At the age of 14, I was slightly boy-entranced. My Grammie used to joke that I'd get whiplash if I wasn't more careful. Particularly luminous lads would often catch my eye (and crane my neck) as we were driving around. My head seemed to act of its own accord. Apparently it has hormones, too.
Nowadays, we the people don't even look at each other. Our eyes are only for our gadgets. Rubbernecking is a thing of the past. Today's great affliction. . . is TEXT NECK. But fear not, hangdog head-schlumpers, yoga is your cure-all.
