The Day NASCAR Died

It’s getting harder to think of a blog idea that isn’t work-related or political. I had another blog written tonight, about a writing topic. I scrapped it. It feels too personal right now. I don’t want to share it just yet.

So here we are, dear readers, another Tuesday night with nothing to talk about.

Today, I mowed the lawn in the heat. No garter snake sightings. I also spent 40 minutes on the treadmill because Lemur gets his workout when he mows, while I sit on my ass and turn left like a really slow NASCAR driver.

*twiddles thumbs*

What did you do today?

*twiddles thumbs some more*

I have a sad story about NASCAR. My favorite driver is retiring at the end of the year. Except he’s only my favorite driver because his dad was my favorite driver, and his dad died sixteen years ago.

I’ve watched maybe ten races in the past sixteen years. Those were at my parents’ house. They still watch.

For me, racing died the day Dale Earnhardt Sr. died. Hey, Baby Boomers still claim music died with Buddy Holly. We are all entitled to our opinions, though the rise of Queen proves they were wrong. Maybe a young driver will prove me wrong, too. The question is, will people still care?

If you give no shits about NASCAR, I apologize for the brevity and lack of substance in this blog. Tune in Saturday, when I’ll at least have gotten a good night’s sleep, as long as I don’t have nightmares. Even if I do, at least I’ll have my coffee.