The big winter storm came through last night, bringing with it sub-freezing temperature and crazy wind. As is usual for these sorts of things, half of my neighborhood lost power immediately; our backyard neighbors lost theirs at 2 AM. (The yard was awfully dark.) Fortunately for us, we only lost cable and Internet.

Power company estimates a restoration by 8 PM tonight. There's no estimate yet from the cable company, but I'm not complaining about that. Better to be bored than cold.

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Knock, knock.

Who's there?

Henry and Louis.

Henry and Louis who?

This is no joke! Just let us in, already.

Louis bolted out the door while I was letting Henry into the yard solo to take care of his business, and when the pair of poodles eventually decided they were tired of rolling in every mud puddle they could find, this is what they looked like when they finally asked to come back in.

I don't think I've ever mentioned it here on the blog, but once upon a time, while I was running an errand in downtown Newnan with July and Victoria in the Jeep, a car pulled into the parking space beside me and the woman inside said she just wanted to say hello to the girls. "I breed poodles," she explained. "I used to breed whites, but now I only breed dark-colored dogs. I'll never have a white poodle again; it's just too much trouble to keep them white."

That's proving especially true for Henry. His favorite color is Georgia Red Clay.

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Seasons are wasted on dogs.

The best part of this picture is that the orange setting sunlight keeps you from seeing how dirty my "white" poodle is.

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Purple rain.

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I had something I was going to say here today, but when I sat down to type it out... I forgot what I was.

So have this picture of yesterday's sunset sky instead.

Maybe I'll remember what I meant to say next time.

No promises.

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I went grocery shopping yesterday. Walking in the door, I passed a sign very clearly instructing all customers that masks were required in the building, but I was the only shopper I saw who was wearing one. I hadn't realized so few people in my town could read.

Two weeks into February, Coweta County has reported already more deaths from COVID-19 this month than December and January combined. I know that death is a lagging indicator (by approximately two weeks), but I don't know how anyone can look at those numbers and think, "Now is the time to stop wearing masks!"

When I was a kid during the Cold War of the 1980s, I used to wonder how long people would stay in their underground fallout shelters after World War III before emerging to see if the world was once again inhabitable. The answer, I now know, appears to be not quite 2 years. After that, hey, radiation poisoning doesn't seem so bad.

One day, when we send people to Mars, will some significant percentage of the colonists decide that they've simply had enough and walk outside of their protective environments without masks? Is that what happened to the Roanoke Colony? "I don't care that it's snowing outside; I'm not putting on another pair of pants!"

Look, I get that wearing a mask sucks. *I* think it sucks. But so long as an ongoing pandemic continues to kill thousands of Americans — and several of my immediate neighbors — every day, I think I can do at least the least I can do to help prevent further spread.

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When I was a kid, September was my favorite month, because that was the month I got Birthday presents. When I was in college, July was my favorite month, because that was the month where I had the run of campus. But I'm starting to think that November is my favorite month, because it looks like this:

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A month ago, the next door neighbor to our left sold her house. It's disappointing to lose a good neighbor, but it's perfectly reasonable that she should want to move closer to her grandchildren after the death of her husband, a very nice man who was also a former head of our local Board of Education.

The person who bought her house remains unseen. So far as I can tell, no one has moved in yet, but the house receives nearly daily shipments of packages, as though someone was redecorating with entirely new products purchased on Amazon.com. Earlier this week, they even delivered a car, a Mercedes-Benz. I've been joking that someone is building a safe house for spies.

Meanwhile, the neighbors to our right, a couple with young children, backed a U-Haul up to their house yesterday afternoon, and this morning they were gone, taking with them their dog who enjoyed coming into our yard and barking at me. Obviously, we were not as close to them, and their departure was very unexpected.

They left a rollaway dumpster in their driveway filled with furniture, including beds, dressers, and children's' bicycles. Why would anyone leaving a house in such a hurry take the time to throw so much of their stuff away? If it was an eviction, I'd think they would have just left the stuff where it was. If they sold and are moving, why not take the children's toys? The only reason I can think of for anyone to leave in such a state of disarray is because their house is haunted.

I am currently, quite literally, surrounded by mysteries.

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Ah! I remembered what I forgot on Thursday!

I was going to mention that I have now eaten at Wishbone Fried Chicken.

That might seem like a strange thing to say in 2021, considering that the Wishbone Fried Chicken franchise went defunct decades ago.

"Captain Wishbone" advertisement appearing The Red and Black, November 13, 1969

Wishbone Fried Chicken was founded in 1960 by Atlantic Company, formerly Atlantic Ice and Coal Co. which had been created from a merger of three other companies in 1903 by one Ernest Woodruff, the man who bought Coca-Cola from Asa Candler. After a series of more mergers and name changes, Atlantic Jackson-Atlantic Munford Inc. — ultimately re-named by CEO Dillard Munford in honor of the company president, Dillard Munford — had as many as 102 Wishbone locations being run out of Atlanta in 1971, some of which were located inside Munford's own Majik Market convenience stores. (Franchisee solicitations claim there were 57 total Wishbones franchisees in 8 states in 1973.) After selling out to corporate raiders in 1988, Munford (the company, not the man) was declared bankrupt in 1990, and its assets were liquidated or shuttered. The refrigeration company was spun-off to become Americold, which still exists. Wishbone Fried Chicken doesn't.

But the location just a block off the court square in Newnan, Georgia, on the same lot it has occupied since 1970, perseveres with its original signage and franchise signature triangular potato cakes in pecks and barrels. The store has a rabid local following which always intimidated me, though I can now understand why its fans are so committed. They serve some pretty darn good fried chicken, even if "un-greasy" is not exactly how I would describe it.

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Every Batman fan worth his salt knows "The Joker's Comedy of Errors!", better known as "The Joker's Boner" story. Originally presented in Batman #66, Aug/Sep 1951, it can be summed up in one panel:

This is but one of 6 "boner" newspaper headlines in this story.

If you haven't read the story or you struggle with context clues, you might find it helpful to know that my trusty 1977 Webster's New Twentieth Century Dictionary of the English Language Unabridged defines "boner" thusly:

bōn´ẽr, n. a stupid or silly blunder. [Slang.]

As Batman #66 proves, newspaper editors love boners. Which brings us to the point of today's post.

In order to fill column space As a public service, The Newnan Times-Herald newspaper reprints food inspection reports from county restaurants. It's usually a lot of repeated warnings that store managers aren't checking the mold levels in their ice machines. (Come on, guys! It's right there in the Georgia Department of Public Health Rules and Regulations, Chapter 511-6-1-.05-7-b-5-iv-II!)

This month, in honor of Independence Day, the paper rewarded loyal readers by giving our local hot dog stand a boner of its own:

Oysters really are an aphrodisiac!

For the record, the restaurant calls itself "The Half Shell Oyster Bar & Hot Dog Shop." Rumor has it their menu was selected because the city wouldn't let them install an oven in their original location downtown, so they chose items they could cook with steam. (Welcome to Newnan!)

I've never had the oysters, but the chili dogs *are* pretty exciting.

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