Brain vs. Brawn

Throughout the years classes have been defined by how much money they make.  Once that parameter is established, words such as “blue collar,” and “white collar,” are introduced to further segregate the masses.

 

Since the earliest forms of labor, we have been subjected to being pigeon-holed into one or the other of worker category mentioned above.  The blue collar people have been portrayed as the brawn, while the white collar workers are seen as the brains.  And ne’er the two shall meet.

 

Much of this categorizing is self-inflicted and self-policed but, it still exists.

 

Blue collar refers to the uniform shirts once used by many laborers.  They were colored to more easily hide grease and other stains acquired while performing daily duties.

 

Conversely, white collar is descriptive of the management side of industry, where workers are not subject to getting their togs soiled by anything more than a pen.

 

People gravitate to either of the two categories because any number of reasons of identity.  Simply put, it is the education factor that usually determines where we all head to work.

 

Those kids who didn’t do well during their school years usually wound-up working in blue collar jobs, while those who were more astute settled into white collar positions.  Those were likely individual choices, or options dictated by intellect.

 

Nonetheless, the blue collar crowd seems to perpetually resent the white collar workers, and vice versa.

 

Having been on both sides of the issue, I reached out to everyone whose side I was not on because each was not mutually exclusive.

 

White collar people need someone to unclog their toilets or fix their cars or paint their homes.  These workers get paid for their duties, some to the tune of $90 per hour as plumbers or auto mechanics.

 

The odd part is that when the blue collar people require white collar services akin to writing resumes, banking, or generally solving problems, they resent having to pay for those services.  Resentment comes from not seeing the ‘smarter’ worker covered in dirt, although they didn’t witness the scholastic struggles and cerebral torments for being nerds.  They quickly forget who repairs those virus-infected computers.

 

Operating a shovel, broom, or mop requires little skill; driving a truck or forklift requires a bit more.  Drilling and cutting with a five-axis milling machine takes even more skill, accompanied by copious training and discipline.

 

But, developing a thought process of memory retention and astute problem solving, coupled with rational contemplation is often viewed by the blue collar group as inequitable.  Since blue collar folks fails to see dirt beneath white collar people’s fingernails, they think “lazy,” or “inept.”  They never think “too busy helping blue collar slobs.”  Then, they like to overcharge the white collar crowd out of principle and spite.

 

If that’s the case, figure out your own problems, write your own resumes, and I’ll unclog my own toilet.

Ask, and Ye Shall Receive

If we’re learning anything from society, it is that equality is not the right to be equal.  Yeah, I know that doesn’t make sense, but I still don’t have enough status in the world to make up the rules so…

 

A guy named Phil Robertson is a fellow that started a business making duck calls in Louisiana a bunch of years ago.  He was very successful and wound up catching the notice of some “reality show” television producers.  They created a show based around this duck call business and the family that makes those calls.

 

It is a light-hearted, family-oriented show that involves some sort of adventure and associated mishap, and each show ends with the family seated around the dinner table, breaking bread and praying thanks.

 

The premise and execution is so successful that merchandise related to this franchise likely rival them to the NFL for licensed goods.  Shirts, sunglasses, cup holders, seat covers, Christmas CD’s, you name it, is for sale because the message has met the anticipation of the viewers, in camouflage.  

 

The network – A&E – is reaping the benefits.  They regularly run marathons of these shows for hours-on-end to allow regular viewers to recap, and new watchers to catch-up.  It is a win-win for A&E.

 

That is, until just recently.  Phil Robertson, while giving an interview for GQ Magazine, made a statement that ruffled the proverbial feathers of the gay and lesbian community because Mr. Robertson, as an Evangelical Christian, has an opinion as to how homosexual relations are held in the teachings of the Bible. 

 

He was asked about this and he gave an honest answer, according to him.  Unfortunately, the now, not-so-tolerant gay and lesbian community who so desired everyone be tolerant before being gay and lesbian was fashionable, is not as tolerant, as one would hope, toward Phil Robertson.

 

Mr. Robertson didn’t spew hatred about flames of Hell, or shackles in prison, like Muslim religions do when talking about homosexuals.  Nonetheless, A&E felt compelled to distance themselves from this brouhaha until the dust settles.

 

Unfortunately, Mr. Robertson’s family is standing firmly behind him, the way any civil, respectable family should.

 

It is the right of A&E to not air Mr. Robertson’s show, just as it is Mr. Robertson’s right to take his show to another, competing network.  This will leave an opening for a gay and lesbian program that will likely do very well (tongue-in-cheek.)

 

I dare say that I am having trouble imagining a compendium of homosexual viewers tuning-in each week to see Mr. Robertson and his camouflaged kin in their mischievous adventures involving beehives, beaver dams, squirrel hunting, or ducks.  So, who exactly the real offended parties are seem to be a mystery, although gays and lesbians appear to be more equal when it comes to who is more easily offended.  But, A&E is crying corporate crocodile tears for those the mean words that exited the hairy mouth of Neanderthal Phil.

 

The real bigots seem to be the intolerant gays and lesbians.

The “C-word”

Warning: For anyone so averse to a baby – Baby Jesus, to be exact – you may stop reading now.  Today’s story regards Christmas carols.

 

Christmas arrives each year and is celebrated world-wide by Christians who believe this the day Jesus was born.  Jesus is the Christian’s savior who gave His life for mankind.

 

To celebrate this sacred and joyous time of the year, people of all ages sing and listen to Christmas songs.  Not all Christmas songs are religious, though.

 

“Winter Wonderland,” is one of those secular tunes that pops-up during the Yule season which can be very confusing to those people who fear Baby Jesus.

 

It seems as though a whole cadre of do-gooders have devoted their lives to saving the stupider of the population from ear pollution and acquiring equally numbing fear of Jesus.

 

These do-gooders have been systematically removing any sense of Jesus, Christmas songs, and idea that this Christian holiday is a Christian holiday.

 

This, and a few other carols, has been giving these do-gooders fits because, it is not religious.  The word “Christmas” appears nowhere therein but gives these do-gooders fits because “Winter Wonderland” is a traditional Christmas song.

 

“Deck the Halls,” is another secular tune that irritates the secularists for much the same reason.

 

Somehow, somewhere Christmas became more offensive to the populace than the “N-word” trump card of words.

 

But, I love Christmas and Christmas songs.  I have been buying Christmas-related albums for years, with numbers approaching 200 albums and CDs.  Oddly enough, my ears haven’t caught on fire, and blood hasn’t leaked from my eyes since listening to these festive holiday songs.

 

The odd thing is that each one of these albums/CDs has pretty much the same songs on each…the varying factor is the performer and their style that makes these carols differ from one another.

Even songs like “Blue Christmas” are considered non-secular because of that all-offensive word, “Christmas.”

 

Too bad America is so easily offended and aurally injured by things Jesus.

 

Heck, Christmas and Jesus are so popular, even notable non-Christians like Neil Diamond, Kenny-G, and Barbra Streisand get on the bandwagon and help celebrate by producing television shows and Christmas music.  That’s a pretty powerful statement.

 

Until this epidemic is summarily dealt with by turning a deaf ear to those ninnies, Merry Christmas to all!

Let There Be Lights

Just as last year, and the year before, and the year before that year, I spent the previous 4½ hours with a test meter checking bulbs in my many strings of Christmas lights.

 

Ghost hunters, UFO chasers, and crypto zoologists, spend countless years trying to figure out the reality of the paranormal, extraterrestrial aliens, and the existence of mythical creatures.

 

If only they would sit with me for a brief time around the approaching Christmas season, we all might be able to note a miraculous scientific discovery, together.

 

I could possibly lead them directly to a poltergeist-like entity that somehow manages to creep into my garage, during the off-season, and wreak havoc on my strings of lights.

 

Each end-of-Christmas-season ritual is the same, with me carefully wrapping the newly de-hung lights, labeling them, and packing them neatly into boxes until next year.

 

And each new season begins with the hope of a trouble-free reassembly of last year’s scheme of festive outdoor illumination.  No such luck.

 

This first string pulled from the hermetically sealed packaging worked well last year.  With crossed fingers, I plugged it into the workbench electrical strip and…

 

The baffling part is that there were no steam rollers cavorting about my garage, nor were there any ravaging hedge clippers wreaking havoc among the Christmas decorations.

 

My tradition was no disappointment this year.  Out comes the tester to figure out why there is no light emanating from my lights.

 

Both Smokey the cat and my sainted wife wanted in on the action.  One wanted to play with the removed bulbs and fuses, my sainted wife was begging for cat treats.  Maybe it was the other way around.

 

In any case, the effort to locate and isolate the problem coughed up thoughts of far more technical matters.

 

In the 1960’s, then-President John F. Kennedy challenged Americans to build a rocket ship to the Moon.  That flight was launched in 1969 and made Americans the envy of the world.

 

Scientists and engineers huddled together to create a craft to ferry three men to the Moon and back.  Not without problems, these brainiacs accomplished their mission, solving problems not within walking distance, with aplomb.

 

The former Soviet Union was left in our dust as we, as a nation, displayed technological feats never seen before.

 

Unfortunately, President Kennedy didn’t challenge Christmas light manufacturers to create strings of lights that didn’t require a master’s of science degree to get them to work two consecutive years.

 

It wasn’t long before one string after another found their way into my favorite garbage can.  To avoid temptation of retrieving them later, I severed them like a Top Chef contestant chopping Vidalia onions.

 

And so goes the mystery of the Christmas lights until they are repackaged for next years’ round of these games.  Perhaps I’ll win then.

Good Riddance

Before September 11, 2001, my music of choice was rock and roll.  On September 12^th, it changed to country and western.

 

Those unprovoked attacks on America, by Islam - the “religion of peace,” sent me searching for something to which to listen.  The only radio station that filled my needs was the sole country radio broadcaster.  They played patriotic songs between the calls from distraught listeners, who seemed to reflect my sympathies.  I came, I listened, I stayed.

 

It wasn’t long before I became familiar with the artists and their songs.  Country music had gravitated away from that twangy, nasal style from the 1950’s.  Hank Williams had been summarily replaced by the likes of Tim McGraw, much to my delight.

 

I still enjoy music from Patsy Cline but, that may be because the recording fidelity is so good. 

 

My early years were spent helping the black and white TV cowboy heroes round up desperados across the west.  Roy Rogers, Dale Evans, and Gene Autry are a few of those good eggs known as “singing cowboys,” which not only maintained the law, but also entertained us while doing so.  But, I digress.

 

Because there was nothing else on TV, my sainted wife and I tuned in some sort of country music award show.  Expecting to see country singers singing country music, we were both decidedly disappointed to see country singers singing anything but.

 

Bands consisting of two, three, four, and sometimes more artists, climbed up onto the stage to perform “crossover” songs.  But, this venue was a country music show, not a crossover music show.

 

More rock and roll, and whiny sappy songs, than anything else, we patiently awaited something resembling country music.  Alas, there was none.

 

Taylor Swift, goddess du jour, uttered some pathetic noise akin to a cat being beaten by a fiddle.  Some group, oddly named Florida Georgia Line, pranced about the stage wearing t-shirts and scarves – likely avant garde in the bowels of New York City, appeared out of place where cowboy hats and boots were expected.  Again, there were too few to make a difference.

 

Times were when women wore fringed skirts, boots, and cowboy hats.  Men of the time wore crisp suits, boots, embroidered shirts, and cowboy hats.  Like sports teams, they could be easily identified simply by the clothes on which they were clad.  Occasionally, the star would enter the stage wearing blue jeans and a cowboy hat; no more is that man to be located at a country music award show.

 

My best guess is that these performers point their creative compasses in the direction of the money.  The country music listening crowd may be dwindling, but the pop and rock music worlds are expanding.

 

Kenny Chesney left the country music scene years ago when he began singing reggae music in videos shot in the Caribbean Islands.  It’s too bad the rest of the lemmings are headed in that direction.  They forgot where they got their starts.  Good riddance.