Bo-he-mi-an: noun a person (as a writer or an artist) living an unconventional life usually in a colony with others.
Hill-bil-ly: noun a person from a backwoods area.
(With gracious appreciation to Merriam-Webster.)
A few years ago a friend of mine, when she learned that I absolutely love Nascar, said, "I just don't see you as a Nascar fan. You're just so ... bohemian."
"I guess that makes me a bohemian hillbilly," I replied.
Thus, my philosophy of life was properly labeled for sociologists to study.
I don't fit the Nascar fan stereotype. I'm an environmentalist, and I love a sport that gobbles natural resources. I'm a liberal, and it's a sport whose fans were actively courted by The President Who I Shall Not Name. (I do like how I have my Mothers Opposing Bush bumper sticker positioned above my Dale Earnhardt, Dale Jr., and Kevin Harvick stickers. I like to keep my fellow drivers on their toes.) My personal style tends toward simple and classic with occasional retro flare. You're not going to see me in the likes of this, I don't care how much I want Dale Earnhardt Jr. to be my second husband.
Regardless, put me in front of a race and I promise you I'll cry during the national anthem, cuss a blue streak when Jeff Gordon causes a wreck and drives away without a scratch, and scream like a ninny if my boy Dale Jr., the future Mr. Poppymom wins.
(I mean, holy crap, I implore you to just look at that boy! Vroom vroom vroom!)
Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah - bohemian hillbilly. It is entirely possible to be an educated, socially responsible, irreverent and witty person who owns the Kick in the Asphalt Winston Cup official No Bull CD. Shut up. It's sandwiched between Joy Division and Kittie in my CD collection, so don't even try to give me any crap about it or I'll punch you in your motherfucking face, and then I'll force you to wear a really ugly shirt.
When I found out I was pregnant with Clara "Restrictor Plate" Jane and my due date was in mid-February, my first choice was to have her on February 13th, my grandmother's birthday. Second choice - February 15th, the day of the 2004 Daytona 500. I even claimed that, if my daughter was born during the running of the race, I was going to name her Daytona Dale.
She wasn't born during the race. She was born 20 minutes after my future husband Dale Earnhardt Jr. won the race ... his first Daytona 500 ... avenging the untimely demise of my would-be father-in-law Dale Earnhardt at the hands of that wicked wall in turn three.
Despite the awful, traumatic, therapy-worthy labor I experienced, that didn't stop me from having the race on in my labor room. Just as the sweet, sweet C-section drugs began to ease the pain of hours and hours and hours and hours and ... did I mention hours? ... hours of excrutiating back labor and breakthrough pain, I looked to the television just in time to see Clara Jane's future stepdaddy cross the finish line. With the last bit of strength remaining from my 32 hours of labor, I managed a weak smile and a thumbs up to my dad, the one responsible for this Nascar obsession that plagues me.
Of course, I'm doing my best to pass the plague to my kid. Before today's race I sang to her a little chant that I originally started singing to her when she was one week old. It goes a little something like this:
Heeeeeeeeeey, Junior! Do it like you did it on the day I was born!
Repeat ad nauseum.
And yet, despite all this, I didn't watch the race. I recorded it, because I had a ton of errands to run. Besides, there are definite perks to watching the race recorded, as my dad taught me. You can fast forward through the boring parts. I happened to turn on the TV when only two laps remained, only to see the dastardly Jeff Gordon in the lead, eventually winning the race.
Oh well. Clara "Superspeedway" Jane and I will just have to practice our chant this week so we can be ready for next week's race. I just wish they still played banjo music when they cut to commercials.
Posted by Robin at February 20, 2005 07:58 PM | TrackBack
i watched some of the race. yes, you heard right kara who doesn't watch nascar watched nascar. and i've reached that level where i can actually identify who's where by the car.
i could tell you about the last few laps before you tuned in. and maybe some of the laps in the middle.
you know, if you want me to. :)
Posted by: kara at February 20, 2005 09:27 PMHere was a little of my Sunday routine today.
Got home from church and helped Wendy finish cleaning the 6' of snow the plow left in the bottom of the driveway. Came in about two laps into the race and pulled up all of my Trackpass crap, because God forbid I not have my scanner going so I can hear when Rusty starts cussing after a bad pit-stop. Fall asleep with about 100 laps left and wake up with about 20.
And this is what I do for most of the Sunday races throughout the year.
Only 9 more months of this!
Posted by: Jenny at February 20, 2005 09:54 PMWe went to the craft store before the race because Mack was hoping we'd have a nice cushion of commercials to zoom through. But no. Instead, the 500 has turned into the Super Bowl. *whatever*
You know how I feel about the end of the race -- sweet satisfaction, baby. Drive for five!!!! I don't know if my marriage is going to survive the season, though. With Mack a Jimmie Johnson fan, and me a Gordon fan, there were moments when I wanted to scream, "does your driver understand the term 'work with your teammate? how about work with your OWNER?'" But I suppressed the urge. The psychiatrist would be proud. I did scream at the TV an awful lot from about 50 to go, which means I'm either feeling better or much worse. Which do you think? ;)
Posted by: Sibeal at February 21, 2005 01:21 PMRobin, don't you normally make bicuits and gravy when there's a big race on? The point I'm getting to is that I think you should make them when I'm in town cos I've never had yours :)
Posted by: Exena at February 21, 2005 07:35 PMTriple-X, I got out of the habit of Sunday biscuits and gravy when we started going to the diner, but I'll definitely make them when you're here. Just remind me.
Posted by: Poppy at February 21, 2005 07:45 PM
