Harrah's Cherokee Casinos in North Carolina Remain Open ...

is the casino open in cherokee north carolina

is the casino open in cherokee north carolina - win

UBI-Related: Harrah’s Cherokee Resort casino & youth outcomes

TL;DR: A Cherokee tribe opened a casino and gave most of the profits directly to tribe members as a quasi-UBI. Kids showed big improvements after their parents started getting the money.
My summary:
In 1997, the Eastern Band Cherokee tribe in North Carolina won permission to open a casino resort. This casino was hugely successful, and a large portion of the income from it was distributed directly to members of the tribe as income. By happy coincidence, researchers were in the middle of conducting a large longitudinal study of youth outcomes in the region. The study, begun in 1993, included youth from many communities in the region, including those on the Cherokee reservation, whose households began to receive income from the casino.
The study found significant effects when the families began to receive the money--particularly those who had started out the poorest to begin with. The kids had higher educational attainment and less criminality.
Study abstract:
We examine the role that an exogenous increase in household income due to a government transfer unrelated to household characteristics plays in children's long run outcomes. Children in affected households have higher levels of education in their young adulthood and a lower incidence of criminality for minor offenses. Effects differ by initial household poverty status. An additional $4000 per year for the poorest households increases educational attainment by one year at age 21 and reduces having ever committed a minor crime by 22% at ages 16−17. Our evidence suggests that improved parental quality is a likely mechanism for the change.

Study: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2891175/
Popular article where I heard about it [paywalled; if you really, really want to read it, message me]: https://thecorrespondent.com/283/poverty-isnt-a-lack-of-character-its-a-lack-of-cash/
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If One had been deemed Nonessential

If One had been deemed Nonessential

one seen these around, the email to send your deal to: [email protected] as .doc or .odt

Okay the pen name editor who is going to work with NookPress.com will be taking a call for submissions from those businesses who seen the goldenrod fliers saying how those deemed wheat they were deemed of operations are to close. I spoke with the essential businesses in the area and one of them was kind enough to let me photograph the shelves of what was picked clean, I read what happened to one business in the area. I'm giving him a chance to tell his narrative how he was deemed nonessential. I am a remote worker out of the gate, and working with Walmart on a level that associates only read about on the national level -- okay whose heard of Rakuten?
Rakuten is the parent company of Kobo.com, as the eBook company had been producing content for a few years -- Draft2Digital (D2D) had harnessed them directly to publish. There will be an ISBN for this and the business who is providing them; needs the donation to keep running, I will explain -- he provides the bar codes that will mimic a title that's published on bigger trade paperback level. He is my bar-code man when I worked with CreateSpace up to being fired with them then I kept working with him when I came to The Book Patch, L.L.C. in October 2015.
I read of the card game business owner, planning to invite him in a way that might be having him introduce the project when ready and there will be a second editor who really is a local to Pinellas Beaches working on this. We're looking for those across county here to have the dialog with their counterparts back home. I read the news stories from back in Joliet, Illinois, about the two major casinos closing. Saint Petersburg, Florida, snubbed the Joliet news stories and Clearwater likes to snub cities that are about the same size as they are. Keep Saint Petersburg Lit will not even give Esque Dollar the time of day as I am interacting with The Weekly Challenger -- I invited them to where we're both at and the anthology is a submission call of those who want to engage in community journalism which carries a narrative journalism trait.
Olga Bof claims, 'Either the places neither have a website or none of them had a way to ship.' That's on them because Esque and I have shipping capabilities because of our boss at The Book Patch in Scottsdale, Arizona, the idea will be for those who can see a perspective of local elsewhere meaning if they didn't start in Florida. Or didn't start in Illinois, the perspective is a rhetorical in nature.
Dr. Anthony Chukuma, in Germany and the introduction writer on LaVerne EuBanks lead, A Landscape Of Colossians, published in February 2019, relates.
"This is the new norm. The world must learn how to do things differently."
Okay that is the thing that Pinellas Beaches, Saint Petersburg, Clearwater, Gulfport, and Largo will end up fighting him over -- especially if they had a Sundown Town background. My classmates Joe and Wei-Hong both related, "This is nothing new, the Xenophobia been there long before we were all born. Could you tell me something new?"
This had me willing to show a 29 year old lady from Bangladesh along with a mutual buddy of ours how to run a peer reviewed journal from the Desi perspective. Alignable had chimed in and a few posts where I did drawn about 41 comments each, one of them were some of the most lively that I saw in a year since the recent history I had joined the website. Those who are nonessential, required here is having a composition background.
"How did you get deemed nonessential, and what would you tell other nonessentials how to keep from violating a court ordered stay at home?"
This one though if the area feels left out on what the plan is being arranged -- okay I will say this, to have the kind of roster I worked with in 2007 one had to have earned that privilege. I doubt Pinellas County even earned that because I read the cases that went on from a reliable source, he responded to Crab Invasion quite well I have to admit. Hearing the Anti-Desi rhetoric okay I am going to say this much Pinellas County is crossing the line making that -- it's part of where I'm saying, "this doesn't reflect where I grew up. Pinellas Park lacks a sister city and same with Gulfport, Florida. Saint Petersburg, Florida, might risk losing their sister cities in the process of the will to not allowing the will to ship."
According to a postal worker in Saint Petersburg, Florida, the use of bikes make it difficult to deliver our media mail shipments if ordered in bulk. They need a Jeep Grand Cherokee that's from 2009 and kept in working order. Not suggesting a new vehicle though one that allows them not to ding the media mail (whether it's the Kobo eReader, tablet computer, trade paperback release or someone's DVD. I can see the bike used for the DVD though if it's bulk media -- please be considerate of where you are because a bike cannot handle the weight of that kind of parcel when it is bulk ordered.)
A community without a post office is not a real community, I know this might leave a mark when I will have the commentary about it -- if the community is a Sundown Town or claim to not be one of the grey towns. If they claim they're not, then end up being accent bias okay I'm going to say these towns have ways of staying Sundown without admitting so.
I'm going to drop multiple bombshells with all here, every tool I work with in publishing either originates from the European Union (LibreOffice,) Philippines (WPS,) or India (Zoho Corporation.) I am writing this up on Able Word so I sound more akin to someone who grew up Southern United States because being if one heard me speak, I have the ethnic Inland -- I am from an immigrant family and some of you who pull the immigrant cards I have friends who are Pakistani National and East Asian who I grew up with. So I'm going to say of the Pinellas Beaches area -- you have local businesses that are more ethnic than most. I supported some of your local though I am not exclusively local because I am a remote worker. I help those who are based out of where I worked too meaning I worked ten years in Morrisville, North Carolina, or close to ten years.
This is more for those in your own words, I am creating the form to submit your document and tell your narrative about being deemed nonessential. I am going to quote part of a comment from the one of the businesses that saw himself arrested -- the commented is Andrew Cromwell.
"Even if our business wasn't an essential. We would still be open because not all of us want to be unemployed or bankrupted. The whole stay home orders lack the right focus, it should be focused on keeping the sick and high risk people home."
The comment itself was not quoted in whole though I agree with this statement, I spoke with the businesses in the area affected by this and those who had been in social distancing mode. Another comment relates, "That's because Pinellas Park, the police apply their rules using the Good Ole Boy System. I would bet the stores not being harassed are family or friends of Pinellas Cops."
This comment being Lucas Rubinstien on the same post -- okay I know there are ideas going in multiple directions, my buddy Joe David relates after seeing the Goldenrod, "They have similar effect in Illinois too."
That's where I was getting at when I went seeking out these fliers on the doors and walls of businesses that are deemed nonessential. With this -- I am gathering all sides and allowing the pen name editor doing the dirty work, the thing I ask how am I supposed to know if a business in the region reflects a Sundown Code? I am drawing from the commentary on each of the thread alone -- those reading this, keep going,
"We are also a small business, hate to see what is happening to small business in Florida. Especially those of us who depend on tourism," Amber Rapp relates. This being a factor that Paul Gifford and I both chimed in on, producing 33780: The Digital Stone Age as a direct result (the ePub3 report contains language the population on Patch might find objectionable.)
So those who are finding this, how home are some of you behind a word processor and willing to put your narrative in print to talk with Joliet, Illinois? Because I was discovered by who would be known as Michael Imhotep's personal friends -- she worked on some of the visuals with LaVerne EuBanks lead project. So those who are deemed nonessential in this region, what is the riddle who is the essential or who is nonessential in Pinellas Beaches? Looking at these comments, how would you go about relating in a word processor about how this stay-at-home order affected you. Those of you who are wearing a mask and not work in the health field. Please leave them for the workers because I did the video showing the picked clean from Saint Petersburg and Largo, Florida, Supercenter.
Revenue Generating Network refused to answer my more pointed questions about businesses who operate exclusively on a remote basis. If nonprofits are operating on cyber-compacity and grudgingly doing this -- then what about those who get arrested for running a nonessential business? This write up for the pen name editor working on the project he will be taking the submissions from an email address based out of country. Those of use who thrived from the in-depth piece that's manuscript basis, don't reduce our body of work down to a 1200 word resume that insults our intelligence.
"I don't like where this is going," or "what about those who are no-to-low skill business owners? Where does exactly leave us with this kind of proposal -- please explain this like we're in first grade."
Okay my question becomes what is ones background like in composition writing? I know a few groans are going with this because the business owners I spoke with tend to not know much about academia or had invited a remark that's one of my sixteen deal breakers, "I didn't go to college."
I am selective who I recommend on Alignable because I don't know if the owner has access to Academia.edu. (Not to step on toes of a college, uh Saint Petersburg College, please proof read one of your categories on the site. You spelled "Graphic Design" wrong.) The deal breaker becomes if the word count is too short; and those who gain organic interaction it's a higher word count. The email this is designated with is based out of the Swiss government meaning it's anonymous and allows encryption. Those of you who are dependent on Gmail, Yahoo, Live or other operations sometimes don't understand when emailing a public official they might see this as public record. The thing with those who use Gmail.com or Yahoo.com -- one aspect I have an address book that's tabloid reporter's playground if they're looking right.
"How many contacts do you have in your email one account?"
I am trying to keep a straight face with this because LinkedIn.com -- I see as many as 3,560 followers and that's flux. 62 of them alone within Saint Petersburg, Florida, and I have 79 following me on Alignable.com while on the forums I see unique interactions. The programmer R. Richardson developed the program AbleWord is and allows to export as PDF and .doc, the Microsoft 1997-2003 export file. Open Office Document Text -- the history of this attachment well it's rather young. Office speaks of the contrast between Open Office Document Text though they don't speak about how versatile this is if in the right word processor. GMX.com and Google Docs both have this feature as a way to export native documents. Google Docs and Zoho Writer though hasn't harnessed the ability to export the .ePub (the latter is still tweaking this feature.) What I draw from the conclusions comparing notes from two shop owners in the same strip mall, one of them argued against eCommerce and the other told me, "Saint Petersburg, Florida, wasn't always a local only emphasis."
The latter part is what I am trying to encourage with those willing to work with the pen name editor and the editors in training to create the narrative journalism submissions from the nonessential operations. 321 Books in Saint Petersburg, Florida, relates, "I wish some of the authors on a local front had titles remotely looking like what resembles your classmate's project. They really don't pay attention to the typesetting or font face choices -- like you said, looks like they rush it together and use font faces that might be eyesores on a graphic designer."
This one added, "I never guessed you were a publisher from just looking at you, but the way you speak -- you either speak like a graphic designer or a publisher, but never encountered a publishing outfit lead by a graphic designer. Seeing what you showed me with one of you project. A font choice can either make or break a publication, might have a strong presentation though a weak font choice -- it will either make or break, like what you said."
While in the bookstore I was having my phone open and playing on Kobo.com to see if any of their locals have releases on the website. A few as I pointed out may had been leeched by Tate Publishing during their embezzlement run or from Xulon Press, charging them steeply then peddling their release off to their family to get them convinced they're published. One thing a number in Pinellas Beaches, Gulfport, or Saint Petersburg, Florida, won't even understand is how a number of the authors and brand building publishers were the prime of their mid-to-late 20s.
Nick [Popio] at the time was about 26 years old when I joined up. The generation born between 1974-1978 had changed the publishing game for better or worst, our publications raised the bar for indie owned operations and also defined a workforce that had been in play for a little less than the decade at the time. The start of the remote worker meaning all of us had pioneered user-created content. The thing with this region that didn't sit well is how I published authors who had the ties to Hollywood, Altamonte Springs, Largo, Saint Petersburg, Panama City, and believe it or not Pensacola brought me in. Then for me when I did my first namesake's reboot project -- local is Schaumburg and Gurnee, Illinois, the closing author in the reboot edition also had Lake County ties.
Pinellas Beaches, okay where does the writing patterns remain? This kind of deal one is asking to be fleshed out and thought-provoking in the process, I had followed websites that caught wind of a few news stories that Fox 32 Chicago grabbed up and ended up being viral reporting. Those news stories where they originated? Do I really have to answer this. Gulfport, Florida, if this finds you sit down and study each image that goes with this presentation, think about where I lived for 17 years -- around Joliet and what's known as Chernobyl of the West (being I was near three nuclear power plants.)
If this write up is the range it is; are each of you willing to meet us halfway like Career Source Pinellas did with me? Who exactly are deemed nonessential here, and who are exactly are essential?
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My Job was supposed to be fun... Now, I'm lucky to just be unemployed...

"Kirk! Don't stop shooting!" said Marcus.
The beasts ran through the western town and we emptied our Colt revolvers and Winchester repeaters into the square. I hid behind cover as the arrows and bullets flew over my head.
As I prepared to make a stand against the evil coming upon us, I flash back on how this all started.
My name is Kirk "Waya" Walker.
I am Half Cherokee and Half White. I grew up in the Mountains of North Carolina, mainly on the reservation.
I am a descendant of a long line of warriors in my tribe. As members of this great nation, we uphold our warrior spirit serving in the armed forces. My Great Grandfather, was a Marine Windtalker. My Grandfather was Army, 101st Airborne, and My Father served with Pathfinders. I myself did two tours in some non-disclosed locations with Marine Raiders.
From a young age, hunting and shooting has been taught with extreme discipline to those in tribe of warrior descent. Most of us, however, end up working a cop gig with reservation police, security at the casino, or service industry activities.
As a proclaimed marksman and revolver expert, I scored a job at the local western amusement park with my best friend and warrior brother, Marcus.
The park off the reservation was located on the side of a mountain in the smokies near a quiet little tourist town. Families would dress up as Cowboys and "Indians" and tour the park riding rides, eating, and having fun. The park had a small western town, a tribal themed land, and a roller coaster built on the side of the mountain. It was only accessible to the guests by skylift or a small train that went up the steep slope to the top.
I had gone to the park as child and had many fond memories. My job was the attraction I had loved the most, gun-fighting.
Ever since the park opened back in the sixties there have been shows in the town square every 90 mins. Actors have scripted shootouts in the streets armed with blank ammunition. The kid's go crazy for it as they stand on the edge of the street and watch a bank robbery get botched, a showdown, or a new Marshall clean up the streets.
As I begun working there, I was full of enthusiasm and people enjoyed my performances in the showdowns. The other members of the staff started calling me "Kirk the Quick" and my Cherokee brethren called me "The Wolf" as that is the translation for my middle name, Waya.
The other actors were cool. Three other brothers of my tribe, Frank Dawson, and the Wilson brothers, Jake and Paul, both identical twins. Mark Sampson was the oldest of the group. John Humbert and Bill Galloway, two best friends that came from Texas to enjoy the mountains. Last we had a kid named Tommy who was looking for a job while on summer break from UNC Asheville.
There were scripts written where I was good, bad, killed, and even one where I got to be the Marshall. I was having a blast. Even though the depiction of my heritage could appear insulting, the owners of the park seemed very respectful.
Until, the incident... The day before the park closed for good.
I woke up in my cabin and stepped on the porch for my morning cigarette. Normally, a 10-15 minute process because I smoke American Spirits (Don't judge me, heathens.). I looked out as the fog draped the mountains and slowly scanned the yard enjoying the peace.
Then, I saw my Grandfather standing in the yard.
He was staring at me in full tribal gear with war paint on his face. As a Veteran of what the government calls "The Korean Conflict", I knew him to boast warrior spirit. His headdress with a screaming eagle painted on it.
I approached him. "Good morning, Grandfather. I did not hear you arrive... Would you like to come inside?"
His stare grew more angered.
"My grandson, The Wolf. Your mettle and those you share combat with will be tested this day. Forty years ago, Men from across the ocean settled these lands and interrupted prosperity. Today, is the rising day of a great chief who rests the land they disturb. If you return, we shall celebrate with a great feast. Go to war and defend our nation once more."
He held up his hand to me, closed his eyes, turned around, and retreated to the forest.
My Grandfather was a little kooky in his age, but he never did anything like this to me before.
I went back inside and called my dad to no answer. I had to get to work, so I sent him a long text and got ready. As I pulled up to work, I received a reply from my dad.
"I will see you, tonight. May the spirits guide us to victory."
I was confused. But I had no time. I had to check my gear and suit up for the first show. I was thankful I had no lines in the first act.
I walked into the dressing room and suited up. Then came the fun.
As I did back to back shows, strange things started happening in the park.
The skylift broke down and the train got stuck at the bottom of the mountain. We had to bring guests that wanted to leave down the employee entrance road by shuttle. The two park restaurants lost power and we couldn't serve food. Every now and the a strange feedback came on the park speakers. Almost like a panting animal was on the mic. People began leaving earlier then usual.
As the final show of the day came around, I checked the ammo that Marcus loaded for me. I ran up to the second floor of the saloon. My guns felt a little heavier than normal
My role in this show was to be shot off the roof by the Marshall and land in the hay below. I am to shoot at Marcus, play dead and fall safely to a mattress pile disguised by the hay. I was to wait for the first gunshot to be my queue and slam open the shutters, coming out blazing.
I had done this a million times. Nothing to freak out about.
The first gunshot went off. It was followed by two more shots and screams. Instead of slamming the shutters open, I peaked through the crack.
It was chaos.
The streets were being evacuated and an ensuing gunfight began with the actors and a few members of the audience. Screeching noises came from their mouths, and they had glowing red eyes. They were armed with revolvers and bows.
I scanned the street and saw Tommy struggling in the action across the street. I watched in horror as a steel arrow pierced his skull followed by three more arrows that pinned his torso to the wall of the general store. His lifeless body crucified to an amusement park gift shop.
"The battle is beginning, Grandson." said a voice from behind me.
I turned in fear to discover my Grandfather behind me. He stared into my eyes.
"The chief has raised his warriors in revenge and hate. Honor our family and clean our names. GO AND FIGHT!!!" he screamed.
I looked to the window. Marcus was shooting at the possessed warriors. With real ammo. I then realized why my guns were heavier.
"KIRK!! GET OUT HERE!!" shouted Marcus.
I emerged from the window leaving my grandfather behind. I forward rolled off the roof into the hay and emerged with my weapons drawn. I fired 4 shots at the possessed and got 3 of them. As they fell their bodies became ash.
8 rounds left till reload.
As a revolver junkie, counting rounds is second nature to me.
I ran across the street to Marcus. 3 more rounds for 3 more of them.
5 bullets to go.
I ducked into cover with him. Marcus turned to me.
"Reload now, brother. This is going to get intense and we're in for it."
"What the..." was all I could manage to get out when I saw my father emerge with men from the rez.
"HOLD THIS LINE!!" my father shouted. He threw a tomahawk at one of the demonic warriors. I looked across to the line of cover that had been formed at our end of the square and noticed we were protecting to exit to the park.
Mark quickly approached my father with Bill, John, and Frank closely behind.
"Mike, let me leave you Marcus and the twins. Your guardians and them can defend the exit. We can push forward and take out the Chief."
"They must not be allowed to leave. I will grant your request, Mr. Sampson. Charge the Tribal section of the park and send this evil tribes' chief straight to hell. Kirk. Go with them now."
I know war. I know fighting. I can instantly enter that state of mind without reason. I was questioning in the back of my mind what was going on until it became clear to me.
"They died here, didn't they?" I asked my father.
He looked down with tears in his eyes.
"Yes." he softly answered.
My Grandfather told me of a battle that took place in the mountains between a tribe and the U.S. Army a long time ago. My Cherokee and Creek ancestors were forced out of the lands to Oklahoma. The tribe he told of, the Oconostota, began to walk the trail. After the loss of a few children and elders, the warriors became filled with hate and revenge.
They performed a power ritual and began massacring the soldiers escorting them to their fate. After much fighting and killing, they returned to the mountains, consumed by evil. They Army returned with three gatling guns and a battalion of 200 men. They cut down every last one of them. Before the Chief died, he placed a hex on the fallen and swore he would return to avenge his people.
I snapped to and began to posse up with the boys. I reloaded back to 12 rounds. I holstered my colts and picked up a pump action shotgun. I grabbed a bandolier of shells and waited for a signal to move.
A strange mist rolled in from the "Indian" side of the park.
Then we heard the barking... The growling...
My father stood still.
"The beasts are here. PREPARE YOURSELVES!!!" he shouted.
Suddenly the barking got louder and and the shadows of dogs began approaching fast.
I waited till the first dog was in front of my muzzle. The hell-hound emerged from the mist with fangs deployed. I squeezed the trigger immediately and began pumping them out till empty.
I ducked back into cover to see Bill get jumped by one of the beasts. It scratched him up and disarmed him. I reloaded as fast as I could but two more jumped on him and began tearing him apart. The first demon dog began ripping his throat out as they others tore his limbs off.
I pumped the shotgun and fired two shots. The spread killed the dogs and mercy killed Bill. The best I could do for him to stop the pain and suffering.
I looked up to see John filled with tears in his eyes. He nodded to me and picked up Bill's machete. In his other hand he had a stick of Dynamite. He quickly taped it to the machete and lit the fuse.
He picked up a tomahawk in his other and ran in to the mist hacking and slashing the enemies. We seemed to understand his goal and began firing to clear him a path up the square.
"COME GET A PIECE OF TEXAS, YOU BASTARDS!!!!!" he shouted.
All the beasts and enemies ran after him as he disappeared in the mist. He let out the loudest hollar, I've ever heard. Then boom went the dynamite.
The explosion ceased the fight and cleared a path through the haunted mist.
"Now is our chance! Mark! Frank! Kirk! CHARGE!!!!" my father shouted.
I dropped my empty shotgun to the ground. I drew both colts and followed mark along his left side while frank ran to his right. We shot our way into the Indian land.
The Chief of the tribe stood in front of a large campfire. His face demonic and evil.
"The white devil blood flows in your veins!! You will all pay for the disgrace and pain we endured!!" he shouted.
We aimed our weapons at him. He was then struck by an arrow in the chest. I felt it pass by head from behind. I turned around to see my grandfather with his bow drawn.
He approached the Demon Chief and spoke to him in our native tongue. The conversation was quick.
My Grandfather picked up a heavy rock and crushed his head with it. He turned to us.
"You must all go. Right now. These beasts must not be allowed to leave the mountain. The curse will be lifted after the final wave attempts to leave. Go now! Your father needs help!"
Mark turned to us.
I served with grandfather in the war. We will hold them off together. You two get back to the line and save the world!"
Frank and I ran for it to the exit and Dove behind the cover rejoining the line.
"Final Wave is coming, Dad." I said to him reloading.
"Son, the final wave is a never ending demonic battalion. You were supposed to kill the Chief and seal off the portal. Only someone from our bloodline can do it!"
Then we heard the clasp of a strange noise. The smokey mountain mist cleared.
Mark emerged from the Mist. He was upset and a little injured. He embraced my father.
I looked to Mark.
"Why are you walking? Where is my grandfather?" I asked.
My father turned to me
"Your grandfather sealed them away. They will come back, but not for a long, long time. He sacrificed himself with his noble blood. Now we must leave this wretched place and celebrate our fallen as warrior customs have foretold."
"I need a bottle of Wild Turkey. Let's celebrate this victory and your crazy ass grandpa."
The owners of the park went bankrupt and it is now deserted. There was an attempt recently to revive the park but it fell through. Thank God...
I left the Rez and moved to the city. I will never go back at this point. I finally found a nice office job after using my GI Bill to get my degree.
I have to say... I am pretty proud to have been a western gunfighter...
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Rutger Bregman - Utopia for Realists. Summary Chapter 3: The End of Poverty

Chapter 3, The End of Poverty
The opening of a new casino owned by Cherokee Indians in North Carolina in 1997 provided a great research data of the effects of poverty reduction. The research showed staggering reductions in behavioural problems, crime, and the use of drugs and alcohol. School performance improved significantly, as did mental health. It was concluded that "the stress of poverty puts people genetically predisposed to develop and illness or disorder at an elevated risk. . . . Genes can't be undone. Poverty can" (p. 54).
Why poor people do dumb things The perception of scarcity, the feeling that some resource is limited, has a measurable effect on the mind. It leads to improved problem solving in the short-term, but neglect of long-term issues. Continual feelings of scarcity take up 'mental bandwidth' that can't be used to make bigger-picture decisions. For a poor person, even the thought of "a major financial setback impaired their cognitive ability" (p. 58.). Research among seasonal farmers showed that this holds true even when the rich and poor test subjects are literally the same people.
The cost of poverty The research with the previously mentioned casino found out that in the greater picture, "eliminating poverty actually generated more money than the total of all casino payments through reductions in crime, use of care facilities, and repetitions of school grades" (p.60). Other research reinforces the conclusion that eliminating poverty actually saves money.
Research also shows that 'education programmes' for the poor cost far more than they actually benefit their audience. And on top of that, navigating the bureaucracy of the welfare system takes so much mental bandwidth that many deserving people never even get helped.
The curse of inequality Scarcity has been proven to be a relative concept, which means that societies with greater inequality lead to a greater scarcity mindset. "Because it's all about relative poverty" (p. 65). GDP reflects the welfare of a nation only up to about $5000, above that inequality is a far more accurate marker for the rates of depression, drug abuse, obesity, etc. The "'psychosocial consequences' are such that people living in unequal societies spend more time worrying about how others see them" (p. 66). Even the rich are less happy in very unequal societies.
Fighting poverty is good for our wallets "Poverty in not a lack of character, it's a lack of cash" (p. 69). As the Cherokee casino showed, a influx of money to the poor actually saves money elsewhere. Similarly, when Utah solved homelessness by giving the homeless free housing it actually saved the state money compared to simply 'managing' homelessness like before. Similar projects in several cities in the Netherlands saw the same result, until the financial crash of 2008 caused the numbers of homeless to skyrocket. Yet even then every euro invested more than doubled itself in savings elsewhere.
"[I]n Europe, the number of vacant houses is double the number of homeless. In the U.S., there are five empty homes for each person without one". (p. 73). Homelessness should not be a partisan issue, because it can not only be solved, but it literally costs more money not to solve it.
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Thought I'd share my latest adventure

Skip right to some pictures
This is my entire log for the Murphy to Manteo challenge. On the geocaching.com website I had to break this up since it is way too long. Murphy-to-Manteo Challenge
very long log / ride report
It's cliche to say, but that won't stop me from saying it. What an amazing adventure. Actually, "amazing", is the only one word I can use to describe my trip. If I had to break down the word "awesome" into other adjectives they would include the folowing pairs: scenic/boring, twisty/straight, mountainous/flat, touristy/humdrum. All of these word pairs demonstrate things everyone will experience while driving across this beautiful state. The only pair of words that I left off the list from my experience are: wet/dry. You may not experience this pair, but I certainly did.
When I saw that SmithyP had published this cache I was very excited. I knew I had some vacation days to burn (use or lose). I knew I wanted to put some miles on the motorcycle. I knew I wanted to knock a few pages and counties off my challenge list. Combine those items with my love of touring and I knew I would complete this cache at some point. When was the question.
I finally managed to knock some time out of my schedule and get work to approve leave (using my last two days of vacation on the last two days of eligibility). I had a date set, now I just needed to get a few other things in order. The bike needed an oil change and a new rear tire, I needed to figure out which pages and counties I was missing, and I needed to stop looking at the weather and using it as an excuse to not do it. As of Sunday morning all of these items had been complete and I was off on my epic adventure of the year. Sadly, I'll probably only get one this year so I had to make it memorable. Making this memorable wasn't too hard since I had to put the rain gear on before I even left the garage. Oh well, such is the life of a motorcyclist.
I left my house in north Charlotte about 11:30 surrounded by Snoop Dogs favorite weather (Drizzle....fo' shizzle) I decided to stop in and put my name on the log knowing that come hell or high water (high water seemed likely) I was going to complete this challenge the next day. I meandered my way to the cache parking and tromped my way through the mud to GZ and opened the log book. Strange....two names on the log sheet and no logs online. Immediately I figured I had been duped. No worries though as this was not about getting the FTF (which would have been nice) - it was about touring. I added my name to the book and contemplated leaving my trade item, but saw that the cache was already full of them so I decided to keep it for myself, took a stupid photo, and set off for Murphy.
The trip to Murphy The rain picked up on my short walk back to the bike so I decided to put on the full regalia of rain gear. Like a knight going into battle I suited up, excited to try out the new boot covers, and hit the highway. Here's a little secret about motorcycling in the rain. It's not that bad. Drivers of cars that pass look of either sadness for you or of shock that you are Riding the Storm Out. But once you get over the fact that no matter how good your gear you are going to get wet you can continue relatively unimpeded.
The interstate ride to, and through, Asheville was uneventful as it was gray. Mile after mile of rain pelting my mask, soaking my gloves, and pooling in my crotchal area. I approached the turn off where I would decide if I wanted to take a slightly smaller backroad or continue on the highway - I opted for the backroad. Driving over Lake Junaluska, through Maggie Valley, across an entrance to the BRP and down the mountain into Cherokee I smiled thinking how much I usually love these roads, but with the rain they bring on another set of challenges. Still wanting to push the limits of myself and the bike I sped up through the corners and gained confidence in my new tire.
After passing through the casino-town in the mountains I found myself back on the highway for my last 60 miles. I stopped for a drink and a chance to stretch my legs before heading into one of the most beautiful stretches of North Carolina highways - The Nantahala gorge. This 25 miles (or so) stretch of road offers something for almost everyone. Scenic views, technical motorcycling challenges, slow moving vehicles, geocaches galore, and on a day nicer than the one I had....ladies in bikinis floating down the river. What more could a person want? Oh yeah....dry road with absolutely no traffic. Something else I would not get on this day. None the less I raced, as much as traffic and my nerves would allow, around corners seeing mountain runoff waterfalls flash out of the corner of my eyes and when the road straightened out I marveled in the rapids of the overflowing river to my side. It truly is something everyone should experience on a motorcycle.
About 4:30 PM I pulled into the cheap hotel I booked earlier in the day and settled in. Casually I checked the weather -Rain in Murphy all day. Rain in Manteo all day. One could surmise that every town, burgh, hollow, and 'ville in between had a similar projected fate. I gnawed on my Pizza Hut delivery (not many other choices here when you don't wanna go back out in the rain) and played a game of dry the geaclothes on the hotel heater. Always fun.
I fell asleep with a little dread, but still happier than I would be if I had to go to work the next day. Maybe this says something about my job....
Murphy-To-Manteo The day had arrived. I woke before my alarm at about 5:30 and poked my head outside. No rain!. No rain!! Excitedly I packed up most of my stuff and took off towards my Murphy targeted cache - The Lost Fort - an easy virtual with some interesting history. After reading the signs by the light of my phone and taking the obligatory picture I stopped for coffee, went back to grab the rest of my (now dry) gear and checkout. I was on the (dry) road by 6:30, with an E.T.A in Manteo of about 3:30 (yeah right!!), watching the sun burn through the fog of the smoky mountains. What a beautiful sight. Given the rain the previous day, the forecasts I saw the night before, and the fear mongering weather forecasts on the radio in the morning I knew I had to appreciate the beauty while I had it. I turned off the radio and listened to the sound of my engine accelerate and decelerate as my pegs carved long smooth arches in the pavement. Back through the gorge, over the mountain away from Cherokee, and past Lake Junaluska the first hour and a half of my day was awesome. I wished I could ride roads like this all day and not the super-slab that I needed to do to accomplish all of my goals.
The ride east through Asheville out of the mountains was amazing. A crisp spring morning with enough hope of staying dry that the smile on my face grew even larger with each sweeper. That isn't to say that there "Wasn't a cloud in the sky" though. There were plenty. Dark clouds straight ahead reminded me how much I should appreciate the current weather and the little voice in the back of my head told me not to worry about the future....just enjoy the present. I did.
Miles and time flew by as the curves and altitude of the morning gave way to the straight flat nothingness of NC piedmont interstate. With nothing to do but listen to music and highway for the next few hundred miles I decided to stop for gas (an unplanned cache right there!), a drink, and lean back. With my legs stretched out and my feet keeping rhythm on the highway pegs I soon found myself approaching dark, ominous clouds. I felt my first few drops of rain for the day as I passed through Raleigh. Faced with a tough decision: Put on the gear and ride hot and stuffy, or leave the gear off until I need it and get a little wet; I opt for the latter and push on. With rain drops stinging my face I flip down my facemask, clench my teeth, and race through the drops hoping to get to the clear(er) skies I can see ahead. After about fourty-five minutes of constantly rethinking my decision to gamble and not put on the gear I get rewarded with dry roads, colorless white (at least it wasn't dark) sky, and the first of my needed county caches in about 15 miles. Things really do work out for me. (my motto on life by the way)
I hop off the bike and grab what will be the first of 13 caches I needed to clear pages/counties off those challenges. I didn't need all of them as I built some redundancy into my planning, but it was fun to get a few caches in a different area. Looking back, part of me wishes I had taken the time to find some "better" caches to grab (no offense to the hiders) but in reality I had miles to cover and as much as this was a caching trip it was also a motorcycle adventure. Most of the adventure of motorcycling comes from riding the motorcycle. This is my excuse for why I picked some of the easiest, most mundane, closest to the highway cache-and-dashes I could find.
As time wore on the land got tilted towards the sea eventually flattening out I found myself surrounded by the ever present swamps of the eastern part of NC. Signs warning of wildlife crossing that are not present anywhere I've lived amused me but also heightened my senses to my surroundings. Thankfully, unlike the previous finders, I only had one encounter with wildlife when a fox of some sort darted across the road a good distance in front of me. After crossing bridges that spanned miles and humped liked a camel in the middle I ended up on Roanoke island with a sign reading "Welcome to Manteo" suspended from a light pole at the side of the rode. I pulled the bike to the side, put on the flashers, and took a picture as proof of my conquest. Even though I had only stopped for a minute I realized that I had become "that guy" and blocked traffic on the major road heading north. After a quick conversation with a local LEO i was on my way to grab my second and third caches on the tiny island. Twelve hours after I left my hotel I had accomplished my goal. Now to find a place to rest my head.
After Manteo - Now what I found myself sitting at a hardware store in Manteo checking for hotels. This is something I halfheartedly did prior to leaving and I knew what I was going to have to do. I made the call and set course for Elizabeth City - but first one more cache to clear one more page. That pesky "top-right" page on the one version of the Delormme challenge. Another 75 miles and I'll be done for the day. Not sure if that made me happy or sad though.
I grabbed one last fun cache, turned my back to the ocean, and headed inland while inwardly reminiscing on a great day. I stayed dry. Found every cache (and more) that I had planned on. I accomplished the Murphy-to-Manteo challenge. I saw a lot of this beautiful state. I traveled a comfortable 630(ish) miles on the motorcycle - helping to approach my goal of 5k travel bug miles on it this year. I smiled.
As the mileage to the hotel get lower I saw the sky fade from white, to orange, to a fiery red before becoming a spectacular purple/black gradient. I arrived at my hotel about 8:00, walked to the 7-11 next door to get my first sustenance since the stale muffin I had at the hotel in the morning and walked back to my room. Sitting outside on the steps smiling I talked to a few friends and tried to (in 140 characters or less) describe what an awesome adventure I just had.
Heading Home Not to prolong this read any longer, guessing very few people have made it this far, but the way back to Charlotte from Elizabeth City may have been my favorite day of the trip. It was relaxed, scenic, filled with awesome side roads that meandered through the north eastern NC county side while giving me plenty of photo opportunites. I finally saw a lot of places that I've been putting off for way too long. Like the womans legs in Henderson NC. The Rock garden of America. Old dilipated barns and houses (a personal favorite), and countless tiny roadside cemeteries I'd love to know the history of. Many of these places were stumbled across while others were were deliberately planned using websites like RoadsideAmerica.com and Roadtrippers.com. I'm extremely grateful that I had the time to do this.
While the other pair that did this made mention that this is great when done with multiple people, I'd also challenge people to get out and do it solo. When you do a trip like this alone you get a lot of freedom. If you want to turn around and take a picture you can without worry of boring someone else. You can eat what and when you want. (Or in my case not at all. I don't eat when I ride. I just wanna go) You can take that last second turn down a road that looks interesting without people sliding all over the car. You are alone with your own thoughts. Which can be scary at times, but it can also be exhilarating and introspective. You may find you have some great ideas rolling around in your head or that you are an amazing singer at 80 miles an hour on an interstate. No matter what don't put off doing this, or anything else because you want someone to go with you.
I once read a great line that I thought of many times on this trip. "Many people will spend 8 or more hours sitting in a cubicle, but when it comes to spending that much time in a car or on a motorcycle they think of it as crazy." Why is that? Get out and live!!
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is the casino open in cherokee north carolina video

Travel to Charleston - Mills House Wyndham Grand Hotel No date set to reopen Smokies, but Cherokee will play a ... Trip To Harrah's Cherokee Casino Resort in North Carolina ... LOOK WHAT HAPPENS WHEN I VISIT HARRAH'S CHEROKEE FOR THE ... River Spirit Set to re open Spring trip 2018 Day 2 with *Buffalo Gold* bonuses Trout Fishing Cherokee's Soco Creek Trout - YouTube Reveiw: Harrah's Cherokee Hotel and Casino - YouTube

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Travel to Charleston - Mills House Wyndham Grand Hotel

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/jellywebb/Snapchat: JellyWebbBusiness Inquires [email protected]: Jaleel Balmain - Expose Demhttps://soundcloud.c... During a recent trip to North Carolina I had the opportunity to tour the Harrah's Cherokee Hotel and Casino. Here's a brief overview of my tour and some of t... High Limit Slot Machine ©All uploads are JFK Slot Hits, LLC intellectual property. You do not have any permission to re-use, copy or distribute any part of J... Tired from a long drive on day 1 so we decided to hang out around Cherokee North Carolina and see what we could find. There's some Buffalo Gold bonuses around 3 minutes in. Thanks for watching ... TULSA, Okla.— After weeks of not being able to operate due to the flooding of the Arkansas River, the Muscogee (Creek) Nation is happy to announce that River Spirit Casino and Resort will open ... There's still no word on when the National Park Service will open the gates to the Smokies. Tennessee, North Carolina, and the Cherokee all factor in the tim... Cherokee is littered with excellent fishing. Meanwhile, some of the smaller streams such as Soco Creek are often overlooked by anglers. Fortunately, Soco sti... We travel to the southern Charleston, SC for a night stay at the Mills House Wyndham Grand Hotel. Dana and Family PO Box 1068 Mountain Home, NC 28758 Royalty free music by Epidemicsound.

is the casino open in cherokee north carolina

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