540 Words. 2 Minute Read.

If I’m being honest, there are a few other signs of aging, and I’m not talking about my daily nap, the fact that I need readers (especially in dimly lit restaurants—TURN ON THE DAMN LIGHTS!), or the pretzel-like stretches I use to relieve my lower back pain.

1,271 Words. 5 Minute Read.

I’ve also heard rumors of a cloth satchel that holds the actual seeds of Cuba’s most valuable export. This national treasure is locked behind a ten-ton steel door at the base of a mountain, guarded around the clock by illiterate mercenaries in flip-flops and track shorts. Inside the satchel is the byproduct of years of crossbreeding scientifically engineered variations of the leafy seed of God.

650 Words. 3 Minute Read.

I haven’t woken up to a three-shot breakfast since gamedays in college. In those days I’d stumble down the stairs in my boxers and there’d be half a dozen guys passed out - some sharing the couch, others on the floor using bunched-up sweatshirts as pillows - all snoring like hobos in a box car and reeking of cigarettes. I’d crack two dozen eggs, fill the toaster with white bread, and pour “morning glory’s” for the gang … vast amounts of Jim Beam, Coke, and opaque ice cubes in plastic cups from Sanford Stadium.

283 Words. 1 Minute Read.

1,531 Words. 6 Minute Read.

I had the distinct pleasure of participating in a decadent sartorial rite of passage this week – I wore cashmere socks for the first time. You heard me right. Cashmere socks are a thing, and to quote Jerry Seinfeld’s girlfriend, “They’re real, and they’re spectacular.”