Oh, the Places We'll Go

I am in Raleigh, home of...well not sure what Raleigh is the home of other than the NC State Wolfpack and the Carolina Hurricanes (hockey). I sure am looking forward to discovering things!

Ging and I went out last night. We're staying near the NC State campus, so we we're in a campus neighborhood, which fits right into our comfort zone. Here are some stray observations.

Our first reminder we were in the South came in the form of people smoking in the bars. It really wasn't so bad, although Ginger seems to think our clothes bear a permanent smokey smelly, so those pants and sweaters are out for a re-wear.

I order the house special chicken wings at a place called the East Village Bar and Grill, which our hotel's guide claimed to have the best appetizers in town. Now, I would not say I am a wing man normally, but when in Rome, right? Ordering a dozen chicken wings, I expect, well, what everyone expects when they order chicken wings, but I got a basket full of whole chicken wings. Still all tri-folded and everything. I immediately regretted having ordered the BLT to go with my "appetizer." Can't say they were all that spectacular, either. But then, they are just chicken wings.

On our way to another bar that was advertising that they were showing the Calzaghe - Jones Jr. pay-per-view fight, we stopped at a convenience store to get Ginger some conditioner. I had only been in the South for about three hours at that point, but
I came face-to-face with a walking stereotype. White guy, red hair, white dress shirt with light pink either stripes or checks, navy blue sweater vest, khaki pants. It was the notorious Southern Frat Boy come to life. Not only that, but he was carrying on about the doings "back at the house." Had I been here a week earlier, I would have applauded the perfection of the costume. As it was, I just tried to call Bob to get some snark in.

Finally we get to the bar. We're practically the only ones there and the only people interested in watching the fight. I guess this is why bars don't buy the ppv for these things. We watched a crappy undercard fight and we're in the middle of the main undercard fight when the bartenders and their friends haul out a table and put it in front of the teevee. Apparently, someone had decided it was time for some beer pong. Sure, set up the beer pong table in front of the only teevee anyone in the joint is watching. All of this was fine, as really I only had one guy's head blocking the screen every now and again. I have never seen people work so hard to drink 30 oz of Bud Light. With one round to go before the main event, they decide that beer bong wasn't good enough, they need some tunes to go with the pong, so they turn down the volume on the fight and put on some middling rock. Ginger identified it as Soundgarden, but I wasn't so sure and it sure as hell wasn't Badmotorfinger. We left. I don't think they noticed.

Other than that, not much has happened. We rented a car. I asked for a compact, they gave us a "Specialty/Novelty" car. I am driving a Chevy HHR LS. Oy. The turn signal noise is really high pitched "clickity-click" that never fails to draw laughs. There's no trip odometer, so no tenth of a mile reading, which can come in handy on a rental car, and I have a hard time not feeling like a git driving it. And of course, a rock hit the windshield and chipped it. Like any good American, I am trying to call the rental agency to tell them that the chip was already there, but they don't seem to be big on answering the phone.

These are just the beginnings of a week in vacation land. I have eaten nothing but meat in the last 24 hours, so I am sure some Courtneyesque bowel-blogging is coming up.