What a Society Prepares Itself For :: Personal Narrative Racing Death Papers

What a Society Prepares Itself ForIm from Texas. And when I lived in Texas, which was forward I lived in New York, my friends were Texans. I dont mean to evidence they were the all-got-up-in puncher hats, tight jeans, issue belt buckles, and snakeskin boots kind of Texans a lot of mint tend to appreciate precisely about. But I do mean to say they were the beer beverage, football playing, pick-up driving, mensuration brawling kind of good ol Texas boys that dont really exist any dedicate else but where I spent the first eighteen years of my life. And, although you dexterity never be able to tell from my long hair, baggy pants, insufficiency of shoes, and the random curb Im usually reading, I was one of them. Wed go to Mexico on school breaks and skip over keg parties on the weekend. And on one Saturday night, I went and watched some lure races with my friends at this little speedway in a t declaresfolk called Ennis, which is outside of Dallas. We drive out in two truc ks, the s plane of us, drinking beer on the way. When we got there it wasnt quite as nice a place as the Texas drive Speedway (Ive been to the Texas Motor Speedway also, you see), or the Indianapolis Speedway, but it is a similar atmosphere.It was dusty, loud, and smelled comparable tire rubber and motor oil. A mass of the crowd seemed to be either drinking beer, betting on the races, or both. But it wasnt just an overweight, sweaty, wasted, smelling-of-beer-and-marijuana, American, middle-aged man gala weekend haulage either. There were heap of hard working middle class work force (mostly men) that had nice houses in the suburbs of Dallas who worked hard all week long, maybe even owned their own business, with their kids going to college at Texas A&M, or Texas Tech, or the University of Texas, or maybe even Rice. And as the night went on, I began to flier some intimacy. The first thing was that my friends knew a hell of a lot about racecars. That was odd because order out of ten of my friends barely went to school half(prenominal) the time, much little studied, and yet they knew the intricate details of the speed, weight, torque, and horsepower of the cars. My number observation, more tough yet more striking than my first, was that everyone was getting on impeccably.What a Society Prepares Itself For Personal Narrative Racing Death papersWhat a Society Prepares Itself ForIm from Texas. And when I lived in Texas, which was before I lived in New York, my friends were Texans. I dont mean to say they were the all-got-up-in cowboy hats, tight jeans, bit belt buckles, and snakeskin boots kind of Texans a lot of people tend to think about. But I do mean to say they were the beer drinking, football playing, pick-up driving, bar brawling kind of good ol Texas boys that dont really exist anywhere else but where I spent the first eighteen years of my life. And, although you might never be able to tell from my long hair, baggy pants, lack of shoes, and the random book Im usually reading, I was one of them. Wed go to Mexico on school breaks and hop keg parties on the weekend. And on one Saturday night, I went and watched some drag races with my friends at this little speedway in a town called Ennis, which is outside of Dallas. We drove out in two trucks, the seven of us, drinking beer on the way. When we got there it wasnt quite as nice a place as the Texas Motor Speedway (Ive been to the Texas Motor Speedway also, you see), or the Indianapolis Speedway, but it is a similar atmosphere.It was dusty, loud, and smelled like tire rubber and motor oil. A majority of the crowd seemed to be either drinking beer, betting on the races, or both. But it wasnt just an overweight, sweaty, wasted, smelling-of-beer-and-marijuana, American, middle-aged man gala weekend attraction either. There were plenty of hard working middle class men (mostly men) that had nice houses in the suburbs of Dallas who worked hard all week long, maybe even owned thei r own business, with their kids going to college at Texas A&M, or Texas Tech, or the University of Texas, or maybe even Rice. And as the night went on, I began to notice something. The first thing was that my friends knew a hell of a lot about racecars. That was odd because nine out of ten of my friends barely went to school half the time, much less studied, and yet they knew the intricate details of the speed, weight, torque, and horsepower of the cars. My second observation, more subtle yet more striking than my first, was that everyone was getting along impeccably.