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It Ain't Easy Being Indian
It ain’t easy being indian
Friday, August 24 2012
 
Written by by Ricey Wild,
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While I was driving to the Risky Raccoon Kasino, being ever hopeful (read: easy to fleece) for a benevolent slot machine, I noticed I was being followed by the Fuzz.  A city squad car kept pace right behind me being all Darth Vader-y menacing.
I knew I hadn’t committed any traffic violations so by the time the cop pulled me over I was sure he was racial-profiling. I squiggled out of my car; I’m still wearing a brace on my broken arm, and in high dudgeon approached the offending officer who was sitting in his squad. I got hollered at for not staying in my car and quickly re-inserted myself into my vehicle for fear of getting cuffed up.
So the policeman stuck his big ole head in my window. He scared me! But I didn’t let on and took the offensive by asking him why he stopped me? Of course, I assumed it was cuz I drive an older model car with Rez plates that say “Ricey”. First the copper berated me for not staying inside the car. Huh? I didn’t know that was procedure, and said, “Well, I’ve never been stopped before! “
I have a perfect driving record and I told him that too. He told me in a stern, authoritative tone that I was pulled over for a broken windshield, a pair of fuzzy stuffed pink dice hanging from the rear view mirror and not wearing a seatbelt. Yikes! I repeated that I had never been stopped ever, ever, ever! This I said in a very soft, hurt, bewildered voice and I struggled to arrange my features to be as puzzled puppy-like innocent as I could muster. It wasn’t easy.

It ain't easy being indian
Monday, July 30 2012
 
Written by Ricey Wild,
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Just the other night I?was driving myself to the ER. Right after 12 am on a rez road I?looked up to the sky when 3 bright lights flashed in a row and I?thought, "Wow, what was that." It was coming closer to me. It made no sound and when I looked up the side of my windshield on the right it was just above the trees. The white light had turned blue by now. I thought about g­etting out of t­he car and looking at it more but I?got a chill and decided to just keep going. The craft, whatever it was, made no noise and flew too slowly ­to be an airplane. And it was not a helicopter because it was silent. I've told yoov before and I?annoy even myself by repeating it, but "they" are here and in fact, some tribal nation creation stories say that we Indians come from the stars. I'm just mad at the aliens who inflicted upon t­his earth the perpetrators and practitioners of a culture of greed and wealth. When I?think of good people, I?think of what they do, not what they have.
By the time I got to t­he ER I w­as in desperate pain from my broken arm. Broken arm? What? Again? Yes my friends, t­he crazy wild woman has a broken humerus bone on my right arm but t­here is nothing funny about it.
It ain't easy being indian
Sunday, June 10 2012
 
Written by by Ricey Wild,
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For the past three months or so I've been out of the loop because I've been busy recovering from spinal fusion surgery. Yes, the operation hurt, it hurt a lot but I am now able to walk normally again…mostly. I had to get it you know. I had lost that swing in my step and my smiles had turned into grimaces. When my Unk Koon picked me up after my spending six days in the hospital he said that in the Old Days I would have just been put on an iceberg and left there to perish. Well, I don't recall that he said 'perish' precisely but his meaning was clear. Me? I just laughed as well as I could. It hurt.
It ain't easy being indian
Thursday, May 17 2012
 
Written by by Ricey Wild,
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Last year I was at home semi-watching regular TV for background noise when stormy weather blew out some power lines. I was at a momentary loss as to what to do while the electricty was out. I decided to put in a movie until the electricity came back on. I remember looking at my DVD collection when the realization hit me; the power is out and there wasn't anything I could do but wait. True story.
It Aint easy being indian
Friday, April 13 2012
 
Written by Ricey Wild,
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Writing this column for nearly 14 years now I have always been careful not to call anyone out in particular lest there be hurt feelings and they want to beat me up. This does not include the public cast of characters that are always in the media; them anyone can talk about.
Well darn it, in a recent column I was writing about my job, and that 'an old misery' had it before me. People said that person only had the job of documenting the Rez cemeteries because they couldn't get along with anybody else. I got a good response for that column. Fans wrote, called, and one even said it was my best one ever…well, not according to some very special and important people in my life.
 I had been out from work because my back, which was injured this past fall, was worsening so I was medical leave. When I finally got back and checked my correspondence. I had the sweetest, nicest, non-harshly worded angry letter from my friend Christine. She wrote she was disappointed that I would call out our mutual friend Leroy, that he didn't deserve what I had written and that I was rotten (my words) for doing so. I wrote her back immediately, first that I was NOT referring to Leroy as the old miz, and I feel awful for having unintentionally hurt his feelings. I told her who I actually meant and Christine said, "Ohhhh!" She knows of the person, the real old miz.
First off Leroy, I apologize. It did occur to me after the column was published that you might take it to mean you; I assure you it is not. You are not a misery at all; I cherish our friendship and the time you have taken to impart your knowledge, wisdom and sharing funny stories with me. To be very clear, you're the last person I would ever accuse of being an Old Misery. Gawd knows Rezberry has way more than its share and you, Leroy Defoe, do not qualify. Mea culpa, or in today's parlance, my bad.
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