Old Man Characteristic One: The Joy of Scavenging

It seems a bit improbable that I would be writing this on a Wednesday morning. Joy and morning used in the same sentence?  Impossible.  Normally, this would warrant a demerit from my fellow old men, which likely would result in tearing off a corner of my OMC Entry Card.  We *are* supposed to be slightly jaded, after all.

Last night, I had a moment that would make the heart of any old man flutter enough to make him worry he'd forgotten to take his Plavix.  I was running an errand at Kroger, and in true old man fashion, was digging through the bargain buggies.  That's when I landed on this beaut (see picture below).

Coffee, glorious coffee!

I couldn't believe what was before my eyes.  A Cuisinart burr grinder - one I had been fantasizing about for two years now - was laying in that cart with the old-man approved price of $24.99.  I couldn't pay my podiatrist that much to shave my toenails!  Normally these babies run for a cool $50 or $60, depending on how many coupons you've accumulated for Bed, Bath, and Beyond.

Eagerly, I arrived home, plugged it in, and ground my first set of (decaf) beans.  Glorious grounds!  Each was perfectly and uniformly formed.  In all my days I've not seen something as miraculous.  I loaded up my coffee maker, added some filtered water, and pressed brew.  It was like torture waiting for the coffee maker to finish.

I don't know if it was the thrill of victory at a bargain, an unusual set of delightful beans, or a combination of the two, but in my 27 years of life I have never tasted a cup of coffee as delightful as I did last night.  The flavors rolled over my tongue with hints of citrus, vanilla and roasted sweetness.  I practically dropped my cup of coffee I was so surprised.  I was in heaven (figuratively speaking, of course).

Moral of my story: bargain buggies can be your friend.  Ninety percent of the time you'll walk away empty handed, but the one time you find that gem makes every trip worthwhile.

Harumph and keep sipping,
Old Man Sam

The Recipe for an OMC - Part I

OMC is our acronym for Old Man Coffee. It's simple, elegant, a bit furtive, and it's easy to say without teeth. Okay, we all still have our teeth. But remember, we're in training and we know that beauty is fleeting.

The "How" of how we got together is simple: We are like-minded men from our late twenties to later thirties (the late thirties guy is our OMC Sage...and a psychotherapist, which just makes things totally more fun and interesting). We are like-minded: all fairly analytical, prone to solving problems, curious, and decidedly pragmatic on just about everything. We also think we're really funny.

We don't really have a lot of free time because we all still work (one HUGE difference between OMC and a real group), so we eat up these occasions like feral wolves. We put time and attention in selecting just the right location, usually based off of a hard science known as "Old Man Appeal" or "Old Man Potential." 

Now, by writing all this, we are not staking claim to inventing the idea of old men drinking coffee, engaging in wild, lengthy, and often circular discussion. That would not only be ridiculous, but we'd also be chin-deep in hubris. And that's just not good for anybody, especially when you're the one who ends up getting smote (yep, that's the past tense of "smite" for those of you keeping score).

The other day, for example, I was traipsing through our little town and had to make a stop into an office copy-shipping store. This place (rhymes with "Dead-X-Plinkos") is on the top floor of an otherwise vacant building that used to be a fast food haven for college students. As I walked into this place I was surprised to see there, in a relative darkness of desertion, a group of three men who were sitting with their cups of coffee talking about (wait...wait for it! YES!): The Great Depression! And! gardening and raising animals for food during it! Oh yes, these guys were good. Big leagues for sure.



 Yes, I was so inspired that I took 

their picture.



As I walked the stairs up to Fed-Mex Grinkos I paused to absorb this moment like a dry, thirsty sponge dropped into a bucket of warm water.  My eyes closed, head tilted back slowly toward the sky, and that's when I let out an inaudible sigh and savored the moment - a true Old Man Coffee sighting. Life is good.

Alas, appreciating such things on the surface is only so good. We need to dig deeper, figure out this art form from the canvas to every drop of paint. If we are going to get it right, we need to know the ingredients.

Let's dissect this.

1. This place was barren. This building did not have a place to make nor serve coffee. Yet, they found a way.
2. Why? What unseen force guided these three men, each with sooo many trips around the sun to confluence on this day...to speak of such a time now reserved for an exclusive minority of one of our time's most tested generations.
3. This took planning. Why here? How the hell did they decide that this was where they would meet? Why that day? (It was a Friday). I must know!

But these aren't questions we could necessarily ask these old men. Could you imagine how that would go over? We could do some qualitative research by hosting focus groups and such but that...well, yeah. We're not going to do that.

We must learn from a higher form of education: experience. We must apprentice.

But we also realize as we train that there are no rules, only precedents. The question is, whether or not we should follow those precedents and attempt to embalm the art form (you know, kinda like English teachers attempted to do while grading the grammar and syntax of all those papers you wrote...that worked out well, btw.) Or, do we blaze the way to a future which, one day, when we are all truly old men, will be more realistic of our lives and surroundings?

If my ethereal thinking is clouding my point (likely), here it is more simply: We love information, like it fast, and now now now. I should also mention that at least two of us have A.D.D. while the other two follow along like a second language. 3/4 of us are loyal, brazen, and morally superior MAC users (and you know what that means!). One of the guys basically speaks binary for God's sake. It's unlikely that any of these aforementioned qualities (and these are just a few) resemble anything close to old men like those I mentioned earlier. We grew up in a different time and we embrace the hell out of it. Will this taint the artistic value of what we seek to do?


What do we do?

Prolonging adolescence

Saturday, March 19, 2011
Bob Evans Restaurant

We're celebrating spring here in Athens, Ohio. The weather's changed, birds are singing, flowers are getting ready for an early bloom, all as we joyously met for our coffee ritual. At this moment, the world centers around us, a loose-knit cast of guys who want to take over a table for a minimum of two hours at a restaurant notoriously known for it's quick table turnover (average 12 minute check times) and surprisingly terrible coffee. It's surprising because all of their coffee condiments (sausage, bacon, eggs, pancakes, etc.) are so infamously delicious.

We arrive mostly on time, not that it matters or that time is relevant to us on this day. It's risky to host an Old Man Coffee (OMC) at Bobby E's. They want you out. Don't believe me? Watch how quickly that server gives you your bill after setting your food down in front of you. That not enough for you? Ask for a coffee refill and watch the server tempt fate as she or he pours that coffee directly over top of the table, daring you to hang around while you eyeball an impressive 8-10 inch stream of coffee spiraling downward in slow motion like a running scene from Chariots of Fire, until a majority of the coffee has (hopefully!) ended up in your cup. The remainder, if you are so lucky, is usually absorbed by the paper place mat and/or napkin-rolled silverware. If you are not so lucky, and most of us are not, you have probably dashed through the restaurant by now in a turbulent frenzy, praying that the wind resistance will cool down the molten java which was haphazardly sloshed upon you, now soaked into your trousers and seared into your fleshy inner thighs.

Yes, it's a quick turn-over time and they WILL get you out one way or another.

Also, another challenge is proximity to others. No one would want to be near us if they had a choice and we certainly don't want to be near them. This is especially true for that table with no parents (or anyone at least pretending to be) and 5 children. Now, none of us have any problems with children, but it's a lot harder to slip into a ten minute dirty joke bender with kids around (not that it stopped us, but still).

We have demands. If we are going to eat here, we are going to be a pick-up table, not in somebody's section - the least priority to any self-respecting server. This will also help us rationalize a lower tip which is something our generation - a generation of generous, guilt-laden over-tippers - must come to terms with: old men don't tip well. Two bits on a table outta be enough for anyone!

But we're not really here for breakfast (okay, two of us are very much here for breakfast. More on that later), we're hear to discuss some of today's most important topics: The new budget from the state of Ohio, Archibald Barassol, talking sausages, appropriate text message etiquette, the four hour body program, Mac computers and all things Mac, university politics, stories of past meetings (we had a guest and we needed to affirm our egos and justify our existence and habits), and potential guest speakers (real old men who can impart their wisdom upon us).

2 hours of breakfast and more coffee per person than any one of us drinks per capita all week long and we are ready to solve the world's problems. Bob Evans was, after all, good to us today. But we are fickle; we probably won't go back there for a while. There are just too many other good options. We like options. Besides, the coffee is terrible.