Oops.

Don't worry. I haven't forgotten about this thing. I'm just really, really lazy. Writing, I've found, is just like going to the gym. You have to get into a routine, a set plan, in order to be able to see the benefits of the hard work. Yes, it sucks to wake up at seven in the morning when you don't have to be at work for another four hours. It has to be serious change. And once you get into the habit, not only does it become easier to get to the gym, the opposite is also true. It becomes harder to NOT go to the gym. That is, until, you get out of your routine and you skip a day. And then you skip another day. And another. Then you rationalize your not going to the gym by telling yourself that it's good to skip the gym for a week or two because your body was probably too comfortable with all that exercise and that skipping for a week will trick your body so that when you finally do go back your muscles will have no idea what's going on, turning your body into a fat incinerating furnace. Then, three weeks later you find yourself looking at yourself in the mirror trying to figure out who the fat loser is with the Cheetos crumbs all over his face, wondering, where did that person go who was actually starting to get into shape?
I'm not speaking from personal experience or anything. Hmmm.
Writing this blog has been the same. I went out of town three weeks ago and didn't have any internet connection where I was and so this little project of mine sort of went on the back burner for a few days. Then, when I got back to town I said to myself, "you've already missed a few days; another is no big deal."
That was three weeks ago.
And then something really strange happened. People started asking me why I hadn't written anything. It was like having a weight drop on your foot in the gym (side note: that happened to me one time. My toenail literally bled for three weeks).
So, I'm sorry and I'm flattered. I will try to be more disciplined.
Not really a whole lot going on at the Cedars these days, but for some reason the members have been very vocal about how much of a drag getting older is. I'm not sure if there's anything to that. Maybe they always have and I just haven't been paying attention but I don't think that's it.
At this point I'm going on four hours sleep and I'm reaching for something to write. Finito.

Another Successful "Happy Hour"

I don't know if I told you this; but it's illegal to have a happy hour in North Carolina. It's a violation of the law to lower the price of alcoholic beverages for less than 24 hours. So in stead, we call Fridays, Happy Day now. We still close the bar from 4-6:30 and close it off for strictly drinkin'. But tonight I explained to a few members that now, if they wanted to, they could order a drink at 7:00 am and to have with their mini muffins (that are scooped out with an ice cream scooper and then baked) and bagels and Activia yogurts. And I'll be honest, some of them are so "thrifty" I wouldn't be surprised to someone dressed in a track suit with the News & Observer in one hand, and a cabernet in the other at the continental breakfast. People do it in Europe every day.
This evening, we had "John Dalys" as the Happy Hour special. With the Masters and pollen and warm weather and all the blue skies it seemed like the perfect drink for this evening. We whipped up some orange simple syrup and mixed it with Firefly (that is, honest-to-goodness Sweet Tea flavored vodka) and topped it with lemon-lime soda. It's called a John Daly because it's an alcholic version of an Arnold Palmer. It's a cheap shot; but everybody gets the joke.
Now, one might think, no way would an 80+ year-old drink something as crazy as sweet-tea flavored vodka. And one would be wrong. Don't worry, most misconceptions about "old people" have been exposed at the Cedars. Friday nights prove that many of them are willing to try new things. We decided a long time ago to try to think up something many of them haven't ever had before. And a lot of them are very receptive to new things.
When we made something called Tar Heel Tea (a blue version of a Long Island Iced Tea) some members said "it looks like poison," but they tried it. Some of them even liked it.
When I had my last happy hour before I left for Colorado a server made Jello shots (yes, Jello shots). I was watching old people slam them down like it was finals week at Carolina.
Their sense of adventure is still strong.
And if you've never seen a 93 year take a Jello shot in the shape of a Tar Heel logo, you're life might not mean as much as you think.
That might be a little harsh. You're life probably means a lot despite having seen this; but seeing old people take Jello shots is incredible.

"He Was One Of The Hippies."

If there is one overwhelming positive to working in the bar as opposed to the other dining rooms at the Cedars, it's the casual feel of the room. It's dark room but it isn't dull. Warmth is what you feel (though members always complain it's cold). Rich wood lines the floor and ceiling; muted reds, greens, and gold make up the carpet. Black solid granite makes the bar. I think it's granite but I don't know for sure.
If you're looking for a laid back, casual, easy meal, then Bob's Speakeasy (the bar's God-given name) is the place for you. The pace for the staff working in the bar is anything but laid back, but still, the overall vibe of the room opens it up to warm conversation. I mean I've had some of the greatest conversations of my life in that room and I've heard (read: eavesdropped) some doozies between the members. Sometimes, the discussions can catch you off guard. Case in point:
Tonight I went to clear the dinner plates at Table 7. That's in the back left-hand corner of the bar (if you're standing behind the bar looking out at the tables) next to a window that looks out into the lobby and the grand piano.
I had noticed the couple there in deep conversation before I got there and when I was about to ask what they'd like to have dessert the lady turned to me and looked up.
"Kent, what do you think about legalizing medical marijuana in California?"
Now, this is one of those women you see and could bundle into the "cutest, sweetest little-old-lady-in-the-world" debate. I was in shock that she would ask this question, even more so that I was asked to chime in on the discussion. But I couldn't resist (note: I don't dare divulge my actual thoughts on the subject. This is for time's sake and also I just don't want to go there you, OK?). As I spoke they nodded and several times said, "I guess I never really considered that, or, "that's a good point."
After I was done with my schpiel (I don't know how to spell schpiel) they looked at me and they looked at each other and I looked at them and we all nodded. And then came the amazing part.
The gentleman at the table looked up at me and offered up this little tidbit.
"Well, as I was explaining to [the lady's first name] earlier, my son used to smoke marijuana when he was in college. He was one of the hippies. I used to smell it in his room when he would come home to visit. But once he got a job he never touched the stuff again."
The man was on the right subject but his offering wasn't totally relevant. But I loved it because it was honest and sincere. Also, because he used the phrase "he was one of the hippies" in a real-life conversation.
Confession time, I can't believe that I'm called upon as a source of information for these members as I often am. But I am. Since 2005 I have explained iPods, twitter, Wilkesboro's Moonshine supremacy, the appeal of NASCAR, etc, etc, this isn't even close to the tip of the iceberg in relation to the information I've given out. And secretly, I love it. And for as many times as I've doled "knowledge" out, I've been on the receiving end on some amazing info too.
After we talked about pot, I took the couple's dessert order. Decaf black for the lady, (she only indulges in sweets on Saturday) tiramisu cheesecake with a scoop of vanilla for the gentleman (he indulges in sweets every day of the week).

New Nike Commercial for Tiger

I just saw this new Nike commercial for Tiger Woods. It features the voice of his late father. Whoever came up with this is a genius.

Pointers

Forget everything else you've got to worry about. The pollen here is out. of. control.
You leave footprints in it when you walk. You swallow it when you breathe in. If you step outside for more than 30 seconds it settles on you. I feel like we've been crop dusted.
Would you like to know how to piss your server off the fastest?
Walk in to a place, and before you even acknowledge the server, tell them these four words:
"We're in a hurry."
This is frustrating for several reasons.
1) Servers have a cadence, a routine they to start a table off. When you interrupt our routines it throws everything off and we get flustered. So, let us GREET YOU; let us tell you if there is anything special about the menu; let us take your drink orders.
2) I don't control how fast your food comes out. That's on the kitchen. There are other people in the restaurant who were here before you. There food will come out before yours 9 times out of ten. Weird, huh? Get over it. Don't look at your server, or worse, flag your server down or yell at him or her from across the restaurant.
3) Why would you think I want you at a table for longer than I had to have you in it anyway? Please.
If you're "in a hurry," let us at least greet you and then tell you what's going on. Then, say something like, "I know you're busy but if it's at all possible we would like to get out of here as quickly as we can."
It probably wouldn't hurt to make up a story about a sick kid or having to pick up a puppy from the vet or something either.

Yes, I know this is a weak post but I feel like I need to do this every day and I had nothing today.

Until We Live To Work

"Every dollar counts.
And every morning hurts.
We mostly work to live
Until we live to work."
- From the song Run by Vampire Weekend.

The work is easy at the Cedars. But working at the Cedars is not easy. No, Yogi Berra did not coin that phrase. I know that every job gets old. But this one is beyond old. My relationships with the members at the Cedars are very meaningful and important to me. But I see the same people every day. For the most part they sit in the same chairs. Some of them order the same food. Many of them say the same things.
"Can I get some more sweet tea, no ice?"
"Do you have ham sandwiches?"
"You have to have a Master's in engineering to open these [Saltine crackers] things."
Day in. Day out. It never changes and it seems like it never ends. Work is work and it's supposed to be hard and it's supposed to be trying. But when every day is the exact same it gets to be unbearable. Every time you turn around somebody needs something and the want it immediately. And then, as soon as that's accomplished there's someone in another chair demanding a ham & swiss and they haven't even said hello to you. Why does it seem like so many of these people are in a frantic hurry to go nowhere?
Maybe they feel the same about living there.
I don't know.
Tomorrow is a day off and it is very much needed.

Rock Bottom

Dook is cutting down the nets right now. This is what rock bottom feels like. I changed the background colors and font color on the blog so it would be easier on the eyes. You're welcome.

The lady who had just finished her dinner started to walk away from the end of the bar when she spun around and stared at me with bug eyes through glasses the size of tennis balls.
"What time do you usually go to bed at night?" She asked.
On a scale of one to ten on the creep-o-meter, this was probably a 7.
"Um, usually about 12 or one a.m." I said.
This was a classic "senior moment."
I've seen this happen more and more lately. A member starts to slip more and more into senility and they blurt out the first thing that pops into their head.
Once, a man starting to succumb to Alzheimer's who always sat in the first seat in the bar looked straight at me and said sharply, "have you seen a dress?"
"Uhh, I've seen lots of dresses." I responded. The man shook it off and took another bite of his cheeseburger.
It's tough to see the people who have been at the Cedars as long as I have start to slip more and more.
There's a look they get when they lose a thought. It's almost like instead of something being on the tip of their tongues in on the tip of their brains. You ask them what they want to drink. They know what it is they want but they can't remember what it's called. You can almost see the thought float away or something. And then they finally say, "the usual."
But this is another benefit of living at the Cedars, because 7 out of ten times there is someone at the stool next to them or at the same table with them to say something like, "I did that the other day," or "I do that all the time."
"That's why they call it a senior moment," they'll say; and they laugh it off together.

Easter

This is the first post from my new iPad...Not. More like iWish.
I didn't get to spend Easter with my family. So instead, I spent it with my 400 surrogate grandparents. I would have rather spent it with my real family, though. My family doesn't address me as "Waiter," or demand that I serve them lunch even though it's a self-serve buffet.
On the other hand, my family doesn't tell other people "he makes the best iced coffee you've ever had," or "he's from North Wilkesboro with all the moonshine and race cars." Give and take.
The only benefit to working a Sunday is that when the buffet gets broken down the staff is allowed to eat our fill. It's like putting a calf into a tank of piranhas. Today though, they didn't even make bacon or sausage; AND, they ran out of Eggs Benedict. Instead, I had to settle for Chicken Marsala and Easter Ham. How does the other half live?
Confession time: I tried giving up coffee for lent. I made it 22 days and then buckled. I had one roommate give up peanut butter, another give up chocolate, and still another give up meat. They all made it the full Forty (actually 44) days from Ash Wednesday til today without indulging. Right now we have all sorts of opened peanut butter jars, chocolate cakes, and four steaks on ye olde grill. It's shaping up to be an interesting evening in this house.
The Redskins just traded to get Donovan McNabb. Unreal.
Normally by now I'd have listened to the sermon from Flatirons by now but they haven't posted it yet. But, they did send out an interesting tweet on Friday evening that does a really good job of summing up the importance of today: "Christianity is a statement which, if false, is of no importance, and, if true, is of infinite importance. The one thing it cannot be is moderately important." - C.S. Lewis.
Amen.
Yankees and Red Sox right now. Easter. Opening night. Amen.

"To Hate Like This is to be Happy Forever"

Spring. Pollen. Prepping the Garden. Easter.
These are things on the minds of people in early April in any other state than North Carolina. But this is North Carolina. And to be specific this is Tobacco Road. Almost a year ago to the day I had just arrived back to Chapel Hill to watch the Tar Heels cut down the nets for the 2009 National Championship. All things considered, this year's season was catastrophic. I tried to get into the NIT. I tried. But I couldn't do it. And what makes it worse is that Dook, that Gothic wasteland 8 miles down the road, is in the Final Four. Insult to injury.
I first saw the book To Hate Like this is to be Happy Forever at Barnes & Noble. It was hardback. Who buys those anymore? I had read an excerpt from in an Esquire and fell in love with it from word one. It was a glorification of the greatest rivalry in sports. It's one of those things that says everything about a subject you just can't seem to put into words.
Of course, by way of the Cedars (it's a long story) I got to meet the author at some NC writers something or other. It was pretty cool. I met a lot of perfect strangers who had more money than I'll ever see rubbing elbows and drinking booze before noon. I bought a paperback copy. The author, Will Blythe, inscribed the inside cover wishing me well as a journalist to be. It's hard for me not to shake my head every time I read that.
That book set on my shelf for the better part of 2 years before I even picked it up. I was working at another retirement community outside of Boulder (that's an even longer story) and had hours on hours of free time because hardly any body lived there. So I brought the book into work with me. I'm not exaggerating when I say that book had a huge impact on me coming back to North Carolina. Saying it's a sports book is like saying Titanic was about a boat.
Of course, at it's core, the book is an exploration of why the schools hate each other, why the fans hate each other, and why that's OK. But it's also about what it means to be from North Carolina and why simply put, it's the greatest place on Earth (at least that's what it says without actually saying it).
The point of this is, this rivalry doesn't go away with age. And that makes me happy. So many of these members went to UNC or Dook and still bleed their respective blues. They bicker at each other because Carolina fans aren't pulling for Dook. And I'm sure the opposite happened last year when we were in the Final Four.
The other day a member came in for a bite of lunch and asked me if I was pulling for the Blue Devils since the Tar Heels weren't in the tournament.
I looked at her with all the seriousness in the world.
"[members name], not only am I not pulling for them, but I'm hoping they lose the next game by 20 points," I said.
She put down her turkey sandwich and returned my look in-kind.
"Kent, that's the most disappointing thing I've ever heard you say."
"To be honest with you, that's the nicest thing I've ever said about Duke," I returned.
"Well, I hope one day we can change your mind."
Impossible.
Even tonight someone took a cheap shot at me. A member and her husband were eating in the bar and when I dropped off their drinks she said "Kent, I thought of you when the Tar Heels lost the other night...I probably shouldn't have said that." She is a Dookie.
No crap. It was calculated, cold, and effective. I gave a courtesy chuckle and walked off.
This is a weird post to talk about on Easter Eve, but I had to purge it out of my system. If I proofread this I'm just going to get angry.

1 April 2010

80 degrees. The sky didn't even think about having a cloud. Chapel Hill, "The Southern Part of Heaven." I get it.
I tried all day to try to think of an April fools joke to pull on some of the members. All I could think of was to maybe tell them we were out of the dessert they ordered. I can't pull the trigger on telling an 80+ we're out of strawberry shortcake. They're too smart for that anyway.
In stead, I settled on telling some of my coworkers I had been called for a job interview at a high profile ad agency. They got really excited; then I lowered the boom. The joke was on everybody. They got duped; and I was still working at the Cedars.
I'm excited for two reasons.
One: I do not have to work lunch tomorrow.
Two: We've been cultivating our own Coffee Vodka after a member told us about his success with it to use in our happy hour special tomorrow.

"Giving Up the Gun" by Vampire Weekend. Do not listen to that song.
April Fools. Listen to that song.