Summer Reading

I’ve been a little light on the blogging over the past couple of weeks but it’s summer, lovelies! Everyone should be out and about on wonderful holidays. I haven’t been jaunting too much since gay Paree but that suits me just fine. I’m enjoying NYC in all its sticky, humid grandeur.

So while the rest of you are lounging by the water in St. John, the Cape or your kiddie pool, here are a couple summer reading suggestions for you….

1. The Blue Sweater by Jacqueline Novogratz

Perhaps a little heady for the summer months but this amateur economist likes it that way.

In the 1980s Novogratz set out as a young, idealistic girl with a head for figures to Africa where she worked within local communities and with prestigious organizations to develop some of the earliest microfinance programs. Her very plain spoken yet compelling tale spans decades and continents, having worked in Rwanda, Kenya, India and Pakistan, lending a personal perspective of some of the most dire events in modern history. (I was brought to heavy tears by her description of the Rwandan genocide. You should have seen me in Hotel Rwanda, a complete, bawling mess).

Dedicating her life to marrying financial know-how with a charitable spirit, readers begin to understand how positive change is possible from even the bleakest socio-political and socio-economic beginnings.

And as it relates to this blog, as it relates to me, me, me, I cherished her story because it reminded this New Yorker how so many across the world survive, subsist and flourish with so little. How on an income of a dollar or less a day, determined workers were able to make personal and social change with just a bit of entrepreneurial spirit. While ‘entrepreneurial spirit’ still reminds me of the Silicon Valley heyday, I realize that it is little more than the desire to do something in a better way when an avenue to do so doesn’t immediately present itself.

I live in a city that is at its core a testament to the entrepreneurial spirit (BTW: currently reading Island at the Center of the World) though I can easily forget the determination and ingenuity of the Dutch, English, Irish, Italian, Chinese, Jews, Poles and every other punchline-ready immigrant group who came here to make a better life when I walk on my fashionable street and agonize how I’m going to make my corporate salary stretch to include every haute meal I have in my social calendar.

Thankfully I haven’t fully succumbed to consumerism but the desire for More and Better can be as thick as the humidity, even among those with oh so much. (cough…Wall Street meltdown… cough…)

As much as I would like to justify an Indian getaway, a trip around the world isn’t required to view the world differently. From Novogratz’s experience even here in New York, it goes to show that we can recalibrate our perceived level of Need if we begin by viewing the city through the eyes of those with very little, as opposed to very much. And for those who care to help, the gap between the haves and have nots might diminish all the more quickly if we start by opening our eyes without fear of opening our hearts.

Stay tuned for your next assignment....

I lost my budget virginity in Paris

In May I did something for only the 2nd time, go to Paris.
And for the very first time, I budgeted for travel
(sacré bleu!)

Yes, yes, our little girl is growing up…

Turns out it’s quite simple, really.
Here’s how it goes:

1. Have money.
You can’t imagine how many times I’ve skipped this step. I have the distinct memory of being twenty-four, unemployed and traipsing to summer weddings and weekend jaunts, all involving air travel and hotel stays. It was the economic sage Mike Cunningham (my father) who aptly, if not strictly, advised- STOP TRAVELING, MARY.

Hhhmmmmm, that hadn’t occurred to me.
Interesting concept, but lack of funds wasn’t a convincing argument. “ …But why, Dad? I can pay for it, I have a credit card.”

Oh, my youth.
*For the record I don’t regret any of the travel.

Ok, back to being a fiscally responsible traveler…

2. Decide how much you will spend while on the trip. Realistically. This, boys and girls, is called creating a "budget." Even busing down on a weekend trip to Delaware I can manage to grossly under estimate this. Simply because I don’t want to think about the amount I spend in an average weekend, much less on a weekend getaway.

3. Prepare yourself- Convert that amount into local currency before you travel.
When faced with a foreign ATM, I tend favor my internal conversion table which is reminiscent of the outdated Franc/Dollar exchange. Turns out the Foreign Exchange market thinks differently. There are just certain things that I would rather forget and the Dollar’s weakness to the Euro is one of them.

4. Withdraw that amount. Withdraw slightly less than that amount.
And try this- JUST spend that cash. Oh la la.
I mean really, unless you find an amazing gem at a gallery or boutique that you absolutely must have, chances are you’re better off by sticking to a budget.

Speaking of conversion rates, the mirrors seem to change as well when you return stateside. "How did I not notice this muffin top when I was in the boutique? Damn you, post-lunch wine buzz!"

With budget guidelines in mind, it doesn’t mean I wasn’t swayed by the allure of French boutiques. And why should I not?! This is Paris after all and I am a female. It’s a woman’s given right to indulge when in the City of Light: in beef tartare, in Bandol, in truffles and in shopping. (Definitely not the world’s worst To Do list).

But remember ladies- France’s premiere exports don’t become less expensive just because you buy them local. Honestly, if local produce isn’t less expensive at the farmer’s market, you can bet that Louis Vuitton and Chanel aren’t either. So no, I’ll pass on the ultra chic global brands in favor of seeking out those truly unique fashions that maintain international flair amid the globalization of fashion that has brought Sweden's H&Ms, Spain’s Zaras and Britain's Top Shops to hometowns around the world.

There was one little dress that was just simply Oh la la and for which I would have jilted this budget-thing but alas, I couldn’t negotiate the correct undergarments. Note: brassieres and satin don’t always go together. And yet no bra and satin is, um, precarious, to say the least.

So our little girl left a budgetary woman even though she did want to give it up just a bit.

And by Passe I Mean...

Passe as in pixie haircuts, cosmopolitans, cropped tiny tees and the light blue/chocolate brown color palette. All simply fabulous for a moment in time or for those who can really pull it off, but not meant for mass consumption.

FYI

Home ownership is so passe.

Ups and Downs

My research* indicates the following as the eight stages of the emotional roller coaster known as PFU (Personal Financial Upheaval):

*Yes, "research" is my fancy term for talking with unemployed friends and seeing 401Ks offer themselves up as sacrificial lambs


1. Panic!
#@^&^^!, What will I do?!

2. Bargaining.
If I could just get that job back or my 401K share prices to inflate, I’d never complain of my company, of my salary, again. Ever.

3. Fear.
How will I sustain my lifestyle and livelihood?

4. Brief Depression.
I have no idea how to sustain my lifestyle and there is nothing lively in my hood.

5. Reflective Melancholy. Yearning for the good old days.
I remember when I could buy a round of drinks. Now I can’t buy a round of toilet paper.

6. Reassessment of Goals, Hopes and Dreams.
What was I really working for?

7. Creative Brainstorming. New paths to Goals, Hopes and Dreams.
What will really make me happy?

8. Realization.
That perhaps the old means weren’t really getting us to the ultimate end.

Ant Farm

Just over a week ago, we New Yorkers welcomed eighty-degree weather after a very long, cold winter.
As both green, leafy shoots and mini-shirt hemlines move upward, other movement was on the rise as well.

Gazing on the brick wall of my patio (clearly procrastinaing), I saw movement everywhere.
Ants, ants, ants- out and about- using the mortar between bricks as their thoroughfare, just as congested as the cabs on the city street beyond this wall.

Like the weekend sunbathers of Central Park, these leeeetle workers were savoring the warmth as well.
Well, sorta.
Ants don’t really ‘savor.’ Ants work. The benefit of warmth for an ant is the ability to hunt and gather far and wide, finally freed from their protective, tunneled colonies. And in true ant form, the little ones on my wall are are doing what they always do, working industriously to prepare for the hard times, even though the good times have just begun.
It’s safe to assume that unlike most of those New York sunbathers (and most Americans in general), these ants fared a little better during this past winter of our discontent.

Darn if those ants know how to plan ahead.

Thinking back to the fable of The Ant and the Grasshopper, the ant ultimately (spoilder alert!) shakes one of his wee six legs at the foolish violin-wielding grasshopper who chose to frolic all summer rather than plan ahead. Sir Ant promptly turns Mr. GH out to, well, die.



It’s less cut and dried in the children’s version, but we might as well be honest with our kids: save up or you will die. …In the cold. …With only your violin.

(In this new age of financial distress, “Save or Die” has a fresh, honest ring to it…I dare any of the financial companies to use that as a new slogan. Time to rebrand, guys!)

How many of us have become complacent in relying on the crutch of a credit card or a bonus to come to the rescue for basic needs (tuition, rent, groceries)? How many are seeing mounting expenses and decreasing income? How many financial firms came to the government with arms outstretched, palms up for bailout money after their frolic ended badly?

In the post-October 2008 world of, well, May 2009, the ant is more of a sage than a curmudgeon. His laser-focused dedication to view a Fourth of July potato chip crumb as a mid January nosh is likely hard to achieve for us mere humans, but I hope that the fable will enjoy a renaissance with consumers young and old, inspiring some to again pinch pennies, inching them to the safer end of the the Ant – Grasshopper Spectruum of Financial (In)Competence.

My financial genetic makeup leaves me in the middle of the spectruum (because my dad is on one end, my mother on the other).
I can't seem to keep the blinders of the ant on permanently- my eyes and wallet wonder from time to time- but thankfully I’ve instituted saving techniques that hide money away, allowing for a little budgetary capriousnes without fear that I’ll end up with only a violin.

Spring in the City

As you can see by the date of this post, it’s been some weeks (years in Blogger time) since I’ve written. Not for lack of financial headlines begging for my commentary, but rather a hunch that “these hard times” might strike down upon me personally, giving me laser focus on basic survival and putting aside any activity not absolutely tied to maintaining gainful employment.

It doesn’t take a formal company announcement for one to fear for their security and whatever my reasons, the month of March brought on that fear like the proverbial lion whose turbulent roar disprupts the quiet of winter and foretells of changes this new season will bring.

And with that panic came a cincture, a stranglehold put upon any alleged creative juices that I like to think flow within me from time to time. (With that in mind, this post is indication that for the brief near future, the chopping block is out of sight).

Fearing the loss of income, coupled with a snafu in living arrangements leaving me without a roommate- and someone to split the rent- a month of nights were spent assembling mental to do lists and not in any sort of midnight repose.
But in those solitary hours, I was not alone.

As little comfort as it brings, many others were in on the late night number crunching with me. Not just those who bear the corporate flourescence in their cubicles, praying for not another re-org, but outside, along the once casual backdrop of a walking commute, storefronts with shelves full yet barren aisles cry out in pangs of a supply and demand equation gone wrong.

Walking on the small, quaint street in Manhattan that I like to call mine, store front after the next display signs, For Rent. At least a dozen within 2 blocks of my front step alone.

How can the recession of the economy not be a depression on our collective psyche when we must daily pass remnants of the good old days- boutiques and restaurants, now called ‘failures’- that perhaps didn’t have a solid business plan then and who serve now only as economic case studies, revealing how free money was when credit was in play?

Continuing on to the west side of the island for a brisk walk on a brisk spring evening, I proceed up the Hudson River, passing half a dozen tall glass buildings that break up the old and the brick and the industrial that had been Manhattan’s ragged western edge in years past. I remember seeing these buildings, townhomes and offices spaces, shrouded in scaffolding only some months ago when I was new to the island and my large eyes took in an even larger cityscape.

Walking along now, in the spring of 2009, I wonder if the everyman- the working folk of this big little town- gaze up at those now-completed and empty compartments to sneer at those who had the balls to continue building more and bigger, sneering at the banks who dared to take more and bigger risks, and all the rest who knew better but pushed for more, believing it was within their rights to do so. These opulent edifices, gauche even in a town known for opulence in all things, look now to be as bloated and fragile as the economy that deemed them appropriate.

Or maybe it’s the other way around.

Maybe these sleek, slender structures can stand tall and cast mocking glances down upon a society whose hubris believed we were worthy of such grandeur. A national collective who thought we could sustain such grandeur.

In either sense, after the fall in the fall of ‘08, we are left with emotional rubble and physical splendor and no map to show us where the middle ground is.

Question is, will we recognize a middle ground even if we find it?