Chicken Bone to the Head

The cicada's have come and gone.  We have a new invasion this weekend.

NASCAR fans.

I'm not into NASCAR.  But I live in NASCAR land.  This is an event to be respected. But if you can't respect it, you can at least avoid it.  I try really hard to stay off the roads during this weekend.  But not my Baby.

SM loves and I mean LOVES people watching during these weekends.  

It's just a coincidence that my home is 5 miles away from Mecca.  The "holy Land" of NASCAR. 

And SM is drawn to this seething mass of humanity like a mosquito is to a bug zapper.  So when he asked me to go to Walmart with him this morning I thought it would make a good blog post.  So I grabbed the camera and tagged along.  

Now, what is all this "chicken bone to the head" stuff about?  

Thirteen years ago when we moved here SM and I went to several races.  (Yeah, I can be a team player from time to time.)  Back then, you were allowed to bring in your own food and drinks.  I don't know if you still can or not. 

Anyway, the big joke was that fans would bring in buckets of Bojangles fried chicken and coolers full of beer.  If you sat in the cheap seats, (down front) you could expect to get smacked with a "chicken bone to the head" from the fans behind you when an unpopular driver would zoom by.

I never got "smacked" but I did get covered in black flecks of tire/race track goo.  Not to mention lost my ability to hear much of anything for hours afterwards, even protected with ear plugs.  Hot, sweaty, stinky, loud...Oh yeah this was right up my alley.  NOT.

So here's to you NASCAR fans out there.  Sorry I couldn't cut it.  But SM hopes to be there tonight.  He'll head out like he does every year and "scalp" a ticket.  He's such a party animal!

"You be sure and take a shower before you climb into bead, now!" I holler.