Wednesday, June 07, 2006

the nascar extravaganza.

beer + more beer + small grill + sunblock + completely too many "native" people + pringles + cornhole + cameras + loud noises + more beer + pizza + hotdogs stuffed with cheese + pretzels + more beer + the russian mail-order bride in front of us made for a good time.

wow.

so, we saw lots of blimps (including the goodyear!) and some signs flying in the sky. apparently it's quite the process to get those signs to fly behind planes. I tried to put in the cute pre-sweating pictures. It was REALLY REALLY hard to get a picture of the cars unless they were on one of their caution laps--i.e., somebody had wrecked, and they had to go slowly until it was cleaned up. I rooted for #41 (the target car) and #11 (because it is my favorite number).


it was terribly, horribly sunny. tip: when you tailgate, bring one of those camping canopy things. TOTALLY would have been worth $20. But you know what? Otto's arms are peeling, and mine aren't! Yay for sunblock and proper moisturizing (though I did get burned).

Oh, and you know what's hilarious? People. And watching them. With their shirts off (the "natives"), or their odd outfits (I often find myself thinking--of all of the things you could have worn, that's what you chose?), or their blatant disregard for their hearing since they didn't wear earpluds, or their extreme devotion to the sport. Ryan went "native" for a while, and kept telling us all that he felt like he was home--his home town is Amarillo, Texas. Hi-larious.

There were American flags EVERYWHERE. And confederate ones too. At the end of race someone even started chanting "U-S-A." I don't know about you, but going to a hot-sweaty-gas-hogging/abusing event full of beer, bare beer bellies, mullets and the little tiny pieces of rubber that get all over your skin really makes me want to celebrate the fact that I'm an American.

Especially when you're packed in like cattle trying to exit the race and people are dumping out their coolers in the grandstands and the woman next to you says, "I hope this isn't pee 'cause it sure feels good!"

riiiiiight.

yikes.

It was also great to see people get pumped up as their driver came around. To attend NASCAR properly, you needed a few things: beer, a person without their shirt on in your group, a scantily clad girl/girl wearing inappropriate shoes, earplugs, more beer, someone to root for and someone to root against. The last three, in particular, were the most important. People shook their fist in a little circle when their driver came around the bend, and then flipped off the one they rooted for. Very funny to see the cheer-flip off-cheer-flip off cycle.








So what's the moral of the nascar story? Drink a lot of beer, eat a lot of salty, fatty foods, make friends with the natives so you can play cornhole, wear sensible shoes for walking the trail of tears (the long trek to the speedway from the parking lots, since you're bound to park forever away), don't bother listening to the concerts beforehand because anyone singing sounds like ass since the PA sucks, and remember to close your mouth at the beginning of the race when the cars come around the bend or the inside of your mouth will taste like rubber for the rest of the night.

the end.


2 comments:

Turner said...

glad you enjoyed it. what's the deal about the mail-order bride and the scantilly (sp?) clad women?

LO said...

I'm questioning the cornhole...all I can think of is Beavis and Butthead. But that is the GREAT Cornholio. Oh, BTW...I'm a native (AND to Charlotte to be specific)...does that mean I have to run around with my shirt off from now on???

 
Blog Template by Delicious Design Studio