Structural Hair

E. Boyer

For entertainment this past month or so, I watched the CNN coverage of the Republican primaries. Truth be told, I was searching for the Comedy channel, but came across the primary coverage and found it to be comparable. Oh, shush! And, don't jump to conclusions about my politics...Republican or Democratic, the primaries are always a cornucopia of entertainment. The next time you're watching, please take note of Mrs Gingrich's hair. Well, yes, it's ridiculous and petty, but election season is certainly no time to pretend we're above all that. Honestly, who among us couldn't use a little comic relief? Our country is in dire straits, but at least Calista Gingrich's hair is in order. For heaven's sake, who is the stylist who decided.."Yes, one more coat of varnish and then seal it! This "do" has to last through the Wisconsin primary!" The architecture of her hair is impressive...a cement foundation with steel reinforcements and a Clairol #22 facade. Amazing. Something else to note is the requisite string of pearls for the candidate's wives. Ahhh, pearls. Nothing says traditional, pure and honest like a standard string. A woman of virtue and faith wears pearls. A woman who serves as an example of decency wears pearls. A woman who will gouge the eyes out of anyone who stands in the way of her and her "First Lady" status wears pearls. Don't mess with these women. They're very likely the driving force that got their husbands to this place and even more likely the brains behind the operation. They mean business! Even Mrs. Santorum, who mostly stood quietly on the sidelines (praying that she wouldn’t be forced to denounce her college education or steady an aspirin between her knees) was likely the pillar of strength for her husband. I imagine that every time he stumbled, she pulled him up by the little sweater vest and encouraged him to forge ahead. Yes, indeedy... politics. Be it Washington with high stakes campaign rhetoric and structural hair or a small town like Piedmont with lawn signs and candidate cocktails, we're drawn to the stuff like moths to the flame. Human nature...we can't look away from the fiery crash. We no longer have gladiators but, we have politics.

Oh sure, the stakes may not be as high in Piedmont as they are in our nation's capitol, but they're our stakes and we take 'em seriously! And, just like Washington, we have our share of shenanigans. We've had candidates with questionable remains in the foyer. Those who sent out a shameless request for donations to pay for their failed campaign. Candidates who arranged a debate using their supporters as moderators. We've had candidates who are smart and dedicated, devoted and giving. And, those who are aloof and clueless, detached and incompetent. We've had candidates who were newcomers, chock full exciting new ideas and plans and brimming with enthusiasm, only to learn the hard way that it takes more than energy efficient light bulbs to get this town to cozy-up to new ideas..."Welcome to Piedmont..Bam!! We will now whittle you to bits." Yep, tough stuff those politics. I admire those brave enough to enlist. Just the same, couldn't we have a little fun with it on our local level? Couldn't we, at least, insist upon wigs at all city council meetings? C'mon..that'd be funny. A city council meeting with everyone wearing 16th century style wigs would automatically lighten the mood! It really would.  I sat through an under-grounding meeting where the mayor at the time droned on for what seemed like an eternity, saying mostly nothing. Ripping my ears clean off of my head would have been less painful than listening to it a minute longer. Had the mayor donned a long, curly wig, those in attendance might have at least enjoyed the benefit of a chuckle. Work with me, folks..this could really ratchet-up the entertainment factor! Hear me out...I know the lawn signs were all the rage this year but, for 2014 I have two words...campaign bus. Can you see it?? Luxury campaign-mobiles embellished with jumbo-size photos of the candidates, megaphones blaring, cocktails flowing,... A hub of popularity on wheels!  Start saving up now, future candidates...this is gonna be way more expensive than lawn signs...

Mrs. Jones Is No Easier

E. Boyer

It's hard being a waiter in this town. It's also hard being a gardener, a plumber or a receptionist. Just doesn't carry the same weight or have the same heft as, say...an investment banker or a real estate bigwig. Being a shop gal isn't as impressive as being a high powered attorney. A man as a mechanic isn't thought as good a "catch" as a financial analyst. A matter of regret in my opinion and, often the burden that comes with life in an small, affluent town where "keeping up with the Joneses" is part of the program. I imagine someone now is reading this column thinking how very true true it is that they'd be infinitely more happy as a camp counselor than in their current more prestigious job. What kind of work would we do if we had only ourselves to consider? What master do we aim to please when we settle into jobs that don't really suit us? Pesky 'ole Mr. Jones, I suspect. A tough guy we strive to keep up with and Mrs. Jones is no easier. In fact, I often find her to be the more competitive of the two. Remember: Hell hath no fury like that of a woman making her way up the socioeconomic ladder! And, God help her poor husband if he isn't on-board to co-chair the effort. Mrs. Jones, remember, has an image to maintain, right down to the perfectly placed topiaries at the front door. Damned if she'll let a kink in her husband's resume be the monkey wrench that keeps her from Piedmont's tip-top list. And that settles it...a Fortune 500 or the couch, Mister!. Because, let's face it, that kind of job has a different appeal to some than hanging dry wall or driving a truck. "Sorry, darling...your dream of being a camp director will have to wait until we've reached a certain level of success and then the neighbors will assume that we have so much money that the camp director gig is your way of "giving back." Poor Mr. Jones. I always thought he would have made an excellent camp director.

I know we can't remain forever in the youthful whimsy of our salad days. But, could we at least reconsider the rulings we make on what constitutes a good job? Sadly, people are often summed up and "socially pre-determined" based upon their job. I'm sure it comes as no surprise that there are folks in town who align themselves only with a certain kind and will go to great lengths to "get in" with a certain group. Some things, after all, never change. But, who came up with this list of good jobs, socially acceptable jobs, anyway? There was a time when blue collar jobs were respected. Neighborhoods were filled with men and women who worked in factories, department stores and driving school busses.

There is no question that throughout history, the actions of the wealthy and innovative have touched the course of our lives. But, I don't think the great work of some was meant to devalue the less publicized work of others. I'm amazed at and enjoy the technology that sits on my desk thanks to the brilliant and innovative minds at Apple Computers. But, I enjoy and appreciate it even more when I include a chocolate croissant, a cup of coffee and the view of my garden. Although Steve Jobs brought technology to my desk, the man who bakes the croissants and the man who tends my garden make the time at a my desk more pleasant. Who is to say which is more profound?

So get out there and do what suits you, live the dream and tell the Joneses to mind their own business.