Can’t Be A Redneck If

Since I’m taking a break from politics, I’ve decided to also take a break from being politically correct. In that spirit and inspired by Jeff Foxworthy, here are reasons why someone cannot be a redneck.

In a recent conversation with my husband, I mentioned: I’ve never had a taste for coffee; I’ve always preferred tea. For some reason, that triggered an image of a redneck, pinky in the air, with the tea bag string and tag draped over the edge of a delicate china cup. It was such a jarring picture that I knew immediately: if you don’t drink coffee, you can’t be a redneck.

The same discussion found me admitting: I’ve also never had a taste for hard liquor. Wine and beer, yes. But whiskey? No way. (I’m discounting the Black Russians I drank when I traveled for Colgate Palmolive.) This of course made me realize that you also can’t be a redneck if you don’t drink whiskey. It doesn’t matter if you have a still in your backyard. That just makes you an entrepreneur, not a redneck. It’s like being a drug dealer doesn’t automatically make you an addict. You have to use your product, too.

Here are some other signs most of you will recognize. You can’t be a redneck if you don’t own a pickup truck. Following proper rules of logic: just because you have a truck doesn’t make you a redneck. But you simply cannot be one unless you have a truck. That’s a non-negotiable requirement.

You also can’t be a redneck if you don’t have at least one tattoo. Best if it’s patriotic, or has some woman’s name (girlfriend or your mother, no matter). A woman needs a tattoo, too. Yours should be the name of your favorite country singer. Or maybe a flower.

One requirement you might not have thought about: You can’t be a redneck if your cousins aren’t married. (Keep reading.) To each other. (I told you this wouldn’t be PC.)

Likewise if you’ve never fired a gun of any kind. It could have been for skeet shooting, target practice, hunting or in the military. Or for scaring off your daughter’s boyfriend. Or a neighbor you don’t like. Or a door-to-door salesman. Owning a gun doesn’t get you off the hook, even if it’s a rifle mounted above the windshield of your pickup. You need to have fired one for some reason; that’s a price of entry.

I’m pretty sure you also can’t be a redneck unless you have at least one bumper sticker on your car or truck. I haven’t done enough research to be sure about this, but it makes sense to me. If one of my readers will just tweet this out, I’ll consider it proof enough. And I’m pretty sure that if you’ve never ever had a vehicle up on cinderblocks in your driveway, you can’t be a redneck. Just sayin’.

If you’ve never attended a state fair, you’re no redneck. And you’re missing out on a great experience. If you don’t care about the livestock displays or baked goods contests, if you don’t eat spun sugar (aka cotton candy or candy floss), and don’t enjoy carnival rides, at least go to one to people watch. It’s way more fun than a trip to Walmart.

You can’t be a redneck unless you’ve stood around waiting for someone to light up a cherry bomb, an ash can or a six-inch salute. And especially if your brother didn’t tell you when it was lit; he just ran. And you still have ringing in your ears because it took a few seconds before you realized what was going on.

If you believe the “Dueling Banjos” scene in the movie Deliverance is a classic, you definitely can’t be a redneck. And finally, if you support Hillary Clinton for President, I doubt you’re a redneck. (I couldn’t resist at least a whiff of politics.)

I know there are many more criteria on which to assess whether or not someone could be a redneck. Probably as many ways as there are to peg someone as a pompous intellectual…

The Black-White Existential Divide

The horrific events of recent weeks have once again spotlighted the color divide in this country. African-Americans tell us that Whites cannot know what it’s like to be Black in America. I accept this without reservation. Similarly, law enforcement spokespersons tell us that civilians can’t know what it’s like to be a police officer in an American city. I accept this as well.

These are just two examples of existential divides in today’s society. I live on one side of another of these. I’m a 26-year cancer survivor. I probably look a lot like you. Or your sister. Or your mother. But unless they’re cancer survivors, too, we’re not the same. From a survivor’s perspective, the world is split into two groups: those who have personally battled the disease and those who have not. Unless you’ve had "the Big C", you can’t know what it’s like to live on my side.

There’s a fundamental difference across the three existential divides of Race—Law Enforcement—and Cancer. A person like me who has had cancer will personally know how life differs before and after you have the disease A police officer likewise has a framework against which to compare life before he joined the force with life wearing a badge. A person of color can never know what it’s like to be White. And a White man can never truly experience life in a Black man’s skin.

This is more than a casual distinction. White people need to invest extra effort in order to put themselves in the other's “shoes.” I hope that as a society we are generous enough to do that. I’ve heard personal stories of what it’s like to be Black in our country today from my friends who are people of color. I know Black professionals who had to have “the talk” with their sons (and themselves). “Don’t make eye contact. Bow your head. Swallow your pride. Better to live to see another day.”

I’ve read the account of a friend of color pulled over for a routine traffic stop. This woman is an attorney and has multiple degrees, including from Ivy institutions, but she was paralyzed with fear. She sat in her car, hands gripping the wheel, assessing how to retrieve her ID from her purse without getting shot. Shot for (supposedly) not pausing long enough at a stop sign. She survived the incident, but now she’s struggling to contain the anger it has left her with.

I can’t completely appreciate what this must be like, but I’m immensely sad just imagining how these friends must feel. The Black-White existential divide is one that none of us can actually cross. But by reaching out to those of opposite skin tones and sharing their fear and their pain, we can at least hope to narrow the chasm.

Conflated Words

Combining two words into one gained popularity as shorthand for celebrity pairings. You have Brangelina (Pitt and Jolie) and the various Bennifers (Affleck/Lopez, and then Affleck/Garner). This time-saving conceit has been adopted as a way to use fewer words to say what’s on one’s mind. There’s Spanglish (Spanish flavored English) and more recently candle (can’t handle). The trend should come as no surprise in a society where one Presidential candidate uses Twitter as his primary means of communication.

I've decided to hop on the bangon (that’s the conflated “band wagon”). I might as well start with some shortened political phrases. The Vice Presidential contenders will heretofore be known as venders or veepers. I feel like the Democrats should use venders and the Republicans are more likely to adopt veepers. Blind loyalty (a key criterion in the search for the Republican Veep) will now be bloyalty.

In advance of the actual VP picks, we can still play the power couples game that helped start this trend. Hillary and Tim Kaine could mash up as Hiltim, but that sounds too much like a hotel chain, which would smack of Trump. That leaves Clinkain, evoking Clint Eastwood as Robert Kincaid in The Bridges of Madison County. On the Hispanic front, we could have Hillian Clintro, which sounds way too anatomical. OK. How about Hilliz? If it’s mispronounced as “Hell, Yes,” it gives Warren an edge.

Returning to bloyalty, The Donald and Chris Christie would be known as Trysty. (Better than Crump.) Pairing the Don with Newt Gingrich gets a new Nike slogan: Just Dewt. (Way better than Grump.) Scott Brown offers the option Donott, which could sound like “done it” (as in “been there, done that”). This would appeal to Donald’s ego. “We are the Trumpions” would make Jeff Sessions a clear front runner were it not for Queen’s intro line “…mistakes, I’ve made a few…” The Donald never makes mistakes.

In the meantime, prolls (Presidential polls) will continue to assess which venders or veepers are the current favorites with the bookies. The Presidential campaigns will be issuing policy papers (polpers), or in some cases white papers (whoppers). The Republican candidate will condense his positions into a tweet. This will challenge his staff to come up with hyper-conflated words, while preserving his hyper-inflated ego.

Moving from politics to healthy eating trends, expect to see gloofy, shoofy and floofy on package labels. No, these are not new names for the trio of characters on Rice Krispies boxes. They’re shortened versions of gluten free, sugar free and flavor free. They’re usually seen as a threesome since the first two often result in the third.

Let’s get more personal. I need to make time to dye my hair when my groots (gray roots) start showing a half inch or more. Here’s some advice to all of you: best to avoid me when I’m crungry (cranky and hungry). This would probably be more accurately conflated into hanky, since being hungry usually precedes getting cranky. But hanky begs to be followed by panky. I try to spend a half hour each day on saxtice (saxophone practice). Which is more than I spend on that hanky stuff, begging not withstanding.

Pop culture provides many opportunities for collapsing words together. “Social Media” can become smedia. Sports-minded readers will find it easier to talk about their fleague than their fantasy league. You can dismiss someone’s opinion with just one word: zif (short for “as if”). Someone who’s slow on the uptake is bramaged (brain damaged). You can throw shade on someone’s looks by saying they’re bugly (butt ugly). By the time they figure it out, you’ll be beyond spitting range.

We could play this game all day, but you get the idea. At least I hope you do. Because if you don’t, you’re either not paying attention, or you’re bramaged.

Campaign Trail Music

At one of Donald Trump’s recent rallies, a woman asked why TSA workers in “hibby-jobbies” (or some mangled version of hijab) aren’t being replaced with veterans who need work. Trump said he’d be looking into that. This reminded me once again that he encourages xenophobia. And then one of those light bulbs went on over my head.

Trump should put together a musical group to tour with him on the campaign trail. We’ll call them “Donny and the Xenophobes.” There’ll be lots of percussion, especially the clashing of cymbals. The brass section will be all wind and no wood. Pace yourselves, readers, because I’m just getting started.

Bill Clinton will have a band called William Jefferson Airplane. It will perform only on airport tarmacs. When someone he wants to influence is landing, he’ll play a few bars of “Hail to the Chief” on his sax. It will of course be a swing band.

The New Jersey Governor (and potential Trump running mate) will tour with his own group: the New Christie Mouthfuls. He’ll delight constituents at fundraisers with his own rendition of “Green, Green” (on the far side of the bridge) and “This Land Is Trump’s Land.”

The Massachusetts Senator who is a potential Clinton running mate will also have her own ensemble: Lizzy W and Her Brass Balls. She’ll be the closing act for Donny and the Xenophobes, and the opening act for Hillary. This is their fight song.

Speaking of the presumptive Democratic nominee, she’ll excite voters with her HillBilly Rockers. Her husband will join them (when he’s not on a tarmac somewhere), and they’re going to beat Trump like a drum. Hill expects to peel off some of the Southern vote with this down-to-earth group. She might even perform in a leather pantsuit.

Bernie and the Pacemakers will tour as a cover band for the Grateful-I’m-Not Dead, right up until the Democratic convention later this month. Oh, you think I’m being cruel on this one? Google “Gerry and the Pacemakers,” a group from Liverpool that was popular in the ‘60’s. Then take the Ferry Cross the Mersey, but Don’t Let the Sun Catch You Crying.

Another potential Trump running mate will be found on the campaign trail performing as Eye of the Newt (and Tongue of the Toady). He’ll frequently be double billed with Sarah P and the Ditzes. But you’ll never find them in the same place as John and the Thunesmiths. His a cappella quartet will play mostly John Tesh songs. Then there’s “dark horse” Mike Pence, Governor of Indiana. He’s still working on getting his musicians together.

Let’s not forget Alabama Senator Jeff Sessions and Tennessee Senator Bob Corker, both also on Trump’s short list for VP. I’m forever getting the two of them confused; all those Southern states look alike to me. With a full name like Jefferson Beauregard, Sessions should have a banjo in his hand. And Corker, well, let’s give him a harmonica. I hope they team up and tour together, doing the dueling theme from Deliverance.

Meanwhile, another potential Clinton running mate will be seen here and there under the name Kaine and the Virginia Revival. I have absolutely no idea what type of music he’ll play, but with a first name Tim, I wouldn’t expect acid rock.

Surrogates for the presumptive Democratic nominee will have their own ensembles. Barack’s Rolling Stoners will appear at rallies just about everywhere, with the Supremes as his backup. Meanwhile, Biden’s Wanderers will hit the state fair circuit in the rust belt. They’ll play whatever the crowd requests, as long as it was written before 1970.

Republicans that are still hoping for a convention miracle will make rare appearances in places that aren’t Ohio. You might catch Jeb and the Family Bush in Florida, or Mitt Romney and the Heartbreakers in New England. Paul Ryan and the Raiders will be seen only rarely and only in DC. And probably only around midnight.

There you have it. The groups you can expect to find on the campaign trail from now until November. Somewhere in this list must be one that will be music to your ears.