It Ain't Easy Being Indian
It ain't easy being indian
Friday, February 11 2011
Written by Ricey Wild,
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Like many Indians and Americans I have been unemployed for way longer than I thought I would be. It really sucks and I am seriously questioning the local employers' sanity. Who doesn't want a brilliant, saucy Diva working for their Tribe? I mean really! I'm gold! I've always been paid far less than males are for the same job and yet I am also expected to serve as a mental health/sympathetic listener/gopher and driver as well.
Yanno what? I don't give a fat rat's hindquarters about your dead father who was a drunken jerk. Mine was too and yet I don't have the compulsion to repeatedly share my sad stories to captive audiences. I showed up to work and perform my job description as expected.
In one of my past jobs I was forced to listen to utterly absurd, schitzo-paranoid fantasies (someone changed her furniture around while she was in the shower and did laundry, too). Wow. Imagine yourself having to share part of your day, never mind an enclosed office, with a person like that. Imagine it and then ask yourself WWRD (What Would Ricey Do?). Quit, like I did. I was very relieved that there were only plastic knives, staple removers and fresh copy paper around that had sharp edges. Arrrgh! Don't get me started! Oops! I already got started.
It ain't easy being indian
Thursday, January 13 2011
Written by Ricey Wild,
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I am absolutely astonished by what some people pay big money for. Just this past December an American flag was sold for 2.2 million dollars at a Sotheby’s auction. Of course it wasn’t just any old flag; it was one of five carried into battle in 1876 by the 7th U.S. Cavalry at Little Bighorn. Yup. The battle that is described in American history as “infamous” because the Indians rolled in and kicked Whitey’s asses. Well, the victor’s did much more than that of course and afterward took the flags as souvenirs. The one tattered flag the Indians did not get was underneath a fallen trooper and has bloodstains on it, which apparently makes it more valuable. Ick! I know!
The article headline read “Custer’s Last Flag” and now I am happily wondering what I’ll get for “Custer’s Last Drawers.” How I came to acquire them is an Area 51-type secret and his tighty-whiteys are safely stored away in an undisclosed location in Antarctica. The most important money value of Custer’s panties is that they have quite a big load of poops still in them! I speculate that his unplanned bowel movement must have occurred after he rode over the hill and saw all them Indians.
It Aint Easy August
Friday, October 15 2010
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In the off-chance any of you were holding your breath or just wondering what the heck is going on at the Rezberry Elders’ apartments, I have some updates for you. Juicy ones, too! I have renamed it “Helrose Place” after that 90s soapy drama on FOX, Melrose Place, get it? Ay!
Last month I reported that a teeny-tiny wheelchair bound Elderly Lady was being given the boot for rental arrears in the astonishing amount of $2.00. A fund raising effort by other rez-idents of the building did bring in $1.03, but since then Rezberry Housing has added yet another $1.00 in addition to the hardship and humiliation she has already endured.
In a desperate effort to help even more, some Elders and their middle-aged offspring had the audacity to have a BBQ and a laughing good time in the courtyard wherein they were allegedly observed, albeit somewhat out of focus, that they were drinking (gasp!) Beer!
 I KNOW!!! There they were, sipping sparingly of the mild barley beverage, but only so they could turn the cans in to raise money for their dear neighbors back rent! Those Elders have had long careers, raising their children and helping with grandchildren. They fought for our country and made great sacrifices in blood and tears so their descendants would not have to suffer the indignities they and their parent’s parents did. Those Elders are not allowed to have a beer or glass of wine, at all - in their own home place.
Well, in order to make that point clear, the Rezberry Riders (a.k.a. The Fuzz) finally got to use the fancy new maneuvers they picked up last year from the State, Federal, County, Immigration and local cops when the Hells Angels motored into town.
The very next time a very subdued party was blurrily spotted in the courtyard by the nark, 911 was called and Rezberry’s finest showed right up. They brought their new unit along, who are trained like a SWAT team (only they‘re called Savage Warriors Against Terrorists) and they wore full camo body armor.
In a stealthy, devious tactic worthy of Rambo they busted in the front and emergency doors simultaneously. Officers were also stationed at each ground level window, lest an Elder try to escape the containment lines. Helicopters with SWAT team members, hanging from rope ladders, landed in the courtyard where the fundraising festivities were being held. And no one was there! It was past eight o’clock and the hard-partying Elders had already turned back their bed covers and were soundly asleep during the iraid.
The Rezberry Rider’s had made all those cunning plans to catch the miscreant Elders in the act of having fun, and all they found was one old woman who was quarreling with her son.
I heard too that there were several handicap accessible paddy wagons to haul the old folks away, a few empty ambulances equipped for personal gurneys, and two regular squad cars for those who could still shuffle. Really!
It must have a slow night in Rezberry and Blueberry. It’s not like there aren’t any criminals around who openly steal and deal pills, or have violent, sociopathic tendencies toward defenseless women and children. Just saying.
Who knew that them seemingly quiet Elders wielded such power as to make the local community quiver with fear? I’m gonna advise them to hide their guns, ammo, and remains of deer that were shined – and that all the unlicensed gambling has to cease for now. The moonshine still will also have to be on the down-low, for appearances sake. The stripper pole in the community room will also have to be dismantled, so no more crazy disco fun there either. Several Elders have expressed regret and stated they no longer have the will to go on.
Okay, maybe I exaggerated a little, but only a smidge, really. All the events are true, though they have been ever-so-slightly altered to protect the guilty.
I have wonderful news! This little burg has been spruced up lately, so the air is clean and sweet again, no more poisonous, toxic fumes are being spread about. And I and me Mumz are laughing our faces off, we feel so good! It’s great to share this with yooz, my readers. May happy blessings come your way also. Sometimes, you just have to wait.
At the time of this writing I am going to the Big, Bad City to see some old friends of mine who have been long neglected by me. Sure, some of them may be totally okay with that, but the others? You know who you are, I miss yooz and I can prove it. I learned from my dog The Mitz that puppy kisses are the best and sweetest of all so….
It Aint Easy
Thursday, October 14 2010
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“It’s a sign!” Indians will and do joke with each other about the most innocuous and naturally occurring daily happenstances as being a (gasp!) “sign.” According to the dominant culture’s verbal and literary reports we Indians of the Americas are way more in touch with Nature. I agree with that for the most part. No Indian I heard of ever had the blind arrogance to think we, because we are human and have opposable thumbs, were given the dominion over the beasts, birds, land…that saying from some old biblical passage, yanno?
But back on topic. Signs. Like if you drop something you consider significant (a rabbits foot, a ciggy butt, your kid) or you see some wolves doing something unusual like blowing down pigs’ houses, or your newly washed four-cornered pony (a car , Mum, dah!) got messed up by some disrespectful aerial scoundrels (a.k.a poopy birds). Anything and everything can be interpreted as a sign by an Indian; a portent of imminent events, expectations and so forth.
You get it? So imagine my surprise when I actually saw a sign by the side of the road printed out on cardboard informing Blueberrians and Rezberrians that there was a sale that stated “everything must go!” That My Dears is literal, metaphorical, and so much more. Imagine the main sources of your misery selling off all their ill-gotten goods and finally leaving you, your family, life and town; then imagine the happy, wondrous, ecstatic rush of emotions that would engulf you!
That is me at this moment in time. I don’t know why one has to experience sorrow and pain, except that only then do we understand and truly appreciate joy and contentment. Other than that, good riddance; what took so long?
On another track I’m tired of fake Indians! Keep in mind that it was not our Native ancestors who required a minimum blood quantum to be considered Indian, it was the United States of the American Empire. There are those who….sheez! My bad! This is a much repeated rant of mine and I do not apologize for it at all. I do want to point out how non-Indians are still stealing from us real Indians to our collective detriment in arts, science, culture and religious beliefs.
For instance this past July I joined the Native American Journalists Association conference in St. Paul, Minnesota. Amongst the tribally enrolled, worthy, talented, venerable and upcoming Native journalists there is a very strange fraud who “won“ some awards. I give this over to the working journalists to uncover, that’s all I’ll say for now, except for one clue: Rezberry. Not me though, I have a card and the life experience.
So at the end of last month I was basking in Big City sun rays and I also enjoyed a ferocious summer storm at midnight. I ate at a few of my favorite restaurants but the best meal was served up by my friend, Eggs Benedict ala Rachel. I stayed with her and Danial, my precious, dear friends I left in the Big City over 10 years ago.
I thought that so much about my former home would be different, unfamiliar and foreign to my rez-dusty eyes. I was right, a lot of things were. What did not change at all was my dear friends and their loving hospitality. Except for Danial’s graying hair and Rachel’s gorgeous kids Tristan and Trinity, everything was the same.
It felt so good to walk in my old ‘hood, to smell the concrete after a brutal, hot rain and see the city skyline outlined in hard, sweet, summer blue. I heard many sirens, I saw really strange people who talked funny and I woke to new, exciting days which were mostly spent on the porch watching the rest of the world go by. In other words, “It was cool” (musical quote from George Clinton and Funkadelic circa 1970‘s). You kids google the Godfather of Funk, write me an essay about the difference between R&B Funk and the gag-worthy age of Lady Gaga.
The thing I got from this trip was I can be from the Big City and Rezberry both. I loved coming back to my little home with its purry, furry, needy occupants and my four-legged daughter The Famous Mitz. She was initially pissed and ignored me upon my return but she ultimately forgave my transgression for leaving her for so long.
I think humans can learn much more from the other occupants of this Earth whom are our dear, near neighbors. I also think the non-humans are much better mannered, they don’t lie and only consume each other because they have to, not for power, wealth, greed or just plain nastiness.
A lot of things have happened lately but one thing never changes, my love and appreciation for you. Yes, I mean you!
Ricey Wild
Saturday, December 19 2009
Written by Ricey Wild,
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Ah! December! I like to reflect upon significant events in my life this past year. I also puzzle over insignificant and meaningless happenings, just for the fun of it. Like the time I...well, there is only so much space in my column to share.

If you are sorta interested to know, I have a FaceBook page. I do post occasionally but have not yet mastered the art of posting things about me and my life that any of my  “FRIENDS” care about. I try hard to be witty but all anyone cares about is Farmville, Mafia Wars and other goofy games that make no sense to me.


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