The State of Funds... and Literature

Once I'm finished here, I'll be off to fill out my FAFSA. (Yes, I know that I'm ridiculously late.) But it always annoys me that you can be a poor married couple, make a combined income less than the poverty line, and still not receive jack from the government--though if some guy from the government named Jack showed up on my doorstep, I'd probably refuse him. I just find it rather annoying that it almost seems like you have to have more of an ethnic background for the government to even take notice.

I'll admit that I'm probably quite wrong on this matter and that the whole system is based on nothing but numbers, but I can't help but wonder that if my last name was something a bit less generic than Smith, I might get a few extra bucks from Uncle Sam's pocket.

The same goes for literature--or more precisely, The New Yorker. Granted, I enjoy the magazine, the fiction is almost always worth my time, but I've noticed a startling trend--and I'm not talking about how so many of the stories end with the word "home." Over this last year of my subscription, I've noticed that the majority of the author's that get published in that magazine are either already famous or have an ethnic background. True, famous writers are famous for one reason--which is mostly correct--they are really good friggin' authors. But, like the monies, I can't help but wonder if those with a name like Xing Chin or Jason Shawasha don't get an extra recommendation. Again, they are good stories--for the most part--and I can't really argue against their inclusion within the magazine. It's just something that got my brain a tumblin'.

In the end, I suppose any budding writer tries to come up with whatever reason they can to squash their bit of an ego and keep them from doing something crazy, like actually submitting their work. Ah well, one of these days, I just might have to scatter my marbles somewhere I won't find them and submit.