Warning labels.

 

For a long time I've been annoyed with bumper stickers, even if I agree with their sentiments -- but most of the time I don't. They're either bragging or threatening violence, or just being rude. Isn't there enough rudeness as it is?

Worst, of course, are the political loons who are determined to stick something with their cause on every exposed quarter-inch of the car. But that at least serves a purpose -- as a warning label.

For a long time I've thought that people ought to come with warning labels. Some are provided by nature -- red hair, for example. (I know, I know -- just because I had universally bad luck with redheads doesn't mean they're all crazy or evil. Maybe it means they have good taste!)

Nowadays people are thoughtfully providing their own warning labels so you know who the crazy ones are. Weird hair color, bizarre tattoos and lots of 'em, industrial size hunks of metal as piercings -- all these are as helpful as a pantload of poop to identify people with whom you want to maintain distance. 

If that's how they want to express themselves, that's A-OK. We believe that free speech is a right that comes from the God that made us. I, of course, expect the same protection of my right.

It would be a different case in the fictional nation of Fredtopia, where Benevolent King Fred rules with a kindly philosophy but an iron fist. Automobiles would be permitted no more than three bumper stickers. They could have any message they wanted -- Down with King Fred, Fred = Jerkface, King Fred Shags Wildebeest -- that's where the benevolent side comes in. But the presence of a fourth bumper sticker means a twenty-four-hour warning to remove one. If the offending excess sticker remains, the car is impounded, stickers above the number three removed by random selection, and the car returned upon receipt of the appropriate fine. Repeat offenders will face escalating fines and points on their licenses. 

Benevolent but firm. 

In other words, King Fred's message is: While we appreciate your freedom of speech, the Crown will remove signs of public insanity in the interest of keeping the peace. 

 

On that note, King Fred would also have unmuffled vehicles policed. Your car or pickup runs at 100 decibels, you get three days to muffle that bastard. On day four the vehicle is impounded and used for trebuchet practice. Silence, like the Crown, is golden. 

Little Pete.

I was thinking about Little Pete this week; I don't know why. 

He was a nice guy. Older, in his retirement. Little, as the nickname would indicate, maybe five five. Big glasses and slightly wild white hair. Loved his motorcycle. I used to see him occasionally down at the church group I sometimes attended, when my schedule permitted and he wasn't off somewhere exploring the roads of America. I didn't and don't even know his last name. Just one of those guys who was glad to see ya, and was glad to be seen. 

He got very involved in that group, as I recall, going from an occasional newbie to one of the leaders. He even chaired it at some point. I can say that I had been working in Manhattan when he was new, only seeing him on days off; when I was no longer in that job and was able to go more often, he was suddenly an important figure. It was like seeing a kid you hadn't seen in a while -- one day a toddler, next day doing long division. We seem to expect people to stay exactly as they are until we see them again, like toys we put away and then take out of the box years later. "My, how you've changed!" Well, of course, they did. So did we. 

Once again my work situation altered, and I didn't get down there much for a couple of years. The next time I saw him, he too had altered, unfortunately.

Little Pete didn't mind talking about the big black binder he was carrying. It was everything he needed to have with him for his cancer treatment. Test results, medications, appointments, insurance forms, Medicare forms, charts of diet and exercise. He was organized and determined. I don't know what he did before he retired, but if he brought that kind of organization and drive to his job, he must have been successful. He still had a smile, but it was a little more guarded, a little less likely to be seen through the glass of his spectacles. We all prayed for him, of course. 

Some months went by before I saw him again -- same place, same group, same black looseleaf binder. But I noticed, coming in late, that there was a pained look on his face, that there seemed to be a distance between himself and everyone else. They didn't want to cross to him, or know how to, and he seemed unable to connect to them, either. It was like he knew he was being ripped away from everyone, and no one knew what to do except to pretend it was not happening. He just clutched his now-thicker book tighter, like a totem that could make all this go away somehow -- a totem that he didn't believe in anymore, but one he grabbed because he had nothing left to grab. That was the last time I saw him.

Honestly, I don't know for sure what happened. I didn't know whom to ask -- so many members of that group moved away or otherwise left. I don't see any of the regulars anymore. I guess it's been ten years or so now. Maybe he had a miraculous bounce back with one of those new biologics, then moved to Florida to ride his bike all day, every day, summer to winter and back again. I hope so. 

Little Pete -- thanks for being a decent guy. I'm sorry I didn't get to become your friend. I'm sorry we're all so weird about sickness and death, like if we shy away from it, it will look us over. God bless you, wherever you are.   

Evil machinations vs. puppy.

So my neighbor, the one who will be led out of his house or place of business one day with a raincoat over his head -- not that I'm rooting for it; I just expect it -- added his latest entry into the dog-hating Olympics last week, and it really made a stink. 

No, seriously. 

He's always hated my dogs, even though we keep them on our property and always, and I mean always, clean up after them. I've even cleaned up after other dogs on the block in the hope of being neighborly -- and, it must be confessed, for fear of being blamed for something neither I nor my canine chums did. 

This guy has never liked me, actually, long before we had dogs. Looking way back, I think it may be because I didn't accept his invitation to a house party for the neighborhood and never explained why. I couldn't. The fact was I was putting down the drink, and couldn't risk being at a function like that. He never asked about it -- but he's said a thing to me since except to scream angry words about anything else. 

I can accept that. If that was the cause, I wish I'd handled it better, but who knows? It wasn't his business what I was doing. He never had another neighborhood party, so I think it wasn't a success anyway. Did he blame me, thinking I was giving him the high hat? I had nothing against him.

Now it's been so long it just seems impossible to ask. While I was going about my business, he was getting tied in his own private Gordian Knot. I just pray that he finds something better to do with his mind. 

But he oughtn't pick on my dogs. 

Last Saturday I had Izzy out first thing in the a.m. and was walking past his place when I was stunned by an exceptionally strong scent of garlic. I figured the crows had ripped up his trash bags again, but trash pickup was the day before. I turned my handy flashlight on (real dark in the mornings now) and lo and behold, he had sprinkled chopped garlic all the way up his property line on both sides of the sidewalk. 

Now, this is interesting for a couple of reasons. The first is that this would be the second time he'd ever done anything on his lawn by his own labor in decades; he hires people to cut it and only once has ever been seen to fertilize it. For a guy who doesn't give a damn about the grass, he sure gets mad about the dogs. 

And that's the other thing. He yelled at me and the late Fazzy once, and all Fazz was doing was lying on his lawn for a moment as we passed by. Sure, my dogs have gone on the grass by the sidewalk, but that's what they do. It's not illegal. It's not even avoidable. They sometimes pick a spot fast as lightning. But none of my dogs has ever made it a habit to go on his grass, because they're just getting started when we set out or they are almost home, and they want to put a little distance between themselves and HQ when they go. I do know some other regulars whose dogs make his lawn a common spot (my lawn too), but I have to suspect the garlic ploy was directed at me after his hysterics. He always pretends to be a nice guy around others, inasmuch as he is able (which is: not much). 

So, okay, about that garlic. Garlic is bad for dogs, but not really dangerous in tiny amounts. Dogs dislike it. Onions too -- I've seen them rear back from all things Amaryllidaceae. I'm not sure he did it the best way (there's a method for garlic spray at this site that seems more economical), but whatever. He put enough down to repel me, personally. 

At first I was angry about this and wanted to do something to him. I thought about little signs along the grass saying Follow me for more recipes! Or a large sign that said DOG HATER LIVES HERE. I thought about adding some lettuce and tomato, too; really get the meal started. But finally I realized I was doing exactly what he does -- sitting in my house and seething at others -- and I started laughing. It's just stupid. If he'd ever asked me to avoid his grass, or put up a little friendly notice about it, I'd have taken my dogs into the street to stay away, but no -- that's not how he does things. He sulks and fumes until any slight becomes a monstrous injustice and must be avenged. 

Anyway, once I knew Izzy was not going ingest any of the garlic, we resumed walking past his place on the public sidewalk. 

There's a punchline to this. Repellent scent be damned: Izzy was very curious about this garlic thing, and finally decided what to do about it -- starting Sunday morning, he's been peeing on it regularly. He never did on their lawn before. Maybe he wants to kill the scent. But when I saw him doing that, I was torn between laughing out loud and breaking into song ("Did you ever know that you're my HEEEEEERRROOOO?"). Now he's made it a regular weeing ground. 

I'm not going to let this guy infect me with whatever he's got. He can have mental illness or something, but it's only contagious if I let it be.

However, if he escalates to rat poison, as some do, and my dog gets some of it, I may be blogging from the lockup. A man has to draw the line somewhere. 

Today's craziest thing ever.

Today's lunacy comes from the World of Science, another institution hopelessly corrupted by greed, ambition, and political correctness. I encountered these examples on a research project about headaches.

Let us start with the Global Healthy Living Foundation (bold in quoted material added):

Recently, it has been suggested that the word race should not be listed among risk factors for disease. Instead, it is suggested to state the effects of racism as the reason why a disease is more common, more severe, or less well treated in people from underserved populations.

All right, so there we have it. There is no reason that one group should suffer from any disease more than another; the only difference is the effects of racism. Note that we don't know who has suggested that; it's just out there, like the breeze, like radio waves. 

Taken at face value, what does this mean? Well, for one example, how about all those studies that noticed the preponderance of breast cancer in women of Ashkenazi Jewish descent, studies that pointed the way to the discovery of a mutation on the BRCA genes 1 and 2 that made many of these women more likely to suffer from this form of cancer. Did that teach us anything? No, the only reason that these women were more likely to have cancer was because of the effects of racism. 

See how easy it is to say something that sounds good and throw away a century of genuine scientific research?

The unequitable scientist,
plotting how to exclude others

But Jewish people are of the white race, not the Jewish race, I hear a voice in the balcony say. Well, that depends who's making the assessment, doesn't it? College administrators say Jews are white, I guess, and Hitler said they weren't, and in both cases it was anti-Semitic. 

Let's look at a study in Neurology, the esteemed journal of the American Academy of Neurology. What do we learn here?

Whereas races are not inherent biological categories, race is a social construct that as a vehicle for systemic racism has profound health effects. Throughout the literature, it is apparent that race plays a role in the appropriate diagnosis and treatment of headache disorders. Although recent population studies have found the prevalence of severe headache and migraine is roughly equal among White (15.5%), African American (15.0%), and Hispanic (14.9%) groups in the United States,6 differences exist in diagnosis, treatments, and outcomes.

So now we learn that there really is no such thing as race at all; it's just a social construct invented to keep people down. And yet then we have data for people of difference races, to prove that some are treated differently than others. It's easy to get the feeling that the word race is magic, that it can be dismissed when convenient and raised again when useful. When bad people see race, it's not real; when good people see race, it's crucial. Even in the same paragraph. They want to have their pain and eat from it, too.

Now let's see what the National Migraine and Headache Awareness Month people have to tell us about this topic. (That month is celebrated in June, by the way; mark your calendars.)

About one in six African Americans in the United States are diagnosed with migraine disease and one in five is diagnosed with tension-type headache. Studies on race-related gaps and possible health care inequalities in people with headache disorders are virtually non-existent. Understanding potential race-related disparities in headache patients may inform the development of culturally contextualized healthcare policies and interventions that are more likely to reduce or eradicate race-related headaches altogether (Bernadette Davantes Heckman and Ashley Joi Britton 2015).

Prior research suggests that if a patient is black, his pain is likely to be underestimated and under-treated compared to a white patient.

So now it looks like race is back on the menu, because people have race-related headaches and are treated differently by hospitals and doctors because of their race. In fact, an outfit called CtrlM Health would like us to know that

A growing body of research shows that migraine in Black people is more frequent, severe, and likely to be chronic and associated with more depression compared to white People.

Yet, among Black people with headache and migraine, inaccurate diagnoses are more common. 

BUT WAIT! Race is just a social construct, so how can you possibly say that black people have migraines more often than white people? You can only say that racism causes a difference in their care. 

Look, I personally think WAY too much is made about race. It's part of our individual human makeup and experiences, but as a Catholic, I think we're all made in God's image and we're all made by Him with love, and we should be happy about it, not fight about it. 

Medically, though, racial background and social background can provide a lot of clues about the origins of disease. Arguing about whether race is a real thing or not is almost beside the point; we would like to know if disease is caused by genes, caused by behavior, or caused by genes and triggered by environment, or the like. Thus, there are statistical uses in studying groups by similarities in DNA. And if you don't want to call it race, call it something less explosive. We're just stirring up trouble where it isn't necessary.

As for racism, sure, that's a problem in the human condition and always will be. The more tribal we act, the worse it is, and political correctness is nothing if not tribal, dividing us by income, race, sex, sexual preference, religion, experience, nation, history, you name it. 

However, there is one notable reason that I can guarantee has a lot to do with why white people get better healthcare in America despite the ferocious drive for "equity," a reason that cannot be conquered by all the goodwill in the world. Allow me to quote the uber-leftist Kaiser Family Foundation:

As of 2020, Medicaid covers about three in ten Black, American Indian and Alaska Native (AIAN), and Native Hawaiian or Other Pacific Islander (NHOPI) nonelderly adults and more than two in ten of Hispanic nonelderly adults, compared to 17% of their White counterparts. 

Government healthcare sucks. And that's true whether you're red, white, blue, black, polka-dotted, or striped. The more of it you have to rely on, the worse your overall experience with healthcare is going to be. By the numbers, most Medicaid patients are white, but not by the percentage of the groups, and that's what matters to the equity hustlers.

On a related topic, about twenty years ago or so people were going bananas because researchers noted that men were usually the subject of cardiac health studies, and this made women's experience (especially symptoms of coronary distress) invisible, leading to misdiagnosis and death. They pointed out that heart disease is the #1 killer of American women, same as American men, but claimed that women who relied on the usual advice about heart attack symptoms were dying more often. So in 2004 the American Heart Association launched the Go Red for Women movement. 

Pardon my cynicism, but I also think the AHA and others were tired of the breast cancer people getting all the attention -- that is to say, money. "Hey! We're still #1! Show us some love! And money!" 

The point is, people still want to argue that women face health disparities, but when you put them on the spot they won't even tell you what a woman is. Not even Supreme Court nominees. They know the mob is waiting to pounce, and they're -- what's the word? -- chickenshit. And liars. Don't forget liars. 

Anyway, I literally have a headache now after writing all this. So, my research is complete.

Trapped in the Amazone.

My wife likes Prime Days. She stocks up her Amazon shopping cart with things that are not needed in the near future -- which, if we're getting them from Amazon, is everything -- and orders them during the sale. 

Maybe not anymore, though.

Most of the stuff she ordered arrived in a variety of packages, but one package failed to show up as expected. It was reported Lost In Transit. We know it never made it to our door, as we were home all day and we have a dog. So somewhere between northern New Jersey and here, it vanished. Poof!

Fine. So, my wife wants to get to customer service and find out what they plan to do, which for most companies would be to send a replacement. But no. She presented me with the transcript, which I present below. Note that personal and product names have been changed or removed to protect... well, me, most of all. This is my blog; she doesn't want to be tied to it. Can you blame her? (Her side of the chat in red.)

Hi, thanks for contacting Amazon. I'm Amazon's chat helper.

I'm here to answer your questions & get the right person to help you out.

As I send you messages, you can select a button to reply. Give it a try.

6:51 AM

Got it

6:51 AM

Messaging Assistant | Customer Service

OK

[VARIOUS PURCHASED ITEMS LISTED HERE]

Is this what you need help with?

6:51 AM

No, something else

6:52 AM

Messaging Assistant | Customer Service

So, what can I help you with?

6:52 AM

An item I ordered

6:52 AM

Messaging Assistant | Customer Service

Let's see. Could you select the item you're looking for from your recent orders below?

6:52 AM

[THING THAT DIDN'T ARRIVE]

6:52 AM

Messaging Assistant | Customer Service

Has it arrived yet?

6:52 AM

No, it hasn't

6:52 AM

Messaging Assistant | Customer Service

Sorry it hasn’t arrived. Give me a minute to check on this.

Looks like there’s more than one item in this shipment.

Ok, give me a moment to see what I can do.

I’ll get someone who can help with this.

6:53 AM

OK, thanks

6:53 AM

Messaging Assistant | Customer Service

Ok, you can chat with an associate now or request a call back.

You can also go to your Customer Service hub to fix most things or to search help pages. What do you prefer?

6:53 AM

Chat with an associate now

6:53 AM

Messaging Assistant | Customer Service

If you have details you think would help the associate, type them here.

An associate will join the chat.

6:53 AM

GUY has joined & will be ready to chat in just a minute.

GUY | Customer Service

Hey IZZY'S MOM, GUY here to help you.

6:54 AM

Hi GUY, I'd like to find out what's going on with an order that was never delivered. The tracking number is {NUMBER}. The site says the order is running late. It was supposed to be delivered on Thursday of last week; it was out for delivery.

6:55 AM

GUY | Customer Service

Sorry to hear that you have not received the package.

We didn't intend this to happen.

6:57 AM

Could you let me know what's going on with it? I don't want to cancel because it had a bunch of things that were at Prime Day prices.

6:57 AM

GUY | Customer Service

I see the package is lost in transit.

6:58 AM

Yes.

6:58 AM

GUY | Customer Service

Don't worry, I'll quickly escalate the issue to the shipping team.

6:59 AM

Last I could tell, it was out for delivery on Thursday from the TOWN, NJ facility. That's only about 15 minutes from my home. I really appreciate you escalating this.

6:59 AM

GUY | Customer Service

Issues like this are fixed once they have been reported.

I'm sure it will never happen again for your future orders.

7:00 AM

Thanks. That's a relief.

I appreciate your help with this.

7:00 AM

GUY | Customer Service

You're welcome.

Would you like to receive your refund as an Amazon Gift Card balance or to your original payment method?

7:01 AM

I really don't want a refund. I would like the items I purchased at the prices at which I purchased them. Can the order be refilled and sent to me?

7:02 AM

GUY | Customer Service

While we shipped your order, the inventory was provided to us by a seller and I'm not able to send you a replacement. [NOTE: According to my wife, there was no indication that any of the items ordered were coming from a third party; they seemed to be in Amazon's own inventory. But even so, why could the order not be placed again? No explanation given.]

7:03 AM

For NONE of the items? There were several things in that order.

7:04 AM

GUY | Customer Service

Yes.

7:04 AM

OK, refund it to the original payment method then, please.

Will I be sent an email from Amazon verifying all of this?

7:06 AM

GUY | Customer Service

Sure.

Refund issued successfully.

Is there anything else I can assist you with today?

7:08 AM

I would like a detailed response, please, stating Amazon will not be replacing items at the prices they advertised.

7:08 AM

GUY | Customer Service

Sure.

You'll receive an email.

My wife's request for Amazon to confirm via email that they have a policy of not replacing available items lost in transit at the price and terms at the time of purchase has not yet arrived. Go figure.

This reminds me of when Steve Jobs stepped away from Apple for a while and it started to go to hell. (Apple's doing that again now, but in a different way and for different reasons.) Maybe Jeff Bezos ought to go back to Amazon and see what's happening. Christmas is coming and they don't want to have widespread customer dissatisfaction.

But Jeff is busy with other concerns these days.  

"Ha ha, losers! Mine is the biggest!"
(Picture from New York Post)

It's tough, having your own personal aircraft carrier. 

Professional noodge.

I have a friend who's been talking about writing something for submission to a new edition of an esteemed book. She's in the editorial game, same as I am, but her work doesn't call on her to do a lot of writing. When she does, she's terrific. But this project has her stumped. 

She hasn't come out and said it. She's said she's had some trouble getting started. This has been going on for months, however, and the submissions are due before Halloween. 

The deadline is nigh! I texted. It's nigher than that! It's nigh nighty-nigh! Today only!

I may not be a big success in the writing biz, but I could be a good sponsor. Not in the financial sense; more in the 12-Step program sense. Except instead of leading someone through the Steps to bring him to a better life, I'd be a professional noodge, using every trick I know to get words on the page. 

In that sense, I'm like a walking issue of Writer's Digest. I'm sure I could give you Six Ways to Approach an Outline or Twelve Ways to Break Writer's Block or Eight Ways to Meet (or Beat) Your Deadline. Oh, I'm jammed full of good advice about writing -- but not necessarily writing well. I leave that up to you, the readers, to decide. When it comes to the mechanics of writing, the getting going and getting finished, I can help. 

I really hope my friend gets those words flowing, whether it's through my help or not. She's among the smartest people I know, and has a lot to offer as a writer. But if she can't get those words out of her head and onto the page, no one will be able to read them. 

Sorry!

I was having trouble with Google Docs, because most people have trouble with Google Docs unless they spend a lot of time using Google Docs, but I have avoided that because I hate Google Docs. Nevertheless, it is sometimes the price I pay for working from home. Thing is, I thought I had screwed something up for a client because of my inexperience, and I apologized. The client asked me why I was apologizing, since I had done nothing wrong. 

I explained that I had just passed a big wedding anniversary, an if I had a secret to being a good husband it would be: Apologize first and ask questions later. 

"Just assume I'm sorry and then tell me what I did!"

There have been times when I've taken a different approach. Early on in our marriage, I usually thought: Well, if it was something important, I'm sure she'll tell me. This only prolongs the agony, at least for me, because she could fume a lot longer than I could ignore. She's of Irish descent, you know, and they can hold a grudge five hundred years after they're dead. 

Later, when I got more used to the things that really triggered this fury, I might think: I know what I did wrong but I feel embarrassed enough without rehashing it, so if I act contrite maybe it will go away. Oh, no, brother -- another rookie mistake. They never forget. They may forgive, but they never forget. (I'm not sure if I'm talking about the Irish or wives here, but it probably applies to both.)

My next tactic, going on the offensive ("What did I do wrong NOW?"), gets it out in the open, but not in a constructive way. It takes much longer for the whole situation to find resolution when you go from 0 to shouting in five seconds.

In the end, I have found that when I encounter The Scowl or the Wall of Cold, it's best to brace myself for whatever and ask what the problem is. Most of the time it's actually not me, but if I don't crack the ice I'll have to wait for the explosion. 

On the other side of the coin, when my wife does something that makes me sore, I usually just suck it up and refuse to talk about it. Never complain, never explain, right? Unless it's a real doozy, in which case I may go do something constructive, like clean up the cellar, in the LOUDEST WAY POSSIBLE.

Maybe my real secret to marriage is that both parties have to be able to put up with each other's BS. It takes two to tango, as they used to say, and everyone is full of BS sometimes. But if one side won't tango, there's not much that can be done. 

Ha.

Several of my friends are devotees of the dad joke, the sometimes-clever pun or other play on words that makes some people happy. Other people will look at you like this:

As does my wife. 

Poor thing: With no children within target range at the present time, she has to absorb the brunt of my dad jokes. And I am constantly tempted to fire them off, even when I know she's going to get mad. Not kidding -- she has run upstairs in disgust, cursing the day I ever thought I was funny. I don't recall what the joke was; it wasn't the classic about the agriculturist who is outstanding in his field, nor the golfer's favorite socks that got a hole in one. I'm sure it was a groaner, but still -- just because she was having a serious conversation doesn't mean she should be mad at attempts to lighten the mood. Sheesh.

And don't try to tell me people don't love dad jokes. The Internet is a cornucopia of dad jokes these days, and guys like my friend Wink (not his real name) memorizes them to spring on his children. I'm talking beauties like these: 

And my personal all-time favorite:

On Instagram there are many purveyors of dad jokes, but my favorite is FitDadCEO. He sets up his jokes as something he asked his son, who responds with a bad joke -- and is topped by a worse dad joke. (I've tried to link to a good one.)

PLWoodstock, who frequently comments on this site, is a walking library of bad jokes. I wonder if he maintains a secret presence online as a writer of dad jokes under another handle, or if just steals them like I do. 

Either way, all of us dad jokesters can agree on one thing -- our audience. 

But I'm afraid if I keep this up, I'll be like the calendar -- my days will be numbered. 

Midvale's world.

One of the most famous -- maybe the most famous -- of Gary Larson's Far Side cartoons is the Midvale School for the Gifted. 

I must have seen this a thousand times and it's still funny. 

What's not funny is that we now live in Midvale's world. We live in an era in which our elites are stuffed with self-confidence but are demonstrably incompetent. They seem to think that all their problems can be solved if they just believe in themselves, and when they fail anyway, it was all the fault of those bastards on the other side, just as the Soviet Union blamed masses of saboteurs and hoarders when their miserable plans came to nothing. The idea that our elites know nothing but charge in like blundering clowns anyway never occurs to them. How could they fail? They always did so well in school!

As Nathanael Blake wrote in January: 

The American ruling class thus faces an ancient problem: how do political, cultural, and economic winners convince everyone else to accept the system; how do elites secure the consent of non-elites? Members of our ruling class cannot appeal to religion or immemorial custom to justify their place. Indeed, they cannot appeal to much of anything beyond their own supposed merits, both personal (they earned their place) and as a class (they believe themselves to be wise and leading us well).

But the superlative merits of our ruling class are less obvious to the rest of us.

You can say that again, brother. Also: 

This combination of arrogance, incompetence, and malice undermines the legitimacy of elite power. A prudent ruling class would be self-aware enough to realize this vulnerability. It would be wise for them to be less culturally aggressive, economically greedy, and politically domineering, but our elites lack the coherence and self-restraint to do so.

There's that word: Incompetence. Since the Kennedy Administration's "best and brightest" led us into a war in Vietnam that by structure and fear of World War III we could not win, our country has been led by dumbbells who have the utmost confidence in their mental superiority. It was bad enough in the sixties; later, the institutionalization of these morons in permanent government agencies made them completely unaccountable. They can perform like idiots, completely screw up their assignments, lie, lash out at the little people, break the law, deny everything when their policies ruin and kill people, and pay no price -- even be hailed as heroes by their companions in the inner circle. Nothing matters to them as long as they remain in the inner circle. 

C.S. Lewis learned about what he called the "inner ring" at boarding school and beyond. He knew how hard it was to be an outsider, but also the horrible and perilous temptation to be an insider. As he wrote: "Of all passions the passion for the Inner Ring is most skillful in making a man who is not yet a very bad man do very bad things." He considered it one of the most deadly temptations: 

I believe that in all men’s lives at certain periods, and in many men’s lives at all periods between infancy and extreme old age, one of the most dominant elements is the desire to be inside the local Ring and the terror of being left outside.

But this is Midvale's world, where it's even worse, because not only are those in the inner circle flirting with damnation, but also their stupidity and entirely unearned confidence is killing the rest of us. 

We shouldn't send these dummies to the Pull door. We should send them to the Exit door, and fast.