I'll have a blue, blue, blue, blue chicken wings experience (sing to the tune of Elvis' "Blue Christmas")

One of the funny things about moving to a new city is comparing its "constants" to the old city.

We, the fiance and I, decided to check out one of our old college classics tonight (or, rather, its Appleton counterpart). The first thing we said was "It's so tiny!", then "What's with the Elvis music?" "Does this taste funny to you?" "Toledo waitresses were much prettier," "This isn't mild sauce ..," "It smells like smoke in here," "The menu's different."

We seriously sounded like senior citizens comparing the good ol' days to the horrible times we're living in now. It was pretty pathetic.

And, truth be told, it wasn't bad food. We enjoyed it. Elvis, not so much. But there's something about going to some chain bar or restaurant that makes you realize they're not ever going to be the same as the place you call the original. No matter what. It had the same menus, the same food, same employee uniforms, same look, same motto, same floor mats. But it's not the same.

Sure, that sentence is sad in some ways -- our friends won't be there, the waitresses we know won't be taking our orders and seriously, what is up with Elvis? Seriously. And, yes, I can look at the good side of it too; the cheesy "we'll always have Toledo" moments, and the "thank God we won't be seeing that one guy here. Ever" times. But mainly, it just feels weird.

It feels like we don't really belong there; or at least not yet. I prefer to think "not yet." Or "we'll find a new place."

But chain restaurants are different from the usual bars and restaurants. It's almost like we should have chosen a Wisconsin original; that way we could have just pointed out what's new to us, instead of what's weird to us.

And, seriously, bar and restaurant managers, before you decide to play 17 Elvis songs in an hour, look around. See a bunch of people under 30? Elvis isn't your man.