I’m not the best at decision making. If you head to the supermarket by my apartment, chances are that you will find me staring slack-jawed in the cereal aisle, overwhelmed by the sheer volume of options to shove in my maw. The more "adult" the decision, the more I will agonize over it, and I’m not talking about the idea of disrobing with a stranger, though that would get an equal amount of deliberation. I mean that the more responsibility and commitment that come with the decision, the harder it is for me to pull the trigger. Which is why, after receiving a call from my first yoga instructor inviting me to a two-hundred hour summer intensive teacher training program, yes and no ran headlong into each other in my throat and I’ve been losing sleep ever since.

During this recession, we’ve seen the number of underemployed people rise to staggering numbers, up to 20.3% of the workforce. Many people have taken the opportunity to spend their time collecting unemployment and bettering themselves. Personally I know of a former hedge fund manager who is now a personal trainer, a restaurant manager who became a sous chef, and an administrative assistant who got certified to teach pilates. Self-employment is rising at about 4.5% annually. This doesn’t necessarily mean that the economic shitstorm has led to a new enlightenment, but it’s certainly flooded the market with a glut of Jacks of all trades, like freelance writers and yoga instructors. I’ve written about my somewhat tumultuous love affair with yoga before. It isn’t a stretch to say that since the financial implosion, yoga teacher trainings are carpeted with the mats of former office staff who wish to become zen and make a buck helping others. In 2004 alone, Americans dished out $2.95 billion on yoga classes and related apparel, equipment, and retreats. People who can use money as toilet paper – Steve Jobs, Christy Turlington, Madonna, Sting, and the like – are avid yogis. I can’t imagine the hourly rate of their gurus.

So what is my truth? To pursue a side career in yoga while still copywriting? Or to say the Sanskrit word for no and opt for a July full of late nights and lazy days? (As lazy as you can get hustling for clients from a hammock.)

My mother always used to advise me to have "something to fall back on." Usually she used this term when pressuring me to apply to law school, or to keep my job as a legal assistant. Her theory was that if writing didn’t work out, I needed to have something to make money. Mind you, this was well in advance of me writing for a living, back when it was just a pipe dream that I yammered about incessantly. I followed her advice a little too judiciously, attending bartending school, obtaining a food handling certification, even getting accepted into grad school but refusing to go. Twice. I wonder how much my own fear and doubts have inspired me to suffer through different jobs in the past, supposed "safe bets" that could potentially insure more money, a stable future, something to do in case what I truly want to do doesn’t work out. Sure, these decisions were financially motivated in part. But I think that self-worth also played a role. I liked "being" a legal assistant. I liked the impression that it gave.

We live in a society where what we do is who we are. My friends are lawyers, personal assistants, hedge fund managers, graphic designers. They have tiny scraps of paper with their names and titles emblazoned on them that they hand out to every new person they meet. They talk about work as though it is the skeleton for their whole life. And, certainly, a few of my friends in question have always been passionate about the paths they’ve chosen, but more often than not, their jobs are just a means to an end, something that they fell into. Over time, their job has become part-and-parcel with their identity, and not the other way around. These days, if you have a job, you’re holding onto it for dear life. It’s no wonder that being an employee – any kind of employee – has become synonymous with having a modicum of success, adulthood, self-sufficiency. I’ve always written, therefore doing it for a living isn’t really more than just being myself and hoping to make a buck off of it. It isn’t an impressive title, and it surely doesn’t come with a fancy benefits package. It won’t impress anyone into sleeping with me, or garner envy at my high-school reunion. Perhaps being a copywriting yoga teacher would be a more lucrative and awe-inspiring title to put after my sans-serif moniker. It would at least theoretically require divorcing myself entirely from this way of thinking and my ego. But, really, is it more that I require making money off of what I love? Can’t I just be content to enjoy a hobby, or is it impossible for me to embrace something without the option of monetizing it? It might be a horrible thing to admit about myself, but until I can make a so-called living, part of me doesn’t believe that I deserve to be happy, even for an hour when I’m stretching myself to the point of nearly being able to give myself cunnilingus.

When presented with "quick fixes" for the financial quagmire I’m in, I have to look at my motivation before anything else. It’s important to ask myself why I would pursue certain things, and to prioritize what I want. I’m still applying for part-time administrative jobs. Why? Because they are easy and would give me a little money to throw towards certain things like a functioning vacuum and my phone bill, while still affording me time to write. I peek around at odd jobs like dominatrix gigs because I think they would give me some fuel for the writing fire, while also potentially assuaging the aforementioned vacuum issue. Why would I become a yoga teacher? Because it feels like something more stable than banking entirely on my desire to write for a living? Is it? Moreover, I think it’s important to question if you really should apply for a particular job before you do so. There’s a clerk at Duane Reade who makes it clear that she’s rather be undergoing a urinary catheterization than bagging my body lotion. Everything about her radiates job hate. Meanwhile, there’s a tall drink of water who works at my favorite coffee shop who is all sunshine and giggles as he steams the milk and serves the scones. (He might be high. But he also seems to be in a really good mood while on the clock.)

If I were to give up a month of my summer to become yet another cog in the wheel of the  yoga business, would it be worth it? Maybe, if I made some cash. But the truth is, I would have to drop a chunk of change on even obtaining this potential certification, without any knowledge of when, where, or if I will be hired. Furthermore, I suck at instruction and I am a little like Howie Mandel when it comes to touching strangers. The idea of having to lay my palms on top of someone’s sweaty feet, or needing to wrap my arms around a furry man with a few spare tires in order to adjust his downward aching dog, is enough to make me need an antiemetic. Ultimately, I don’t think I would be of service to my students. Just because I enjoy something and like to talk about it a lot doesn’t mean that I’d be a prime candidate to coach a human being from a supine position into a handstand.

The allure of pursuing a different career makes sense if your pockets are more empty than a bottle of vodka around a Lohan. There’s the hope that the new endeavor will be more fruitful than your current situation. There’s the rush of adrenaline and quasi-ambition that comes when you take on a new project. There’s also that sexy feeling of having an additional, unchallenged title that can be woven into conversation or printed on business cards. Novelty is fleeting, however. Perhaps it’s generational, but I think the most zen thing I can do is continue to write. If I opt out of om-ing my summer away, I can dedicate more time to writing my book proposal, hustling for new Ministry of Imagery clients, and penning articles for sites and publications that could possibly net more exposure. And while that might not come with the squeaky-clean feeling of a fresh start and a new beginning, sometimes just continuing to struggle in the face of desperation is the most promising job opportunity of all.

UNRELATED TO ANYTHING: If you haven’t seen any press regarding Glenn and Henry Forever, you absolutely must take a look. Glenn Danzig and Henry Rollins as lovers in a comic book. How can it be bad?

These tough economic times call for a reevaluation of current career goals. I didn’t have to phone Miss Cleo to figure out that things are likely going to get worse before they get better.

Instead of succumbing to the gloom and doom, curling up into a quivering mess under my covers, loading my imaginary shot-gun and waiting for The Worst to happen, I decided to write a list of possible jobs I could strive for in fields that are less affected by the economic FAIL. In the true spirit of still trying, I made sure that each job could somehow be applied to my ultimate goal of being a professional writer.

It was either that I write this list or stare at the sky and wait for the vultures to circle.

Take note that this list does not include teaching, even though education is a sector that is still going to remain fair-to-strong in light of the recession. I didn’t include going to grad school and becoming a professor because I’ve heard that those who can do, those who can’t teach, and I can (and I will) get a motherfucking book deal. Note to teachers: I’m just jealous and don’t have the patience for your job.

Mortician
What’s the saying, every man dies, but not every man truly lives? Yeah, well, you can capitalize on the first part. The funeral service industry will always make a killing (sorry, had to), even if the stock market is plunging lower than B list starlet’s neckline. Other than going to school for it, you need to apprentice for two years, but with courses like Restorative Art and Moral & Ethical Perspectives on Death and Dying, and grunt work like embalming, you’re bound never to be bored. Nauseated, maybe. But bored, never.

• Helps with: Fiction. I’m not great at committing to a story that goes on longer than a few pages. Even the small spurts of storytelling I can manage to plunk out on my keyboard are, to me, unimaginative, lacking in any gripping narrative, with any sparkle solely centered around detail and alliteration. Working for death would definitely reanimate my imagination, and likely give me enough material to pen a solid manuscript, filled with gore, humanity, and floral arrangements.

If you’re looking to attend mortuary school, check out the directory.
The National Funeral Directors Association website provides each state’s educational requirements for a mortician’s license.

Drug and Alcohol Counselor
You’d be lying if you said that watching the news didn’t make you want to drink until you vomited all over your roommate’s flat screen. Or maybe that’s just me. I’ve often made reference to my time in recovery, and my tales from battle: the debauchery, one-night-stands, and assorted shenanigans I got involved with when sloshed. Nowadays, everyone seems to want to shut off reality, opting for alcohol (or other substances) to dull the pain of an empty pocket. There will always be a need for people willing to help those struggling with addiction, and I venture to think that the amount of addicted individuals is about to rise sharply as the Dow Jones drops.

Each state has different requirements for certification, schooling, and time in a supervised clinic setting, so do some research if pulling someone out of the abyss is the kind of career that appeals to you. And, as always, if you or someone you know is struggling, you can always check out the AA site. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I wouldn’t be writing this blog if it weren’t for the program. Which might make some of you want to slip me a mickey.

• Helps with: Self-help books. It was estimated in 2003 that the “self-improvement” market was worth a total of $8.5 billion dollars, with a projected growth rate of over $11 billion by this year. Needless to say, working in the field would probably help me to construct a pretty solid manual of how to productively handle individuals with addiction in a way that doesn‘t include condescension, a weapon, or a fraternity. It would be useful, especially since I’d be writing about a subject that touches pretty much everyone in some way.

Any Sort Of Low-Level Position In An Ad Agency
I have heard people far more successful than myself say, “You’re either part of the problem or you’re part of the solution.” Usually they’re talking about cleaning the kitchen.

The truth is that many companies have already started to reassess how they attract customers, how they present themselves on their website, what kind of advertising not only draws their clients in, but gets them to request a quote. Already we do this at Ministry of Imagery, and it’s the rebranding or web copy gigs that we love like a firstborn. They allow us to take an already valuable product or team and reinterpret their mission in text. It’s fantastic. But to jump ship and try to swim at an agency, as much as it goes against the very nature of my existence, as well as my business relationship with Simon, would be the best way to get into the thick of the feeding frenzy. Advertising will always be critical to industry, and especially with the death of print there’s a need for fresh, innovative ways to sell yourself. Another plus to selling out* is that agencies are like factories, many of them just chew you up and spit you out, which means they’re always hiring.

• Helps with: Screenwriting. Two words: Lawrence Kasdan. Also, the ability to sell is key to studio executives. Working with advertising would provide Mad Men-esque anecdotes, coupled by an invigorated ability to pitch a script.

*[Editor’s note: I don’t plan on selling out. Ever.]

Nurse
(Pharmaceutical techs aren’t struggling, but that job is boring as fuck.)
In all of my desperate research to try and find fields that were not devastated by the economic downturn, the one reliable constant was “any profession in the medical field.”

I used to play gynecologist, and I often use WebMD to self-diagnose, but other than that my healthcare expertise is nil. I’d have to go to school and get certified, and also learn how not to be afraid of people, diseases, vomit, or the combination of all three, but after that I’d be golden. And just think, I’d be helping people in a way that didn’t involve crude jokes and sarcasm.

If the kind of nursing that doesn’t directly involve breasts interests you, check out the Medical Student’s Resource Guide for information on how to help people and what those funny white hats are for.

• Helps with: Teleplays or non-fiction. Other than the incredible nursing blog I could start on my precious day off, I could write a smashingly successful sitcom script. Think about it: ER, House, Scrubs, Gray’s Anatomy, that spin-off with the frigid-looking redhead. The market is there.

Other than these gigs listed above, I could work for a winery, since American-based vinters are doing well, in part due to the price of imported wine as well as the recent popularity of entertaining at home. (I assume they mean key parties.) An oenophile’s job would be extremely funny, since I’m in AA. I could even apply to work for Caduceus. Then I could write a memoir about being an alcoholic working in the wine industry, or just fan fiction about Maynard James Keenan. You swill, I swoon.

The only other surefire career I can think of is to become a repo girl, because I’m sure that’s a business sector that’s about to start booming.

You can reach me at AinsleyDrew at gmail dot com. Hugs, handshakes, and huge gratitude to all those who donate. Times are tough, it helps to share your soup.

The job I have now is the most fun you can have starving. Hire us before we get too weak to type.

Like It is where you can see what I like. Or you can see me stutter across the QWERTY keys.

Recently, we at Ministry of Imagery decided to try a different approach. Two of our friends from college work for a gaming company that has three offices between New York and Canada. These friends had “regular” work complaints that were foreign to us: staff meetings, early mornings, occasional bouts of tedium. But they had steady paychecks and weren’t malnourished. When the friend who has a more senior writing position in the company told us that we should apply, we thought it over.

The negative aspects of being a freelancer are many. You don’t have health insurance, so skateboarding is frequently fraught with trepidation about falling and breaking teeth, pelvis, or wrist. You’re never sure if that awesome next job is around the bend, or if all you’ll find in your Inbox is the cyber-equivalent of dust-bunnies with a soundtrack of crickets. If you don’t know the client you’re working for, or if they weren’t referred to you, you can never be sure, really and truly sure, that they will not flake on payment or change the deliverables at the last minute. We’re rarely able to save any money at all, and on the worst months there’s a fear of not making rent or, more likely, rent being made but something else being sacrificed, such as food or the power bill. Being a freelancer is like being a rodeo clown, it’s thankless, dangerous, and fucking exciting. Also, many of us are alcoholics.

We recognize all of these complaints on a daily, high-pitched basis. Simon often conquers stress by sleeping, I am more of the pace-and-wring-hands variety. But even with all of these fairly severe drawbacks to the job, it does suit us. We are able to roll out of bed and start working together. We make our own hours, devise our own quirky systems, and feed off of each other in a way that I can guarantee that no one in a desk job does with their fellow employees. Simon blasts rap and eats Doritos while working, he also has a tendency to take breaks to skate around town or grab a Coke at the bar down the street. I listen to ‘90s dark wave and drink so many cups of tea that, if I were in an office, I’d be the one who had to replace the supplies in the break room. Both of us are able to be somewhat hedonistic, if we don’t feel like talking to people when we work, we shut our doors and stop taking personal calls. If we feel like working naked, or not showering, or rhyming along with Lil’ Kim on our speakers, we can. My friend who works in the gaming company said to me once that she was jealous that I could take a nap. Like, whenever.

But at our age, freelancing feels a little old, not in the sense that the job itself has gotten dull, but that larger things are looming on the horizon. How will either of us ever be able to have a home, or a family, or the ability to take a day off? We just keep hoping that tomorrow will be different. Tomorrow, tomorrow. This gaming gig was like our Daddy Warbucks. We sent our resumes, both of which clearly proved we were qualified both in experience and education. We sent solid dramatic writing samples that illustrated our mastery of the craft we had both studied. And then we waited.

At first we were told that we would likely hear about a decision in three weeks, good or bad. The senior writer then wound up traveling to both offices in the Land of Eh. Three weeks turned into four, turned into six. We sent two polite follow-up letters, that restated our interest.

The writer wrote back, the first time to say he’d know more in a week. The week passed. Then, following our letter ten days later, we were told that the company had instated a hiring freeze in light of the current economic situation. They’d reevaluate all factors in January, and possibly begin hiring then if anything had changed internally or improved on a whole globally. We were still in the running for the pennant, but there was a rain delay. If you’re a baseball fan, you know how this usually works out.

The term hiring freeze has always made me smirk. I imagine corporate HR departments sitting down in their skirt suits and ties and suddenly a blizzard blows through Conference Room 8. Hiring? Frozen.

Among current institutions that are putting the kibosh on new blood are American Express, the Associated Press, and the City of Ithaca, New York. (Other cities, I assume, are doing the same to salvage budgets thrown into a tailspin, and to cope with layoffs brought on by the crisis.) Microsoft was rumored to be putting the smack down on open positions earlier this month, but Bill and company denied it. According to a Watson Wyatt survey, 25% of all U.S. companies were planning hiring freezes in order to deal with the financial crisis.

As much as I’ve read on the Internet and as many hours of Rachel Maddow and Kieth Olbermann that I watch, this email stating that we personally were put on hold indefinitely was the first time I truly felt the gravity of the situation. Sure, going to the grocery store had become a somewhat hilarious expedition lately, as I saw piles of imported produce going for over two to three bucks a piece, with artery-clogging processed foods remaining steady at their pennies-per-pound prices. One of my friends back home was working for a hedge fund and got let go, he’s now working as a personal trainer. (Not as if I believe in waving around where you went to school as some kind of flag of entitlement, but the kid went to Yale and did well.) More than one of my acquaintances has been fired, others have swallowed their pride and moved in with their parents, still others have turned to, shall we say, non-traditional paths to make cash. Things are ugly. But this is the first time I got to look them in the eye.

The maddening part is the lack of hope, which, from what I’ve heard on NPR and CNBC, is what has fueled some of the economic downturn. Not only have we personally lost what we perceived as the only way out of a hand-to-mouth existence, but we’ve also become disillusioned with the idea of things ever changing. Even if Obama is our president next week, that doesn’t mean that the price of apples will magically drop and the shuddered factories will reopen. No one will be able to cast a Walt Disney-like spell, there will be no enchantment where things are immediately reversed and tiny, pastel birds flit around newly opened lending institutions, and dewy-eyed fawns graze peacefully on a positive trading floor. Nope. We know that any sort of recovery is a long way down the pike. And suddenly we realize that we might not make it that long.

As with all things, there is only one way to overcome any feelings of dread, and that’s to put it in perspective. We’ve been working the freelance thing for a while now, and we’re good at it. If there’s work, we’ll get it. A ton of new-comers are soon going to join us, along with the gazillion laid-off newspaper and magazine writers. The pool is growing. So we just have to prove that we’re no longer minnows, but sharks.

(I really wanted to say barracuda, but as evidence to how dire the political climate is right now, I chose the marine life more closely associated with personal injury lawyers and pool hustlers.)

Maybe the best way to deal with it is to quote what they say in AA meetings: this too shall pass. The question is, when?

Stay safe. Happy haunting and job hunting.

You can write to me at AinsleyDrew at gmail dot com. A sincere thanks to all those who donate.

If you’re not in a hiring freeze, feel free to employ us. We’re always looking for work.

Proof that I grew up with a dad who was a fan of Andrew Dice Clay and Howard Stern. And you can also see my QWERTY diarrhea page, Like It.

The bald one.

Further proof: The Watson-Wyatt PDF “Effect of the Economic Crisis on HR Programs“

[Note: If you, or someone you know, is looking for one or two freelance writers, for everything from cover letters to wedding vows, site copy or eulogies, editorial articles or whitepapers, letters of resignation from your crappy job or love letters to that girl across the hall, let me know. AinsleyDrew at gmail. Our rates are reasonable, unlike drunk ex-girlfriends.]

Seemingly Awesome Jobs That I Do Not Want

Comic book writer

Vasquez. Dirge. Valentino. Sfar. Ohba. Rugg and Maruca. Mizuno. I love graphic novels and comics of all varieties, but especially the ones for pouty teenagers who wear all black and spend their allowances at Hot Topic. (My inner child writes angry poetry, carries a metal lunchbox, and wears her Tool tee-shirt every day.) Why not apply my interest to my career? After all, I do have a degree in dramatic writing.

Because I am already broke, that‘s why. Most comic book writers get paid $500 for a script by small companies. $500 for a twenty-two page script would mean that a) I’d need to have two guaranteed deals a month in order to simply pay my bills and break even and b) I would basically be in the same position that I’m in now, only I likely wouldn’t have the freedom to consistently write in my own voice, with vagina jokes galore.

But in case you’re interested in panel-by-panel panhandling, check out the Comic Book Resources page.

Stripper

Where I grew up on Long Island, being a stripper was easy money. A few of my friends made a decent living at it, and actually seemed to enjoy what they did. They were able to afford regular manicures, they had funny stories to tell when out to lunch, and they looked forward to going to work, which, to me, is the most important part of any career. I figure that I like music, and I like dancing, and I like being naked. Getting a job as a stripper seems like a no-brainer.

Except most exotic dancers retire at 28 (that’s eleven months away for yours truly) and I get sleepy after midnight. When I’m sleepy I’m also cranky, and often say things like, “I‘m gonna eat your dick.” Dancing two or three three-hour long shifts, coupled with having to act as though I like strangers when I’m a natural misanthrope, topped off by the fact that ever since I started dating Simon I’ve had some severe difficulty when it comes to acting interested in anyone but him…well, I probably wouldn’t make it past the audition stage anyway. For one thing, I have the rhythm of a half-Jewish white girl who likes synthpop. Also, I have no bilateral symmetry. Unless you are looking at me as though I am a boy.

I must warn you, even if you don’t want to be an exotic dancer, if you check out Stripper FAQ you will lose half of your day to reading. Yes, reading the articles. Swear. The author, Kiko Wu, is a decent writer with a lot to share. Um. Yeah, that’s pretty much as expertly as I can put that.

Stripper Resource is great, too, but NSFW. Unless you work out of your home like I do. Then it’s just not safe for productivity.


Rock star

We can start with a role call:
Kurt Cobain
Sid Viscious
Andy Wood
Darby Crash
Layne Staley

I’m sober and a homebody. Even if I enjoy wearing my lingerie outside of my clothes, giving strangers the finger, and “expressing myself,” my lack of musical skills and enjoyment of things like cooking paella and reading Martha Stewart Living render this career option null and void.

I would gladly be Maynard James Keenan’s assistant, though. It’s close enough, I have the credentials, and he’d probably laugh at my vag jokes. Everybody wins.

Maynard James Keenan resources, ’cause “rock star resources” only exist in an open bar or concert venue.

Puscifer
Caduceus Cellars, Mr. Keenan’s foray into oenophilia. You can read his old Wine Spectator blog, or just buy the fruits of the fruits of his labor.
Tool

++++

I’ve been working on a submission packet, so today’s post was a sort of masturbatory list.

Happy Friday, get out and enjoy your weekend. I’m incredibly grateful to everyone who donates. The economy might be collapsing, but for those of us who are already poor, it’s just another day.

AinsleyDrew at gmail

For hire.

Boxers and briefs.