culture of ugliness

I am reaching my limit of tolerance when it comes to mocking people. I continually have pictures of the "The People of Wal-Mart" vein popping up on my FB feed, and it's getting on my last nerve.  Do I think it's tasteful to walk around in public with see-through leggings, or with butt cheeks or belly rolls hanging out?  Not particularly, no.  Do I want to expend the least little bit of energy taking stealth pictures of these people, posting them on Facebook, and then laughing at them?  Absolutely not.  My little bit of spare time is spent trying to work on myself.  There is exercise to be done, home improvement, learning new things, reading, time to spend with my family, traveling, professional development.  I can barely squeeze everything in that needs to be done, much less troll Wal-Mart for people wearing ill-fitting clothes. I feel like I am in a constant struggle to try to be the best person I can be, and there is always room for improvement.  Every moment I waste judging other people is a moment I am not using for self-improvement.

When did our culture become accepting of ugliness? And by this, I don't mean physical unattractiveness, but rather expressing hate and derision.  Perhaps it's always been there, but the rise of social media has forced me to have to bump into mean-spritedness on a daily basis.  God forbid you are a few pounds overweight, or, due to poverty and lack of education and nurturing, walk around in clothing most people find unacceptable, or carry extra weight due to being nutrition-starved.  And, we love our reality shows, where we can mock people whom we deem to be "white trash".

Listen, people.  We have real problems in this world that must be tackled.  Climate change, violence around the world, refugees, inequality. I am beginning to fear that we are generally dumbing down as a people. Idiocracy appears to be coming to fruition.

Yes, my panties are in a wad.  Yes, I am clutching my pearls.  I have to raise my daughter in this world, and I am trying to produce an empathetic, kind-hearted adult. Your hatred says more about you than it does about the objects of your contempt.  Anyone who invests time and energy making fun of other people is compensating for feelings of insecurity and inadequacy.  High achievers don't have time for this shit.

Rant over.

the family has returned

Have made it through 3/4 of a blog entry of my varied impressions of Las Vegas, after spending almost a week conferencing there, but just haven't been able to wrap it up yet.

After 8 days without my family, I was so thrilled to see them arrive on Saturday.  Hubby dropped the kiddo off at overnight camp the previous weekend, and he stayed up in Virginia for a week to be nearby, in case of emergency.  Kiddo often finds it difficult to fit in well in social situations such as this, so we thought it important that someone be nearby, in case any problems arose.  Thankfully, she had a blast at Triple R Ranch, where I went to summer camp as a kid, and left with new friends.

I spent several days in the backcountry in the Smokies with a buddy, and dragged my body up and down 4300 feet of elevation change.  We did the Big Creek/Swallow Fork/Mt Sterling Ridge/Baxter Creek loop, which I cannot recommend enough for a 3 day loop. The first day is an almost flat 6 miles or so up Big Creek, which features multiple swimming holes and lush falls. The second day is a 4000 foot climb to Mt Sterling, and the 3rd day is a steep 4300 descent on Baxter Creek Trail.  I discovered that my trip to the Grand Canyon will only be 500 feet more elevation change than this one, and over an additional mile of trail. I had to stop and rest frequently on the second day, but once we set up camp, my leg pain had subsided somewhat, and I topped off the hike by going up and down a 60 foot high fire tower 4 times.  The 360 view from the top of Mt Sterling is not to be missed.  Every five minutes, the shadows move and the view changes.  So, given that I managed to complete this hike without much pain lets me know that I am almost ready to tackle the Grand Canyon.  I have until January to keep climbing stairs and lose a few pounds, and, surely, having a small daypack, rather than a 50 pound backpack, will make the hike slightly more comfortable.  My shoulders and hips always squawk at the end of a backpack, but my legs are only sore for a day.

Though I have been geographically separated from my husband for several months at a time over the years, this was the longest stretch of time I spent away from my 8 year old.  I will freely admit that the first few days were a nice, relaxing break, but shortly after I returned from the Smokies a few days after, I was positively yearning for her exuberance and energy.  I found that I could stalk her online, as the camp posted daily pictures, and I flipped through each day's photos trying to catch a glimpse of my daughter.  I was thrilled to see her goofing around and mugging for the camera.

This is the third camp she's attended this summer, though the other two were day camps.  She asked to attend Christian camps, and this agnostic whipped out her wallet each time.  I don't know how most agnostics/atheists (and, by some definitions, I might be considered an atheist) with Christian children react, but I don't have any issue with my daughter exploring faith.  Each human being needs to find his or her own path, and we often egotistically try to impose our own belief system on our children. I gave birth to her; I hosted her; I am charged with raising her, but she is her own person and I don't have a say as to whether or not she will be a person of faith.  I do feel responsible for helping her find a path that supports basic human rights, so I will guide her to progressive churches, and ethically, I cannot support using my car and gas money to drive her to churches that oppose gay marriage, but if she chooses a fundamentalist path, ultimately, I will still love and respect her agency.  We have so many LGBTQ friends that I think she'd have a difficult time taking on homophobia, and she's spunky and independent enough that I have a difficult time imagining her tolerating a misogynistic lifestyle.  Every night, she silently prays to God before she goes to sleep and blows him a kiss.  To be honest, since she's taken on faith, she seems more content with her life and less tormented by her ADHD.  I don't know if this stage will last- I went through a Christian phase and ultimately moved away from it, but there is something oddly endearing about seeing my daughter pray.  I don't have the "God" gene- I just can't go there.  But, if it turns out that she does, and that faith brings her comfort, I will be happy for her.

I suspect that most of my agnostic/atheist friends would react much as I do to having Christian children- or, at least, manage to move past their disappointment.  However, I cannot see fundamentalist Christians being able to accept their children becoming atheists.  Since I don't believe in Hell, I am not worried about my child ending up there.  A fundamentalist is going to worry profusely that their child will end up burning for all eternity.  But, I do think that many parents across the political and religious spectrum share a common desire to produce small carbon copies of themselves. Our role is to guide our children into the world as responsible citizens, but we do not own them.  They need to find themselves, and we must accept and celebrate the people they become, barring, of course, that they become hateful or sociopathic or violent criminals or drug addicts.  I don't wish for my daughter to become anything other than the best person she is intended to be.  I do wish this was something I could share with her.  I would love to be able to pray WITH her, but I must be authentic and be the person I am intended to be.  There are so many other things we share- this is something she gets to have that is all her own.

on conferencing...

I have been attending at least one annual national library conference or another each year since I entered the profession.  In the late 90's, there was enough travel money that we were often able to get funding for more conferences, but as the economy slowed, I learned to look for funding opportunities such as grants and travel awards.  I have always looked forward to these trips, as I live to travel, love visiting large conference cities, enjoy the professional development and networking opportunities, and manage to squeeze in sightseeing when I can. I especially looked forward to conference time after the kiddo came along, as it was often the only time each year I could have quiet time where I wasn't wrangling a kid.  In the years before she was born, I always roomed with other librarians and enjoyed it, but have grown to treasure quiet time in my room, as I am rarely by myself.  I don't want to waste my organization's money, so I have become a master at finding alternative lodging opportunities. I have stayed in guest houses, hostels, college dorms, nearby budget hotels, and am staying in an Airstream in a campground this year. In Chicago, I rented someone's fully furnished studio apartment and rode the El into the conference every day. Essentially, I keep my lodging costs to the same amount others who share their rooms pay.

Now that my child is getting older and a bit more independent, I am beginning to lose my need to be ALONE, and will probably resume taking roommates again after this year.  I am fairly new in my position here, and don't really want to get a reputation as someone who is standoffish. I was close enough to my co-workers at my last job for them to understand that I was not anti-social, and I was happy to hang out during the day, but they were empathetic to my need to have a little alone time once a year. I am still getting to know people here, so I feel I should be sociable and look for a roommate next year. I honestly do enjoy the company of colleagues, but I also relish, for a few days each year, the silence of an empty hotel room, the ability to traipse around my room wrapped in a towel and watch cable TV, which we do not have at home, and being able to hog the bathroom. These are luxuries on par to staying in an expensive spa. After a few days of having quiet evenings and mornings in my room, I start to feel like a hermit, and am grateful to come home and experience the beautiful cacophony of my child.

This is the first year that I am actually experiencing a sense of sadness about leaving.  I have been growing closer to my kid and spending a lot of time taking her on little weekend adventures.  As my husband struggles with his back injury, I have stepped in to take her places so she won't spend her entire weekend playing Minecraft, and so he can rest his back. Though I hate for my husband that he is in so much pain, the experience we're all going through has brought us all closer.  I will be gone 5 1/2 days, and I am already missing my family. I hate to be one of those mothers who cannot bear to be away from my daughter, but I do feel maternal pangs when I am away.

Though my husband always has a conference the same week as I, I am hoping to take my mother and daughter with me to San Francisco next year, and perhaps head over to Yosemite for a couple of days afterwards.  Mom has offered to watch the kiddo while I attend programming, and I want so much to take my daughter to all the places I was able to visit when I was a kid. If that doesn't work out, I will reach out to my co-workers and learn to do the roommate thing again. What I'll give up in privacy, I'll gain in fellowship.

on aging...

Lately, I have been thinking about the fact that I am now "middle-aged" and am, like everyone else, starting the aging process.  I tried this morning, during my commute, to tease out what aging means to me, how I feel about being middle-aged, and what kind of older person I'd like to be.

The common wisdom is that women tend to take aging hard.  They desperately try to hang on to their youth, they invest a fortune in "anti-aging" skin products, they fret about the effects of gravity, and those who are well off rush off to have "work" done.  Frankly, I see my peers aging gracefully and not dwelling on their age, and I, personally, have not felt any pulls of desperation. In fact, I don't feel particularly perturbed at all that I am 46 years old.  I don't know what 46 is supposed to feel like, but I physically feel better than I did in my early 30s.  I can hike to the top of a mountain now, while, 10 years ago, I was struggling to climb a few flights of stairs.  I have more patience than I did 10 years ago, and I actually like the changes I have made to the way in which I present myself.  I no longer dress for "shock" value or follow trends for the sake of doing so; I choose clothing that I feel flatters me and that can be worn in a variety of settings.  I think my youthful attitude comes from having had a child at an "advanced maternal age".  I am dealing with 8 year old problems, and only had my first real professional, career-track position at the age of 30, so my maturity and growth was delayed by a number of years.  That means that my life pace is more on par with the average 30 something year old than it is with most people my own age.  I guess that also means that I had a lot more "immature" years.

There are both advantages and disadvantages to starting careers and having children later in life.  I had no idea what I wanted in life at 22; and had I started having children or started a career back then, I don't think I would have excelled at either.  Woe be to to the child that would have had 22 year old me as a mother. And, had I settled on a career right out of college, I would have missed out on the incredible experiences I had in my 20s, as I explored different options and kicked around as a cliched Gen-X slacker, choosing jobs and settings based on the incredible places in which I chose to live.  The 37 year old I was when my daughter was born was more mature, certainly more economically viable, and more patient. HOWEVER...  My friends who are now becoming empty nesters have a level of freedom that I don't have.  They have paid their dues, and are now traveling and seeing the world as a more affluent person than I was when I had my freedom.  My adventures were extremely low budget, and there were times that I found myself in perilous economic situations.  Also, my child is incredibly energetic, and I am often tired, when 22 year old me would have had no problem keeping up with my kid.  Some of my friends who started raising children early were probably a bit envious at times of the freedom I had in my twenties; now I am occasionally envious of their newly found freedom.  I also worry about that fact that my only child will be younger when her parents are aging, and she definitely will lose her grandparents earlier than many of her peers. I don't want my daughter to feel responsible for nursing her aging parents when she is at the age where she should be focusing on a career, or on raising a family, or both. I feel sometimes that I have given her a raw deal by bringing her into this world with a mother who was almost 38.  But, every situation has pros and cons, and I cannot hyperfocus on the wisdom of the choices I made.  I simply was not ready for parenthood until my mid to late 30s, and that's just the way it is.

In terms of worrying about my attractiveness as I age, I really don't. I don't feel jealous of beautiful young women with their entire lives ahead of them.  I already had my turn as a young woman, had all those advantages, and it's time now to pass the torch.  Age is the great equalizer.  I also don't believe that beauty is limited to the young.  Beauty exists at every age, and the older we become, the more inner beauty becomes more relevant. I feel more confident in my own skin than I did when I was young, and sometimes, confidence only comes with age and wisdom.  Yes, there are men who dump their aging wives for younger, more pliable, more attractive women, but, trust me, if you have one of those, you're better off without them. There are plenty of men who aren't seeking to replace the old with the new, and my husband, thankfully, doesn't appear to be looking for a trophy wife.

A lot of older women report that, as they age, they feel increasingly invisible.  People often don't listen to them as they speak, and look right through them.  This is probably the most troublesome, and actually, infuriating worry of mine. I loathe sexism, ageism, any "ism", really, and this is a particularly difficult problem to fight, as it is mostly a subconscious response.  So many cultures revere the elderly and respect their wisdom.  Here, we mostly want them to become invisible.  They remind us of death, and western cultures do NOT like being reminded of death. And I probably think about death more than average.  Blame my past as a goth; we're somewhat morbid.

In any case, I am not really fretting the fact that I am getting older.  Each stage brings with it new triumphs and new challenges, and I am enjoying the person I am becoming.  There's no getting around aging, unless you die young, so one might as well accept it with dignity and grace.

rambly fitness musings

This weekend, I had a fabulous trip on the VA Creeper Trail with about 18 other folks.  The shuttle took us to the top of Whitetop Mountain, and we coasted downhill for about 17 miles to Damascus.  The bike ride is great for people of all fitness levels, and I expected it to be a breeze, but we hit a couple of caches that required some climbing.  One had me stumbling through thick groves of stinging nettles, ouch, and another was about an hour scrambling up and down steep slopes to haul myself up to a waterfall.  Now, I know I have some extra weight on me, but I usually feel fairly fit for a woman my age.  I hike and backpack, and I go up and down 11 1/2 flights of stairs at least twice a day at work, often adding a brisk walk on top of that.  But I found myself frequently out of breath and about 5 minutes behind the two youngest people in our party; a 24 year old and a 12 year old.  It became very, very evident that I have to step up the training if I expect to do the Grand Canyon in January.  As I am going alone, it is very important for me to be in the best possible shape I can be.

To that end, I have to take off about 2 pounds a week until I reach no more than 150 pounds, and really step up the fitness level.  I'm starting to get nervous about my ability to do this, and I would be foolish to show up at 8,000 feet at the Grand Canyon Rim out of shape. 

Weight Watchers was really helpful to me, in terms of taking off the bulk of my extra weight, but it really requires a lot more counting and tracking than I have time to do, and I just can't afford the monthly fees.  I tried low carb, and found myself 20 pounds heavier.  So, I need a system that will be easy for a busy working Mom to keep up with, but isn't a complete free-for-all. Low carb, at least the version I followed, had very little structure, and I managed to cram in a lot of calories and fatty foods, and, despite what some people say, some of us are still sensitive to calories, period. This will require all of my willpower and motivation, and will also require, sigh, another investment of a new wardrobe when I am finished. I am wearing size 12 now, and I have a decent newish size 10 wardrobe packed away ready to activate, but below that, I have nothing.  I'm also not sure I'm ready, psychologically, to not be overweight.  On some level, the extra padding has provided some psychological comfort, and I may want to talk to a professional for a few sessions to troubleshoot how to handle being considered "not overweight", as bizarre as that sounds.  But, this time, the motivation is here, because any misstep on that trail could be potentially life threatening.

I may be one of these people that has to string a regular series of intense physical challenges to keep me motivated to be fit.  Obviously, having what some call a " bikini body" (and I saw a fabulous meme on FB that stated that we all have bikini bodies if we have a. a bikini, and b. a body) is not compelling enough to get me out of the Nutella jar.  There is some stubborn, resistant part of my psyche that believes losing weight means I no longer accept Body Positivity, and am, therefore, less of a feminist.  On the surface, this is a completely false dichotomy.  Wanting to live longer and feel vital and able to tackle physical challenges does not negate my feminism.  Why would I not want to have the ability to backpack and hike the Grand Canyon?  How am I a better feminist if I am winded climbing a flight of stairs?  Yet, despite the fact that I know this intellectually, I apparently have a metric ton of emotional baggage to unpack.  I wish there was a magic button I could press that would keep me from overthinking everything and would allow me to act within my best self-interest on matters of health.

Today, during my lunch hour, I chugged up and down 11 1/2 flights of stairs in the library 4 times, and still had time to dash out this blog entry.  For the younger people with whom I cached this weekend, this would have been effortless.  It was not effortless for me, but I completed this mission without too much trouble.  I'm 46.  I will never be 12 or 24 or even 35 again.  I have to measure my successes against the person I can be and not against some unachievable ideal.  But if 70 year olds can hike the AT and do the Grand Canyon, there is hope for me yet...

Rebooting...

During my early adult years, connecting with nature was where I found my passion.  My then-boyfriend, now-husband and I spent a few years kicking around Montana, Missoula, then Yellowstone National Park, then Bozeman, and then spent some time in Vermont before cracking down on furthering our education and finding a career. I asked for a top of the line backpack rather than an engagement ring, and we spent a good deal of time in the backcountry of the Rockies, as well as spring breaks in the Moab, Utah area.  I believe he enjoyed himself, though he tended to prefer actual comfortable lodging and day hikes to schlepping 30 pounds on his back for days at a time. We both accommodated each other well, and I will admit that curling up in a heated log cabin after a day of hiking or cross country skiing in the frigid air of Montana was often a relief.

After settling down with a full time job, and then, ultimately, starting a family, my ventures into the wilderness have been greatly reduced. I took up geocaching, and have been able to combine this hobby with long hikes, but most of my hikes are within 30 miles from the developed Triangle area, and there are times when I absolutely ache for mountains. Raising a child and paying a mortgage have strained our budgets, and moving all three of us across the country to trek through mountain wilderness is near impossible.

During those first couple of years after our daughter was born, I had this subconscious baggage about having any identity of my own outside motherhood and working. I felt selfish taking any time away from home.  Then, as my daughter became more independent, I had a brief spell of rebellion, and probably took too much time away from home.  Now my daughter is 8, and I am finding that she is an excellent outdoor companion.  We camp often, and I just took her on her first backpacking outing.  She was a delight, and it made my heart soar to watch her in the outdoors.

I am now trying to find a balance between parenthood and allowing myself to accommodate my yearning for rugged adventures.  Unfortunately, my husband is dealing with severe chronic back pain, and cannot tent camp or backpack.  While I am sad that we are limited in what we can do as a family, I am thrilled that my daughter and I can camp and backpack, and frankly, my spouse is probably relieved to have some alone time on occasional weekends to nurse his back.  Eventually, he will most likely require surgery.  I will be there to support him, and I desperately hope that he will heal, as he has lost his quality of life at the moment.

There is one item on my bucket list that is something I have to do alone.  I found an opening for two nights at the Phantom Ranch at the bottom of the Grand Canyon- in January.  While my daughter enjoys hiking, I know her well enough to know that the hike in and out is something that will have to wait a few years.  I also know that my husband can't attempt this now, and this is not something that seems to be on his own bucket list.  I will have to hike in alone, and there will probably be snow and ice for the first mile or two along the trail.  I booked a bunk in a dorm room, as I was fortunate to even find the space- any time of year, but I am experiencing very conflicting feelings about this.   Part of me feels intense guilt for abandoning my family and using some of our resources for 5 days in Arizona.  And, even though neither family member really feels the pull to do this, and I have my husband's support, I know that there is a part of him that is sad that I am going off to have an adventure alone.  Yet, I will be 47 in January, and something this rugged is not going to be any easier the longer I wait. I am not sure if the guilt I am experiencing is associated with being a woman and a mother, or if it is due to my general tendency to sublimate my own needs.  I am struggling to reconcile my need to nurture myself and occasionally reboot in a way that only solitude and nature provides with my desire to be a good mother and wife.

I do think that it is crucial that children see their parents as human beings who have identities and interests above and beyond parenting. I want my daughter to grow up to be a strong, independent woman, and what better way to encourage this than for her to see her mother still taking care of herself and her needs?

I have another trip planned for July, backpacking with a friend in the Smokies. My goal is to have a couple of these trips lined up each year; one close by (and cheap), and perhaps the other out West, where my spirit lives. And, the rest of the year, I will build in outings with my kid, and camping in the pop-up with the whole family, whenever we can work it in.  Taking care of my need for wilderness has helped me feel like a whole person, and feeling like a whole person has helped me to be a happier mother.  So, I encourage all adults, parents or not, to find that thing that gives them passion in life and nurture that, even if it is just an occasional indulgence.

Pining for the Ghosts of Republicans Past...

It's a sad day when a liberal pines for the days of Reagan, Ford, and William F. Buckley, but I find myself missing a time when Republicans were less angry, more articulate and more success-driven.  Though my childhood neighborhood was stuffed full of Republicans, their approach to child raising was almost identical to that of my liberal parents. Kids were encouraged to make good grades, get into the best college possible, and to succeed economically in the world.  We may have quibbled about the government's role in providing equal opportunities for all Americans and our tax structure, but we could carry on a conversation with our neighbors without coming home with the Picard facepalm.

Social media has afforded me the opportunity to check in on the lives of people with whom I had long lost touch, and the transformation of those who identify as staunch conservatives is often startling.  There are several I have observed who were once cheery, happy-go-lucky types who seem to only post conservative rants all day long.  Some of them would express outrage at Obama if he stated that the weather was nice on a given day.  I suppose, as a liberal, I should be disgusted, furious at their posts, but instead, I am saddened.  Some of these folks were the life of the party, and a delight to hang out with.  They were full of life, energy, and hope for the future, and now they seem bitter and far older than I feel.  Many of them always had conservative leanings, but they still were fun people.  Now, they rail at the world and seem as if they are two conservative memes away from having a heart attack.

Back in the 70s and 80s, Republican parents in my area were pushing their children to achieve.  Families celebrated when their kids were accepted to UVA, William and Mary, even the occasional Ivy.  Today, I have actually heard conservative parents discourage their children from attending college at all, due to the "liberal bias" on college campuses. I have seen conservative parents force their children to live in isolated bubbles, as if their children cannot be trusted with exposure to other points of view. I have heard conservative parents forbid their children to take courses that would actually increase their economic viability, simply because of dogmatic political viewpoints.  And that's where the Picard facepalm enters.  Conservatives supposedly embrace low taxes, self-reliance, and the pursuit of wealth.  And yet, many are blocking the opportunity for their children to pursue a path in life that would allow them to be competitive in a tough and global marketplace.  Your children are going to have to rub shoulders with a diverse group of folks when they enter the work world.  They will be exposed to people of all viewpoints, races, sexual orientations, and educational experiences.  If they are raised in a sheltered environment and kept from certain kinds of knowledge, they will be left behind in tomorrow's economic world.   I don't care if they strive to be a cashier at Wal-Mart; they will need to be able to relate well to all types of co-workers and customers, and growing up with seething, angry parents who try to restrict their world view will not prepare them for the changing demographics and workplace of the future.

I have written on this topic before, but a slate of posts on my News Feed in the past week have concerned me even more.  Some of these people are so driven to bash the Obamas for every utterance and action they make that they are now mocking the poor Nigerian schoolgirls who were kidnapped, simply because Michelle Obama posted a sign of support. When your political grudges lead to you making fun of a tragedy, you have crossed the line from conservative to utter, basement dwelling lunacy.  And I am floored that this point is lost on these people.  I am concerned for their state of mind and for the futures of their children.  And I am sad that these people appear to no longer be fun to share a beer with.  I can get along with most anyone, and I count a few Republicans among my friends and beloved family members.  If I cannot sit down and have a reasonable conversation with you, chances are that no one outside your bubble can either.

I am wondering what has happened to all the reasonable Republicans with whom I grew up.  Have they crossed to the dark side?  Are they laying low out of mortification, as their party grows increasingly outrageous and Honey Boo-Booish?  Have they become moderate Democrats?  Or have they just become politically apathetic?  It behooves all Republicans with a brain and a sense of logic to stand up against those who have tainted their party.  I cannot believe that my country club Republican neighbors are thrilled to have frothing, angry, embarrassing spectacles representing them. It is time for these reasonable Republicans to take their party back.  I miss having intellectual debates with the "other side", and I miss being able to affectionately agree to disagree.  And, most of all, I miss seeing some of these old friends from the past find delight and wonder in their lives. I hope that all this ranting on FB is just a release, and that they are truly happy in real life.  I doubt it.

Sadly, I suspect that conservative leaders  who occupy the 1% are pulling strings behind the scenes to manipulate economically marginalized white people in order to whip up their outrage, play on their deep-rooted prejudices, and distract them from acknowledging that they are basically getting screwed in the lottery of American life.  These Republican leaders have skillfully managed to convince these people to vote against their best economic self-interest, and to create an army of angry white people they can point in whatever direction suits the 1%.  For that, I have to credit them with strategic brilliance.  But that also makes them insidious and evil, and at the end, the army of angry white people will be as screwed as everyone else in the 99% as they happily march towards the slaughterhouse.