Last Week's Blog

I actually started on my main topic two weeks ago, but I had already planned the Chicken Wing post, so I was going to do this last week. But I didn't, so I'm doing it now. It started out as a rant, but I think I've calmed down. We'll see how it goes. I had also thought of some "this week" stuff to throw in, but it escapes me at the moment. Perhaps it will come to me before the final draft.

Okay, as I started cleaning up the second draft I thought I remembered my "this week" stuff, but it's gone again. It's hell gettin' old. But it's around here somewhere, it even flitted through my brain as I was typing the last sentence, so I'm sure if I keep looking it'll turn up.

Ah HAH! It's not much, but it's something. It may be all I had. I'll type it out and see what I get. I can always revert to the first draft. But the title of this week's blog (which of course is "Last Week's Blog,") reminds me (and was subconsciously inspired by) an organization called the Procrastinators' Club International (which, 30 years ago at least, published "Last Month's Newsletter.") I have yet to find anything I can identify as a club website, but I'm sure they'll get around to it. There is what looks to me like a 90s style newgroup at http://procrastinators.org/, which seems appropriate, along with the most recent post dated 1/20/2014.

The best information I can find in a cursory Internet search indicates the club was founded in 1956, but I learned of it about 50 years ago on a TV game show called "To Tell The Truth," and decided at that time that I would join just as soon as I got around to it.

I guess I should get around to it, but I have a plan. If I can ever discover what a Life Membership costs, I want to purchase one in my will. That should earn me a place in Procrastination History (if anyone ever gets around to writing it.)

Okay, so much for the second draft. I think I'll keep it. The first paragraph, and everything after this one (with one minor edit) are straight from the first draft. I need to find a picture for this, but other than that I think I'm finished.

Turner Field
Image added 8/23/2015

Now let me gripe about Google Maps. In spite of this rant, it's still my choice of navigation, and I freely admit any problems I've had with it are my fault. I know full well that I should check all the directions before setting out. But, being lazy, I usually don't.

Two weeks ago I went to visit my brother in Conyers, Georgia. (This is the brother I previously visited in the-middle-of-nowhere Alabama.) I had planned to go over on Thursday but something came up, so Friday morning I put his address into the Google Maps app on my iPhone, and took off.

So I start off fine, and I'm cruising east down Interstate 20, and somewhere around Bessemer, Alabama Google tells me to take I-459. Being a 21st Century Man I do as I'm told by the cold, female voice of The Computer. (After all, What Would Kirk Do?) But being me I reach over and pick up the phone, just to check, and see a pop-up message that says something to the effect of (I can't get it back of course) "Save an hour, stay on 20!"

Gee, thanks. That might have been helpful before I took the exit YOU TOLD ME TO TAKE!!!

Now that I'm sitting calmly at a computer, as opposed to driving down an Interstate Highway looking at a phone, I can see that 459 is the bypass around Birmingham (and probably the better route, judging from the stories I've heard about driving through Birmingham) but I was clueless at the time. I had an Emotionless Feminine Computer Voice telling me what to do and 29.3 miles later I'm merging onto I-20 East toward Atlanta. I'm good, just under the impression that I will arrive an hour later than I could have.

So I cruise along toward Atlanta, safe in the hands of The Computer, under the impression that Conyers is a suburb of Atlanta (which it is, about 15 miles on the other side) and vaguely aware that Atlanta is big. (Yes, I've been there before, but I've slept since then.)

So I'm coming into Atlanta (and I'm getting old, my hearing ain't what it used to be, especially for Cold Feminine Computer Voices) and the phone says something that sounds to me like "use the right three lanes to keep left," so I look at the phone and see a message about the exit I'm about to pass, so I exit. My fault. Should have read the directions before I left. But I blame Google. (I'm a man, that's what I do.)

But now she begins to babble about making turns that don't exist, so I get to a light and let her calm down and direct me back to the freeway. I think she just wanted me to see Turner Field (and I'm just grateful it wasn't a game day.)

And I got to Conyers without further incident (worth mentioning anyway.) Thus endeth the first draft of last week's blog. Perhaps I'll think of what I wanted to say this week in time for a second draft. Perhaps not. Either way...

YOU KIDS GET OFF MY LAWN!!!!!

28 Wings

That's all I can eat.

The wings win

All I should eat however, I place around 24.

I mentioned last week that Wednesday July 29th was National Chicken Wing Day. I celebrated at my favorite place to eat wings.*

I have indicated before (May 25, 2012; July 6, 2012) that I would like to be a restaurant critic. Why should I let my total lack of qualifications stop me? It hasn't stopped me from blogging. What I should probably try is "Breastaurant Critic." (Actually I may be overqualified for that.)

But, back to my favorite place to eat wings, Hooters.

I have heard a lot of jokes about Hooters Girls. Even Hooters makes fun of Hooters Girls. But, let me state for the record that they are some of the hardest working waitresses in the business.

As you can probably guess, on National Chicken Wing Day, they were particularly busy. Hooters observed the occasion with an All You Can Eat Wingsday. That's how I know that 28 is all I can eat (and all I should is somewhat lower.) And I want to applaud the chain for conspicuously posting the All You Can Eat Rules (which were clearly and plainly written, but unfortunately don't appear to be on the Internet so I'll have to go by memory.) Eight wings to an order, one flavor per order, no sharing, no doggie bag. Usual AYCE stuff.

Back in the Good Old Days they only had 3 flavors: mild, medium, and hot. I always ordered mine hot. And naked. (That's without all the breading. My wife still gives me "that look" when I order.) The last time I remember eating wings there they had added buffalo, 3 mile island and 911. (I think those were added before 2001, so 911 is a reference to the emergency phone number, not the World Trade Center.)

There are more than 6 flavors now. The ones listed on the "Full Menu" at hooters.com don't match the menu I had on National Chicken Wing Day, so once again I'm going from memory. The "hotness" is indicated by little flames by the names. Hottest on the menu is "Spicy Garlic." Five flames.

When my waitress, Shelbie, came to take my order I asked "What is the hottest?" She of course replied "Spicy Garlic." I might as well start there, I reasoned. I'm only having one beer and I'll probably need it for those.

I did.

It was a "different kind of hot." It really didn't burn my tongue or mouth at all. The taste was rather pleasant, from what I could tell, THROUGH MY BURNING LIPS!!! I was glad I ordered a large beer.

Shelbie stopped by to see how I was doing around the time I was finishing..., I'm gonna guess wing number six. I replied "I have told you my first lie." "Another beer?" she asked. "A small one." "What flavor next?" (Unlike most AYCE, she didn't make me finish the first order before placing the second.) I looked at the menu and chose "Habanero Barbecue." Three flames. Those were nothin'. I'm sure they were good, but I didn't notice because my lips were still on fire. The second beer helped.

I finished my sixteenth wing and second beer, and ordered an unsweetened tea and 8 lemon pepper rub wings. Palette cleanser. They were good. At 24 wings, my $15 all you can eat was now officially a "good deal," compared with 20 wings for $19.99 on the regular menu. Quit while you're ahead, right?

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

As I was stuffing the last of the Lemon Pepper Rubbed Wings down my gullet, Shelbie came by. "One more order?" She asked. I nodded. I'm not sure I could speak. No, of course I could, because I managed to order "Chipotle Honey."

Shelbie pretends to deliver my final order of wings.

I may have mentioned this was a busy day at Hooters. My last order was delivered by a manager. At least it was an attractive one (and not one of the guys.) I felt like I was lucky to have the first three orders delivered by my waitress, and she did stop by to check on me. I asked her to pose with my order for the above picture (and she happily obliged as you can see.) If you bother to count the wings you'll see there are only 7. I was already one wing in when she came by, so I disposed of the bones and used the rest as a clever subterfuge to take her picture.

Then I managed to eat 3 more before conceding defeat. And that's how I celebrated National Chicken Wing Day. Now you kids get off my lawn.

*It's my favorite place to eat wings, not my favorite wings. Their wings are good, better than most, but not my favorite. Full disclosure, I haven't tried the wings at Twin Peaks yet.