I Can't Go For That (No Can Do)

Hello, friends. It’s a great day in southern California, the azaleas are in bloom, and it’s time for a tradition unlike any other. Yes, a new post from Eddie the Wingman. I know it’s been a while since my last post and instead of making an excuse as to why I have been away for so long, there’s really no point. I’ve just been lazy.

I hope everyone had a great holiday, and for my northern readers, Happy Canada Day. I had a pretty good fourth that ended up raising a question for this blog. What can’t Daryl Hall go for?

I went and saw Hall and Oates at the Hollywood Bowl, and when the great duo played “I Can’t Go For That (No Can Do),” it really made me think. What can’t he go for? Let’s take a look at this song.

Side note: how ‘bout those keys in the first minute. If Hall came to my place and started jamming a rif like that, I think I would go for anything. How could you not?

Anyway, throughout the song, Daryl Hall, or as I like to call him, DH, states he “can’t go for that” 41 times. First thing that comes to mind is why did I waste my time in college drinking to “Roxanne” when I could have been drinking to “I Can’t Go For That (No Can Do).” Second, some chick really scarred him. Here’s what he has to say,

When does it stop, where do you dare me to draw the line

You got my body now you want my soul

Don’t even think about it say no go

Now I’ll do anything you want me to

I’ll do almost anything that you want me to

But I can’t go for that

No can do.

There is only one conclusion to reach when reading those lyrics. DH was making love to someone he met back stage (Yes, making love, because DH doesn’t have sex. He’s very spiritual like that), and right before blowin’ his stuff all over her, this girl drops a digit on him. She dared him to draw the line right before taking his soul. DH is fine with doing a lot of things, in fact, almost anything. But he just can’t go for a digit in the butt…clearly. So the next time some crazy bitch tries to drop a digit on you, just refer to DH, and tell her, “I can’t go for that, no can do.” And then tell people what a bad lay she is so it doesn’t happen to anyone else.

I Am Dominic Toretto

Sometimes I feel like I'm Dominic Toretto. You know that scene, in Fast and Furious where he smells the yellow dust at Letty's crash site and can tell the whole story of what went down? I taste wing sauce left on a table and then can see the wing session that just occured.

Stickers Are Awesome

One of my loyal readers sent me this picture. Notice the jizz stain that looks like the state of Hawaii? Hang Loose. That's pretty cool too. About as cool and current as a Ron Jon Surf Shop sticker.

Farts Are Awesome

Alright people. First of all, I apologize about the large break between posts. I was living it up in Austin, Massachusetts, and didn’t find the time to do a new post. I will post something Austin related in the near future. Second of all, I think your opinion of me may change after this post.

I have come up with a new theory that all wings eaters like the smell of their own farts. Think about it, I guarantee that you have been lying in bed, watching TV, and you let a nice warm, silent fart go. No one is around to witness this, but you decide that it’s your duty to lift the covers a tad and get a whiff of that fart. I am not ashamed of myself, so I will admit that I have done this before. I relate this directly to smelling a batch of super nuclear wings before I eat them. I know that it’s going to sting my nostrils, but I decide to do it anyway because I want to see how deadly they are. Just like with the farts.

Now, it’s not like I have a fetish for farts or something. I have no interest in smelling anyone else’s farts, and I think that’s disgusting. But I will smell my own fart, and I will get a sense of pride if it’s a good one. So, the next time you’re getting wings and your date smells the wing order, just know that they also like to smell their own farts.

I Have a Theory...

I have to quickly share something and if you guys agree with me. Please leave a comment and let me know whether or not you feel the same way.

So I was at Big Wang’s yesterday getting ready to chow down on a Lil’ Wang order of Hot Buffalo. It had started out as a great day watching college hoops and enjoying some wings with a few cold beverages. Then all of a sudden one of the TVs was changed to CNN. There are about 20 flat screens at Big Wang’s, so normally it wouldn’t be a big deal, except for the one TV that was changed to the news was the TV directly in front of me. I don’t like having to look to the right or left to watch TV, so most of my attention was on CNN. They changed the channel right when we launched missiles into Lybia, so it was somewhat interesting. Then all of a sudden they flashed a picture of Muammar Qadaffi and I had an epiphany. I realized how to figure out if a foreign leader is good or evil. The answer is whether or not they always wear sunglasses. I’m not sure why, but for some reason they are always rocking some glasses that you would see that beast of a woman, Khloe Kardashian, wearing at a Lakers game. In America, our high ranking Generals receive stars. Maybe the leaders of our foreign enemies receive a new pair of aviators whenever they move up in the ranks. I don’t know…it’s just a theory.

The Letter, B

I would have to say that moving to LA has totally fucked up my thoughts on restaurants. It has nothing to do with poor tasting food, bad service, or crowds. It is because of the Department of Health, and the grades they give to every restaurant in town. I’m not sure if they only do this in LA County, or if it just started at the same time I moved out here, but restaurants here are given letter grades. They either give an A, or a B. There is only one place I have been to where I saw a C. The restaurants have to display this letter grade in plain view of the customer. If a restaurant gets a B, there is a check off list that shows the areas that need improvement. One of these areas might be kitchen cleanliness. Now that might be something as simple as cleaning the grease trap everyday. But in my mind it means that the kitchen floor is tattooed in rat shit and the paunchy Mexican working the grill just lost a finger nail in the enchilada sauce. I’m sure this is not what happens and a restaurant would probably be shut down for that reason, but that’s what I think when I see a B. I have been to sushi joints where I finish my meal and thought it was the best sushi ever. Then I walk out the door, notice it has a B, and want to pull a Justine Bateman in the nearest public restroom. For those of you who don’t know, Justine Bateman was famous for three things; being the hot sister on family ties, overshadowing Jason Bateman (pre 2004), and bulimia. Now I know people who knew me before 2005 are saying to themselves, “oh, he’s sooo LA.” First of all, that statement is ridiculous and is only said by people who don’t live in LA and wished they live here. Second, you try eating at a place that you know in one way or another failed a health inspection. You’ll never be able to get that vision of rat shit out of your head. And if you never had a problem with that before, I hope that reading this has scarred you for life.

The one place I have been to that had a C is a bar called Trip, in Santa Monica. I might have the name wrong because it has changed ownership about 4 times since I’ve lived in the LA area. This place had a C inside the bar, and the only food they served was cooked on a hot plate. I really don’t understand how that happens but you have to do something horrible in order to get a C. Maybe there were rat turds that were clogging the keg lines. Whatever it may be, I have only ordered bottled beer after I saw their grade.

So if you’re checking out a new wing place and you notice it has a B, I would think twice before eating there. Either that, or get really drunk before you go so everything tastes good.

***on a side note, I’m not sure what it is with rat shit, but for some reason I used that a lot in this post.

Free Parking and an "A"

The Hot Wing Café has two things I love in a wing joint. Those two things are free parking and an “A” in the window. I’m not sure if the Board of Health gives grades in areas other than LA, but it has a lot to do with whether or not I visit an establishment for the second time. I will get into health grading in a later post, but right now it’s time to focus on The Hot Wing Café.

I would recommend checking out the Hot Wing Café. It’s clean, they have flat screens, and they have a good assortment of beer. One thing I really remember about this place is that they have crunchy ice. Not crushed ice, but crunchy ice. The stuff that’s like little pebbles that used to come out of the old fountain drink vending machine. You know, the ones where you would pick your soda, the cup would drop down, and then automatically fill. Crunchy ice is awesome. And they have extra wide straws so the crunchy ice gets sucked through.

Their wings are good. They have good meatiness and a good size to them. The sauce is tangy and flavorful. If you like some heat, the “extra hot” is what you should start with because “hot” only has a mild heat index. The Hot Wing Cafe serves individual sauces, which you know as while as I do is a plus. The one thing I didn’t like was they didn’t have plates. I like to have a discard plate so I have somewhere to stack the bones. Here, they just bring the wings out in a fry basket.

One notable thing about this place is they have knife graffiti on the toilet seat. I always feel like knife graffiti adds some culture to the place. I give this place 3.50 sticky fingers. So if you find yourself in the West Hollywood/Hollywood area, check out The Hot Wing Café. You won’t be disappointed.