Friday, November 12, 2004
Bush, Poverty and Homeland Security
I came up with this really great idea. Not genius, just great. I want to put a webcam in our kitchen and charge people to view. My website has pretty high traffic and I wrack my fevered brain trying to figure out a way to make money from it. Most visitors are seeking information about our business services, or using the site to find one of our clients.
If I could just get a buck per visitor I’d be set. With the popularity of reality shows and the sitcom value of our life I figure this is a winner.
Most of the real craziness in our lives takes place in our kitchen. We carved our Halloween pumpkins in the there. Not a kid in sight, just five adults, (ok, two of them young enough adults to start chucking pumpkin guts). We had a devil pumpkin, pumpkins with warts, and a cute pumpkin, pretty average stuff. We set them in a row on the porch railing but they didn’t entice any trick or treaters.
People won’t bring kids to trick or treat here. Which element of our fringe scares them most? Rumors that we’re crazy? Maybe it’s the Indian thing. Or could it be they still classify Eyvonne and I as Lesbians? Maybe it was the Kerry for President sign that kept them away this year. Considering where we live I count us lucky rednecks and bornagains don’t sign a peace pact to burn a cross in our yard on Halloween.
This year we carved pumpkins so early that by Halloween no one would reach their hand inside to light them. They were slimy and gross. Besides we were all distracted by the upcoming election. Since we don’t have TV we planned to stay up late checking election results online. By one o’clock it was obvious this election was even more disgusting than the last one so we bailed. The next morning we were inspired to dispose of our pumpkins. Like most things of import, it started in our kitchen.
“Come on, I’ll draw a picture of Bush and we can use it as a target. It’ll dispel some angst about enduring four more years of this crap,” I said. Already up for several hours and perky as hell I pushed immediate action.
Sarah and Owl’s friend who we all call Mer (no one remembers her real name) was cooking omelets to order.
“Come on, how ‘bout a little enthusiasm here?” I pleaded.
“I don’t want to smash my pumpkin,” Eyvonne complained.
“Oh come on, it’ll be great,” I said.
“What do you want in your omelet Q?” Mer asked.
It took a moment to negotiate inside with various Qs who wanted various things.
“Onions and cheese. You get to throw a pumpkin too Mer,” I campaigned.
After breakfast I sketched a caricature of the pres and added what should have been his campaign slogan: “Smack me with a pumpkin.” We hung it on a tree and launched our semi-rotted jack-o-lanterns one by one. Mine barely hit the tree. We laughed hysterically. But with so many draft age young adults in our lives maybe it was just to keep from crying.
As people of Native American descent the growing negative impact of the Federal government on our lives feels almost way too familiar. We are definitely not part of the one percent of people in this country who control more than half of this country’s wealth.
Being multiple it’s nearly impossible for us to go to work in the same place and do the same thing every day. The only two ‘real’ jobs we ever held were in the publishing business where every day it was something different, and as a feature writer/police beat reporter for a daily newspaper. Ditto. Neither lasted six months. But we can do the same work from home on our terms and excel. We worked for several years for a daily paper producing news, features and photos, all sent to the office over the Internet. A large portion of our work is still accomplished the same way.
Working at home we can share or switch ops without worrying about being detected. When people see you every day they start noticing things.
“Gee, yesterday you were left handed and today you’re right handed.” Or worse yet, “I thought you knew this software.”
We see most of our major clients a few times a month. As long as we meet deadlines they’re happy. No one notices idiosyncrasies.
We have an ebb and flow of clients like any other business. Lately it’s been more ebb and less flow. Most of our big clients are non-profit agencies funded by grants and municipalities relying on government funds. Most have cut back what they spend on PR and websites.
Like most people in our county we can’t afford health insurance. But we no longer qualify for medical assistance either. Thank you President Bush. When he took office we earned about $2,400 a month. With one dependent we qualified for medical assistance that paid for doctor visits. We seldom went anyway. What’s the point if you can’t afford the resulting prescription?
At our last medical assistance recertification appointment we were denied any benefits at all. The rules changed in the last six months. Now you can’t earn more than $2,900 in SIX months, which is just a little more than what was previously allowed in ONE month. Did inflation reverse? Is my money worth more now? Or like the rest of you did I just get poorer?
A high school kid working minimum wage can earn more than $2,900 in six months. Then there’s the other kicker: you must also be working a minimum of 20 hours a week to qualify. How many homeless people or people unemployed long term in rural areas can meet that one?
The DPW in our rural county employees five people. I hope they keep busy shredding papers sent from Washington DC, writing report and such. I doubt too many of the county’s year-round residents of 6,200 people contributing to our 42 percent below the poverty line based on per capita income qualify for assistance anymore. If they still qualified the government could readjust the poverty level again, miraculously lifting them out of poverty through the magic of statistics.
I’m sure the wealthy people with summer homes in the county’s two resort areas haven’t noticed the local people are any poorer. We barely exist as real people to them.
Maybe I should be thankful. Now things are more in balance. Before we couldn’t afford prescriptions. Now we can’t afford doctors to write them either.
In a way it feels good not taking anything from a government we no longer trust. They don’t trust us either. A handbook on Homeland Security published a couple of years ago for distribution to fire companies, police and hospitals lists American Indians as a terrorist group. Not the American Indian Movement (AIM), which has a bad-ass reputation leftover from the sixties and seventies, but our entire ethnic group.
My grandparents and great-grandparents never talked about being Indian outside their homes. They weren’t ashamed. They were scared. Like many people of Eastern Woodlands their ancestors remained behind rather than be forced westward or onto reservations. Hiding in these mountains was a good idea. Back then Indians couldn’t own property, send their kids to public school or hold public office. My ancestors blended into the dominant culture to survive. Maybe I was pre-disposed to dissociate.
Until 1978 it was illegal for Indians to practice their religion. For you non-history buffs that’s the year the Federal Freedom of Religion Act was passed. Oprah are you listening? And here you thought this country was founded on religious freedom. Think again. Wealthy people intent on gathering more wealth founded it. Not much has changed.
Still, some of us Qs are pretty intent on increasing our pathetic share of America’s wealth. We’d like to be sure we can afford propane and firewood, or at least not need to decide this winter between food and fuel like last year.
In case you hadn’t noticed our concept of genius revolves around money-making ideas. We are most dedicated to the American work ethic. It’s just we see steadily dwindling returns for our efforts. We’re working longer hours but the price of gasoline, propane and food keeps spiraling upward. It’s not like we’re just sitting around.
Trust me, multiples can work harder and apply more specific skills and talents to a job than most singletons. When one of us gets tired we just hand ops to someone else. Within our inner ranks we have three professional writers, a feature writer, a police beat reporter, five professional photographers, a public relations specialist, two grant writers, many artists, several poets and two web designers.
We owned an antiques business for nearly 20 years. ebay and Chinese imports closed us down. We hold an associate degree in journalism. We’ve been regularly published freelance writers/photographers over the last 30 years.
We’ve taught writing and computer skills. We present seminars and workshops on such varied topics as Native American culture and spirituality, genealogy, history and public relations. Our skills include horse training, dog training, road rally driving, baking, cooking, a bit of carpentry and home repair, gardening and landscaping.
We’ve helped train volunteers for victim services organizations. We’ve presented speeches and programs on domestic violence, sexual assault, childhood abuse, dissociation, multiplicity, post-traumatic stress and survivorship issues.
We’re very sensitive to community. We serve on the local emergency shelter board and serve as vice-president of a State Heritage Park. We spend a great deal of time helping people in our local Indian population. Like us they are mostly struggling financially. If we pool our resources, skills and sometimes food we all get by.
In case you’re wondering the family voted down the webcam in the kitchen idea. I’m still bummed. At the very least it would have justified buying a webcam.
© 2004 M. S. Eliot
If I could just get a buck per visitor I’d be set. With the popularity of reality shows and the sitcom value of our life I figure this is a winner.
Most of the real craziness in our lives takes place in our kitchen. We carved our Halloween pumpkins in the there. Not a kid in sight, just five adults, (ok, two of them young enough adults to start chucking pumpkin guts). We had a devil pumpkin, pumpkins with warts, and a cute pumpkin, pretty average stuff. We set them in a row on the porch railing but they didn’t entice any trick or treaters.
People won’t bring kids to trick or treat here. Which element of our fringe scares them most? Rumors that we’re crazy? Maybe it’s the Indian thing. Or could it be they still classify Eyvonne and I as Lesbians? Maybe it was the Kerry for President sign that kept them away this year. Considering where we live I count us lucky rednecks and bornagains don’t sign a peace pact to burn a cross in our yard on Halloween.
This year we carved pumpkins so early that by Halloween no one would reach their hand inside to light them. They were slimy and gross. Besides we were all distracted by the upcoming election. Since we don’t have TV we planned to stay up late checking election results online. By one o’clock it was obvious this election was even more disgusting than the last one so we bailed. The next morning we were inspired to dispose of our pumpkins. Like most things of import, it started in our kitchen.
“Come on, I’ll draw a picture of Bush and we can use it as a target. It’ll dispel some angst about enduring four more years of this crap,” I said. Already up for several hours and perky as hell I pushed immediate action.
Sarah and Owl’s friend who we all call Mer (no one remembers her real name) was cooking omelets to order.
“Come on, how ‘bout a little enthusiasm here?” I pleaded.
“I don’t want to smash my pumpkin,” Eyvonne complained.
“Oh come on, it’ll be great,” I said.
“What do you want in your omelet Q?” Mer asked.
It took a moment to negotiate inside with various Qs who wanted various things.
“Onions and cheese. You get to throw a pumpkin too Mer,” I campaigned.
After breakfast I sketched a caricature of the pres and added what should have been his campaign slogan: “Smack me with a pumpkin.” We hung it on a tree and launched our semi-rotted jack-o-lanterns one by one. Mine barely hit the tree. We laughed hysterically. But with so many draft age young adults in our lives maybe it was just to keep from crying.
As people of Native American descent the growing negative impact of the Federal government on our lives feels almost way too familiar. We are definitely not part of the one percent of people in this country who control more than half of this country’s wealth.
Being multiple it’s nearly impossible for us to go to work in the same place and do the same thing every day. The only two ‘real’ jobs we ever held were in the publishing business where every day it was something different, and as a feature writer/police beat reporter for a daily newspaper. Ditto. Neither lasted six months. But we can do the same work from home on our terms and excel. We worked for several years for a daily paper producing news, features and photos, all sent to the office over the Internet. A large portion of our work is still accomplished the same way.
Working at home we can share or switch ops without worrying about being detected. When people see you every day they start noticing things.
“Gee, yesterday you were left handed and today you’re right handed.” Or worse yet, “I thought you knew this software.”
We see most of our major clients a few times a month. As long as we meet deadlines they’re happy. No one notices idiosyncrasies.
We have an ebb and flow of clients like any other business. Lately it’s been more ebb and less flow. Most of our big clients are non-profit agencies funded by grants and municipalities relying on government funds. Most have cut back what they spend on PR and websites.
Like most people in our county we can’t afford health insurance. But we no longer qualify for medical assistance either. Thank you President Bush. When he took office we earned about $2,400 a month. With one dependent we qualified for medical assistance that paid for doctor visits. We seldom went anyway. What’s the point if you can’t afford the resulting prescription?
At our last medical assistance recertification appointment we were denied any benefits at all. The rules changed in the last six months. Now you can’t earn more than $2,900 in SIX months, which is just a little more than what was previously allowed in ONE month. Did inflation reverse? Is my money worth more now? Or like the rest of you did I just get poorer?
A high school kid working minimum wage can earn more than $2,900 in six months. Then there’s the other kicker: you must also be working a minimum of 20 hours a week to qualify. How many homeless people or people unemployed long term in rural areas can meet that one?
The DPW in our rural county employees five people. I hope they keep busy shredding papers sent from Washington DC, writing report and such. I doubt too many of the county’s year-round residents of 6,200 people contributing to our 42 percent below the poverty line based on per capita income qualify for assistance anymore. If they still qualified the government could readjust the poverty level again, miraculously lifting them out of poverty through the magic of statistics.
I’m sure the wealthy people with summer homes in the county’s two resort areas haven’t noticed the local people are any poorer. We barely exist as real people to them.
Maybe I should be thankful. Now things are more in balance. Before we couldn’t afford prescriptions. Now we can’t afford doctors to write them either.
In a way it feels good not taking anything from a government we no longer trust. They don’t trust us either. A handbook on Homeland Security published a couple of years ago for distribution to fire companies, police and hospitals lists American Indians as a terrorist group. Not the American Indian Movement (AIM), which has a bad-ass reputation leftover from the sixties and seventies, but our entire ethnic group.
My grandparents and great-grandparents never talked about being Indian outside their homes. They weren’t ashamed. They were scared. Like many people of Eastern Woodlands their ancestors remained behind rather than be forced westward or onto reservations. Hiding in these mountains was a good idea. Back then Indians couldn’t own property, send their kids to public school or hold public office. My ancestors blended into the dominant culture to survive. Maybe I was pre-disposed to dissociate.
Until 1978 it was illegal for Indians to practice their religion. For you non-history buffs that’s the year the Federal Freedom of Religion Act was passed. Oprah are you listening? And here you thought this country was founded on religious freedom. Think again. Wealthy people intent on gathering more wealth founded it. Not much has changed.
Still, some of us Qs are pretty intent on increasing our pathetic share of America’s wealth. We’d like to be sure we can afford propane and firewood, or at least not need to decide this winter between food and fuel like last year.
In case you hadn’t noticed our concept of genius revolves around money-making ideas. We are most dedicated to the American work ethic. It’s just we see steadily dwindling returns for our efforts. We’re working longer hours but the price of gasoline, propane and food keeps spiraling upward. It’s not like we’re just sitting around.
Trust me, multiples can work harder and apply more specific skills and talents to a job than most singletons. When one of us gets tired we just hand ops to someone else. Within our inner ranks we have three professional writers, a feature writer, a police beat reporter, five professional photographers, a public relations specialist, two grant writers, many artists, several poets and two web designers.
We owned an antiques business for nearly 20 years. ebay and Chinese imports closed us down. We hold an associate degree in journalism. We’ve been regularly published freelance writers/photographers over the last 30 years.
We’ve taught writing and computer skills. We present seminars and workshops on such varied topics as Native American culture and spirituality, genealogy, history and public relations. Our skills include horse training, dog training, road rally driving, baking, cooking, a bit of carpentry and home repair, gardening and landscaping.
We’ve helped train volunteers for victim services organizations. We’ve presented speeches and programs on domestic violence, sexual assault, childhood abuse, dissociation, multiplicity, post-traumatic stress and survivorship issues.
We’re very sensitive to community. We serve on the local emergency shelter board and serve as vice-president of a State Heritage Park. We spend a great deal of time helping people in our local Indian population. Like us they are mostly struggling financially. If we pool our resources, skills and sometimes food we all get by.
In case you’re wondering the family voted down the webcam in the kitchen idea. I’m still bummed. At the very least it would have justified buying a webcam.
© 2004 M. S. Eliot
