One of my favorite pictures relating to the previous super bowl was a meme that showed Seattle Seahawks Running Back Marshawn Lynch at a press conference with the caption: “Today is 50 cent wing night. You know why I’m here.” As someone who has a bit of Scottish blood and also a desire to read and eat socially I tend to seek meal deals, despite the fact that most people view those as somewhat solitary activities, and despite the fact that socializing and reading both tend to interfere with eating, even if I’ve never been known to go about any task in a straightforward and ordinary fashion. As it happens, today one of my coworker mentioned a special on boneless wings tonight, so I figured I would take advantage of inexpensive but tasty food to go along with a humorous book and perhaps the occasional glance at college basketball scores.

As I tend to do when I go out, I had a book to read today [1], a book which reminded me, if any reminder was necessary, that by instinct and nature and proclivity I am not a cool person. I don’t really mind this fact. My eccentricities, such as they are, have usually attracted comments about being odd or different, but have seldom been viewed as cool. I am okay with this, especially if there are a few people who appreciate my genuine and odd personality and find the quirks I have endearing even if they can be a bit frustrating sometimes. I desire not to be popular, or the attention of the masses, but rather I desire to be loved for who I am. If that has been a difficult quest throughout my life, it has been consistent. I dislike being alone, to the extent that I do not like to eat alone, or read or write alone, for when I am alone the irrepressible urge to analyze my life and existence comes over me, and this is not a pleasant compulsion of mine [2].

Yet I am fond of wing houses for many reasons, one of which is that they are responsible for many fond memories. When I lived in Town & Country, a local wing house was a common place of refuge for me as a graduate student seeking unlimited refills of sweet tea, an accessible power outlet for my laptop, and a pleasant and enjoyable space to write about the Prussianization of the Chilean army. For a variety of reasons, I was unable to write well in my apartment, but fortified with some sweet tea and chicken and cheese sticks, and the occasional boneless wings and cheesecake, though not all at the same time, I was able to plug through and write what needed to be written. I just couldn’t do it alone. So in seeking a pleasant evening of inexpensive wings and bottomless iced tea, I am not doing anything out of my own normal at all, even if it does not appear to be a generally common habit among others [3].

So, what is it like to read books and ponder life and seek a temporary refuge from one’s own overactive mind by social distraction at a wing house on 50 cent wing night? I travel to the mean streets of Tanasbourne [4], find a map that points me to the wing place, order my food, drink some tea, watch some basketball, end up talking to someone who is a fellow sports nut but who also is a bit too much into touching my arm and shoulder, something people do a lot that I find really irritating, especially when the people I would want to do it don’t, but everyone who I wouldn’t want do it does. At long last I finish my book, rustle up my check, and head home, full in belly, but with too much to ponder to feel wholly at ease with life. That’s how it goes, though.

[1] https://edgeinducedcohesion.wordpress.com/2015/03/27/book-review-not-cool/

[2] See, for example:

https://edgeinducedcohesion.wordpress.com/2015/03/01/night-of-the-iguana/

[3] https://edgeinducedcohesion.wordpress.com/2012/10/30/a-historian-at-play/

[4] https://edgeinducedcohesion.wordpress.com/2014/12/10/the-mean-streets-of-tanasbourne/