But There Are Still Hours to Go. So Let's Call This Tentative Wing Nut Moron of the Day.

Seen, over on the comments section of instapundit, following some, "Go get'em Juan," article about Juan Williams' latest shriek fit against NPR. Some commenter goes off on a tangent about how he flipped up to his local PBS station, which was doing on air fund raising. And with all the Dunning-Krugeresque lack of shame, comparable to the famous line from that movie Best Little Whorehouse in Texas, "Texas has a whorehouse in it? Shocking," this guy noticed that the phone bankers were wearing IBEW shirts. (International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers.)

Poor, sad, little dim witted clown. Those people (some of them, at least I would recon) likely were employees of that station. The IBEW has jurisdiction over some of the technicians, and in some shops, the cameramen. So no, Frodo. You did not see evidence of some vast, unionist, left wing conspiracy. What you saw, instead, was evidence of the craft guild's member's commitment to their place of employment. Ya moron.

Just in the interest of substantial disclosure, although I never was a member of the IBEW, I was a member of IATSE. Ironically (well to peeps outside of the industry, and the guilds, seemingly,) one of the things I did back when an IATSE journeyman, was lighting. If I was assigned for a certain gig specifically to do lights, I was working for the Electrical Department, reported to the Master Electrician, and was for that gig, an electrician. In a live performance theatre, you usually don't have IBEW members present. Anything dealing with the power tie from the main junction box out to the furthest hung lamp was under IATSE jurisdiction. In a TV studio, things get more complicated. And when you get on a major film set, you get all those funky job titles like, grip, gaffer, best boy. Ok. Last bit on this digression. On a deck we might refer to grips and gaffers, but they are not the proper job titles/descriptions. Ok. Enough reminiscing about the good old days of my former career in show biz.

Edit to Add:

Less about my actual professional career, but more in mind of my college theatre days, some of my best memories come from the production of Hair, I was worked on, back in the day, not as an actor, but in the band. I played drums. But we were in costume on stage, and more than anyone else, I interacted with the cast. Someone had to get rid of the roach. (It was just Drum Tobacco. Swear.) The actor playing Burger would pass the joint to me, I'd take my hit, and snuff it out, behind the kit. I was a technician first and foremost. Taking care of open flame/burning matter was a given for me.

Anyway, I have been thinking about this song from Hair, today, because some fuck wit accused me of making a racialized comment?

Racialized? Fuck a snow white duck! Call me a Mandingo, and related to Kunta Kinte (likely true, going back four hundred or more years, actually.)

As if anyone has the right to comment on me commenting on my negritude? Anyway, here is the ultimate (arguably) expression of negritude, from an award winning Broadway musical, leastwise.

The message in the song is easily missed. Then again, compare it to some 1990's hip hop and it's sorta almost quaint. Oh. and while I am on the topic. There was a great segment on 60 Minutes, Last night, about the 'controversy' over use of the word nigger in Huck Finn.

Personally, I stopped reading, The Sun Also Rises, as I thought Hemingway's use of the world said a whole lot more about him, than the narrator. But the sanitized Huck Finn? Sorry. I can't agree with sanitizing that book. It's not gratuitous. It's historically and culturally accurate.

Anyway, I'll gladly link the Report.