The New American Dictionary, Entry #1

This is the first entry in a continuing series, where I try to decipher common, everyday words and phrases that do not seem to mean what people think they mean. Many of these words and phrases seem to originate in the mouths of politicians, but business people also seem quite fond of many of them, as do millions of ordinary folk

I will not be approaching these words and phrases alphabetically. That would make sense, which is definitely not in the spirit of this particular undertaking. Instead, I will tackle them based on frequency of use and, oh, I don't know...silliness? Here goes.

The Real America (n)  

I have been hearing this one a lot lately. Too much Fox News, I suppose.

Apparently, "The Real America" is a tiny but powerful little country filled exclusively with overweight white people known, not surprisingly, as "Real Americans". As near as I can tell, the "Real America" has no major cities and no one on Social Security or Medicare. Everyone who lives there seems to work 12 hours a day, seven days a week, unless the Chinese have stolen their jobs. It is a place where there is no crime, but which is constantly under attack from Outside. It is a place where everybody thinks exactly the same way, attends exactly the same church, and apparently knows everyone else, though that last part confuses me a little. It is a place where teenagers are uninterested in sex and never get pregnant, and where there are no single parents or gay people. Oh, and all the rich people are just regular folks while the poor people are just lazy bums.

I have lived in the United States my whole life. I have been to maybe 40 of the 50 states. I have never seen "The Real America". Mainly because it is not an actual place. Never existed. Never will.

Some people will tell you that "The Real America" is a state of mind. It is not, because a state of mind is an actual thing that actually exists. "The Real America" is a wholly made up place. The polite thing would be to call it a myth. I'm not all that polite.

It isn't even an ideal, because to be an ideal, someone would actually have to be working toward achieving it.

"The Real America" is just something craven, cynical politicians try to sell because they know that a lot of people actually are that dumb. So to all of you "Unreal Americans" out there, buck up. You are never going to have to live in "The Real America."

The Painting Smock

I was painting some trim this morning on our living room stairway. I hate house painting, interior or exterior. I tend to get paint on everything. Has anyone else noticed the uncanny ability of a drop of paint to always find the one tiny tear in a carefully spread 9X12 sheet of plastic? And only when the hole is over carpet or upholstery? It's maddening.

Anyway, I started thinking about my painting smock. I have been painting in this smock for exactly thirty years today. It is the hospital scrub coat they gave me to wear in the delivery room the day my son was born.

It has held up remarkably well. By the time my daughter was born nine years later, the scrubs they gave me were made of paper. But this one is sturdy cotton with a smooth canvas front. It was originally blue and gray. It's all faded and tattered around the edges. But it still fits me, thanks to its wrap-around styling and long drawstring.

It is covered with splashes of paint from every room my family has ever lived in.

Based on the smock, it appears we have lived a mostly beige life. With a few splashes of blue. There has been a bit of red. (The back of a bookcase if I remember correctly. ) But mostly, it has been beige.

It's odd really. Both the kids are gone. We have gone through four houses, and still I'm painting in this smock. I wonder how long it will last.

Thirty years is a fine lifespan for a throw-away garment. Now that I think of it, part of its durability may have something to do with the fact that it has never been washed. That's not as gross as it sounds. It is a smock after all. I always had something else on underneath. And it still smells quite fresh.

Actually, my wife gets a gleam in her eye whenever she sees me wearing this smock. And it's from more than just the knowledge that I'm actually working on one of my long list of perpetually unfinished projects. It's possible she considers it my sexiest outfit. I suspect I could get laid just by putting it on. Hmmm. Might be worth a try…

Based on its current state of wear, I'm guessing it stands a fair chance of outlasting me. Now that I think of it, I should probably will it to my son, just so it will be taken care of. Or maybe I'll just ask to be buried in it.