Friday, February 04, 2005

Drugs v. Ethnicity

Top of the morning gents,

I’ve revised our list of recipients, narrowing my
correspondence now to just you boys in blue, clipping
more non-believers (those that don’t understand) of rural
existence, merging cultures, and the battle to save a
few healthy children from the overwhelming probability
of injury.

I’m having some emotional difficulties with my
dwindling friendships.

I don’t know how to communicate my daily activities to
my old friends and family from the killing grounds of
the Pacific Northwest. I’ve sent beautiful pictures
of my game food processing, ice shelf hikes, and yes,
whale butchering, but I don’t get the responses I was
looking for.

You know: “Whoa Dude! killer pics”, “How fascinating”,
“Fuckin’ A dude”, and “How trippy.”

None of the above. Seems my rich suburb pals don't
have time to play with little natives, and my Eskimo
neighbors won't learn from the suburb kids. Two
worlds, two vastly different notions of comfortable
money.

Instead, I received veiled disappointment that I
didn’t stay in Seattle or Fairbanks on my 15 trips
overseas, and that extreme remote sites aren’t of any
interest beyond a brief eyebrow.

When we review our busy lives over the last 15 years
of mutual acquaintance, and most likely mutual
admiration, the pals that stick to me, understand my
motives, and truly appreciate my successes, are a
bunch of kind hearted, yet abused coppers.

I have brothers and best friends that haven’t spoken
to me in years. Actually, since Columbo, Nay, and
Bowman recruited me. I ain’t whining or bitching, I
just want to know why this battle over booze and drug
sales to Natives alienates even good decent folk.

You boys know what I mean?

My old pal Mike Callahan hates my work. He’s a real
lib that believes that all drugs ought to be legal,
and nobody gives a shit about drunken natives. In
context of reservation Induns, I agree that nobody
cares, but here in Alaska, Eskimos are equal status as
humans, not subIndun brown trash.

My brother Cully has shied away from me since my stint
with Mat-Su Narcotics fearing I’ll bust him and his
friends for performing wonderful music whilst baked.
I wish our clients were all a bunch of well-educated
stoner musicians, would be nice, huh?

I would gladly trade all my meth labs, coke whores,
speed freaks, and FAS parents and their babies for a
client list of longhaired hippies smoking goddamn
weed.

We didn’t know how easy it was back then did we?
Crystal meth is very popular up here. Coke too. But
booze has the highest markup and the highest profit
margin substantiating the hypothesis that illegal
alcohol and drug trade is demand stimulated.

Why Eskimos pay more for their drugs and booze than
anybody else in the world is beyond me.

In stereotypically poor demographic sectors of our
population, drug trade flourishes, but not at the
staggering profit levels we see here in Native
Territory.

Back in Washington State, it was a toss up between
blacks and natives as to who could outbid each other
for cocaine and weed.

From an analytical point of view, rural Alaska
economic focus, I see larger disposable incomes. Free
medical, dental, and vision care are provided to
natives, but not to blacks or Hispanics. We also have
support programs, thus preventing alcoholics from
‘hitting bottom’, which is an aspect of traditional
alcohol intervention. The only natives that truly hit
bottom, REALLY hit bottom begging for spit and punches
from healthy folks in the streets of Anchoragua or
Shitbanks.

So, why do rural Alaskan natives divert so much of its
community resources towards getting fucked up?

I intentionally compare natives with blacks etc
because I don’t know any other races existing in a
similar condition. All my party mates from the
wealthy suburbs of North Seattle aren’t in the same
income bracket. The neighborhoods I partied in were
gated communities or prohibitively priced to keep
poorer minorities from attending.

Comparing a drunk native in Noorvik to a drunk kid
living in a million dollar house is useless. Wealth
is a state of mind, just like being poor. My naiveté
about growing up hungry makes me a lousy voice of
objectivity.

When I bring up the subject over dinner at my parent’s
house, they are clueless. How the hell can a family
that develops and resells commercial property claim to
empathize with our desperately poor Eskimo comrades?

My grandparents fled their homes and life savings
during World War I, arriving in America bankrupt, but
with the guarantee that hard work, lots of education,
and personal and financial responsibility will yield
health, wealth, and beauty. They weren’t
disappointed. Both my parent’s families are quite
rich with plenty of real estate and too many doctors
for children.

Bless my parents and grandparents. They believed in
the American dream and were very handsomely rewarded.
So were millions of other hard working, sober, and
responsible immigrants from the Nordic region.
Anybody can build a golf course or renovate old
decrepit dairies. So why don’t we see this sort of
sober wealth building here in the FAZ?

I think I just answered my own question.

My favorite pastime is chatting with Columbo about
real estate development prospects and Tom Graham about
municipal and regional codes, taxation, and it’s
subsequent misspending. But the Mrs. has the firmest
grasp on the difference between assets and
liabilities. With her cooperation and guidance, we’ve
bought and sold about a dozen pieces of property, all
sold at a tidy profit.

The only deal we didn’t make a killing on was a piece
we passed off to Columbo, part gift, part thank you,
part opportunity to develop and resell and also join
in on the wealth building program. I’ll believe it
when he starts pouring concrete or clearing brush for
a septic system and drain field.

Creating wealth out of nothing is easy. If you like
working.

You boys remember the work Scott and I did on house
#369? We bought the place for 29K, put 10K into the
place, and then sold it for 45K. We may have only
profited 6 grand, but remember, I had in my hand a
check for $45,000 which we put into the Willow house,
subsequently sold for a 25% ROI (return on
investment), and then rolled all the proceeds of that
structured sale into this quarter million dollar brand
new duplex here in Barrow.

Here’s the sweet part; the tenant pays almost the
whole monthly mortgage payment. Pretty kewl huh?

These steps were all no brainers.

So, back to my preamble of this culture of booze and
drug abuse, how do I shift time wasting and brain
killing drug habits towards getting rich?

Making money from employment is fun. Not. Putting a
coat of paint on a building, or landscaping the lawn
and trees, ain’t hard work, but pays fat dividends
when you resell the place.

My father lectured me:

*When buying a piece of real property, you make your
money when you BUY the place.

*Never pay more than 6 years rents. Rents are the
primary quantitative tool for appraisals, so be real
attentive when you hear that rents are dropping. This
is good for poor slob renters, but disastrous to us
landlord chaps.

*At historically prevailing interest rates, you’re on
the hook for about 1% of your unpaid balance for each
monthly payment. It would work out exactly if Caesar
hadn’t inserted his retarded sons into an already
accurate 10-month year (Julius-July and
Augustus-August).

*And lastly, never lose control of the deal.

Before you dispute the wisdom of these simple rules,
ask me off the record what my father’s and
grandfather’s net worth is.

Years ago, I slipped up and told Gumby what my
father’s market exposure was worth, meaning the net
worth of his positions in the stock markets and bond
markets, not including his real estate holdings.

I was bragging proudly to Gumby that me and me padre
predicted the Internet bubble bursting on March of
2000, thus minimizing pop's exposure to the market
sectors indicating a point of inflection (change in
upwards direction).

As expected, Gumby is a liability to police security
and a blatant intel leak. I had to take shit from
John Ward, Rachel Downing, Richie Eunice, and Barney
Reuters for being a rich kid.

Fuck you. I worked hard all my life on adding value
to everything I touch. Whereas in the ghetto;
everything goes to shit instead of appreciating.
That’s the reason why you never let traditionally poor
folks live anywhere near you. Nobody should eat shit
for having family values in the creation of wealth.
Fuck the resentment from poor ass niggers. My father
achieved millionaire status when I was 15, my
grandfather; before I was born. Fuck all.

Wealthy people are the hardest working folks you’ve
met. Always starting or wrapping a project; then onto
the next gig. Financial responsibility = Personal
responsibility.

I dream of working side by side with a dear friend of
mine on his view lot up on Hatcher’s Pass, that is if
his Native family will stay clear and let him build it
up, sell it, and make some money. A new house is for
selling, not ruining.

Like I said, wealth building is a family value,
whereas poverty is an inherited state of mind loaded
with mental illness, dysfunction, and subsequent
compulsive massive alcohol and drug consumption.

We all can be millionaires. I just don’t get it.

Karl.

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