Anarchist Archivist

Creepier Than Usual

I had a dream the other night about Sarah Palin.  I don't like Sarah Plain anyway, so have a creepy dream about her doesn't really surprise me.  But it's a bad situation because I did that thing that I do sometimes after having weird dreams where I couldn't immediately remember what was real and was just from my fucked up imagination, like the time I had a dream in high school that I was simultaneously pregnant and the star of 'Felicity.' 

I don't recall a lot of details of the dream, so here's the basic gist.  I was friends with one of her kids.  It may have been Bristol, but I'm only saying that because she's the oldest girl.  It may very well have been a child that I just made up.  And I was either out past my curfew or I was hiding out from a serial killer and was therefore forced to hide from the Palin parents in some sort of post-apocalyptic Alaskan wilderness newly built suburban looking home.  And I don't really have a clear recollection of anything else EXCEPT FOR THIS PART.  I was discovered by Sarah Palin, and she was going to drive me home through the fire and brimstone back country where apparently a lot of 'Time Machine'-like Morlockian people inhabited the area.  And she let me know this:  "The only other white people besides us out here will be the Jewies."  

I should probably explain that that sentence is almost certainly partially because I read Michael Chabon's 'Yiddish Policeman's Union,' ere go always giving me the false idea that Alaska is a land full of Jews making a desperate independent state of their separate from Israel.  But I love how my unconscious brain decided that's how Sarah Palin would describe that same landscape if it was juxtaposed over her own current homeland.  And the creepiest part, the reason I still remember that last sentence out of what was surely a long and convoluted dream, is because I heard it in a perfect imitation of that weird midwestern-Canadian accent of hers.  so now I'm screwed because I will always falsely attribute this offensive and entirely made-up quotation to a woman full of offensive and entirely made up statistics of her own. 

My Mother Will (Hopefully) Never Read This Blog

My mom and technology are not the best of friends.  She tries.  She really does.  But the two just don't mesh.  She still insists on calling her e-mail her 'website' and she signs every text message with a "love momma," just in case I wasn't aware if was from her.  But the only she does that I find truly annoying her is habit of typing like a 12 year old girl .  I often receive texts like "will u b home 2nite?????"  Not only do I require everyone else I know to properly spell everything out under threat of either extreme mockery or me refusing to answer said text, but I also hate more than one of the same punctuation mark in a row.  It's unnecessary, both visually and grammatically.  The only thing it effectively does do is convey a sense of urgency that my mother seems to think is required when communicating non verbally. 

But every once in a while, one of these things will make me laugh, just a little.  Like the e-mail I got tonight when I came home from work.  It read quite simply:

"Dear Rachel,

WOULD YOU PLEASE CLIMB ON THE DINING ROOM TABLE AND CLEAN THE CRYSTALS ON THE LIGHT?  thanks very much!!!! Love you, momma xxxxxx"

As you can tell, it extremely important that I understand the imminence of this message.  because those crystals won't wait forever, goddamnit. 

Awkward video time!

I found my new favorite female duo: Garfunkel and Oates.  They are awkward and funny and full of pop culture references.  And Garfunkel, real name Riki Lindhome is one of my favorite character actresses.  But they sing about gay boyfriends, something my mother is convinces I have experience with:

 

 

And having sex with ducks because Pat Robertson said so. I don't know if you know this, but I can get down with anything that retells the 'Duck Tales' theme song.

 

 

My dad did some downstairs while I was watching that one, which was awkward.  Although, thankfully, I think he was too hard of hearing to really know what they were singing about.  And I was really happy that he didn't come down during this next one, because hearing a song about handjobs is only funny if your father ISN'T IN THE ROOM..

Handjob, Bland Job, I Don't Understand Job - watch more funny videos

 

Columbus Sailed the Ocean Blue

Today is Columbus day in America.  It is a bullshit holiday that no one is really supposed to care about.  I personally have never really liked it, especially after it almost ruined my future.  When I was in high school, I had to take the SAT's, a test that I actually didn't really give a shit about.  I've always done really well on standardized tests, and well, I didn't really care what college I got into as long as it meant I didn't have to live at home any more.  [never mind that almost ten years later that is where I sit.]  But I knew I did eventually have to take them, so I showed early on a Saturday morning and prepared to bunker down and take the hit.  About halfway through the test, the drumming began. 

See, there are two things you need to know in order to understand this story.  One: American Indians?  Not big fans of Columbus.  They are even less enthused about a National holiday celebrating a man that represents the beginning of the end for their people and their culture.  and Two: my high school was across the street from one of the biggest public parks in Denver.  put one and two together and you have a Columbus Day protest that began in the park and included lots of drumming, chanting, and singing.  While I was taking the SATs.  Not really conducive to performing well on a test that pop culture insists every teenager completely freak out about.  Also, there was some sort of word analogy that included the word "ambiguous", and I spent the rest of the test with the SNL 'Ambigiously Gay Duo' theme song stuck in my head.  I was not surprised when I got my results a few months later and had scored pretty badly. 

But my lackluster appreciation for Columbus Day only grew stronger today.  My retail job had a Clumbus Day sale that we expected to do moderately well.  We only sent out an e-mail about it this morning, and most stores have been performing badly all quarter, so anticipation was low.  On a really good day, we do about $40,000 worth of business.  Our goal today was $20,000.  We'd hit that mark by 11:30 this morning.  when I left at 6, we'd done over $70,000.  IT WAS INTENSE.  My measly 4 hour shift quickly became a 9 hour shift and I am one tired girl. 

But my paycheck won't entirely suck next time.  and I am in love with this song:

 

so all is fairly ok with the world.  Even if Columbus Day was celebrated to its fullest capitalistic capacity. 

Damned if you do...

Hazel got a new apartment, an apartment I am desperately jealous of.  It's old and oddly shaped and had the greatest bathroom I may have ever seen, other than the fact that the toilet paper dispenser is directly behind the toilet.  Inconvienent, that is.  But during the tour of her new digs, we had this conversation.

Hazel: And that's my fire escape.

Me:  Ew.  That would freak me out.  Especially since it's in the bedroom.

Hazel:  What?  Why would that freak you out?  Fire Escapes are cool!  I'm excited to have one.

Me:  I would just be super paranoid of someone crawling up one.  you know, while I was sleeping. 

Hazel: Aw, no.  it's ok.  There's a giant gate and fence at the bottom.  no one's getting past that thing.

Me: So...if there's actually a fire you get trapped in a gated area?

Hazel:  What? No, dude.  there's a key.  Wait.  I think there's a key.  There better be a key! 

And I discovered something to be happy about while living in my parents' house.  I will most likely not die crushed/burned to death against a small gated area, overlooking freedom but unable to obtain it. 

Speak Loudly

It's the time of year again for the Mountains and Plains Independent Bookseller's Association annual trade show.  Last year's was terrible.  It was out by the airport, a place easy for NO ONE to get to.  There weren't any authors I wanted to see speak, and there were hardly any free copies of books for me to take.  It was majorly disappointing.  But this year it looked like they had gotten things back on track, so I decided to be excited again.  And I'm really really glad I attended the children's authors lunch this time because I got to see a phenomenal lecture from Laurie Halse Anderson.

First, some background.  About 6 months ago, I decided to finally get around to reading a book that I'd heard a lot about, Anderson's "Speak."  If you're into young adult literature at all, you've heard of this book.  It's an amazing novel about a young girl who struggles with high school after being sexually assaulted. It's amazing because it's realistic.  A girl is raped, and it changes her life.  And it's not magically changed back because she falls in love or because she sees a therapist or because the attacker is beaten up by the hero in the end.  Usually, one or some combination of those endings is what is used to "fix" the character that has been assaulted, which in my opinion are usually described as easy solutions to an incredibly complex and personal problem.  None of them take time, and none of them really show how the rest of the life of a survivor is altered because of the abuse. 

Partly because of this realistic portrayal, and partly because other people are assholes, this books often appears on banned book lists.  Because despite the fact that one in four American women are likely to become victims of sexual assault in their lifetime, and abuse rates of children in this country are staggeringly high, we shouldn't talk about the sexual abuse of children because it's "not suitable for children." 

Needless to say, now I have several other books by Ms. Anderson on my shelf, eagerly awaiting me to find time to read them. 

The lecture today, it turned out, was on the censorship that her books have received.  Ms. Anderson recently wrote a blog on her own website, madwomanintheforest.com, talking about a current case of an Indiana school banning "Speak" not only from the curriculum but also from the library, in part, because one asshole claimed it  was 'pornographic' in nature.  The dude's name is Wesley Scroggins, which is such a "properly Dickensian villain name" as Ms Anderson so wonderfully put it today, and he is one of the 'America is really secretly a theocracy and pictures of boobies make the baby Jesus cry' people that I wish I could condemn to live in a dark cave with no one to listen to them ever again.  I actually read about this on Jezebel.com, which is one of several places that reported this story in the attempt to spread the word about what contemptible bullshit is going on in the guise of some vague moralistic crusade.  Twitter started a hash tag, #SpeakLoudly, and Ms. Anderson encouraged people to write about their own "Speak" experiences.  And after seeing her speak today, I decided to join in.

I'm the daughter of a childhood sexual assault victim.  I'm the sister of a childhood sexual assault victim.  I'm the aunt of a childhood sexual assault victim.  And I'm a friend of childhood sexual assault victims.  To ban a book from a classroom, and therefore from the hands of "children", or in this specific case, of adolescents, because you find the actions of the antagonist reprehensible does not make sense to me.  Books have always been a way for me to relate to outside experiences, a way for me to understand the world outside of what I have been able to directly participate in.  Young adult and children books about sexual abuse are one way to educate children about the possibility that someone they know has had to endure some form it.  They are also a way to allow those with an intimate knowledge of such monstrous acts to understand their own situations better, to feel less alone.  To not be that thing that people are afraid to talk about because it's "not suitable for children." 

I think we can all agree that sexual abuse is not suitable for anyone.  I think less of us will agree that it is "pornographic in nature."  and I hope that most of us will agree that reading about it isn't going to make it worse. 

I Want to Grow Up

I don't know what the current milestones are to tell a young person that they're officially a grow-up.  I just know I'm not making any of them.  Significant other?  not so much.  Real job?  Not even close.  I'm still stuck at my part-time retail job, despite spending the last three months applying for at least a second shitty job, if not maybe a professional full-time (health insurance included) kind of job and getting nothing. 

This last week, I thought maybe I'd finally achieved one marker that stated I'm not still stuck in some kind of post adolescent hell, but that, alas, was not to be. I had a good lead on an apartment, one I had a chance of affording despite only working part-time and trying to pay off numerous student loans.  My co-worker knew someone who just wanted their kid to be able to attend school in a certain school district and was willing to split the rent on a shitty studio to obtain an address.  And I went and saw it, and it wasn't terrible.  I mean, it was tiny and smelled musty and had what amounted to the tiniest fridge I've ever seen, but I would have lived there.  Living there would mean I wouldn't be around my parents every. single. day and would help remind me that I do, in fact, love them.  It would also make me feel a teensier more responsible, and yes,adult.  But after showing me the apartment, the woman informed me she would only split the rent with me until May, leaving me with a choice to either take over the lease myself or move back out.  Moving out for 6 months is just...not gonna work.

On the plus side, Alex is feeling guilty enough about the fact that I am unhappy (because, as recovering Catholics, we are obligated to feel guilty about everything bad that happens to anyone we love) that she's willing to buy me nice things when she gets paid again AND she got me brownie from all the way upstairs even though she didn't have to.  so I guess I'm just going to try and make that enough. 

She's Crafty...

I'm pretty poor right now, so one of the things I've decided to do to try and occupy my time without spending too much is become more crafty.  I know how to knit, crochet, embroider, and sew, and I thought maybe that being productive would be better than being an owner of new things.  So I got some tote bags and an apron from Sublime Stitching and picked out a pattern and began crafting.

I chose to do the apron first, partly because I hadn't done one before and new is almost always exciting.  I decided to do a sort of acid trip stag head because nothing says home cooking like drug-induced game meat.  And I successfully ironed the pattern on, which meant that there was no doubling of the image because it slipped or shifted during the transfer.  I picked out the right colors (after I sorted out all the embroidery floss that I own, a project and in and of itself.) and did a good job.  I finished it was pretty and awesome and ultimately, badass. 

see?

It's clean and crisp and intriguing.  It could be called a success except for one thing.  When I tried it on, it became painfully clear that I should have placed the design a little more carefully.  Why? 

Because I have Cooter Stag.  I'm not entirely sure if it's like, the guardian of my cooter, warning away all who dare try to enter here.  Like some sort of symbolic medieval danger label that says "I might look like Suzy Homemaker in my handmade apron but I'm still a feminist so fuck off."  Or if it's some sort of colorful deer head emerging from within, like I now live in that fucked 70s movie that no one outside of my family has ever seen called I shit you not "The Elmchanted Forrest," which is a pretty bad acid trip on its own.  Either way, I do know that I will A) NEVER be getting rid of this apron.  this will be apron that my kids play dress up with.  and B) I will be way more calculating the next time I have to embroider anything anywhere near my lady bits. 

End of Summer

Tomorrow is Labor day, which is traditionally the end of summer.  so I thought I'd wrap up the rant I started on how much I hate summer. 

I hate summer because:

Reason #1: spiders.  like this guy:

This is my bathroom, located in the basement of my parents' house.  I'd say on average, I kill 5 spiders a week.  I hate them under normal circumstances, but I hate them even more when I'm naked.  

Reason #2:  Speaking of my bathroom, this is what it currently looks like:

Why?  because our plumbing sucks in this house.  And the pipe leaked into the wall, so my poor elderly father had to rip out all the dry wall and is in the process of replacing all the insulation and sealing the pipe.  oh, and how did we find out the water was leaking into the wall?  the cabinet that was fixed to it literally fell on top of me one day.  I had to call upstairs ON MY CELL PHONE because me parents could not hear my cries for help.  Thanks for not being a dick, wall. 

That hole near the bottom, by the way?  that goes into my sister's closet.  see?

In a word?  WEAK.

Reason #3: I have spent the last 4 months or so looking for at least another part time job but hopefully a full time one.  Because I miss having things like health insurance.  but the economy blows and god does not love me.  

But I'm trying to not be such a bitch.  so here are a few reasons this summer was not a complete waste of my time:

Reason #1:  Birthday cake.

My sister's birthday is at the end of July, and she's the only one who ever wants ice-cream cake.  so we got her this one.  and yes, those are little sugar bees and ladybugs.

ohmygodsogood. Plus, the ladybug has little antennae.  how cute is that?!

Reason #2:  More time for crafting.  Well, not really more time for crafting except that my hours kept getting cut at my retail job.  so then I got to make things like this:

which for some reason printed upside down.  just imagine it the other way, because I'm too lazy to fix it.  but it's the first bag I ever made and I made it from materials that cost less than $15.  Heck yeah.

Reason #3:  Really cool bugs that are not spiders.  like this guy who was perched outside my front door one day and was a good 4 inches across. 
I mean, he's beautiful.  and big enough that you can actually see a lot of the marbling in his wings.  

And finally, Reason #4:  Lakeside.  Lakeside is an old school amusement park located outside of Denver that I hadn't been to since I was probably 4 years old.  But my friend Will wanted his birthday to be celebrated at such a prestigious establishment, so off we went.  And it was badass. 

Everything was just on the verge of breaking down, with enough creaks and groans to make even a scrawny girl like myself doubt that they could hold her weight.  I also got to witness a tiny five year old getting kicked off of this ride by what looked to be the oldest homeless man employed there because the kid disobeyed the safety rules.

And everything was super cheap, which is always a plus.  I got my whole dinner for less than $5.  I fully plan on going back many more time next summer and indulging my love of the authentic tilt-a-whirl that is provided.  

Prom Date

I've been following this story for a while:  http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=128654153&sc=fb&cc=fp

It's about a lesbian girl in Mississippi who wanted to go prom.  She wanted to be able take her girlfriend to prom and to wear a tuxedo.  And this made people lose. their. shit.  The story is heartbreaking on a number of levels:

1:  The school wouldn't allow her to bring her girlfriend as her date.  Because apparently that would be gross and icky and Jesus wouldn't like it. 
2:  The school wouldn't allow her to wear a tuxedo.  Because women in pants = anarchy in rural Mississippi. 
3:  And best of all: the school got pressured by a lawsuit brought by the ACLU to let this poor young woman do what she wanted.  A judge hinted that there was a strong probability he would rule in favor of that position, so the school relented.  No, actually they didn't.  They PRETENDED to relent.  They told said girl to show up at a special prom that would be held and that would allow her to bring her date, wear what she wanted, and generally not fuck over her oh so epic dream of attending her high school prom.  But they held a secret prom for everyone else, one fully condoned and organized by both school officials and the majority of parents at the same time.  So Constance McMillen showed up to a dance with only about ten people, most of whom by most accounts were also social outcasts.  Social outcasts like people with mental retardation.  Because liking girls when you are one makes you mentally deficient.

Oh, and at the secret prom?  You know, the one for all the "normal" kids?  It came out that there were several pictures of lots of girls kissing other girls.  But you see, these girls were straight, and they were only doing it because their boyfriends thought it was hot.  I'm going to need someone to explain to me why that's less perverted that kissing someone because you're genuinely attracted to them. 

My personal interest in this story was sparked largely because of my own prom experience.  see, I got to take a girl to prom.  And my school wasn't happy about it.  But they were mad because they knew I wasn't doing it because I was gay, but because I wanted the cheaper ticket price.  I was doing it to skirt the rules, not to express who I inherently was.  In fact, the only guy in my prom group was gay, and he was my friend's date because they had Youth Orchestra together.  so the only "heterosexual" couple in my prom group contained the only gay person. 

But I'm also mad because I have a mother who has asked, consistently, over the years if I'm gay.  Because she wants me to understand how ok with that she would be.  Because her sister is gay, and was scared to death to come out to her ultra Irish Catholic family and their conservative community.  And I have a friend who just came out, and who came out in pretty shitty circumstances but whose general experience, to my understanding, was mostly 'yeah.  that makes sense.  you should have done this sooner.' and not 'you're broken and ugly and immoral. Go fix yourself or we can't talk to you anymore.' 

I'm mad because I didn't need a community this understanding but I got it anyways.  And Constance McMillen shouted out for one and was denied.  And I'm blown away by the fact that this school district "didn't believe they violated McMillen's rights."  Fuck you.  no, seriously.  FUCK YOU.  I will never understand how making people contort themselves into some unrealistic vision of what some bullshit social standard says is acceptable makes you a good community with good family values.  It makes you ignorant fuckwads with little to no understanding of compassion, acceptance, or affection.  oh, and I hate your face.  that is all.  

Nerd Alert

My car and I have an adversarial relationship.  After all, I did name her Jolene with Dolly Parton's nemesis in mind.  She's been breaking down piece by piece for the last couple years.  The rearview mirror won't stay upright, so all I can really see is the backseat of my car, rather than out the rear window as intended.  The tape player no longer works, which means I can't listen to my books on tape or use my handy adapter to listen to my ipod in my car.  And my A/C hasn't worked in years, not even giving the pretense of effort that it did for the first two years that we were getting to know each other.  But well, she's mine.  I've used her to move to three different apartments and make it back home again, and for the majority of the time, she does her part.  I finally cleaned her up a couple weeks ago, shoving the last bits of trash and miscellaneous household items that I don't need in my parents house into the trunk so we could once again use the back seat with making my passengers feel claustrophobic.   Which is why the following conversation made me smile as much as it did.

I made a date with my friends Heather and Tamara to go get cupcakes, but I couldn't remember the name of the cross streets that The Shoppe is located on, so I met up with them and then had them follow my car to our sweet and delicious destination.  And I got a text message a few minutes after departing from Heather, as she was passenger in Tamara's Neon.

"Jolene has a nice ass."

so I was forced to respond, "Thanks.  She's got a lot of junk in her trunk.  LITERALLY." 

Don't Look in the Freezer

I've been meaning to write this post for a couple of months,  but I couldn't find my uploading cord for my digital camera, so I couldn't show the visual.  and the visual is really important for this story. 

It started when I opened the freezer door.  I was hunting for something to eat and not really having any success.  But something did catch my eye. 

...what the hell is that?

New Years-Birthday 2010 001

...Is that an angel head? 

New Years-Birthday 2010 002

yes.  yes, it is.  apparently, one of my mom's christmas magnets had gotten broken, but instead of the piece falling to the floor, it fell behind it instead, catching on the interior shelf.  Remember: nothing tastes better than stone cold angel head. 

Summertime

I hate the summer.  I hate how hot it gets.  I hate how much more traffic there is, and how everywhere in Denver is constantly under construction.  I hate how bored I get.  I hate how sweaty I get, especially when the air conditioning at my retail job continually breaks down and makes me sweat even more.  It's just gross and frankly, uncalled for.  So I've put together a list of things that make happy about the summer in a vain attempt to convince myself that it's really not so bad.

so here we go:

June 2010 003

June 2010 002

           Flowers.
   Particularly Iris.













I've always loved iris.  My parents have too, so we have always included them in our humble little gardens.  They've started blooming, and my mom picked some and now our whole living room smells like them.  And that makes me happy.

Also:

June 2010 006

I can show off my toes.  Which I won't do all that often, mainly cause they're bony and gross.  but since I did remember to repaint them with sparkly purple nail polish, I was ok with it yesterday.  and I can have different colored feet when my niece and nephew come over and decide to play with sidewalk chalk. 

That's all I have so far.  I will try to continue to think of good things.  Because it was at 85 degrees when I got off of work tonight, and it's only the beginning of June.  It's going to be a long summer.

Pays Off

one day last week was arguably one of the worst/best days I've had in a while.  I was supposed to work at 4 and a half hour shift in a department that I hated. that would be the department that sells underwear, pajamas, and [yichhh] bras.  Dudes that work at my job, the majority of whom are gay, aren't allowed to work in this department because you sometimes have to give bra fittings, and corporate doesn't want to get sued.  so I have to work it instead.

I don't wear a bra, and more importantly, I can't really wear one.  the last bra I bought was in the preteen section at Target and had a 9 year girl playing soccer on the advertising.  because if you're built like me, that's who you're supposed to aspire to be while wearing the thing.  I cannot sell bras to save my life.  I don't understand why sometimes you want an underwire and sometimes you don't.  Difference between bras x, y, and z?  dunno.  try them on and see for yourself!  oh, you need to get sized?  [takes measuring tape out, pretends to know what I'm doing, ultimately guesses blindly at size, prays to be right.]  I don't know how to get my managers to understand that me working in this department is basically no different than a dude working over there, only female customers are slightly more comfortable with me touching near their breasts.  slightly. 

but I started my shift there, got a customer to sign up for the store credit card, which is easily the part of my job I'm the worst at.  And unlike most other days when I worked in this department, I was actually able to accomplish a lot of the things on the to-do list that always awaits.  Usually there are so many customers and so many questions I need answered that very little gets accomplished.  About two hours in, my manager P. informs me I can take my 15 whenever I have time.  at that moment, my department started to get busy, so I decided to wait a couple of minutes so it could calm down.  5 minutes later, manager M. tells me I need to go over to the kids department, that another co-worker called in sick.  An hour later I ask to take my 15.  I am unable to take it for another half an hour.  half an hour after I get back from said break, I inform them it is time for me to go home.  40 minutes later, and in total break violation [in colorado, for every 4 hours you work, you get a 15 minutes break, and for every 5 hours, you get a half hour lunch break.], I am told to meet my manager at the main cash registers.  She hands me the store credit card and informs me I can go buy a $5 gift card anywhere that I want in the mall. 

"..what do you mean?"
"I mean, I really appreciate how great you were today and I talked to manager P. and she said you could go do that."
"...really?  I can get a gift card anywhere?"
"Yep.  thanks again."

Now logically, I understand that $5 is not a lot.  but for a retail job, having them buy you anything because they screwed you over that day, is a major thing.  having them admit that they screwed you over and not just act as though everything extra that you did that day is just part of your job description is another major thing.  so I appreciated the gesture. and now can guilt manager M. into almost anything I want.  which is another plus.     

It's Not the War of Northern Aggression

Ok.  I am what most Southerners would probably refer to as a dreaded 'yankee.'  I've never been to the South, and to be honest, I have no real desire to go there.  But I have interacted with, observed, and even lived with for a time, Southerners.  And overall, I understand that it's a different culture down there.  Most people are Christians of some denomination, most people believe in good manners and awesome food.  But here's what gets me: most people still have this absurd sense of pride about the Civil War.  No, that's not entirely accurate.  They have a fierce sense of pride about the Confederacy.  I don't get it. 

I saw a guy at the grocery store tonight who was wearing a shirt that had a picture of the Confederate flag, and underneath it was printed "If this shirt offends you, you need a history lesson."  yeah...I DON'T THINK I DO.  I'm not the idiot taking pride in something that demeaned black people, women, and let's not forget, the MAJORITY of white people.  Only about 5% of white people actually profited from slavery and lived the whole romantic 'Gone With the Wind' lifestyle.  the other 95% of white people were dirt poor and completely fucked because the rich dudes cock blocked any move they made to get a step ahead.  And fuck people who say the Civil War was about 'industry.'  because yes, it was, but only in the sense that the North's industry was based on manufacturing and the South's industry was based in slavery. 

The South lost.  They lost in 1865.  They lost almost 150 years ago.  But I still have to listen to assholes shouting "the South will rise again!" whenever someone at a bar has too much to drink and there isn't a band nearby willing to play 'Freebird.'  And also, if the South is going to rise again, it isn't going to be anytime soon.  The South consistently has some of the lowest literacy rates and average household incomes while also maintaining some of the highest poverty rates, teen pregnancy rates, and percentage of its population imprisoned.  Poor Virginia is dealing with a new asshole governor who not only took away a gay person's right not to be discriminated against if they held a state funded job, but now he wants to make a Confederate History month, one that doesn't even mention slavery.  Texas' governor is talking about secession again, and this time I say we just let the fuckers go.