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…

Retirement Transitions - Times Are A-Changin

I expected that retirement would bring change. My hope was to control the changes that were inevitable and avoid others by planning carefully. It seems that the world is changing in ways that have nothing to do with my retirement. Has it been doing this right along, but I’m newly aware of it? Here are some examples.

You undoubtedly know that after 25 years on TV, Oprah Winfrey is beginning a new chapter in her life. Because I worked full time until my recent retirement, I saw very few of her shows, but it still weighs heavily that she’s going off the air. The musical chairs of morning show co-hosts and evening news anchors roll off my back. They’re reprising ones from just a handful of years ago. But life without a daily dose of Oprah? Unthinkable.

Then there’s Arnold and Maria splitting up. The fact that we’ve now learned why doesn’t minimize the jolt of hearing that yet another long-term marriage has bitten the dust. I have no strong opinions about them as individuals (except for my disgust for Ah-nold the Groper, assuming that was true,) but their separation still spiked my change meter.

This week’s Advertising Age has an article on all sorts of disconcerting changes to beer packaging. Some of you may be surprised that I would pay attention to this, being a baldly proclaimed wine lover. The truth is, there are times when nothing will do but a nice cold brewski.  I’m partial to Sam Adams, but I also enjoy Dos Equis, and I like to try local craft beers, but I’m not enthusiastic about the new packaging.

Take for example the Bud Light bottles that you can write on. Other than “Hands off my brewski!” I can’t imagine what I’d write on my beer. Certainly not anything that I’d expect to be reading later on. My eyesight is less than stellar at its best. After I’ve downed a few, I’d need someone to read my beer to me. Talk about demoralizing!

Heineken cans now feature raised ink that gives them texture and looks like condensation to make us think the beer is nice and cold. For me, the benefit would be that in a dimly lit bar, I wouldn’t have to squint to see which beer was mine. I could just grope for the one with the raised ink. Maybe that’s what Arnold was doing when he got a handful of… never mind.

Then there’s the home draft offered by Miller Lite. It comes with a carbon dioxide system that fits in your refrigerator and will stay fresh for thirty days. Thirty days would never do it for us. We once had half a six-pack in our fridge for more than five months. From the photo in Ad Age, home draft looks a lot like the wine-in-a-box that was introduced some years back. You just might be a redneck if you have home draft in your fridge.

Some craft beers offer variety packs. At first blush, that sounds like a good idea. Then I think about other samplers I’ve tried, like tea and cat food. Typically, at least a third of the varieties are losers. In my efforts to remember the keepers, I collect empties or labels that get sticky and smelly. “Honest, officer, that beer smell is not an open can that I’ve been drinking while driving. It’s empties from the sampler, so I know which ones are worth a six pack.” Yeah, right.

The last and most off-putting packaging change is something called “Canhole.” My first thought was: “If that’s supposed to be a euphemism, it’s worse than the slang it’s replacing.” Then I read the description. It’s cases of Keystone Light where a hole is cut out of the middle so people can toss in bags of beef jerky. Ad Age noted: “Midwesterners might know what cornhole is; the rest of the country… not so much.” Not so much indeed.

This led me to Google “cornhole” (AKA bean bag toss.) I turned up the website for The American Cornhole Association, established by a group of dedicated Cornholers from the west side of Cincinnati. (First prize one week; second prize three.) Wikipedia tells us that the cotton duck bags that get tossed are filled with feed corn. As you can see, Canhole makes the beer drinkers’ necks even redder by having them toss beef jerky.

This gives me new respect for my beverage of choice. Some might have offered wine in a box, and screw tops may now be available; but you’ll never see a case of wine jiggered so you can toss in beef jerky. The most redneck thing wine drinkers would be guilty of is spitting olive pits into empty bottles. And even then, they’d probably be artisanal olives.