How I can relate to NASCAR

Never thought I'd write that sentence. Heh. The first time I introduced my then-boyfriend now-husband to the fam was in Indianapolis, and we went to the Indy 500 museum, where he explained the finer points of auto racing.

We knew nothing of racing, until that moment in time. We learned that Indy is not NASCAR. Ah, yes, the picture is clear now, we thought: Indy has Danica Patrick, and nicely laid bricks on the track, and the whole thing appears rather historical and... high-minded in comparison. HOWEVER...! DH grew up watching NASCAR; then he learned the inner workings from an internship in PR (PR! Business! Not dirty!) at the Charlotte Motor Speedway. So I've developed at least a spouse's appreciation for all those endearing beer guts ahem, race day. :)

But today I discovered, in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, that little miss piano-lessons, debutante, thought-I-was-too-good-for-NASCAR can no longer keep such a distance from it! I'll paraphrase:

"The fastest crash course in how to be a Modern Southerner (in Atlanta) is to attend a NASCAR race.... the sport itself is really just bad driving and tailgating and cussing at one another at excessive speed, which most of us know how to do from commuting on Ga. 400" (or any of the God-forsaken, asphalt-spitting metro area highways).

Ba-haaaa! I've lived here ten-plus years, people. Atlantans are all NASCAR, at our core. Cussing and tailgating.

Maybe I should get a "3" for my bumper.