Ya’ll wouldn’t understand. It’s a redneck thang.
Courtesy of Aaron (Dang! I want to do the 4th with them guys next year!!)
[H/T: My buddy, the Pastor]
And to return the favor:
My wife was watching the Grammy’s last night, and so I watched a bit of it, too, while typing up some of the St. Photios quotes I’ll be posting on my other blog.
The Dixie Chicks won best new country ablum. Carrie Underwood won for best new artist. Not much conflict in that.
Except that the Chicks were terribly ungracious and seemingly resentful of their prize. What do I mean? Well, to reiterate, they won for best country album. But when they got up on stage what did they emphasize: That they were genre-less.
Now, when my wife and I both have the same reaction to something, that’s a pretty good sign that our individual perceptions are, in fact, the reality. And sure enough, Anna and I remarked at nearly the same time how class-less that comment was and what a slap it was to the genre that got them to where they are today, or, rather, where they were about three years ago. US*99 here in Chicago still hardly ever plays a Chicks song. The Chicks, whatever one wants to say about their President Bush comments overseas, did not handle the criticisms of their country music fans very well, pissed them all off, and had concerts cancelled due to poor ticket sales. Way to go, ladies.
Now, true, maybe it was just my wife and me gettin’ all het up over the comments, right? Nope. Even li’l Miss Carrie Underwood caught it, for when she went up onstage to collect her award for best new artist, she started into her speech, stopped, and said, “Let me just say, I love country music!” Take that, Chicks.
My wife had, and probably still has, a Chicks CD. Doubt we’ll toss it out, but it sure don’t get any air play in our CD players. We may be rednecks, but we’s got a bit more class than sass, and don’t take kindly to the classy trashy type that wants to smack the hand what feeds them.
Lovin’ the li’l ditty ’bout a certain sorta Chariot. Particularly like this verse:
We’ll paint that number eight on the driver’s side
That’s how old I was when I gave Jesus my life
I stepped right up and got washed in the blood
Just a little kid singin’ ’bout a chariot
A big gold eagle painted on the hood chariot
[You can check out the rest of the lyrics by clicking on the “Continue reading” link.]
Continue reading “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot–With a Number 8 Painted on the Side”