For those of you who were on the edges of your seats wondering how TrashMasters turned out: Not only did JQ, JD, Rebecca, and I have a great time, but we won the darned thing. Two games out in front of everybody in one of the most competitive fields ever. And all I had to do was sit back and only buzz in when I knew what was going on.

As usual, and as noted in these pages last year at this time, Rebecca keeps rummaging through her road-music collection and managing to find country tunes that I actually like, no matter how much I protest that I don't like country. It's probably a matter of early exposure; I've blogged before about the similarities I see between blue-collar New England and the rural South and West, but unlike the way things are now, country music just hadn't made inroads into the Northeast, fan-wise, during my early years. (One of my uncles, forty years or so back, was a notable exception. We all made fun of his taste in music. Turns out he wasn't eccentric, though; he was just ahead of his time.)

And, yes, Gretchen Wilson's "Redneck Woman" does remind me of some of my family's neighbors, both then and now. But, of course, it's nowhere near a perfect match. No matter how thorough your blue-collar pedigree, there's a point where you have to admit that you just might not be a redneck.

For instance, you probably aren't a redneck if:

Your mother makes her own cannoli shells.

You know how to pronounce "Zbigniew".

You have a least favorite kind of sushi.

You've ever taught a dinner guest how to use a Mouli grater.

You think the pre-Joe Walsh Eagles were country.

You have more than two cousins named Vinnie.

You had your first legal drink before you ever tasted Velveeta.

You have to consult the owner's manual before checking your oil.

You've ever expounded on the difference between punk and new wave. (Note to younger or older non-rednecks: Substitute the memes of your choice.)

Your grandparents arrived on four separate boats.

You dislike drinking beer that you can see through.

You've never fired a gun. Not even at the @&$*&$ groundhogs that ate the broccoli and Swiss chard in your garden.

You have or have ever had broccoli and Swiss chard in your garden. (It was right there next to the garlic.)

You own three different types of coffeemakers.

You've taken multiple entomology courses and still need a dichotomous key to identify fire ants.

Thanksgiving just isn't Thanksgiving without ziti.


I really can't say whether having a SpongeBob SquarePants toilet seat in one's bathroom is a qualifier or a disqualifier, so Rick and I are just hedging our bets and consigning my new one to the trophy wall. Thanks much to the rest of the team for letting the first-timer take the grand prize home!