The Smell of Nitro in the Morning... Smells Like Victory

So, I'm a dude. I like dude things. Football, sports cars, steak and potatoes, my wife in her birthday suit...you know, stuff like that. Well, I had the opportunity to experience a true "dude" event this weekend in my home town of Dallas, Texas.

That event was an NHRA (National Hot Rod Association) drag race, which included top-fuel dragsters and funny cars. Wow... Just writing the words "top-fuel" gave me goosebumps and caused a flashback of yesterdays action. You may be saying to yourself, "So? What's the big freaking deal?"

I'll tell you what the big freaking deal is. Unless you have stood on the deck of an aircraft carrier during the launch of a fighter jet or been present at the launch of the space shuttle, you have never, never, ever heard a sound as unbelievably loud as a top-fuel car streaking by at 300-+ miles per hour, right in front of your face...

And the sound is only half of the goosebump-inducing, adrenaline-pumping experience. As the cars passed in front of me, the ground shook so intensely that, combined with the deafening roar, made me feel as if the world was coming to an end, or that the race track was being bombed. It's that violent.

The only disappointing aspect of the entire experience was that, from the time I entered the gate 'til the time I exited the gate, I don't think I drew one breath of air that didn't contain cigarette smoke, B.O., beer fumes, or some combination of the three. At some point after constantly (and I do mean constantly) smelling cigarette smoke, I became acutely aware that, in every direction, in the stands, lining the fences and in the pit area, were rednecks.

Even more startlingly, these rednecks were the prototypical, quintessential brand of redneck: Deep tan from years of sunburn presumably caused by working outside in the sun and attending hundreds of events just like this one; dirty baseball caps advertising their favorite race car driver, their favorite auto parts store, or their favorite brand of malt liquor; cut-off blue jean shorts; the ubiquitous mullet on both men and women; cigarette dangling from a mouth full of yellowish-brown teeth; and last, but not least, plastic bottles of Coors light gripped firmly in hand.

For a brief time, I was actually distracted from the majesty of the cars racing as I gazed, open-mouthed, at the sheer volume of white trash that surrounded me. My first thought was, "Well, at least now I know why I can't get the smell of cigarette smoke out of my sinuses." Another thing surprised me: There was not one disturbance, despite the vast number of drunken idiots stumbling around the complex. Not one fight, not one verbal altercation, nothing.

The only violence came from the 7,500 horsepower engines of the top-fuel cars. And, you know what? In spite of the company I'll be forced to keep, I absolutely can't wait for the opportunity to go to another NHRA race...

Being Poor

Being poor is knowing exactly how much everything costs.

Being poor is hoping the toothache goes away.

Being poor is knowing your kid goes to friends' houses but never has friends over to yours.

Being poor is going to the restroom before you get in the school lunch line so your friends will be ahead of you and won't hear you say "I get free lunch" when you get to the cashier.

Being poor is living next to the freeway.

Being poor is coming back to the car with your children in the back seat, clutching that box of Raisin Bran you just bought and trying to think of a way to make the kids understand that the box has to last.

Being poor is wondering if your well-off sibling is lying when he says he doesn't mind when you ask for help.

Being poor is off-brand toys.

Being poor is a heater in only one room of the house.

Being poor is knowing you can't leave $5 on the coffee table when your friends are around.

Being poor is hoping your kids don't have a growth spurt.

Being poor is stealing meat from the store, frying it up before your mom gets home and then telling her she doesn't have make dinner tonight because you're not hungry anyway.

Being poor is Goodwill underwear.

Being poor is not enough space for everyone who lives with you.

Being poor is feeling the glued soles tear off your supermarket shoes when you run around the playground.

Being poor is your kid's school being the one with the 15-year-old textbooks and no air conditioning.

Being poor is thinking $8 an hour is a really good deal.

Being poor is an overnight shift under florescent lights.

Being poor is finding the letter your mom wrote to your dad, begging him for the child support.

Being poor is stopping the car to take a lamp from a stranger's trash.

Being poor is making lunch for your kid when a cockroach skitters over the bread, and you looking over to see if your kid saw.

Being poor is not taking the job because you can't find someone you trust to watch your kids.

Being poor is the police busting into the apartment right next to yours.

Being poor is not talking to that girl because she'll probably just laugh at your clothes.

Being poor is hoping you'll be invited for dinner.

Being poor is a sidewalk with lots of brown glass on it.

Being poor is people thinking they know something about you by the way you talk.

Being poor is needing that 35-cent raise.

Being poor is your kid's teacher assuming you don't have any books in your home.

Being poor is six dollars short on the utility bill and no way to close the gap.

Being poor is crying when you drop the mac and cheese on the floor.

Being poor is knowing you work as hard as anyone, anywhere.

Being poor is people surprised to discover you're not actually stupid.

Being poor is people surprised to discover you're not actually lazy.

Being poor is a six-hour wait in an emergency room with a sick child asleep on your lap.

Being poor is never buying anything someone else hasn't bought first.

Being poor is picking the 10 cent ramen instead of the 12 cent ramen because that's two extra packages for every dollar.

Being poor is having to live with choices you didn't know you made when you were 14 years old.

Being poor is getting tired of people wanting you to be grateful.

Being poor is knowing you're being judged.

Being poor is a box of crayons and a $1 coloring book from a community center Santa.

Being poor is checking the coin return slot of every soda machine you go by.

Being poor is deciding that it's all right to base a relationship on shelter.

Being poor is knowing you really shouldn't spend that buck on a Lotto ticket.

Being poor is hoping the register lady will spot you the dime.

Being poor is feeling helpless when your child makes the same mistakes you did, and won't listen to you beg them against doing so.

Being poor is a cough that doesn't go away.

Being poor is making sure you don't spill on the couch, just in case you have to give it back before the lease is up.

Being poor is a $200 paycheck advance from a company that takes $250 when the paycheck comes in.

Being poor is four years of night classes for an Associates of Art degree.

Being poor is a lumpy futon bed.

Being poor is knowing where the shelter is.

Being poor is people who have never been poor wondering why you choose to be so.

Being poor is knowing how hard it is to stop being poor.

Being poor is seeing how few options you have.

~ Author Unknown

The Hurricane Gustav Diet Worked for Me!!

Well, we made it. Gustav passed through Louisiana, causing massive infrastructure damage and more or less kicking Baton Rouge in the crotch. Though he's dead now, Gustav left an innumerable amount of downed trees in his wake. Those downed trees have become the bane of existence for most residents of the Baton Rouge area. Why? Because those downed trees sliced right through homes and power lines by the hundreds. Maybe even by the thousands. I have lived in Baton Rouge (off and on) since 1975 and have never, ever seen so much destruction.

The first couple of days after Gustav were surreal, to say the least. There were no traffic lights working anywhere in the city. There were no gas stations open. There were no grocery stores open. Many roads were impassable due to the aforementioned downed trees. No one had electricity; not hospitals, not government agencies...no one. All most of us had was the bottled water and granola bars we purchased prior to the storm and a small battery-powered radio. Other than that, the citizens of Baton Rouge and the surrounding parishes were cut off from civilization.

The electricity was restored here at my home yesterday and, while I am exceedingly happy about that, there is a part of me that feels very guilty about having electricity while many of my fellow Gustav veterans are still without electricity as I type this.

Not having electricity in south Louisiana isn't quite the same as not having electricity in, say, Minnesota. July/August/September in south Louisiana is an endurance event for all who live here, with static temperatures in the upper-90's and humidity levels in the 80%-+ range. It can be unbearable sometimes, and electricity provides air conditioning, which provides the only relief from the hot, sticky atmosphere.

Without electricity, no number of cold showers can wash away the stench of a day's sweat. Eating granola bars, beef jerky, and peanut butter sandwiches for days on end dulls the senses, as does the never ending search for ice to cool the bottled water and keep the packaged lunch meat from rotting.

What about a generator, you ask? Wouldn't a generator provide an energy source to run a refrigerator? Sure, a generator is an amazing machine to have in a situation like this, if you can afford the hyper-inflated price tag and $3.75-per-gallon gasoline to run it. I was able to borrow a generator, and I'm thankful for that opportunity. However, after spending over $200 in gasoline in a weeks' time to run the generator, I realized I could not afford such a luxury. So, into the storage shed went the generator, and unfortunately, I know I was not the only one to find himself in this situation.

This past week hasn't necessarily been a complete disaster for me, I must confess. Since last weekend, I have lost nearly 10 pounds, ostensibly due to the constant sweating, sleeplessness and lack of nutrition. I call it the "Hurricane Gustav Diet".

So, if you find yourself squinting against a bright, sunny blue sky tomorrow, I hope you'll be reminded of the many families here in south Louisiana who are still shell shocked in the aftermath of hurricane Gustav. We covet your prayers...