"Zorgas Borgas! I Just Got Bit by the Love Bat!"

...and it's driving me maaaaad!
I had to get that last part it because it's part of the title, it just wouldn't fit. It's like starting the first part of a chorus and not finishing it..it'll drive you nuts:
"Row, row, row your boat, gently down--"
See? It's enough to give you a facial tick.

NASCAR. I might as well get this over with. NASCAR didn't make me happy. In fact, it made me contemplate deeply the meaning of life. No, not "Why is it that we all must function here together as humankind" kind of thoughts (although that eventually came in to play too), but more like "What's the friggin' point??" Maybe I should insert a disclaimer here that those NASCAR fans out there who may happen upon this post by accident (because I don't think I personally know any hardcore fans) should try their darndest not to get offended by this post. Take it easy and go badmouth me behind my back with one of the other hundred-something thousand fans who were at the race on saturday. I won't know and I promise I don't care.
First, let me start off by saying that at least 50% of the sucky time I had at the race was because we got there seven and a half hours before the race even started. This was due, largely, to the fact that the vast majority of the people Jeffrey and I went with are huge NASCAR fans and they had all purchased pit passes to get in and meet the crews, drivers, etc. (we found out later that they didn't really get to meet anybody). The pits opened at two so I guess the theory was to get there two hours before that so you could go around and see the spectacle that thousands of NASCAR fans will inevitably create of themselves (the other 50% of why my NASCAR experience sucked). When I say this I mean that I have never seen so many mullets, pointless tattoos, and missing teeth in one place in my entire life. The cliche really is true. Plus, you could bring in whatever alcohol you wanted so that meant the more drunk you were, the better time you had (much like Halloween in downtown Greenville). Weed and alcohol were being enjoyed in large quantities around us and I was astounded at how many people brought children and even pets. One thing I noticed that depressed me greatly was the number of scantily-clad teenage girls that had been employed to give out promotional flyers and merchandise in front of all these trailers that were set up by various sponsors and drivers. It was ridiculous. I don't think Jeffrey thought it was quite as ridiculous as I did but he tried to sympathize whenever I grew indignant and voiced my annoyance. We spent the first three hours at the speedway wandering around in clouds of dust from the gravel that was everywhere, watching bits and pieces of demonstrations of everything from engine construction to Sharpie markers. There was even an old Ford that you could use a handy drill to cut quarter-sized holes into if you were so inclined. We stopped at the Bojangles trailer (everything was in trailers) where I ate my first six-dollar chicken fillet sandwich (not biscuit, mind you...sandwich. chicken and bun. That's it.) and a bottled Coke. I figured I'd walk off any unhealthy effects throughout the rest of the day. I was right. Eventually, we went in to find our seats where we proceeded to sit for the next four hours. I don't know why there weren't more people inside the actual speedway for three reasons: first, there was shade and plenty of it. Second, there were lots of food vendors and no lines to get to them. And third, the bathrooms were all but empty so you didn't even have to think about a port-a-john.
Anyway...blahblahblah, horrifically long story short, the race itself lasted five hours with no decent wrecks and the one driver I picked to pull for didn't win (the Target car for obvious reason). I observed a phenomenon among the rabid fans during the race that I didn't quite understand and that was their tendency to point repeatedly and emphatically in the direction the race was moving whenever their driver reached wherever they happened to be standing and cheering in the stands. It was like they were saying "This way! Go this way!!" I wanted to tell them it wasn't like they were watching Billy Bob run a foot-race in the woods or something. The drivers know where they're going and they know they need to get there as fast as possible, right? Again, I hope no one out there is taking this personally, including Billy Bob or any of his friends. You go, Billy Bob.
I was also amazed at the number of people who were willing to get a cartoon character tattooed on their body, where it would remain for the rest of their natural lives. Tweety Bird? Seriously?? Yosemite Sam also seemed a favorite, brandishing beer mugs instead of his six-shooters, of course. One rather skinny woman with large teeth had a cryptic tattoo on her bicep that depicted an eye crying a drop of blood inside a large sun. Not sure what that was all about and perhaps I should have asked. The eye did have lovely lashes though so kudos to the artist for that. Nothing has quite topped Colby's espresso machine tattoo with the flaming espresso beans though, as odd tattoos go. As we both worked in a coffee shop at the time though, I'm guessing that after a few beers at the tattoo shop (his second job) late one night, he became passionate about his work in the coffee business. I'll have to tell you guys about Colby some time as he was a really interesting guy and fun to work with but I think he'd detest being included in a blog entry about NASCAR. So my apologies to him and I'll move on.

There's really not much else to say other than, yes, a fight broke out at one point to the chants of "Get it on! Get it on!" by some hygiene-deficient woman in front of me who was waving a cigarette rather violently and flinging ash all over the place. That was one of the highlights of the evening. To cut this already long story a bit shorter, the race lasted five hours and so we left shortly after twelve. I am told it took us over two hours to get out of the parking lot in our two fifteen-passenger vans and then another three hours to get home but I don't remember any of that as I was asleep for most of it. I woke up briefly when we stopped in Ashboro at a convenience store where I got out then as I had a sudden hankering for a Twix. But then resumed sleep about fifteen minutes later. We arrived home at around five in the morning.
So I think I can safely say that I have attended my first and last NASCAR event. It's an entire culture in and of itself that I don't understand and hopefully, I'll never appreciate. Props to those of you who find great joy in watching a line of cars circle a track over and over and over and over again but I guess I just don't have the attention span for it. With earplugs and headphones on, I discovered that it's entirely possible to doze off during a live NASCAR race. Who would've thunk? Regardless, I'm glad to be back home and I've never slept so well as I did after I got back and my head hit the pillow. You can have NASCAR. I sure as heck don't want it.

Let me say before I go: Happy Birthday Mom!!! I love you!!!

And to the rest of you out there, thanks for actually reading this thing. It really means a lot because it gives me an outlet to do what I love most: writing. Once I start a band and publish my first book (not necessarily in that order), you're all getting a free copy (album or book) and an autograph. Unless I go on the road with U2 before then, in which case, I'm sorry and you'll just have to suck it up. I'll send you a tour sticker or something.
Have a great day guys and as I have great plans for increasing posts, keep checking back!

Something to contemplate: What're the guys from "Perfect Strangers" doing now?