Winter had sucked all the color out of the world. The prairie in the glory of midsummer had been a surge of green, summer winds sending pulses through the tall grass, causing it to wave like an underwater kelp forest in a strong current. Now, however, it had relinquished its blooming majesty, its former radiance dulled to straw the color of a deerhide. The flowerheads were stripped of their colorful identities, appearing like sepia photographs of themselves; the ghosts of summer past. The sweetclover, which had extended from one horizon to the other back in June, covering the prairie in a blanket of gold, was now skeletonized, its broken-off stems rolling like tumbleweeds in the winter gales. Trevor was over it. Another South Dakota winter, another four months until the snows would cease and the ice would melt in the creek. In March and April, the spring blizzards would bury the world and on the subsequent sunny days, the combination of blue sky and white land would be startling, like finding oneself living in the center of a bicolored flag. But for now, a capricious midwinter thaw had left snowdrifts only in the prairie draws, on the north-facing ridges, in the shadows of the ponderosas that speckled the hills. And around the trailer, mud. In a few nights, a deep freeze would turn the sides of the tire ruts into knife edges, testing the suspension of any vehicle that took the approach too fast. Still, that was better than the loamy mud, which could imprison even a 4x4 until freezing cold or drying winds finally freed it. The view from the front porch could be gorgeous. Back in July, when the church group from Virginia had constructed a wheelchair ramp for the trailer, the evening sun had set the prairie on fire, its light reflected by a thunderstorm hanging in the sky as if by a puppeteer’s strings. “God almighty,” the youth pastor had exclaimed. But now, grays and browns mingled in a decidedly drab palette. Over at the little bird feeder, the goldfinches were no longer yellow-and-black exclamation points, but had acquiesced to dullness, dressed for a time of year when vibrant color seemed to be outlawed by some unseen authority. Trevor stared at the expanse of mud that spooled out from in front of the trailer and unwound into a ribbon that led over the hill toward the old sundance ground and, eventually, the paved road. He wondered if he would get out today. Always a calculation this time of year. Driving on the muddy channel that was his approach was out of the question; he would set a course across the grass, which would provide enough barrier to keep his tires from sinking in again. Two-tracks radiating out onto the prairie showed how many times he and his family had taken this course of action since the last snow. It felt ironic that their approach took them by far the long way around – heading north to go south; harder than it needed to be, like so much of life around here. But the way south was blocked by Roanhorse Creek. This wasn’t all bad; the creek provided nice wading in the summer and water for the horses for most of the year. It also gave rise to the only trees on the property, although the cottonwoods whose leaves whispered in the summer breezes now stood dumb and impassive, and resembled skeletal wraiths at nighttime. A horse would make it, of course. He could saddle up the buckskin, ride cross-country and be in town in twenty minutes. But that would be silly…he snorted at the ludicrousness of this thought. First of all, he had to go way beyond town today. And even if he were just going to his old job at the tribal building, was he supposed to just hitch it up outside for the day? Tie its reins to one of the smokers’ benches by the entrance? What was this, 1895? No, better not to risk TȟatéZi getting stolen or having some gang sign spraypainted on it or some shit. Besides, he needed to pull into his job interview looking halfway decent, not spattered with mud and smelling like horse sweat. Trevor regarded his truck, sitting smack in the middle of the sloppy mess. Fuck, he thought. Still, he didn’t really have a choice today. No job interview, no job. No job, no funds. Another calculation, but this one was straightforward. He went back into the trailer and made his way to his bedroom in the back, passing his brothers in the living room. One was sleeping on the couch and the other was crashed out in the recliner, oblivious to the flickering hearth of the muted TV. Let ‘em sleep today, Trevor thought. In the bedroom, he stepped across piles of clothes – some clean, some dirty – and over the miscellany of his life; a pile of old DVDs, a defunct gaming console, a canister of Bugler and squares of broadcloth for the tobacco ties he was supposed to make for ceremony, a scattering of empty Mountain Dew cans, a 24-pack of ramen, a basketball. He hunted around in his closet for the dressy clothes that he knew were there. He had worn them once, on the day of his high school graduation, three years before. And there they were; a purple button-down shirt, a solid black tie, and black chinos. Further rummaging found him a pair of brown loafers and a tan braided belt. He would look sharp for this interview – couldn’t hurt. Trevor took a quick shower. The hot water always took forever to come and once it did, didn’t last long. He got dressed hurriedly, glad the tie that had come as a set with the shirt was a clip-on, and ran a comb through his hair. It wasn’t long enough to do much with other than backcomb it a little with some hair gel, but he figured that looked better than not. He considered putting in big stud earrings to look extra fly, but decided again it; might not be the right look for the occasion. Now fully dressed and ready, Trevor took stock of his appearance. His summer tan was long gone and his skin was as pale as the white kids he had met during his one semester of college. The same change of season that had desaturated the prairie and garbed the birds in dull colors had undone all those days spent out in the badlands sun – working with the horses, swimming at the dam, helping keep fire at sundance. Too many French fur traders in his lineage. He recalled the book that his eighth grade teacher had assigned them – Part-time Indian or something – and thought, Yup, that’s me. Indian in the summer and wašiču in the winter, like changing plumage. Trevor envied his brothers their melanin. He had learned that word in one of his college classes and now thought of it nearly every day. Travis was a rich brown complexion even in the dark days of midwinter. Trenton was in between the two but had jet-black Lakota hair and definitely looked “ethnic,” enough to be followed around stores in the border towns. Trevor knew it was his privilege to be exempt from such treatment, but it bugged him nonetheless. He hadn’t asked to be light-skinned. His brothers called him žiží – a reference to his tawny hair. They had gotten into scraps over this, and Trevor even bloodied Travis’ nose in one such altercation. Once one of them had even called Trevor a “half-breed” but Trevor retorted with “Fuck you, boy, you got the same blood as me. Fuckin’ dumbass.” This seemed to put the issue to rest. Trevor’s brief stint at college had been at an out-of-state school, which now struck him as an ill-advised decision. At least South Dakotans had some experience with Natives. Even the East River kids had at least crossed paths with one at some point, and didn’t think of Indians as something from the pages of a dime novel. Trevor was the first Native in many years – maybe ever – to attend the small-town liberal arts college in a neighboring state. He thought the fact that the college was reasonably selective would mean that the students were smart enough not to ask dumb questions. He was wrong. The queries were predictable enough, clichéd even; Are you really Indian? (Yes) Do you speak your language? (No) Did you get in because you’re Indian? (Who knows? I’m pretty smart and got good grades.) Does the college have admissions quotas for Indians? (If it did, you’d think more would go here.) What’s it like on the reservation? (I don’t know; different.) Do you prefer “Native American”? (I find the question annoying, to be honest.) Do you like Leslie Marmon Silko? (Who?) Have you seen Dances with Wolves? (Some of it.) Do you know a guy from Pine Ridge named Verdell? He used to work with my dad. (Maybe) His last name was something Horse. Running Horse? (No) Fielding these questions was exhausting and added another layer of weariness and alienation to his college experience. He found himself having to answer such inquiries from his roommate, classmates, professors, his R.A…Sometimes they were cloaked in well-meaning concern (I bet you get tired of all these questions, huh?) but they were always there. Most evenings, Trevor would retreat to his room and call his mom. His roommate, Skyler, a cross-country runner who was handsome in an unspectacular way and who monitored his water intake religiously, was hardly ever around. He seemed to have no trouble making friends in college and reveled in the social opportunities around him. In his phone calls back home, Trevor found himself experiencing a homesickness that inhabited the pit of his stomach like a hunger pang. He had never been gone from home for that long. Really, his only trip away had been the summer before his senior year, to a weeklong STEM camp for Native kids that one of the state colleges had put on. But that had been with a half dozen other students from his high school. Here he was alone. The subjects of their conversations would leave Trevor feeling a gravitational pull toward home: Trenton got into a fight at school and got suspended. Travis is drinking again. We had sweat for your auntie because they have to amputate her leg after all. Those dogs were back again. Everett hit $200 at the casino on Tuesday night but of course he put it all back in. They’re having a basketball tournament for that boy who got paralyzed in that wreck. Our hot water heater went out but uncle came and fixed it. They still haven’t found that Two Arrows girl that went missing. Travis wants to go up on the hill this spring – maybe that will get him to quit drinking. Good news, bad news, mundane news…The latter tugged at him the most. Like many who grew up on Pine Ridge, he had a love-hate relationship with the reservation. It was the home of his people after all, and could be so beautiful (“God’s country,” as it was called by even those who had no time for the white man’s God). But the hardships, the tragedies, the death…it all wore away at your spirit, hardened you. Still, the news of day-to-day life going on in his absence; a school powwow, a bingo tournament, tribal council drama, rumors of a Dairy Queen opening. It made him miss home in an ineffable way. The last vestige of his indecision evaporated after a particular conversation in the lounge of his dorm. He had been sitting on a beanbag chair, discussing random topics with two friends (at least, he considered them friends, in some ill-defined adolescent way). They had all left a dull party that hadn’t livened up even after a couple of drinks, but still felt heady and obligated to prolong the night a little longer. So, they were shooting the shit, in a garishly-lit common space that smelled of burnt popcorn, and Trevor was feeling rather collegiate. An off-campus party, late-night conversation; weren’t these the trappings of university life that he had seen in teen movies, if a much more prosaic version? Kayleigh, tipsy off Jäger bombs, started the chain of events that would unravel his college experience with a simple, but pointed question: “How Indian are you, anyway?” Colton snorted at this comment. “Kay, you can’t just ask that!” But he was clearly more amused than disapproving. “You mean like my blood quantum or what?” Trevor asked. “Is that what you guys call it?” said Kay, now playing the innocent party. “I just mean, like, you say you’re Indian, I mean like I know you are, like, I know you are on paper…” The alcohol was causing her to trip over her words but she plowed on. “I mean like, okay, if I were to like, run into you on the street…” Kay was now gesturing expansively, as if the meaning of what she was saying wasn’t explicit from words alone. “Like, I wouldn’t be like, ‘Damn, look at that Indian,’ right? I’d just assume you were a white guy. I mean you know what I mean? Ugh, I’m not making sense.” She was making perfect sense. Colton looked embarrassed, and for a second, Trevor thought he might shut Kay down. But instead, his inhibition similarly worn down by a few shots of German 70-proof, he followed suit. “I think what Kay’s drunk ass is trying to say is, like, your ancestors are Indians, right, like in the history books. Like Geronimo or whatever. But do you consider yourself one of them? Or are you, like, their descendant?” Trevor could feel the ball of rage growing within him, a sea urchin radiating spikes in his gut. Stop talking, he thought. Just stop talking. Colton continued, heedlessly. “Okay, so like I’m Irish but I’m not like Irish Irish, like a leprechaun or some shit. Like my ancestors…” Trevor stood up, his fists balled. He was now stone-cold sober but his anger was its own intoxicant. “It’s none of your fucking business. It’s none of your business what the fuck I am!” He was shouting; he couldn’t help it. He picked up a half-empty can of PBR and threw it at the wall, slamming the door to the lounge on his way out. The sudsy contents of the can leaked onto the ugly orange dorm carpet, as Kayleigh and Colton sat in stunned silence. “Jesus,” said Colton finally. “Just trying to ask an honest question.” After that, Trevor had holed up in his room for a few days, skipping classes and avoiding other students. When he told his mom he was dropping out, she hardly sounded surprised. He knew she would be glad to have him back home; the prodigal son returning. Trevor, the one who had his shit together, who had gone to a STEM camp and was almost salutatorian. He knew she thought that once he got back, he could do what she couldn’t; get Travis on a better path, bring another income to the household, fix what needed to be fixed around the trailer, shoot at the stray dogs when they came around. It would all fall to him. His failure was their blessing; they would lean on him as long as he could stand. So here we fucking go, he now thought, patting his gel-stiffened hair and giving himself one last hazel-eyed glance in the mirror. Gotta get that bread. His brief stint at the tribal building hadn’t panned out. He was a good worker but wet weather made his road too sloppy to get out easily. Too many latenesses had translated into a pink slip. “Shit man we all got bad roads. Gotta leave earlier,” his boss had said. So, lesson learned, he was giving himself extra time getting ready for this interview. Really, the lady had just told him to come by “around mid-morning,” so he’d probably be okay. The job was off-rez, down at the county livestock auction and sale barn in one of the closest border towns, “white towns,” as Ridgers called it. It was mostly going to be paperwork – inventory and itemizing and that kind of shit – but it was decent pay and Trevor hoped that he could transition over to working with the animals before long. On most days, he preferred their company to dumbass people. Grabbing his bag, Trevor stuck the loafers inside with his other miscellany. He would need to wear his cowboy boots across the muddy expanse between the bottom step of the porch and the door to his Blazer so he jammed his feet into them. Outside, he walked gingerly so as not to stain his black slacks with muck. Once in the driver’s seat, he figured he would leave the boots on for the drive, since they were already smearing mud on the floor liner, and in case he got stuck and needed to get out. Trevor knew that the people who worked at the sale barn were as countrified as he was and wouldn’t judge muddy boots under most circumstances, but he also knew that being from Pine Ridge meant he had to put his best foot forward, literally in this case. Trevor fired up the Blazer, put it in four low, and gunned it. His tires found grip and he jerked along, slimy divots of earth spattering his windows and roof like hail. His windshield wipers left a pasty smear that obscured much of his view, but he practically knew the way by feel. As soon as he could, he bumped up onto the grass, gopher holes and clumps of prairie bluestem jolting his ride, testing what was left of his suspension. When he finally hit the pavement, the smoothness was startling as it always was, like a TV being suddenly muted, like silence after a door slamming. He cruised through town, passing the gas station, the other gas station, the commod building, the quonset hut, the old BIA headquarters…and turned south into Nebraska. He tried to ignore the persistent squeal under the hood that had gotten worse lately. The overcast sky reflected the dullness of the land – as below, so above – and Trevor alternated between zoning out and counting hawks on telephone poles. A handful of miles south of the border, the vehicle gave a jolt and Trevor felt a temporary loss of control. He hit the brakes and steered toward the shoulder, but the Blazer was suddenly steering like an army tank. Fuck, he whispered. Once he wrestled Blazer off the road, Trevor got out and popped the hood. He already knew what he would find under the rising steam. “Fucking serpentine belt,” he hissed to the universe. Trevor was good with cars but he didn’t have the tools for this fix. Luckily, he thought, out here in the country, somebody who did would be by soon. Lots of Natives on this road, maybe even a cousin would happen by who could at least give him a ride to town. Trevor thought of calling his dad’s brother Everett on his cell, but figured he’d give it a bit. He hated the thought of owing Uncle Ev anything. Sure enough, in a few minutes, a gunmetal gray truck passed by slowly, hit a u-turn, and pulled up behind him. Trevor felt a twinge of envy over this late-model Dodge Ram MegaCab with duallies. It had county plates on it, so the cowboy-hatted driver was a local guy, and as he got out, his Carhartt overalls and mud-caked boots identified him as a rancher. “Trouble?” MegaCab asked, giving Trevor an easy smile. “Serpentine belt busted,” said Trevor, unconsciously smoothing out his rez accent in favor of a more neutral affectation. Code-switching – another term he had learned at college (by the professor who asked him if he prefers “Native American”). “No shit, huh?” MegaCab considered this information. “I got nothing for that but I could give you a ride somewhere. You call anyone? Someone coming after you?” “No,” said Trevor. “I’m trying to get down to the sale barn for a job interview.” MegaCab looked at Trevor as if for the first time. “Oh ok so that’s why you’re all fancied up. Well, hop in if you don’t mind leaving it here.” Trevor considered this. He was off the rez so there was less of a chance that the Blazer would end up with busted windows or slashed tires. And he was eager to get his interview over and done with. Before he could answer, MegaCab added “I have to stop in Whiteclay first but then I’ll take you down.” This was only a few miles out of the way so Trevor assented and climbed into the rancher’s idling behemoth. It still retained some new-truck smell, mixed with a tinge of manure and rich earth. Really, it was almost luxurious. MegaCab flipped a u-ey again and headed back north toward Whiteclay. Formerly notorious for copious alcohol sales to people from the dry reservation whose border it sat on, Whiteclay’s package stores had been shuttered after the state had revoked their liquor licenses following years of protests over their depredatory business model. Now, it was just a town of a couple small stores and fewer than a dozen permanent residents, its streets empty of vagrants, its ghosts banished. “So, you from Hot Springs?” Trevor momentarily wondered where this question had come from, and then remembered that he had 27-plates on the Blazer – Fall River County, a relic of when he bought the car from a white lady over there. He had kept the off-county registration because the plates were far less likely to get you pulled over off-rez than the infamous 65s of Oglala Lakota County. MegaCab continued without waiting for an answer. “I used to go up to Hot Springs a lot when my dad was in the V.A. hospital up there. Nice town.” “Yup, it’s pretty nice,” said Trevor, wondering if he would have to sustain this small talk the whole way. Luckily, MegaCab took it from there, reminiscing about his high school football team dealing Hot Springs a particularly lopsided loss, and then they were at Whiteclay. Trevor played around on his phone while his driver of the moment went into the little grocery store. He looked up his old roommate Skyler on Facebook (why, he didn’t know; certainly not to friend him) and then Googled “Pine Ridge South Dakota Dairy Queen” just to see if there was any truth to that rumor. MegaCab returned with some mail – Trevor had forgotten that there was a little post office in there – and they turned south toward Rushville. Two miles and five hawks-on-telephone-poles into their trip, MegaCab got chatty again: “I still can’t believe that the state revoked the liquor licenses. They had no legal right to do that of course, but just like everyone else these days, they bowed to the pressure from liberal special interest groups. Those store owners – my brother was one of them – followed the damn law to a T but still got their rights taken away. They’re the real victims in all of this.” Trevor, whose father was found dead in Whiteclay when Trevor was ten years old, didn’t answer. “You know it’s just going to push the problem down the road. These Indians are gonna get their liquor one way or another. You guys must see that all the time up in Hot Springs.” These Indians. You guys. Trevor suddenly recognized MegaCab’s presumption, and wondered when if he should correct it. “If they wanted to buy millions of cans of beer in Whiteclay every year and drink themselves to death, shit, I say let ‘em. It’s a free country, right? Those AIM types are always going on about Native rights and shit, y’know? Well shit, you have the right to drink and die if you want. Not saying that I want that for those people or anything, but the nanny state can’t be protecting everyone from problems of their own making.” Trevor, whose brother had first gotten jailed for drunk and disorderly at age 14, two years after their father died, said nothing. MegaCab continued to rhapsodize about “the Indians” and their problems, adopting the tone of an expert, one who knew all about them. Trevor felt the blood rise to his face. Some coloration at least, he thought darkly. In the pit of his stomach, the sea urchin had returned to stab at his insides. What must it be like, he wondered, to live a life in which people aren’t constantly telling you who you are, naming your characteristics like symptoms, trying to trap you like a spirit in a photograph? The Blazer came in sight on the shoulder ahead. “Can you let me out at my ride?” Trevor asked, his voice hardly recognizable to his own ear, like hearing himself talk underwater. “Sure, you need to grab something out of it?” said MegaCab, reluctantly pausing his diatribe. “No it’s okay,” replied Trevor, “I’m gonna call someone to come help me fix this after all.” He fiddled with his phone as if to underscore this intention. “Well, if you’re sure,” said MegaCab. “And hey,” he added as Trevor stepped down onto the running board. “You be careful around here. One of these rezzers might see you here all by yourself and try to mess you or your car up. And watch out for drunk drivers. You just never know with these Indians.” MegaCab gave a serious nod to accentuate this show of concern. Then he wished Trevor luck and drove off. Trevor watched the truck recede into the distance until it was merely a gray speck between the monochrome earth and the steely sky. He sat down in the cold front seat of the Blazer and looked into the rearview mirror. Hazel eyes stared back at him under a pale forehead. Fuck it, he thought; people are dumbasses. Let ‘em believe what they want; that he was from Hot Springs, that could be was related to that Apache, Geronimo, that he was only Indian on paper. Trevor saw what they didn’t; the hidden depths beneath the surface, and in their faces, in the spaces between their words, their ignorance displayed like a tattoo. In another minute or two, he would call Uncle Ev for a ride. In another hour or two, he would be offered a job at the sale barn that would bring another income into his household (and buy him a new serpentine belt). In another day or two, he would finally finish the tobacco ties for ceremony, at which he would pray for Travis’ sobriety and his auntie’s diabetes. In another month or two, the lengthening of the days would be unmistakable. Spring would come as it always had, first heralded by a single meadowlark piercing the predawn silence with his song. This would be followed by a green sprig on the prairie, pushing up, perhaps, through snow. Then a cluster of pasqueflowers appearing suddenly on a hillside, a skein of geese overhead, sheet lightning on the horizon. Small miracles, one after another. Finally, color would surge back into the world like paint scintillating on a canvas, causing goldfinches to glow like stars and evening thunderheads to stand like towering fires. The brilliant Dakota sunlight would stoke the melanin in Trevor’s skin, and nobody would mistake who he was. He would go up on the hill for two days and nights with Travis that spring, and Trenton would keep fire for them. He would pray for the coming year, for the survival of his people, for enough blessings to outweigh the hardships. And there, among a sea of undulating green, facing the crimson blaze of sunrise, he would again know himself and find the strength to carry on, in the face of all the peculiar indignities of this world.
Crazy prediction: COVID-19 will seriously hurt the US standing in the Global Economy
So we know that the American response to COVID-19 has been bad. Competing for the Darwin awards bad. The only first world countries that have a higher per-capita infection rate are Spain, Belgium and Iceland, all of which have a significantly fewer new cases per day today compared to their peak infection rate. https://gisanddata.maps.arcgis.com/apps/opsdashboard/index.html#/bda7594740fd40299423467b48e9ecf6 (Click on the countries to the left to see how many new cases are reported compared to the peak) https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2020/world/coronavirus-maps.html (Change view to per capita cases) Evidence of the continued spread in the USA can be seen in the rising of cases outside of NY. https://www.nytimes.com/2020/05/05/us/coronavirus-deaths-cases-united-states.html This also takes into account the testing rate, since new deaths are dropping in NY, yet the rest of the countries total deaths remains nearly constant. https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2020/us/new-york-coronavirus-cases.html (scroll down to reported deaths). vs https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2020/us/coronavirus-us-cases.html (scroll down to reported deaths). Since there is a lag in data, about 1-2 weeks for new detected cases and 4 weeks for deaths, it means that the non-NY social distancing measures between ~4/10-4/24 were insufficient to control the spread of the virus. With the loosening of state restrictions, it means the R0 number today will be higher than it was in the two weeks of 4/10-4/24, meaning there will be more new infections per day outside of NYC in 1-2 weeks then there are today. So, what does this mean? The US may "flatten" the curve, but not control the spread of the virus. In other words, the virus will continue to spread for the foreseeable future in an uncontrolled fashion (with an R0 value very close to 1 meaning daily new cases/death counts remain mostly the same). That doesn't necessarily mean there will be another spike in infections (although that is possible). Why is this? Well, here are the key differences between the USA and (most) other first world countries
Lack national contact tracing program
Insufficient testing - especially for rural communities
Insufficient PPE for hospitals and essential workers
Lack of national quarantine plan
A desire by a minority (~5-10% of the population - anti-vaxxers and the like) to ignore most safety recommendations (masks, no visiting family, etc) - and no repercussions if safety recommendations are ignored
Reopening Super-spreader locations (Churches, factories, and salons) where spread can continue even with
A refusal by top leadership (Trump Administration) to coordinate an international response - Reduces the ability of countries to coordinate responses such as short term travel bans to hotspots, share PPE, share ventilators, share information, etc.
A refusal of top leadership (Trump Administration) to coordinate an national response - Reduces state-by-state differences and leverages the best scientists to create a baseline plan for the country.
Growing partisanship about the response creating a lack of a response (mostly noticeable in mask wearing). This increases the spread as many anti-vaxxer types see wearing a mask/social distancing as a "liberal" issue rather than a "national" issue, meaning the virus spreads more.
There are a lot of big economies (France, Germany, China, Japan, South Korea, Italy, Australia, Switzerland, Spain, Netherlands, and Turkey) that have reduced the number of new infections to controllable levels. https://gisanddata.maps.arcgis.com/apps/opsdashboard/index.html#/bda7594740fd40299423467b48e9ecf6 (Click on the country in the left pane and click on the daily cases in the bottom right window). Since the new infection rate is low, that means if they determine a person is infected, they can perform contact tracing on that person, determine who they were in close contact with, and then quarantine everybody who they were in close contact with. This can reduce the number of new infections by a significant amount (I'm guessing reducing the likelihood of another infection by 75% - bringing the R0 value down significantly below 1) without social distancing efforts. There is no indication that the US will have any of this type of capability for at least 3 months. Probably closer to 6. The issue being a lack of national leadership. States may implement this, but many slow states such as Florida, Georgia, North Dakota, Kansas may not have the resources or political will to get something like this going quickly. Okay, so what does all this mean for businesses and stocks and investments. If you live in one of these countries where new infection rate are low with contact tracing, you are free to go out and spend money without worrying about getting infected. Higher confidence = higher spending. Additionally, these countries are going to be looking to fully re-open their economies (football games, bars, casinos, etc). With that, they'll be stuck between two options. One, keep their economy open to the US and risk a new outbreak (and thus the economic hit) or close their economy to the US and take the economic hit until the US gets the virus under control. Essentially, a travel ban of people traveling from the US (and other countries that don't have the virus under control - Russia, Canada, UK, etc in that list) could be possible. Another affect of this, which is more important for us, if the US has an uncontrolled spread of the virus, that means factories will be shut down at random (as an outbreak occurs in a factory) in the US for a period of 3-6 months where other country's factories are humming along. With a reduced demand rate, that creates a huge competitive advantage for other countries to provide reliable supply. That means that buyers of products will look for alternative supplies outside of US. This means that big businesses such as GM, BA, F, GE, etc lose long-term market share to competitors in other countries. This can hit other places such as entertainment where no new US movies are produced, and no US sports are produced. To me, this points to not just a slow L shaped recovery. It means that the GDP of the USA will be lower in 2021-22 than it was in 2019. Other countries (Japan, China, South Korea) could see a full recovery by the beginning of 2021. Tell me I'm wrong. I really want to know if I'm completely off base here.
Welcome to Lost in the Sauce, keeping you caught up on political and legal news that often gets buried in distractions and theater… or a global health crisis. Figuring out how to divide the COVID-19 content from the “regular” news has been difficult because the pandemic is influencing all aspects of life. Some of the stories below involve the virus, but I chose to include them when it fits into one of the pre-established categories (like congress or immigration). The coronavirus-central post will be made again this Thursday-Friday; the sign up form now has an option to choose to receive an email when the coronavirus-focused roundup is posted. House-keeping:
How to support: If you enjoy my work, please consider becoming a patron. I do this to keep track and will never hide behind a paywall, but these projects take a lot of time and effort to create. Even a couple of dollars a month helps. Since someone asked a few weeks ago (thank you!), here's a PayPal option and Venmo.
How to get notifications:If you’d like to be added to my newsletter, use this SIGNUP FORM and you’ll get these recaps in your inbox!
Let’s dig in!
MAIN COURSE
Congress passes stimulus
Last week started out with a Republican-crafted stimulus bill that was twice-blocked by Senate Democrats, who objected to the lax conditions of aid to corporations, too little funding for hospitals, and a $500 billion “slush fund” for big companies to be doled out by Treasury Secretary Steve Mnuchin with no oversight. Conservative-Democrat Joe Manchin (WV) even criticized the GOP bill:
“It fails our first responders, nurses, private physicians and all healthcare professionals. ... It fails our workers. It fails our small businesses… Instead, it is focused on providing billions of dollars to Wall Street and misses the mark on helping the West Virginians that have lost their jobs through no fault of their own.”
Through negotiations, Democrats shifted the bill in a more-worker friendly direction. The version that passed includes the following Democrat-added provisions: expanded unemployment benefits, $100 billion for hospitals, $150 billion for state and local governments, direct payments to Americans without a phase-in (ensuring low-income workers get the full amount), a ban on Trump and his children from receiving aid, and oversight on the “slush fund” (see next section for more info). Senate Democrats also managed to remove a provision that would have excluded nonprofits that receive Medicaid funding from the small-business grants.
Further reading: After Senate Democrats blocked the Republican-crafted bill, House Speaker Nancy Pelosi led the House Democrats in releasing their own version, a best-case scenario of their dream coronavirus stimulus bill. It is interesting to contrast what the Democrats prioritized to what the Republicans focused on: “How the House Democrats' stimulus plan compares to the Senate's”
Echoing sentiments expressed during debate on the previous coronavirus bill (the second, for those keeping track), Republican senators derided the $600 a week increase in unemployment payments as “incentivizing” workers to quit their jobs. Sens. Ben Sasse (Neb.), Rick Scott (Fla.), Tim Scott (S.C.) and Lindsey Graham (S.C.) delayed passage of the bill in order to force a vote on an amendment removing the extra unemployment funding. "This bill pays you more not to work than if you were working," Graham said. Fortunately for American workers, the amendment failed and the improved bill passed the Senate and the House.
Note: In 2009 only three Republicans helped Obama pass his stimulus bill in his first month in office.
The giveaways in the bill
While Senate Democrats were able to add worker-friendly provisions, the bill still required bipartisan support to pass the chamber and some corporate giveaways remained in the final version.
NYT: “Senate Republicans inserted an easy-to-overlook provision on page 203 of the 880-page bill that would permit wealthy investors to use losses generated by real estate to minimize their taxes on profits from things like investments in the stock market. The estimated cost of the change over 10 years is $170 billion.”
NYT: “...if a company owns multiple hotels, even if the overall hotel or restaurant chain has more than 500 employees — the limit to qualify for treatment as a small business — it will still be able to take advantage of the small-business benefits offered in the rescue package. ...The provision could benefit the Trump Organization, which operates a relatively small chain, with six hotels in the United States in cities including New York, Washington and Chicago.”
“A provision for the FDA to approve ‘innovative’ sunscreens—which would benefit L’Oreal, which has operations in Kentucky—appeared in the bill, which was steered in the Senate by Majority Leader Mitch McConnell of Kentucky.”
“The $25 billion allocated in loans and loan guarantees for the airlines will also benefit eligible businesses "approved to perform inspection, repair, replace, or overhaul services, and ticket agents.” The last two words — ‘ticket agents’ — mean that travel agents who book flights will also be able to apply for a piece of the $25 billion.”
“The credit reporting industry got a win by defeating a total ban on negative credit reports during the crisis. Instead, a watered down version made it into the final bill: Consumers wouldn't get a negative credit report if they have an agreement with a lender to delay payments or make partial payments.”
Trump’s signing statement
While signing the latest coronavirus relief bill, the president also issued a signing statement undercutting the congressional oversight provision creating an inspector general to track how the administration distributes the $500 billion “slush fund” money. The newly-created inspector general is legally required to audit loans and investments made through the fund and report to Congress his/her findings, including any refusal by the executive office to cooperate. In his signing statement, Trump wrote that his understanding of constitutional powers allows him to gag the special IG:
"I do not understand, and my Administration will not treat, this provision as permitting the [inspector general] to issue reports to the Congress without the presidential supervision required" by Article II of the Constitution.
The signing statement further suggests that Trump does not have to comply with a provision requiring that agencies consult with Congress before it spends or reallocates certain funds: "These provisions are impermissible forms of congressional aggrandizement with respect to the execution of the laws," the statement reads. While some have said that Congress fell short in this instance, one Democratic Senate aide told Politico that Congress built in multiple layers of oversight, including “a review of other inspectors general and a congressional review committee charged with overseeing Treasury and the Federal Reserve's efforts to implement the law.” Legal experts have pointed out that a signing statement is “without legal effect.” But that ignores the fact that oversight is not equal to enforcement. The problem, in my opinion, isn’t that Congress won’t be notified of any abuses of power by Trump. The problem is that congressional Republicans and the judiciary have largely failed to hold him accountable and enforce our laws even after learning of his abuses.
Concerns about the IG
Another potential weakness in the oversight structure is the inspector general position itself. The special inspector general for pandemic recovery, known by the acronym S.I.G.P.R., is nominated by the president and confirmed by the Republican-controlled Senate. As we’ve seen from Trump’s previous nominees, particularly judicial, many unqualified individuals have been confirmed. The Democrats will not have the power to stop the president and Mitch McConnell from jamming through a loyalist to fill the SIGPR role.
Former inspector general at the Justice Department Michael Bromwich: “The signing statement threatens to undermine the authority and independence of this new IG. The Senate should extract a commitment from the nominee that Congress will be promptly notified of any Presidential/Administration interference or obstruction.”
You may recall that Trump has already proven that he’s willing to interfere with the legally-mandated work of an inspector general. When the Ukraine whistleblower filed a complaint last year, the IG of the Intelligence Community, Michael Atkinson, investigated and determined the complaint to be “urgent” and “credible.” Atkinson wrote a report and gave it to Director of National Intelligence Joseph Maguire to hand over to Congress. However, the White House and DOJ interfered and instructed Maguire not to transmit the report to the Senate and House Intelligence Committees. Chairman Adam Schiff had to subpoena Maguire to turn over the report and testify before his committee. Further, there are already five IG vacancies in agencies that have a critical role in responding to the pandemic. The Treasury itself has not had a permanent, Senate-confirmed IG for over eight months now, and Trump hasn’t nominated a replacement. The Treasury Dept. has taken a lead role in the coronavirus response, with Secretary Mnuchin handling most of the negotiating with Congress on Trump’s behalf. The fact that the lead agency doesn’t have IG oversight should be troublesome in itself; replicating the situation with a special IG doesn’t seem to be a promising solution.
The other four coronavirus-related agencies without a permanent IG: Department of Health and Human Services’ IG has been vacant for nine months, Department of Defense’s IG has been vacant for four years, Department of Education’s IG has been vacant for one year, and Office of Personnel Management’s IG has been vacant for four years. Overall, there are twelve IG vacancies in the 37) presidentially-appointed offices.
UPDATE: The nation's inspectors general have appointed Glenn Fine, the Pentagon's acting IG, to lead the committee of IGs overseeing the coronavirus relief effort.
This is one of several oversight mechanisms built into the new law. They include: A committee of IGs (now led by Fine), a new special IG (to be nominated by Trump), a congressional review panel (to be appointed by House/Senate leaders)
Direct payments
Included in the stimulus bill is a $1200 one-time direct payment for all Americans who made less than $75,000 in 2019 (less than $150,000 if couples filed jointly). More details can be found here. I have read that the Treasury will use 2018 information for those who have not filed yet this year, but I am not 100% sure that’ll happen. Mnuchin has said that Americans can expect to receive the money within three weeks, but many experts expect that timetable to be pushed into late April. Additionally, that only applies to Americans who included direct deposit information on their 2019 tax returns. Those who did not include their bank’s information will have to be sent a physical check in the mail… which could take anywhere from two to four months. Other options are being discussed, including partnering the Treasury Dept. with MasterCard and Visa to deliver prepaid debit cards. Venmo and Paypal are reportedly lobbying the government to be considered as a disbursement option. Future payments? House Speaker Pelosi is already planning another wave of direct payments to Americans, saying that the $1,200 is not enough to mitigate the economic effects of the pandemic: “I don’t think we’ve seen the end of direct payments.” Republicans, meanwhile, are taking a ‘wait and see’ approach, using the next couple of weeks to measure the impact of the $2 trillion bill passed last week.
House Minority Leader Kevin McCarthy: “What concerns me is when I listen to Nancy Pelosi talk about a fourth package now, it’s because she did not get out of things that she really wanted...I’m not sure you need a fourth package...Let’s let this work ... We have now given the resources to make and solve this problem. We don’t need to be crafting another bill right now.” For the fourth legislative package, Democrats have said they would like to see increased food stamp benefits; increased coverage for coronavirus testing, visits to the doctor and treatment; more money for state and local governments, including Washington, D.C.; expanded family and medical leave; pension fixes; and stronger workplace protections.
Trump’s signature Normally, a civil servant signs federal checks, like the direct payments Americans are set to receive. According to a Wall Street Journal report, Trump has told people that he wants his signature to appear on the stimulus checks.
THE SIDES
War on the poor continues
Amid the coronavirus crisis, Trump has defended his continued support of a Republican-led lawsuit to dismantle the Affordable Care Act, which would result in 20 million Americans losing health insurance if successful. The Supreme Court agreed to hear arguments in the case this fall. Contrasting with his position that the ACA is illegal, Trump is considering reopening enrollment on HealthCare.gov, allowing millions of uninsured individuals to get coverage before potentially incurring charges and fees related to COVID-19. Joe Biden called on Texas Attorney General Ken Paxton, who is leading the charge against the ACA, and President Trump to drop the lawsuit:
“At a time of national emergency, which is laying bare the existing vulnerabilities in our public health infrastructure, it is unconscionable that you are continuing to pursue a lawsuit designed to strip millions of Americans of their health insurance and protections under the Affordable Care Act (ACA), including the ban on insurers denying coverage or raising premiums due to pre-existing conditions.”
The Trump administration is also pushing forward with its plan to kick 700,000 people off federal food stamp assistance, known as SNAP (Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program). The USDA announced two weeks ago that the department will appeal Judge Beryl Howell’s recent decision that the USDA’s work mandate rule is “arbitrary and capricious." Additionally: The Social Security Administration has no plans to slow down a rule change set for June that will limit disability benefits, the Department of Health and Human Services still intends to reduce automatic enrollment in health coverage, and the Department of Housing and Urban Development will continue the process to enact a rule that would make it harder for renters to sue landlords for racial discrimination.
Lawmakers’ stock transactions
The Justice Department and Securities and Exchange Commission are beginning to investigate stock transactions made ahead of the economic crisis caused by the coronavirus pandemic. CNN reports that the inquiry has already reached out to Senator Richard Burr for information. “Under insider trading laws, prosecutors would need to prove the lawmakers traded based on material non-public information they received in violation of a duty to keep it confidential,” a task that won’t be easy. Sen. Burr is facing another consequence of his trades: Alan Jacobson, a shareholder in Wyndham Hotels and Resorts, sued Burr for allegedly using private information to instruct a mass liquidation of his assets. Among the shares he sold were an up to $150,000 stake in Wyndham, whose stock suffered a market-value cut of more than two-thirds since mid-February.
Environmental rollbacks
Using the pandemic as cover, the Trump administration has begun to more aggressively roll back regulations meant to protect the environment. These are examples of what Naomi Klein dubbed “the shock doctrine”: the phenomenon wherein polluters and their government allies push through unpopular policy changes under the smokescreen of a public emergency. On Thursday, the EPA announced (non-paywalled) an expansive relaxation of environmental laws and fines, exempting companies from consequences for pollution. Under the new rules, there are basically no rules. Companies are asked to “act responsibly” but are not required to report when their facilities discharge pollution into the air or water. Just five days before abandoning any pollution oversight, the oil industry’s largest trade group implored the administration for assistance, stating that social distancing measures caused a steep drop in demand for gasoline.
Monday morning update: In an interview with Fox News this morning, Trump said he was going to call Putin after the interview to discuss the Saudi-Russia oil fight. A consequence of this "battle" has been plummeting prices in the U.S. making it difficult for domestic companies (like shale extraction) to turn a profit. It's striking that the day after Dr. Fauci told Americans we can expect 100,000 to 200,000 deaths from COVID-19 (if we keep social distancing measures in place), Trump's first action is to talk to Fox News and his second action is to intervene in an international tiff on behalf of the oil and gas industry.
Gina McCarthy, who led the E.P.A. under the Obama administration, called the rollback “an open license to pollute.” Cynthia Giles, who headed the EPA enforcement division during the Obama administration, said “it is so far beyond any reasonable response I am just stunned.” The EPA is also moving forward with a widely-opposed rule to limit the types of scientific studies used when crafting new regulations or revising current ones. Hidden behind claims of increased transparency, the rule would require disclosure of all raw data used in scientific studies. This would disqualify many fields of research that rely on personal health information from individuals that must be kept confidential. For example, studies that show air pollution causes premature deaths or a certain pesticide is linked to birth defects would be rejected under the proposed rule change. Officials and scientists are calling upon the EPA to extend the time for comment on the regulatory changes, arguing that the public is unable to express their opinion while dealing with the pandemic.
“These rollbacks need and deserve the input of our public health community, but right now, they are rightfully focused on responding to the coronavirus,” said Representative Frank Pallone of New Jersey, the chairman of the House Energy and Commerce Committee.
Other controversial decisions being made:
A former EPA official who worked on controversial policies returned as Administrator Andrew Wheeler’s chief of staff. Mandy Gunasekara helped write regulations to ease pollution controls for coal-fired power plants and vehicle emissions in her previous role as chief of the EPA’s Office of Air and Radiation. In a recent interview, Gunasekara, who played a role in the decision to exit the Paris Climate Accord, pushed back on the more dire predictions of climate change, saying, “I don't think it is catastrophic.”
NYT: The plastic bag industry, battered by a wave of bans nationwide, is using the coronavirus crisis to try to block laws prohibiting single-use plastic. “We simply don’t want millions of Americans bringing germ-filled reusable bags into retail establishments putting the public and workers at risk,” an industry campaign that goes by the name Bag the Ban warned on Tuesday. (Also see The Guardian)
Kentucky, South Dakota, and West Virginia passed laws putting new criminal penalties on protests against fossil fuel infrastructure in just the past two weeks.
The Hill: The Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) said Friday that it will extend the amount of time that winter gasoline can be sold this year as producers have been facing lower demand due to the coronavirus. It will allow companies to sell the winter-grade gasoline through May 20, whereas companies would have previously been required to stop selling it by May 1 to protect air quality. “In responding to an international health crisis, the last thing the EPA should do is take steps that will worsen air quality and undermine the public’s health,” biofuels expert David DeGennaro said.
NYT: At the Interior Department, employees at the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service have been under strict orders to complete the rule eliminating some protections for migratory birds within 30 days, according to two people with direct knowledge of the orders. The 45-day comment period on that rule ended on March 19.
WaPo: The Interior Department has received over 230 nominations for oil and gas leases covering more than 150,000 acres across southern Utah, a push that would bring drilling as close as a half-mile from some of the nation’s most famous protected sites, including Arches and Canyonlands National Parks… if all the fossil fuels buried in those sites was extracted and burned, it would translate into between 1 billion and 5.95 billion metric tons of carbon dioxide being released into the air. That upward measure is equal to half the annual carbon output of China
Court updates
Press freedom case Southern District of New York District Judge Lorna Schofield ruled that a literary advocacy group’s lawsuit against Trump for allegedly violating the First Amendment can move forward. The group, PEN America, is pursuing claims that Trump “has used government power to retaliate against media coverage and reporters he dislikes.” Schofield determined that PEN’s allegation that Trump made threats to chill free speech was valid, providing as an example the White House’s revocation of CNN correspondent Jim Acosta’s press press corps credentials:
”The threats are lent credence by the fact that Defendant has acted on them before, by revoking Mr. Acosta’s credentials and barring reporters from particular press conferences. The Press Secretary indeed e-mailed the entire press corps to inform them of new rules of conduct and to warn of further consequences, citing the incident involving Mr. Acosta… These facts plausibly allege that a motivation for defendant’s actions is controlling and punishing speech he dislikes.”
Twitter case The president suffered another First Amendment defeat last week when the full 2nd Circuit Court of Appeals declined to review a previous ruling that prevents Trump from blocking users on the Twitter account he uses to communicate with the public. Judge Barrington D. Parker, a Nixon-appointee, wrote: “Excluding people from an otherwise public forum such as this by blocking those who express views critical of a public official is, we concluded, unconstitutional.” Trump-appointees Michael Parker and Richard Sullivan authored a dissent, arguing the free speech “does not include a right to post on other people’s personal social media accounts, even if those other people happen to be public officials.” Park warned that the ruling will allow the social media pages of public officials to be “overrun with harassment, trolling, and hate speech, which officials will be powerless to filter.” Florida’s felon voting U.S. District Judge Robert Hinkle ripped into Florida Governor Ron DeSantis’s administration for failing to come up with a process to determine which felons are genuinely unable to pay court-ordered fees and fines, which are otherwise required to be paid before having their voting rights restored. “If the state is not going to fix it, I will,” Hinkle warned. He had given the state five months to come up with an administrative process for felons to prove they’re unable to pay financial obligations, but Florida officials did not do so. The case is set to be heard on April 28 (notwithstanding any coronavirus-related delays).
ICE, Jails, and COVID-19
ICE One of the most overlooked populations with an increased risk of death from coronavirus are those in detention facilities, which keep people in close quarters with little sanitation or protective measures (including for staff). Last week, U.S. District Judge Dolly Gee ordered the federal government to “make continuous efforts” to release migrant children from detention centers across the country. Numerous advocacy groups asked for the release after reports that four children being held in New York had tested positive for the virus:
“The threat of irreparable injury to their health and safety is palpable,” the plaintiffs’ lawyers said in their petition… both of the agencies operating migrant children detention facilities must by April 6 provide an accounting of their efforts to release those in custody… “Her order will undoubtedly speed up releases,” said Peter Schey, co-counsel for the plaintiffs in the court case.
On Tuesday, 13 immigrants held at ICE facilities in California filed a lawsuit demanding to be released because their health conditions make them particularly vulnerable to dying if infected by the coronavirus. An ACLU statement says the detainees are “confined in crowded and unsanitary conditions where social distancing is not possible.” The 13 individuals are all over the age of 50 and/or suffering from serious underlying medical issues like high blood pressure.
“From all the evidence we have seen, ICE is failing to fulfill its constitutional obligation to protect the health and safety of individuals in its custody. ICE should exercise its existing discretion to release people with serious medical conditions from detention for humanitarian reasons,” said William Freeman, senior counsel at the ACLU of Northern California.
Meanwhile, ICE is under fire for continuing to shuttle detainees across the country, with one even being forced to take nine different flights bouncing from Louisiana to Texas to New Jersey less than two weeks ago. That man is Dr. Sirous Asgari, a materials science and engineering professor from Iran, who was acquitted last year on federal charges of stealing trade secrets. The government lost its case against him, yet ICE has had him in indefinite detention since November.
Asgari, 59, told the Guardian that his Ice holding facility in Alexandria, Louisiana, had no basic cleaning practices in place and continued to bring in new detainees from across the country with no strategy to minimize the threat of Covid-19...Detainees have no hand sanitizer, and the facility is not regularly cleaning bathrooms or sleeping areas…Detainees lack access to masks… Detainees struggle to stay clean, and the facility has an awful stench.
Jails State jails are making a better effort to release detained individuals, as both New York and New Jersey ordered a thousand people in each state be let out of jail. The order applied only to low-level offenders sentenced to less than a year in jail and those held on technical probation violations. In Los Angeles County, officials released over 1,700 people from its jails. A judge in Alabama took similar steps last week, ordering roughly 500 people jailed for minor offenses to be released to lessen crowding in facilities. Unlike in New York and New Jersey, however, local officials reacted in an uproar, led in part by the state executive committee for the Alabama Republican Party and Assistant District Attorney C.J. Robinson. Using angry Facebook messages as the barometer of the community’s feelings, Robinson worked “frantically” to block inmates from being released.
Reuters: As of Saturday, at least 132 inmates and 104 staff at jails across New York City had tested positive for COVID-19, the disease caused by the coronavirus… Since March 22, jails have reported 226 inmates and 131 staff with confirmed cases of COVID-19, according to a Reuters survey of cities and counties that run America’s 20 largest jails. The numbers are almost certainly an undercount given the fast spread of the virus.
Tribe opposed by Trump loses land
On Wednesday, The Federal Bureau of Indian Affairs announced the Mashpee Wampanoag Tribe’s reservation would be "disestablished" and its land trust status removed. Tribal Chairman Cedric Cromwell called the move "cruel" and "unnecessary,” particularly coming in the midst of a pandemic crisis. Rep. Bill Keating (D-Mass.), who last year introduced legislation to protect the tribe's reservation as trust land in Massachusetts, said the order “is one of the most cruel and nonsensical acts I have seen since coming to Congress.” The administration’s decision is especially suspicious as just last year Trump attacked the tribe’s plan to build a casino on its land, tweeting that allowing the construction would be “unfair” and treat Native Americans unequally. As a former casino owner, Trump has spent decades attacking Native American casinos as unfair competition. At a 1993 congressional hearing Trump said that tribal owners “don’t look like Indians to me” and claimed: “I might have more Indian blood than a lot of the so-called Indians that are trying to open up the reservations” to gambling. More than his past history, however, Trump has current interests at play in the Mashpee Wampanoag’s planned casino: it would have competed for business with nearby Rhode Island casinos owned by Twin River Worldwide Holdings, whose president, George Papanier, was a finance executive at the Trump Plaza casino hotel in Atlantic City.
In the Mashpee case, Twin River, the operator of the two Rhode Island casinos, has hired Matthew Schlapp, chairman of the American Conservative Union and a vocal Trump supporter, to lobby for it on the land issue. Schlapp’s wife, Mercedes, is director of strategic communications at the White House.
This season deserves a special award for inspiring flat-line boredom, with each storyline offering at least one awful person dripping poison over anyone kind or thoughtful. Natalie: Mike wants for me to be the bad one. What is this farce? Mike: I’m sorry, I can’t hear you over the I DON’T LOVE YOU. When we last saw Mike, Natalie was spring cleaning his self-esteem the Marie Kondo way, except she torched everything that sparked joy to make room for more misery. Now he’s outside wondering why science hasn’t granted him the ability to beam onto an airplane to spare him the insult of standing in a Ukraine alleyway, waiting for his maybe-fiancée to flounce down the stairs and demand an apology for…something. Natalie, Our Lady of 1,000 Bluffs, somehow finds the strength and courage to amble down the stairs and sit in the backseat of an Uber for a melancholy airport adventure. Natalie: Mike, everything is good. You must calm down and stop being so dramatic. This is gaslight like in movies. Now I must cure you of hysteria with vibrators and Valium. Mike: I mean, do we have to keep filming? What if I jump out while the car is moving? Can that be your final scene? Natalie thinks that in a perfect world Mike would apologize just for sport and then sweep her off her feet, which should be easy since they’re never on the ground. After several awkward airport moments Mike tells Natalie that he’ll call her later, but he needs time for detox and an exorcism. Natalie remains confused that Mike thought she loved him, based on the 30,000 times she said “I love you,” when he should have been able to read her rapidly changing narrative and anticipate ongoing rewrites. She approaches Mike to pretend she doesn’t know what’s going on, but Mike isn’t falling for that shit. He asks for a goodbye hug, she says no, and Mike bounces. Natalie sulks off to find her people in the Land of Bad Decisions, where Tania is waiting for her upon a throne of skulls. Back home and no longer engaged, Mike is making pancakes for himself and Uncle Beau. Beau comes rushing in the door to ask Mike how the trip was, and to announce that he lost $25 at the casino last night and needs to borrow from the bank of Mike. So um…Mike’s entire life is apparently like this. Can Mike and Syngin get a beer together please? Blake: I have friends. Jasmin: I don’t care if Blake’s friends like me. I also don’t care if Blake likes me. Blake is getting ready for his friend Everett’s birthday party, while Jasmin warms up her excuses for dodging it. Jasmin knows this party was the plan from the start, but decides against being a good introvert who tells him to go without her and to just enjoy himself. Instead, she attempts to smash Blake’s social butterfly in favor of a sober conversation about yoga and tea. She asks Blake if they can skip the pre-party dinner and just eat together, which Blake agrees to with the caveat that he will continue to express his dismay. Blake orders a drink, and Jasmin reminds him that you can’t talk to Jesus when you’re drunk. Jasmin latches on to Blake drinking as her excuse for avoiding phase 2 of the evening’s pseudo-social interaction. She says she’s going to call her sister instead and pretend to be mad at him while being secretly relieved to enjoy blissful time away from his flock. What remains of Blake’s sense of humor about this situation gets lost trying to escape his hair. Jasmin tells the cameras that it’s selfish to ask her to go to a party, and totally forgets the part where it’s selfish to derail his plans because that plan is something she doesn’t want to do. Blake says that he’s tired of explaining her behavior to his friends. Neither one of these two is capable of having an adult argument, and are likely on a relationship subreddit as I type, posting a totally balanced report of their latest immature interaction. Jasmin arrives at Janette’s clinical apartment, and declares that Blake refuses to do anything that interests her, because “everything is always about Blake.” She says that Finnish folks are calmer, while Janette tells her that she needs to keep trying to adapt, and by “keep trying” she means try at all. Tania: Okay guys, I get it, I’m like, the villain here. Did anyone else just feel a weird rush of glee? That must be Mercury in douchebag and Mars going direct into asshole. Totally grounded and focused financial wizard Fucking Tania has put her trusty pink shirt in time-out, for a responsible and goal-oriented phone call to an astrologer with a predictable funny name. But not before Syngin fetches precise room temperature water for her to swallow with her lizard tongue to maintain the skin suit that presents some approximation of humanity. Syngin calls his mother to gather the data necessary for someone to cold-read Tania over Skype, and his mom clarifies that he was born at “twenty to three.” Resident expert Tania mansplains that this means 2:40, and this is apparently how she will feel superior today. “We are energy beings,” Tania tanias. “And I was born at a certain time for a certain reason, and that reason is to vampire every shred of joy from Syngin’s twinkling soul.” “Marie Kondo,” Natalia pipes in. “Clean out all of the joy.” Astrologist Daizy October picked that name on purpose, and tells Tania something about “blueprints of the soul” which makes the first shelf of the New Age section of the bookstore start vibrating. She declares that Sagittarius is the archetype of travel, which is what one would say to someone who can afford Costa Rica but not a shed of one’s own. Daizy: Now Mars in Scorpio, and Tania is in existence, which means there’s going to be some fighting, and sex is important. Syngin, blink if you need help. Syngin: Oh yes. Fucking Tania: Is that blood in the water? No wonder I’m hungry. Syngin: By “oh yes” I meant yes, I need help. Ms. October says that their souls bring them together, which would make sense if Tania had one, and asks if they’re soulmates. Syngin says their connection is so vivid he feels like he’s met her before, and then he died to escape her. Tania looks drunk on hurting Syngin, and pushes it further by insisting her first love was her soulmate, and he still is, even though she hasn’t been with that dude for like 8 years or so, and the restraining order keeps getting renewed over and over again. Syngin points out that they met in a star-crossed way, foolishly failing to note that hurting him is Tania’s entire objective. “I feel like I don’t know what to say, because anything I say will hurt you, which is why I can’t stop laughing. I’m fine,” Tania reports. Then Syngin tells the cameras he needs a break to restore his essence, and Tania hovers in the doorway, eagerly anticipating the chance to harvest from him all over again. So to recap: Tania, who trusts in the universe, does not trust that the universe gifted her Syngin, but instead believes that eventually she’ll be regifted the tattered remains of her original bottom, who has likely moved on to other astral alignments, and a thousand mile away zip code. Yep, this is pretty on brand for Tania. Angela: I’m not the bad guy, I’m a tax payer! Michael: I have a shopping list. Angela’s chest is newly covered in an ancient pirate treasure map, guiding strangers to the booty in her bra. Her plan is to storm the American embassy and assert her tax payer status as a means of pushing this K-1 process forward. After ambling through the gates and harassing multiple members of security, she emerges and bellows to Michael. She says they wouldn’t let her into the embassy since she doesn’t have an appointment, and strangely, they don’t consider a white lady demanding a K-1 an emergency. Maybe she needed to explain that she’s working with the alternative reality where she can carry a child, and they wouldn’t give her Botox in her uterus. The next day they go to Michael’s uncle’s house for dinner, but first they have to stop and pick up a microwave for Michael’s mother. Angela is worried that the material expectations increase with every dinner, and says that the gifts can’t keep growing in value. “Please Angela. We need to present a love and respect microwave,” Michael persuades. The man working at the store states a price far more than the microwave is worth, and then Michael says he should price it less because they’re going to get something else, too. This is his way of surprising Angela with a required gift for his uncle. She tells the shopkeeper that she’s got 15,000 stored under her best titty, and he should take it and call it good now that she’s his African sister. Okay then. The guy takes it, and she walks away with a microwave and kettle. Angela is happy to visit his family, especially Michael’s mother, whom she loves so much. As the most junior, or newest, wife, Angela is expected to help cook and serve as a sign of humility. She awkwardly works on plantains while Michael insists he’s not expecting much in terms of domesticity once they are stateside, but he will expect her to cook, in addition to being the only breadwinner and caretaker for a bushel basket of people. Even the producer laughs, because the only thing Angela will be cooking in Georgia is Michael if he maintains that ridiculous idea. Michael’s family starts asking about their wedding plans, and Angela explains that the K-1 is her family’s only opportunity to see her get hitched. They are eager for Michael to have a child with Angela’s ashy uterus, and his whole family starts weighing in on the matter, which nudges Angela right to the edge. She somehow keeps her mouth shut and remains respectful, even after Uncle says that if it doesn’t work Michael should move on to the next baby basket, which is a regional woman unlikely to arrive with household appliances. Are they trying to get on Maury? If you listen closely you can hear Angela’s internal kettle whistling away, and her microwave chiming ding-ding-ding. Emily: You don’t have to be a Debbie Downer! Betsy: I will be one ASAP! Emily has freed Sasha from the clutches of Indiana in favor of her fake hometown Portland, where she takes him to Washington Park’s Rose Garden to show him how shitty west coast cities are, amirite Trump? Emily says that it’s going to be expensive to go from two-for-one Indiana to Portland’s most expensive suburb, confirming my suspicion that she’s from Lake Oswego, where Real Housewives ferment until their first divorce and rehab stint. This is good news for Sasha, who is very likely to find a wealth of personal training clients and his fourth wife there. Emily says they should get married ASAP, and Sasha agrees without knowing what ASAP means. “After two weddings, third not so much,” Sasha shrugs. “Fourth will be court house. Fifth, maybe commitment ceremony.” Emily heads back to scenic South Bend to save hundreds of dollars on a wedding dress. She says she’s leaning towards the Oregon coast as a wedding location, which makes sense if you don’t know that every venue from Brookings to Astoria is booked ages in advance, but she wouldn’t be the first or last person to turn that AirBnB into Plan A and Plan B. Emily’s sister is there to remind her that every idea she has about her impending nuptials is wrong, which is not fair to Emily, who knows every lace dress is better with piercing wind and sand. The salesperson hides in the dressing room from their endless passive-aggressive sparring, before coming out to place a veil and headpiece on Emily and make Betsy cry. Robert: I’m terrible. Why are you always complaining? Anny: I would like to go out with Robin or Mike now please. Hey guys, you know how 90DF always has one trashy, delusional family that believes the fiancé is there to steal their no-money? Well, this round it’s fucking Robert, father of five who appears to be largely free from the burdens of child support...or who perhaps opts for tax-free employment for those very reasons. He’s dragging Anny and the other person who is nice to her (his sister Robin) to a restaurant to meet up with his equally-awful brother Kenny. Robin says that Bryson loves Anny and that she really likes her too, while Kenny gets busy disrespecting and humiliating her before she can work a “hello” out of her mouth. Kenny wants to know how she’ll be in the future, and Anny suspects he doesn’t know what year it is, so she reminds him that they live in the present, and what matters is how they treat each other now. In response, Kenny says he’s not sure if he’s going to their wedding at all, carrying on the 9DF tradition of families that fail to notice it isn’t all about them. Now fully defensive and uneasy, Anny asks if Kenny is cheap too, and Robin assures Anny that she wouldn’t be a fan of a thrift store shopping spree, either. This gets in the way of Robert and Kenny’s plan to disrespect women in public places, so Kenny asks if she always complains a lot. Anny corrects him that her issue is that Robert lies, and told her he had three kids instead of five, in addition to making endless empty promises of clothing, an apartment, and any expression of affection whatsoever. Kenny says that he has seven kids, which isn’t normally something you play as clap-back, but okay Kenny. Yes, seven is greater than five. Anny has had it with them and their apparent plan to overpopulate the planet, and leaves and says that she feels alone. “That’s not the way you talk when you love somebody,” she says, speaking truth. “Well, my fiancé only loves me on Thursdays. Do you want to get a beer with me and Syngin?” Mike is there for her. Juliana: In this story, my family appears to be the villains, and this makes me sad. Michael: I’m rich but my tux doesn’t fit. On the day of the wedding, Max and CeCe are in conference about the gravity of the forthcoming nuptials, in between mugs of stiff black coffee and plates of almond biscotti. CeCe: I’m feeling moderately uneasy, due to rigid societal expectations of appropriate age disparity. Surely if this were the era of Ibsen’s “A Doll’s House” this wouldn’t even muddy my mind, but given the unfortunate modern conviction that a second spouse serves as an accessory and not a person, we have some educating to do. Max: This seems a prudent way to address the offensive tongue of your friend Dakota, who has lived a sheltered life free from parental relationship development and sexual exploration. For now, I’ll simply relish the opportunity to wax poetic on their enduring love once mother has concluded her oratory. CeCe: I have some concerns about you being assigned this important role, while I am relegated to the background. Is this sibling rivalry? Not very becoming of me, I’m sure. Max: I validate your feelings of envy, but as the elder sibling I am allotted a generous portion of gloating which will carry all the way into the late stages of my adulthood. CeCe: Is that when you argue with your wife about 401K distribution while I go to Burning Man in a modified school bus? Max: Do you bite your thumb at me? CeCe: I do bite my thumb at you, sir! Meanwhile, Juliana’s friend Pao is there (no, not that Pao, who is only friends with Juan) along with her friend Cousy, who Juliana describes as like a second mom. Cousy lives in Milan, where Juliana met her during a modeling gig, and she sprung for the ticket to ease Juliana’s loneliness on her special day. In Michael’s wedding prep, we learn that he bought two tuxedos, and decides to wear the one that fits. Juliana wishes her mother could see her in her wedding dress, or was capable of acknowledging her existence when she’s not buying a car for her sister. A gorgeous clear tent is set up to welcome wedding guests, all but two of which are friends or family of Michael. CeCe is on deck to tell Juliana she looks so pretty, while Max gives Michael a pep talk about toxic masculinity and exploring romantic relationships with an open heart. Cousy then hands her phone to Juliana to share a video she made of messages from Juliana’s friends who want to wish her well. Juliana keeps waiting for a relative to appear in this video, but it doesn’t happen, because apparently Juliana’s family has plenty of narcissists. Or maybe they’re hiding in the wings until the next episode? Either way, the family doesn’t so much as text her, and in the face of this intentional cruelty Juliana starts crying and struggles to stop, thawing the thickest layer of our cold black hearts. Next time, Jasmin says she doesn’t want to work or smile or breathe, Sasha promises to love his third wife until he doesn’t, Juliana braces to be married by her future husband’s ex-wife, while Syngin finds a friend to mouth “help me” to when Tania is sleeping safely in her coffin. Thank you Patreon supporters! Follow the link in my bio to bathe in my toxic pool!
Family attempting to uproot 75 year old grandmother from home of 30 years to move somewhere cheaper in the middle of nowhere because they can't afford it without her.
I am beside myself right now, so I apologize if my thoughts are all over the place or if I leave out important info. My father and his brother are working on convincing my grandmother to sell her home (the one her late husband purchased and made additions to, including a rental unit to bring her income after his passing 4 years ago) to move to the middle of nowhere. It doesn't seem like they have a serious plan or idea about where they want to go, as she mentioned the guys were looking in Oklahoma, Kansas, and her home state of North Dakota. So far she has started to clean and sent me boxes of the things my mother dumped there, possibly getting the house ready for showings. I heard her mention a few months ago rising taxes in CA as a reason to leave, but all I can find is a split-roll measure that would completely exempt residences. She gets the homeowner's exemption and is taxed at an assessment 350k-400k less than the home's estimated value because it hasn't been reassessed since it was sold, and the assessed value can only rise a maximum of 2% each year. I know that the 290k the house is being taxed at could purchase quite a lot of home in a cheaper place, with hundreds of thousands left over, but she wouldn't have the rental income. Nor does it seem like she has a plan for the leftover money (she could purchase another property and make that a rental, of course, but it's a hell of a lot of trouble for her just to get around. Vetting tenants and properties for this purpose would be a huge undertaking, as she's mentioned just moving would be as much). She said she absolutely loves the tenant living above her right now. Grandma hasn't raised the tenant's rent because of how much she likes her tenant, and while she would prefer not to, understands that would be an option. I guess I should mention to her that anybody who buys the property would raise rent on her in a second, she pays at least 600 bucks less than what most places would charge. There are a lot of reasons why moving to a place like this would be a bad choice for her, and I'm hoping reddit can help me convince her to consider what is best for her in this situation. She has mentioned how hard the harsh winters of her home state were, and that she couldn't weather them now, with her arthritis. Besides that, two of those states are famous for their tornado and hurricane seasons. She was aware and said she'd be sure any place they moved had an adequate basement, but the inconveniences of severe weather extend far beyond safety. She can't even see well enough to drive past dusk in the city, and I know for a fact there are sometimes whole miles between functional streetlights in the lesser populated areas (if they are there at all). Towns and cities are spread out over huge swaths, and even she admits that her current car is a complete lemon. The last shreds of her independence would go up in smoke with this move, alongside the comforts and conveniences of the cozy suburb they live in now. No more walks with friends, no more fishing trips or angling for the giant mackerel by the pier. She seems to think her life has no value over what they want, because she hardly does anything aside from cook and clean for her two sons. She wouldn't be giving up anything except her basic comfort, in her eyes, and it's really hard to get her to consider that important. I feel fucking horrible that she gave away her entire life to slaving over a hot stove and now that she doesn't have a husband to look after she's still chasing two grown-ass men to do their laundry and keep the house orderly. She deserves some peace and time to do what she wants, instead of pulling weeds in the garden and making daily trips to the grocery store (weekly now with COVID, she said. Seemed sad she didn't get out of the house as much). For goodness' sake, she eloped with a foreign man that spoke not a word of english fifty years ago! She's just not that person. She's a lot more than that. I've been trying to place emphasis on giving her other options, and not feeling forced into this. She told me "the virus" is making my uncle uncomfortable, and that my dad outright hates CA (My father had talked at length for months before the outbreak about moving out of grandma's house, where he lives with his girlfriend, to North Dakota or somewhere else out of state). All three of them have continued to work all throughout the stay-at-home order, continually putting my grandmother at risk despite living with her and not having rental expenses. Dad and uncle each own a business, and my dad also works for my uncle's business on the side. Their business could certainly be considered essential, as they keep people's homes in liveable condition, however they are required to enter other person's residences to do so. I understand that my uncle has expenses owning a business and can't necessarily afford to cease operations and keep the business, but if he's moving then he has no intention to keep it anyway. He has said it would be better to operate somewhere more rural, as they would only be going into individual homes rather than servicing several places in the same building. I don't see how this makes more sense, as to make the same money he would have to enter the same number of unique residences and do the same number of jobs at the same price. While cost of living might be lower, he wouldn't be able to charge the same as he does now. I have a feeling it may be something to do with his former employer having a monopoly on single-unit homes in the area, as they've been around decades and have widespread local marketing. Dad is just self-employed, and works with his brother on jobs, no obligation to his business as he doesn't employ anyone else. Dad's GF is helping to remodel the bar she works at while it's closed. I have a lot of suspicions about the reasons behind their desire to leave, in addition to what I've mentioned. Leaving was my father's plan to begin with, but he still has not saved the required assets to do so, for various reasons. Some are in his control, some aren't, I understand. He tried this once before, with me (moving to a much cheaper state in the south), and we ended up homeless, penniless, then back home dependent upon my grandmother and grandfather. This has been the case each time my father and uncle have moved out, either alone or with someone that they are romantically involved with/married to. They have not supported themselves since I was born, and likely for years before that. I don't trust their ability to make smart decisions and take adequate care of her, as they have failed to do so for the entirety of this pandemic. The SAFEST and best thing for her right now would be if they all packed up and left, instead of continually exposing her to the same things they expose themselves to, and this is one of the reasons I so firmly believe they don't have her best interests at heart at all. The worst part of me believes they know I wouldn't let them sell the house and split up the money when she eventually passes away, so they're trying to liquidate it now and get some while they can/get a free house out of it. All while putting her in danger. She has expressed that she tries to keep distance as best she can, but can't, as they are "at the same dinner table." She also said that my dad's girlfriend is looking forward to going to the casino when it reopens next week. It's obvious they don't give a rat's ass about keeping her safe, and likely haven't even considered renting somewhere for her to stay while they contaminate the place. I am trying to get her to advocate more for herself on this front as well, but it's very hard for her to stand up for herself. This is a hugely complicating factor in the current situation. All I have ever wanted is for the house to be the same safe landing pad it's been for the members of our family for years. I want there to be a place for my dad and uncle to come back to if things get rough, and I want there to be a safe place for my siblings, my little cousin, the next generation, to end up if they run into hardships. This is in line with the intent behind all of my grandfather's work. These two are selfish enough to partake their whole lives, and yank away the opportunity from their children and nieces and nephews at the first chance they get with their father no longer around to put a stop to it. I have a home across the country and have been away for five years, so while my place isn't there now, it's been a home to our family for three decades. That's almost half the time my grandfather even spent in this country. I have some questions for her, and I would welcome more comparisons and talking points from everyone so that I can be more prepared when I talk to her again. So far, all I have is:
If your sons/sons GF were not living with you, would you be more or less at risk?
If they weren't already living with you, and let you know they were buying a home together out of state, would that be enough reason to uproot your life and go live with them?
If needing someone in the family nearby is enough reason to pick up and move, would you do it if I were living in the house/renting somewhere in the neighborhood?
I want her to understand what the options would look like if they actually had her interests at heart. As far as COVID-19 is concerned, they are proposing to move to places with less infrastructure, regulation, and with worse responses to the virus compared to their current home, while making no efforts to curb the exposure she receives. More remote areas may experience a slower spread, and therefore are likely still in earlier stages with regard to its progression/containment. She really was in the safest place in the country to be when all of this began. I have already talked with my partner, and I am willing to pack up and move back to CA to stay with her until he can find a job in our city and we can live together nearby. I feel it's a small price to pay to keep her comfortable, as much as I love my new city and have put down roots. I also brought up the idea of her moving to a smaller home here in my state, as there's a lovely neighborhood she could afford and still be a little closer to the action. We do have winter here, but not ND winter. No tornadoes either. Thoughts, comments, ideas all welcome. We are in US, if post didn't make that clear. Thank you so much for reading, and I will answer absolutely any questions to the best of my ability. Thank you again.
Playing cards have been part of our culture for hundreds of years, so we can expect some great stories surrounding them. One of the most famous stories of all is the legendary tale of the Dead Man's Hand. Gamblers are a rather superstitious lot, and we've all heard people talk about lucky dice and lucky cards. Many hands of playing cards have even acquired their own names, and perhaps none as famous as the Dead Man's Hand: a pair of black aces and a pair of black eights. So what is the story behind this apparently unlucky hand, which could be an omen of death? And which elements of this tale are history, and which are myth? I'll tell you the story, and you can decide. Wild Bill Hickok First let me introduce you to the famous gunman and gambler that is at the center of our story: Wild Bill Hickok (1837-1876). His real name was James Butler Hickok, but when you're a famous gunman in the wild west, "James" doesn't sound quite as impressive, so "Wild Bill" it was. Apparently his long nose and large lips gave rise to the nickname "Duck Bill" in his youth, but the addition of a fierce moustache and a somewhat wild reputation eventually saw this moniker evolve into Wild Bill. Wild Bill's fame was well-deserved, because he was a celebrated veteran of the Civil War, and a respected lawman and gunfighter in the American West. He earned respect through his involvement in multiple shoot-outs, the iron hand by which he ruled the lawlessness of his day, and his skill as a professional gambler. The papers followed him closely, telling stories of his many gun fights and conquests. His exploits were often sensationalized, mixing with fiction with fact. So we'll never know exactly how many men Wild Bill actually gunned down. Some journalists from his time claimed it was over a hundred, but a respected biographer suggests that the truth is closer to half a dozen. The numbers, exploits, and stories were often exaggerated by his contemporaries, and Wild Bill seems to have lent a helping hand to his growing legend by contributing some outlandish reports of his own about his achievements. https://preview.redd.it/nwcg500iaaw41.jpg?width=500&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=c8e90ce1d1dbab4cfa70d2e84ff1f73c85308838 The Death of Wild Bill Let's fast forward to 1876, when Wild Bill is almost 40 years old. By now he has earned a pretty penny from his gambling and from his other feats. But he is no longer quite the crack shot of his younger years, and his health is also starting to decline. Wild Bill joins a wagon train heading for South Dakota, and arrives at the town of Deadwood. There he entertains himself with one of his great loves at the local Nuttal & Mann's Saloon No. 10: Poker. A skilled player, Wild Bill rakes in the money as he has done so often throughout his life. On this occasion, one of the unfortunate losers is drunken buffalo hunter named Jack McCall, whose losses are so big that he needs to rely on Wild Bill's generosity to buy breakfast. McCall might just have considered this gesture as a grave insult, as the events of the next day would show. The next day is August 2, 1876, and Wild Bill again heads to the saloon for some more poker. Only one seat is free at the poker table, and our hero repeatedly but unsuccessfully asks to switch seats with another player, since his preference is for a chair with his back to the wall, giving him a full view of the saloon and its entrance. So it is that Wild Bill is taken by surprise when Jack McCall steps into the saloon, yells "Damn you! Take that!", and shoots him from behind at point-blank. Wild Bill is killed instantly, and falls from his seat, with his cards clutched in his hand: a pair of black Aces and a pair of black Eights. McCall was initially acquitted, but was eventually tried for murder, and convicted and hanged the following year. But the story of Wild Bill's final hand would live on. The poker game being played was a five-card stud, and there's less certainty about the identity of the fifth card, but the other four were clearly described by a witness present at the scene as pairs of black Aces and Eights. And so began the legend of the Dead Man's Hand. https://preview.redd.it/4lq1jfxiaaw41.jpg?width=500&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=6cdb95086b1234c6b96d87b599f0a1b9f3762702 The Dead Man's Hand Was Wild Bill really holding a pair of Aces and a pair of Eights? Some historians question the authenticity of the account. It has been suggested that the association between Wild Bill and this particular hand was only popularized some fifty years later, when a book about Hickok appeared. By then the story was already turning into legend, and the publication of this story certainly helped spread the legend. But it does appear that prior to the 1920s little was said about it. In fact, at one time in the 19th century the story of a Dead Man's Hand was even reported to be connected with a completely different individual, and a completely different hand of cards. Now that we're more than 140 years removed from the original event, it's not likely that we'll ever find out the truth! Regardless of the historicity of Wild Bill's actual hand at the time of his death, there's no doubt that his story has become the stuff of legend. For the last hundred years, a hand with a pair of black aces and a pair of black eights has commonly been called the Dead Man's Hand, and been connected with Wild Bill Hickok's death. This particular hand has become firmly entrenched in popular culture, with many references to it in countless novels, films, and even computer games. Today there is a small casino called Saloon 10 located at the site where Wild Bill was killed. There you'll find a historical exhibit of the Dead Man's Hand, and signs that tell you about the story behind it. Wild Bill may be long dead, but his legend lives on, although in modern poker a pair of Aces and a pair of Eights is actually a decent combination, and is not exactly likely to get you killed! https://preview.redd.it/25dw1iikaaw41.jpg?width=500&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=a295565a5f3907c96518ec16da7d4860cc53db6f The Dead Man's Deck As a special homage to this tale, the folks at Vanishing Inc Magic have produced a special deck of playing cards. It's a limited edition deck geared to collectors, and commemorates the story of Wild Bill and his unfortunate demise. The tuck box has a plain and sober look with muted black and yellowed borders, that makes it appear to be an authentic relic from yesteryear. Be ready for a surprise when taking the cards out of the box, because the entire deck literally has a hole that goes all the way through the very middle of all the cards, for a very fun novelty look. A round metal musket ball is inside the hole, to complete the dramatic effect. The cards look deliberately weathered and worn, while burn marks surround the bullet hole on both sides of each card. This isn't a deck for the squeamish, because there are apparent smears of blood on the black Aces and Eights that constituted the legendary Dead Man's Hand, while blood splatters also adorn several other cards. The card backs are identical, so you can still use this as a regular deck if you wish. These have a one-way design, and careful observers will notice details connected to the tale of Wild Bill, such as references to his initials JBH, as well as to the cards of the Dead Man's Hand. The design of the face cards employs a vintage style, while the artwork of the court cards follows the older French styled look rather than the classical Bicycle look that we're used to today, including the use of indices on all four corners. Two extra cards are included, one with a photo of Wild Bill, and the other telling a short version of his story. The printing of the deck was done by Expert Playing Card Company, so the cards look great and handle smoothly. This is a very original and fun deck that stands out from others in my collection due to the novelty value, and the great story behind it. You could certainly use it for a card trick that has a Wild West story line, and it might especially appeal magicians that do gambling routines. People who have the book Scarne on Card Tricks should check out the trick "Wild Bill Hickock's Hand" (p.298) which is a Henry Christ routine that uses the Dead Man's Hand as the background and plot. Of course you could also use for a game of Poker or for any other card game too. It's also a great conversation piece and collector's item. Just remember to keep your back to the wall! Where to get it?The Dead Man's Deck is availablehere. https://preview.redd.it/xybva6blaaw41.jpg?width=500&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=122b5572da51ceb30850a19fbb28f2c3f3c42969 Author's note: I first published this article at PlayingCardDeckshere.
South Dakota casinos in Deadwood opened on December 1, 1989. It was the third place casinos were legalized in the U.S. after Nevada and Atlantic City. Bet limits started at $5 with the only games legal being slots, video poker, blackjack and live poker. Deadwood Cadillac Jack's Casino. The Cadillac Jack's Casino is located in Deadwood, South Dakota, in the North of the Black Hills National Forest. The casino offers above 240 slot machines (classical and …. 0 reviews. United States. While South Dakota does not have any legal online casinos, there is one way residents and visitors to the state can play: sweepstakes casinos. You can actually win real cash at these too! The top sweepstakes-style online casino for South Dakota players is Chumba. Take advantage of the many games in Chumba’s roster. Biggest South Dakota Casinos. There are over 20 casinos to choose from in South Dakota, one of the biggest and most popular is the Dakota Sioux Casino and Hotel. Hosting 400 gaming machines, poker and blackjack tables. There will always be something for everyone to play. The Casino has on-site entertainment and dining options. There are eleven American Indian gaming facilities in South Dakota. They are owned and operated by seven federally-recognized South Dakota tribes. See our South Dakota Indian Casino List below for casino and tribe informatrion. #1 Casino Choice of U.S. Players. Interestingly, South Dakota casinos have very liberal rules about allowing minors in casinos and virtually all of the casinos will allow children to enter with their parents until about 8 p.m. Additionally, South Dakota is the only jurisdiction that will allow children to stand next to their parents while they are gambling. Top South Dakota Casinos: See reviews and photos of casinos & gambling attractions in South Dakota on Tripadvisor. Best Online Casinos in South Dakota. Many are surprised when they find that South Dakota has a large and very successful gambling industry. Different forms of gambling have been popular here since the 1800s. In more recent years, online casino gambling has grown extremely popular in the state. South Dakota has 38 casinos in which you'll find more than 5,523 slots and gaming machines. There are a total of 76 table games. The minimum bet we've found at casinos in South Dakota is $0.01 and the maxium bet is $1,000. Click a casino on the left for more information on a particular property. South Dakota has is one of the USA states that really have casino gambling in its blood. However, the state’s gambling laws are quite lengthy, in flux, and complex. Although South Dakota is now home to just a limited number of legal casinos and other types of gambling, at one point, the state was once a gaming hotpot and this was during the days bore the gambling industry was legalized as a ...
