Citizen 1,235,824

They were nice. A couple of couples in their mid-fifties, perhaps. The men were brothers, and their wives were along for the ride. From the outset, I started joking with them. I tend to do that with my customers. When they're at the tavern, I want them to have a good time. It kind of goes along with the atmosphere. We were empty. They were trying to figure out where to sit. In my opening remark, I suggested they didn't necessarily have to sit together if they didn't want to. One of the brothers, the bald one, told his brother that I was alright, and they were going to have fun. And they did. I suggested good beers for all of them, and even went to research what Weissbier Spaten brewed. The brother with hair had three expensive beers, while the bald one stuck with three pints of Spaten. The wife with glasses also experimented with a couple of beers she had never tried before. The other spouse just had a coke. They had good dinners. They had a good time. We joked arou

Lately, I've not felt like much of a runner. I'm too concerned about hitting a patch of ice to brave the outside, and don't like the much narrower sidewalks. So, instead I've been hitting the treadmill. And, it's not nearly as fun and it's hard to get entirely motivated. On a real run, there's a destination. Running five miles in one direction means you have to travel at least another five miles to get home. On the treadmill, it is key to have something to listen to or something to watch. Except, the other night I had to turn off a showing of the movie Waiting on the treadmill because I was laughing so hard. It's been a long time since I've worked in a chain restaurant, but the movie hit home, so I had to turn it off. I don't think it's good etiquette to laugh hysterically while running in a crowded gym. It's also hard to listen to radio comedy, so I've stayed away from that. What usually works is something from the BBC for the first

Last night I spent six hours at a dish machine, clearing out goop and grime left over from plates that had been served to people with more money than me. On some days, this kind of thing bothers me. Last night, however, I felt like I was doing the most honest work I'll do all year. I didn't have to talk to customers. I didn't have to do anything except be part of a team. A chemical analysis of the dish sink would not be recommended. I plunged my hands into the bottom of the sink many, many times in search of something else to wash. Line pans. Skillets. Dishes. Knives. Spatulas. Tongs. Wine glasses. I cleaned it all. Michael, the sous chef, was very patient with me. He reminded me to use a Brillo pad in order to get the encrusted black and brown stuff off of items that had been in the oven. He made sure I had the sink filled at least half way through. He kept telling me to add soap to make sure the grease was being sufficiently cut. I had volunteered to do the shift because

These days, I'm thinking a lot about what it means to be human. What makes us who we are? Most of my thinking is directed at me, as I try to figure out how to live my life in a more healthy manner. But, a new documentary series podcast on BBC Radio 4 is reminding me that my own struggles aren't unique, and that there's a heritage in our species that must be remembered to fully appreciate who we are, as individuals, and as members of a global community. So far, I've listened to five installments of the History of the World in 100 Objects while doing a deep organizational cleaning of my house. Everything in here is a mess, and I'm trying to fix myself up with an eye towards improving myself, fixing everything that at times seems hopelessly broken. The series is reminding me that I'm not alone, that other humans have lived before under very different circumstances. Each of the 100 objects is in the British Museum, and is narrated by museum director Neil MacGregor.