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?

When I work I listen to the news, 1010WINS in particular. For those of you not blessed enough to  have lived in New York, WINS is the authority on 24 hour news radio, as they say, you give them twenty-two minutes, they give you the world. Every time I hear the ticker in the background of their broadcast it harkens back to better days, when  my mother and I would listen to hear how much snow we were going to get. WINS was the harbinger for those miracles known as snow days. Nowadays it’s more like audio comfort as I fret how to ration out a can of beans over the course of the day but, whatever, it still soothes me.

Yesterday afternoon I noticed a commercial between the traffic and sports reports. “Call now, we know you’re listening,” the man with the Australian accent said. “Our psychics are standing by, waiting for your call. Your spiritual well-being is our concern.“ A psychic hotline commercial on a news station. Hilarious.

But then I saw items in the Wall Street Journal and Gawker about people using hypnosis and other assorted mysticism to deal with stress from the current economic disaster. It appears that the obscurely ontological is a little easier to stomach than a global recession.  People are trusting psychics with floundering 401Ks. There are séances for stock brokers. Considering how horrific the physical realm is right around now, why not take it to the meta?

I’ve always been particularly fond of the tarot. Maybe it was the history, that these cards have been around since before the fourteenth century, that Carl Jung thought that the deck and its arcana were a reliable way to identify archetypes. Or maybe it was just that it seemed like playing poker with your future, shuffle, cut, and you either win, lose, or draw depending on the spread. I think that psychics can be easy sham artists, but a tarot deck requires understanding. People who dedicate their time to the craft of reading symbols at least have some credibility to me, it just seems a little less one-sided.

In order to see if the bust has made readers hit the deck or shuffle soundly, I decided to contact some spiritual advisers whose businesses are reputable.

Susan Eller of Healing From Within isn’t just a tarot reader, she also does spiritual counseling, Reiki instruction, and owns four new age gift shops on the Internet. I believe anything the woman says about the metaphysical field, not simply because she’s a professional healer, but because she’s been doing this for over thirty years. Susan breaks any stereotypes you may hold about new age gurus being flaky, patchouli-reeking hippies who simply breathe their way through the day. The woman is a determined and ambitious entrepreneur.

To attract clients, Susan relies on advertising and promotion focused mainly on her stores, utilizing a combo of Search Engine Optimization, pay-per-click ads, newsletters, and, of course, the business mainstay of having customer service that doesn’t suck. SEO makes sure that she’s positioned well on Google, and she finds a pretty even split between new clients, new students, and repeat customers. So what about the stores? Have people stopped spending cash on crystals, chakra charts, and chimes? Have the cards been collecting dust on the shelf? “I’m not letting the state of the economy affect me,” Susan says. “We’re having great sales so far this season and I know we will continue to.”

Professional tarot reader Velvet Angel, whose birth name is Sharon, has witnessed a similar increase in business, just as she was preparing for a drought. (Hey, she’s an intuitive tarot reader, she doesn‘t advertise herself as a psychic.) A hardworking, self-made woman who held two jobs for four years in order to get her online tarot reading business off of the ground, she prepared for the worst as things began to crumble on Wall Street, only to be met with a sudden increase in business. “I do think it’s true that skeptics, some anyway, are turning into believers with the economic downturn of late,” she says.

As a full-time grandmother of a two year old, a business owner, and one of the lucky upstarts who decided to do what they love for a living, Velvet didn’t think that the recent implosion of our financial system would necessarily translate into a cynic-turned-believer boom.

“I was actually prepared for lean times, but I’ve found that’s not the case at all. In years past, the holiday season would be rather slow, and things would pick up again after the first of the year. But things have remained steady, and actually even more business has come my way. Although I’d like to attribute that to the kind of reader that I am, I do feel that it has to do with the downfall of the economy.”

So what about the clients? Are they coming to Velvet to find out if they are with their one true love, or to figure out where to hide their money?

“Usually my biggest hitter for questions revolves around love and relationships.  But lately, I have had a significant increase of questions regarding work and money matters.  People are bringing their economic concerns to the cards for exploration.”

Velvet prides herself in being honest and forthright, even though scam tarot readers, self-proclaimed psychics, and other metaphysical “experts” who prey on people looking for hocus pocus certainly climb up the career ladder quicker. It’s taken her longer to establish a thriving business, but at least she and Susan don’t have to deal with the karmic collapse that I’m sure will come to the tarot equivalent of frivolous lenders.

So for those of you looking for guidance and thinking that the cards will be more reliable than your previous financial advisor, take note that, just like the Psychic radio advertisement says, you’re not alone.

Special thanks to both Velvet Angel and Susan Eller who took the time to give me some insight. If you’re thinking of getting a reading, check these ladies out.

Or you can write me and I’ll do a reading…of your email. AinsleyDrew at the gmail one. Extra huge thanks to those of you who donate. I see a hug from me in your future.

Is a company rebranding, press release, or new web copy in your cards? Hire us.

The Fool. The Moon.

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“

Wow, hey, everyone! Guess what? We’re all poor!

I’m sorry to be glib about a situation that’s wiped out countless college funds, savings accounts, and nest eggs for drugs, but when you’ve been poor for a while now, watching everyone get tossed into the same pool of piss is almost comforting. Almost.

Mom, please stop crying.

Naturally, everyone will still need writing for their websites in order to attract more clients, right? Press releases will still need to be written, companies advertised. My fingers are crossed so hard I’m typing this with my tongue, so of course I start thinking about things I could fall back on, other than my ass.

As a nympho and an alcoholic in recovery, two things that take up sizable slabs of my brain’s pie chart are sex and booze. I’ve profiled my views on sex work in several previous posts, but after overhearing a news report about a New York stripclub that is now offering a lap dance for one thousand dollars, I reassessed the possibility. Sure, I dance in a manner that calls to mind images of a baby bass flopping around on the deck of a boat. I have the body of a twelve year old boy with tattoos that fall somewhere between prepubescent flash art and Lollapalooza ’94. But a grand for a grind? Sign me up!

Only the VIP Room in Chelsea is an anomaly. Although people are still willing to watch frisky females do a fandango to forget the financial fiasco, most are tipping ladies less. And the craptastic job market has piqued the interest of more women like myself who would previously think of stripping more in relation to electrical wires running for the pole. There’s a glut of dancers, a dearth of tips. Not good.

Predictably, the multiplying of sorrows has led to the never-ending happy hour at most watering holes, especially those that boast boobs with your beer. Business is up as more people imbibe to take the edge off. After all, if your vision is blurry you can’t see how thin your wallet is, and a hangover is a problem that will pass. As per their contracts, Ginger or Carmen will set their glazed eyes on you and listen from your lap as you whine about your pension plan and credit card debt. But from behind the bar the bills for beverages don’t translate into tips currently. Bartenders are feeling the pinch in their tip jars, even as they line ‘em up and watch patrons knock ‘em back.

Okay, so naughty dancing and drink doling are both out as far as surefire ways to stave off starvation. Fine. There’s still one line of work that I think is a pretty safe bet, if not more secure in this current market, and that is security.

People get stressed about money, they go to the bar to loosen up, they buy a drink (or a dance), and they don’t tip too generously. After a few brews, though, the fact of the matter still hasn’t changed, and their anxiety is now just uninhibited. The guy next to them doesn’t want to hear their sob story, or is telling a lame one of his own. Pretty soon a round of foamy fun becomes a round of fistacuffs. The business of bar security must be booming these days. Not to mention that people will always try to grease the palms of those standing between them and an entrance. Andrew Jackson is a skeleton key.

Of course, there are several cold, hard facts standing between me and the other side of the velvet rope. Namely, I am a girl. Even underneath my tough exterior there are two ovaries and a lip gloss obsession. Although I’ve dated a female bouncer in the past [Editor’s Note: Hot.] I don’t think that even a lesbian bar would hire a five foot tall, one hundred pound, vegan voicebox to keep the crazy at bay. I could probably insult someone until they went home crying, but I couldn’t throw out an average sized guy who vomited on himself and punched the jukebox. Bummer.

But you can! Maybe.

Either way, beefing up your exterior will help you fight your way to the front of the line when we all start pulling our money from the banks.

Thanks to everyone who donates! I know times are tough, you’re helping to keep food in my belly and a roof over my head. Drop me a line to whine or comment: AinsleyDrew at gmail.

It’s not stripping, but there’s a fair amount of nudity involved.

Word shots.

As my bank account makes its slow and inevitable march to the zero mark, I am once again forced to make the choice: completely freak out or refrain from completely freaking out.

The latter, while far more desirable for both myself and those around me, is pretty much impossible when I start eschewing the letters and make way for the maths.

Poverty seems inevitable. Yet again.

Part of this is a dearth of new clients or projects that have fallen through, and some of it is just the basic cost of, oh, everything going up.

So, it’s true, we might be heading towards a whatsit? A recliner? A concession? Recession. Turns out it has nothing to do with recess.

I have decided that in lieu of going completely batshit insane and curling into a tiny, sobbing ball on my floor, I will search for a solution by researching a subject other than that one with the numbers: history.

What made my grandparents so badass was that they not only knew how to save money, but they also knew how to make do with what they had. Unfortunately I was too busy playing Monopoly and eating all of their Oreos to ask how in the hell they did that, and learned basic rampant consumerism from my parents. So now I have no idea how to keep a hold of my coins, and I’m pretty crappy at exercising restraint when it comes to consumption and ingenuity. On the flip side, I am damn good at Monopoly.

Using the Internet as my lantern through the frigid dark of frugality, I found some interesting tips for how to conserve energy, cash, and food, though their relevance to my modern life is a little bit questionable. But maybe a few of these can help you to save some dead presidents to put towards something valuable. Like gas. Or Nine Inch Nails tickets.

• Use margarine and butter wrappers to grease your pans.

Personal Relevance: Low.
I don’t bake. And when I do there’s usually a white, pudgy midget on the front saying things with exclamation points at the end like Easy! In Minutes! or Make In Your Microwave!
Also, I’m still kind of vegan.

• Hang your laundry out to dry on a clothesline. Make your own clothes. Make quilts out of used fabric. Accept hand-me-downs.

Personal Relevance: Moderate.
I would love a clothesline, or to clothesline my enemies. Shopping at thrift stores is the closest I come to inheriting clothing. Creating my own outfits would be great, and would save me a trip to Buffalo Exchange, but my skirts would be made of Cling Wrap and my tops would be made of produce stickers. I can’t sew. At all. Let’s just blame it on something other than impatience and an absence of natural femininity. Or blame it on masturbation. That line from Showgirls. “My right hand is so tight I can barely thread a needle.”

• Introduce some new gerunds into your life: gardening, hunting, fishing, sewing and knitting.

Personal Relevance: Unknown.
Gardening is hip here in Portland, one of Simon’s neighbors even has a chicken coop next to their tiny slice of soil and seeds. A sign reading “Chickens For Obama” is staked into the ground beside the cage, so apparently poultry can vote.
Hunting and fishing are usually reserved for only the most outdoorsy of my friends, and the ones who are perpetually trying to lure me camping by regaling tales of wasting an afternoon on a lake, catching a shoe sole and a guppy while finishing off a twelve pack solo. I am sober and highly unskilled with any sharp objects and water. Also, like I said, unless it’s fishing for wasps (with fire) I’m not into killing.
Knitting and sewing are very “in” with the hipster crowd. Now, if only I can convince that girl with the oversized sunglasses and vintage cowboy boots knitting in the corner of the coffee shop that she should apathetically stitch me a dress along with some matching underwear and socks.

• Buy quality goods and take care of your things. Repair what you do have when it breaks.

Personal Relevance: High.
This, to me, is key. So many of us have been raised with this idea that things are simultaneously crucial and yet replaceable. There is less of an emphasis on purchasing an item as an investment, as opposed to just “buying stuff.” Going shopping is a hobby. It’s no wonder we’re so obsessed with money and this impending economic doom. Spending has taken the place of having fun. We’re a society of consumers, and unfortunately we’re about to have to choose between recreational spending and necessity. I say we all revive free fun.

(Note: Investments of mine that seemed pricey but paid off include a high-quality down comforter, a portable oil heater, and my top-of-the-line vibrator. You didn’t really think I used my hands to sew, did you?)

• Reuse aluminum foil, Ziploc bags, jars. Use cloth napkins instead of paper towels. “If it’s yellow, let it mellow…”

Personal Relevance: High, but punishable.
I am such a trash whore. I admit it, and I hope that by posting this my hypocrisy will somehow be forgiven or prompted to change my wasting ways.
I tear off five paper towels to dry my palms.
I use plastic bags to store everything from onions to stew, and then I immediately throw them away when I’m done ingesting their contents.
Aluminum foil is practically regarded as being just second to toilet paper in my house, if the crazies are right then I’m preventing aliens from mind-reading everything from my leftover couscous to half a bar of chocolate.
I recognize this as being imprudent, leading to frivolous spending on household items in addition to crap that gets ushered out into that big, beautiful myth I’ve heard about known as “the environment.” It sounds nice, and I’d like to visit it sometime, hopefully before I ruin it all.
As for the yellow/mellow part, gross. Just gross.

• Avoid shopping, even looking at ads or Internet sites. Utilize a “borrow and loan” system with your friends and family in order to prevent going out and purchasing new things.

Personal Relevance: High.
You can’t miss what you don’t have, and ignorance — when it comes to shopping — really is bliss. The less I look, the less I want. And borrowing and loaning, from clothes to comic books, is the best way to both have a topic of discussion and to save cash. Just remember to return what you’ve tried out, and to say thank you.

• Do not eat out.

(Heh.)

Personal Relevance: Mixed.
A cheese omelet at a local breakfast spot: $8.50 (not including tip or coffee)
Same omelet at home: $1.49 (eggs) + $0.79 (individual Colby jack cheese stick) I asked my roommate if he was eating the heel of a loaf of wheat bread, the answer was no. See? Cheese omelet and free toast totaling less than $3.00. And I have three eggs left over.

Then again, to make a rice and beans burrito at home it’s at least $5.00 for all of the ingredients. Out at my two favorite spots it’s either $3.50 (vegan) or $2.00 (non-vegan). So, relevance on this one depends on what you’re eating. But I’ll say that when you go out to grab grub you’re more or less wasting money that could be better spent. Unless the waitress is cute. Then maybe you’re getting dinner and a show, upon which case, money spent, something earned.

Additionally: Tip, people. Tip.

• Use powdered milk and beans. Can your own fruits and vegetables. Make fruit leather and jerky. Use every part of any meat product, use leftovers, don’t let anything go to waste.

Personal Relevance: Moderate.
Meat is expensive, and I personally believe that killing is wrong and bad (excluding wasps) but if you do happen to hunt I say eat everything, including the hooves. Once I am taught how to make jerky, pickle, and create fruit leather I will likely never leave my house again. Other than to tend to the orchards and shoot a tofu. For the jerky. Or to hunt for wasps.

Now that a dollar doesn’t go as far as it used to, I think it’s our behavior as consumers that has to change. (Feel that breeze? Those are all the different bubbles bursting at once.) Especially as a freelance writer, where the next client could be you, but most likely could be someone who reads this two months down the line, it’s vital that every greenback goes towards something that is, at very least, practical. I’d like to think that the panic that’s generated by the rise in the price of gas and the drop in the dollar’s value would have made our grandparents knowingly smirk. The optimistic approach is that we as a nation can handle this, and I’ll cope with being a college educated part of the working poor in-between histrionic freak outs. After all, hope might not fill our stomachs, but just like Googling pictures of Maynard James Keenan, it feels good, and it’s free.

Please donate! All proceeds go towards rent, technology, and burritos.

Or hire us, and get something for something.

Or just take a peek at our tiny bits.

Articles of note:

Sun Times article on saving

CNN Saving Secrets

No Washington Worrying, though.