I received one of the weirdest assignments of my life during my junior year of high school, when my world studies teacher asked every member of our class to bring in a picture of someone who exemplified physical beauty, and explain our decision. (No, I don’t know what this had to do with world studies. But I have the feeling it’s the sort of thing that’s no longer allowed in public schools.)

The boys generally brought in picture of actresses and models — I think Cindy Crawford was popular at the time — and many of the girls, to my eternal bafflement, brought in pictures of babies. Not that babies aren’t beautiful and all. But it had never occurred to me that they exemplified physical beauty. Nope. In my mind, the answer was perfectly obvious. I brought in a picture of Eddie Vedder.

My love for Eddie Vedder has waned a bit over the years. Pearl Jam is no longer my favorite band; I rarely listen to them. Even so, I remain fond of Pearl Jam, and was excited to see Vedder play a sold-out solo show at the Palace Theatre earlier this week. It was raw — Vedder flubbed some of the lyrics, which, depending on your point of view, was either endearing or infuriating (for the record, I found it endearing) — and riveting. Vedder has a soulful, commanding voice, and every time he opened his mouth he really did seem like the embodiment of physical beauty.

He played a lot of songs from his terrific “Into the Wild” soundtrack — including a rollicking version of “Hard Sun” for his second encore — a well-chosen selection of Pearl Jam tunes — “Elderly Woman Behind the Counter in a Small Town” never sounded better — and some nice covers. The highlight, at least for me, was a haunting and humorous rendition of Bruce Springteen’s “State Trooper,” with its desperate and mournful lyrics: “Mister state trooper, please don’t stop me/Hey, somebody out there, listen to my last prayer/Hiho silver-o, deliver me from nowhere.”

Why did this song resonate so deeply? Well, maybe because I had just been stopped by the police ... again. (For previous posts about getting stopped by the police, click here and here.)

Knowing that I like to collect stories about getting stopped by the police, late last week a friend e-mailed me her account of getting pulled over while driving home from work. (Subject: “You will enjoy this.”) She was driving 29 miles per hour in a 30 mile zone, and was at a loss when the cop asked if she knew why he had stopped her. “I have no idea,” she said. “I was going 29.”

“Were you using a cellphone?” the cop asked. “Do you have a cellphone in your car?”

“I absolutely was NOT using my cellphone,” my friend said, and she showed him the cell phone, and dared him to check and see if she used it.

He declined. “Well, it looked like you had your hand up by your head.”

My friend thought a recent dental procedure might explain this suspicious activity. “That was probably because I was picking at my new crown. I just had it put in today. Here, look.” She opened her mouth.

“I guess that’s possible,” the cop said. “Where are you coming from, ma’am?

“Schenectady.”

“Looks like you’re going to be making a salad,” the cop observed. My friend had some lettuce in the backseat of her car.

“Well, I’m trying to get home and transplant into my garden,” my friend said.

And that was it. She didn’t get a ticket, but she’s still kind of mad about the whole thing. “Is it illegal to have your hand in your mouth when you’re driving?” she asked. “Sure, my dentist probably doesn’t like me to pick at my new $1,000 crown, but it’s not illegal.”

Naturally, I found this little anecdote completely hilarious. And it struck me as even funnier when I was pulled over in Port Byron, N.Y., last weekend while on my way to Auburn to visit friends. When I got off Interstate 90, at the Weedsport exit, I discovered that the road I’d been planning to take was closed. I called my friends. “Route 34 is closed,” I reported. “I’m on 31. Is there a way to jog over and get back on 34, or should I stay on 31?” “Stay on 31,” my friend Jeremy instructed. “Eventually, you’ll see a sign for Route 38. Pick up Route 38 and —” That’s when I spied the cop car in the opposite lane. I contemplated throwing my cell phone on the floor, but it was too late. The cop did a U-turn and turned on his lights. “Oh, I’ll have to call you back,” I told Jeremy. “I’m getting pulled over by the police.”

“Ma’am, do you know why I pulled you over?” the cop asked.

I decided to take a guess. “Because I was talking on my cell phone?” I asked.

“Yes,” the cop said. “But you were also speeding. Back at the diner, the speed limit drops to 30.”

The cop looked at my license. “Is this your current address?” he asked. It suddenly occurred to me that I’ve moved in the past year, and haven’t gotten a new license. “Why, no,” I said. “I’ve moved.”

“You’ve moved,” he said. “What is your current address?” I gave it to him. He jotted it down on a piece of paper. “Have you been stopped by the police recently?” he asked.

“Well, yes,” I said. “Several times.”

“Several times,” he said, peering at me. “Do you have any fines or tickets pending?”

“No,” I said. Then he asked where I was coming from, where I was going and what was the purpose of my stay in Auburn. Somewhere in there, I mentioned that the road closure had confused me. The cop went back to his car. I tapped my fingers on the dashboard and listened to the radio. I knew I was going to get a ticket. Clearly, I was due.

When the cop returned, he said, “OK. I am going to do you a favor. I am not going to give you a ticket.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“Now, the next time you’re in Port Byron, are you going to be talking on a cell phone?”

“No,” I said.

“Will you be speeding?”

“No,” I said.

And that was that. I drove a few more miles, then pulled into a parking lot and contacted my friends for more directions. When I arrived, they expressed shock and amazement. “I can’t believe you were pulled over by the police!” my friend Marnie exclaimed. “That’s outrageous!”

“Well, I don’t know how outrageous it is,” I said. “I was breaking two laws.”

Even my law-abiding mother seemed amazed to learn that I’ve become such a police target. “Do you think it’s your car?” she asked.

But no. I think that speeding and talking on your cell phone while you’re driving are illegal, and that that’s why I was stopped. I don’t feel particularly bad about speeding, but I do feel bad about talking on my cell phone, because it is distracting, and dangerous. Still, I couldn’t wait to talk to tell my friend — the one who wasn’t speeding or talking on her cell phone when she was stopped by the police — the whole story.

“You’d think, after reading my e-mail, that you would have been more careful,” she said. “It’s all a little ironic, don’t you think?”

Ironic. Well, yes. I suppose it could be construed as such.

For the Gazette’s review of the Eddie Vedder show, click here.

Got a comment? A story about being stopped by the cops? Add your thoughts below, or e-mail me at sfoss@dailygazette.net.