The Back Table

Did you ever go out to eat and secretly (or unsecretly) study other couples to try and guess how long they’ve been married? It’s interesting to see the chemistry in all its different levels among them. The older couples are quiet and composed with sporadic conversation throughout the meal. They seem to be totally relaxed and at peace, sometimes almost too relaxed, as I’ve witnessed several falling asleep in seemingly mid-sentence (only one of them required a stretcher). The biggest disagreement comes in how much butter is being used on the rolls and how much salt is coming out of the shaker. The younger couples, on the other hand, are animated with arms and elbows flailing as they want the love of their life to get the full visual of their story. They’re wide-eyed and bushy-tailed like they've trained for months for this night. With endless discussion, ice-breakers, and team-building exercises the night is never long enough for this couple. After dessert they’re checking out the br

Did you know that most people who choke to death do so in the bathroom... alone? (I presume that most of these cases involved men since no women I know dare to enter this room without a herd or two behind them.) Recently, I read of a near-death experience of a man who got a piece of a pork chop lodged in his throat. Guess where he was heading? Luckily, he passed out on his way there, alerting others to come to his rescue. What is it about this room that draws us to it when we're frantically gasping for air? Do we want our last inhales to be of the fresh and invigorating scents that come from the urinal cakes? Or maybe it's the hand dryers that make our flesh look like ocean waves. Maybe we just want to die in the room where everything just seems so right with the world, where the only concern is if it will flush. Okay, so I've taken that as far as it can go (probably a little too far, right?). Let's be real. No one wants to die in a bathroom. Out of all the places i

The other day as I was watching ESPN, the news ticker at the bottom of the screen caught my attention. It read, and I'm paraphrasing, "Albert Haynesworth suspended for the final four games due to conduct detrimental to the team." A few minutes later the full story aired and the details left me bewildered, angry, and confused. This guy was a two-time pro-bowler (which means he's really good) and was just signed for a seven-year deal with a guaranteed 40some million-dollar contract. He had the potential to be one of the best defensive tackles to ever play the game. So what happened? How does a player that good, with that much money and talent, with that much going for him get to the place where he's a detriment to the team he's playing for? In a few words, Albert lost his passion and heart for the game. Every player interviewed in response to his suspension agreed that it was the right decision. He refused to go on the field unless the plays were designe

My dad loves to talk about my sleepwalking adventures. Whenever and wherever there are parents reflecting and conversing about their kids, my dad will somehow find a way to be in there throwing and tossing my stories around like pancakes. (Sometimes my dad doesn't realize that others may not want my pancakes, but he serves them anyway.) In any case, yes, I was a sleepwalker. And yes, the stories I'm about to share with you are real, or so I'm told. So just in case my dad hasn't told you yet... In both of the following incidences I was three years old, and I went to bed like any other night. Story: check. Tucked in: check. Prayer: check. To the best of my knowledge, I didn't eat any crazy foods nor was I dropped or elbowed those days. It was typical from sunrise to sunset. And no, my parents didn't rub wild turkey on my lips to help with colic. A Midnight Stroll Were you ever tempted to get out of your comfy bed and just stroll the streets naked? Me neither, but