reluctant seat mates of us; and (5) saying “all intents and purposes” more than three times in any conversation, while not technically criminal, probably should be – but if you pronounce it as “intensive purposes,” you risk eminent death by shrimp cocktail fork.