On the Cedar Lee

My wife’s best friend said - and I quote - she’s too stupid to get Wes Anderson. She has a MFA in Creative Writing and a law degree. If she’s too stupid I have no business being a fan. But I am, so she’s not.

That said, The French Dispatch is the most egregious display of intellectual snobism I’ve ever witnessed.

Here’s how it all went down. We dropped our girls off with their Grammy and Pap halfway between Wheeling, WV and Cleveland in a town called Zoar, Ohio. They have a primo Dairy Queen, a Subway and one of the busiest gas stations on I77. That crew was off to cut down a Christmas Tree and we found ourselves with a rare kids-free afternoon. So, we decided to do something we hadn’t done since 2015 - head up to the Cedar Lee to see a movie.

We were planning on seeing House of Gucci. Gaga in her prime. But, we also wanted a beer and a hot pretzel before and secretly I may have wanted to see the latest Wes Anderson movie just a hair more. So, when my bride suggested we audible I had no objections. What a great day. Back at the Cedar Lee.

As we waited in line a middle-aged man in a white turtleneck and Member’s Only jacket stood with his wife. I saw him. I know my wife saw him. And, in my head I rehearsed the line, you know, you don’t see much casual turtleneck wearing these days…

I wanted to lean over quite seriously and whisper it. But, when I went to deliver the crowd-pleaser she - as always - was one step ahead of me. Those big brown eyes shot a look that said don’t say it. And when I leaned in I could only get out you know, you don’t see.. before we both lost it. What a great day.

Then the movie started. Obscure New Yorker references, non sequiturs, absurd conversation and nostalgic references back to previous work. It was bad. It was also sad…for me. Watching an artist I so admired either fighting his way through an Eli Cash-level drug addiction or lost on a Steve Zissou odyssey Hoping to recreate his magic from a former time.

Anyway…here’s one of my favorite parts of the Cedar Lee. Look at the contoured tile. The full-length cast iron. The majesty.

It’s one of the most unique urinals in Cleveland. It immediately takes you back decades. It sort of feels like you’re on a movie set.

See House of Gucci over The French Dispatch. If a turtleneck is your look, rock it. Find someone you can laugh with. And, taking a photo of a urinal you artistically admire with the pressure of someone potentially bursting through the door feels kinda Wes Anderson…in a good way.