My dogs are barking...

Nothing like spending 28 of 48 hours on your feet on pavement to get the dogs barking... That's what your favorite blogger (and I better be your favorite!) has been doing the last two days and will continue to do on Saturday and Sunday... (12 hour shifts on each day). In the land of security, the perfect example of "feast or famine" syndrome, I am feasting more than a horde of Huns after battle. After a summer of parking lot nightmares where it felt like my feet melted up to my ankles and I was "cheetoed" time and again for a couple hours a week... (It seemed like all the money I was making was for sunblock and foot products), I have been busier than the proverbial one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest... 11 hours at the Greek festival, 9 hours at the ASU football game and then 56 hours in 5 days... (including a 4.5 hour gig today at ASU... mere bag of shells). But do not misconstrue my apparent whining because I'm not... (whining that is!). One does not complain when the feast is being served... (did you know why they dug trenches behind the tables at feasts in the olden days? So that you could lean back, vomit, and then turn around and continue to feast and drink. No one left the table for days.). There were only 9 positions available for this weekend and yours truly was handpicked to fill one... Phoenix International Raceway is hosting the Nascar (Sprint Cup? Winston Cup? Coffee Cup?) Race this week and I get to stand outside and not see a lap (but I can hear everything in deafening clarity and the smell of spent fuel is intoxicating---literally). I am the defender of Gate 2A where the golf carts and service vehicles go in and out and must check credentials for everyone entering. I can see the cars as the enter turn 2 but that's about it. But at least I know that none of us is inside so this is the best gig I could get. I have a tent to hide under and the people going and coming are pretty cool... (Met Brandon Webb, the pitcher for the Diamondbacks and Clint Boyer, the race car driver, when they were escorted through my gate). The most amazing thing is the instant trailer park that emerged around the track grounds in a matter of days... I'd be worried that a tornado might come and wipe it out but we don't get tornadoes in Arizona (although it is one humungous group of campers and RVs).

I am stationed next to the Speed Cantina (the Speed Channel sponsored this outdoor bar and music venue so last night I was treated to some live music in between the Midget Car Race and USAC race). It was a local country band and they were pretty good. It wasn't that busy but Saturday and Sunday should be crowded as the Nationwide Race and then the big boys take to the track...(reminder to self-purchase ear plugs at CVS today). This is all good because in 13 days I will appreciate the beaches of Aruba that much more... (you know I had to mention that).
The bad news is that I had to cancel skydiving on Sunday... (but I can jump out of a plane anytime and will do so again). The good news is that I got most of my money back (minus a late cancellation fee). So my adventures are limited to watching Clem and his family leave the trailer park and hoot and holler at the racetrack... (God, I sound like such a snob!). The truth is that Clem probably has more money than I do to afford to be here for all four days... (Tickets, Concessions, Souvenirs, RV campsite, Gas, etc.). They built a full sized supermarket on the campground to handle all the fans camping here. It's going to be quite a show, let me tell you. More good news... the temps will be in the 80's on the weekend so even though I will be in the sun all day I will not need 16 layers of sunblock nor will I be standing in a puddle of my own sweat (great visual, eh?). I have one of my straw golf hats for extra coverage, bug spray for the gnats (they were swarming for about 2 hours yesterday), and a couple gallons of water. I am close to the porta-johns and they let me park my Jeep close enough to walk to. (makes not seeing the race almost worth it. NOT!). All in all, except for the barking dogs, not a bad gig.