Will You Be Wanting Popsicles with Your Pizza?

I have a very busy life. Just in case you didn't know that, it's true. Very busy.
I work weekends at a weird little government gig. I just started a second contractor position at another company. I have a website that is doing well enough that I need to have it redesigned and rebuilt in the next several months in order for it to continue to grow and expand. (Er, not to be confused with making money or covering its costs. NO to either on that question!) These three things alone poke big holes in my day, not to mention my bank account.

Yessirree, I'm busy for about 16 to 18 hours out of every day.

Oh, and I work out like a nutcase to make sure that I am healthy enough for all this insanity. Yes, I am busy.

But I also like financial health. My mother commented recently (in that dotty-random-outburst-at-a-party-given-by-their-daughter way that old ladies acquire in their seventies) that "Marti's cheap." I'll admit when she made that comment combined with one other, what I really wanted was to excuse myself for a check of her bathroom cabinet to see if she was off her meds. Or if I could borrow a few. Ugh.

Anyway, whether I am or am not cheap doesn't matter. I know a lot of people who are worried about money these days. And here's my tip for what YOU can do about it.

Do something extra. Do. Something. Extra. Why? To make money for yourself, of course! And not just for your life currently, which no doubt sucks every nickel out of your pocket, but for your future financial health. (If you're in debt, obviously, then use the money to pay down the debt first. I'm not in debt, therefore, I save.) And the best news is it doesn't have to be big.

For instance in the last year, I was contacted by an online group about writing for them. For several months toward the end of 2010 and in early 2011, I did their online writing. It only required a couple of hours per week. But in fact, I had so much of writing work that I couldn't do it all when combined at the time with my weekend job, website operation and making a full-time job of looking for a full-time job, right? Right. So I hired someone else to do a little of the writing. I passed one subject that I knew little about to a favorite friend who herself wanted to pick up some supplemental funds every month.

That work agreement ended a few months ago and in the newly restored "glut" of time, my mind cast about again for what else I could do to make money. I didn't have to look far. I went to auctions with a couple of guy friends and considered re-selling things I could buy there. I pondered putting up a website to do more online writing. (Still mulling that one over) Heck, I even considered taking a waitress job and pouring coffee at some breakfast diner. Perhaps. (That mental journey didn't go very far) I ruled that one out. Kind of fast, matter of fact.

What I came up with instead was expanding on a favorite hobby, adding some extra knowledge (that's called "value added") that I had gained years back, putting in a little financial outlay to buy supplies and getting busy on it. Altogether, that's hobby+added value knowledge+cash investment+sweat equity.

To that end, I now have a living room that is... unlivable at the moment. It's been a small, bearable bit of a downside as large amounts of fabric and quilt batting started piling up. Some weird smelly things are stashed in the front closet. And an etsy account awaits which already amuses me and I hope to start filling later this week.

I make this "extra" suggestion knowing that some of you will say "Oh, I'm already so busy doing such-and-such. I really can't take on anything new." I think you should reconsider. What I'm talking about isn't converting YOUR living room into a sewing workshop with a huge mess of fabrics, fluff and stuff strewn everywhere. (That seems to be my personal passion and only within the abilities of those of us that live alone.) But you can do something. You can find something. Skip any "collecting aluminum cans" ideas. You'll lose money on the price of gas, driving to and from the recycling center. You want something you can do along your life's regular circuit with a small bit of extra effort.

What will you get out of it? I expect to end up with is enough cash to cover my costs, my annual IRA donation and maybe buy a few popsicles this summer.

Personally, I like popsicles. Don't want popsicles? You might make a few extra mortgage payments. You could put some money in a fund to pay for a few extra textbooks for a favorite college student. You could take the hubs out for pizza once a month and probably afford to pay for a gym to work it off again. Whatever you want, including debt, IRA, popsicles or pizza after taxes.

I'm not saying you're not already working harder than ever, but you probably can squeak something else in, which might help you shake out better at the end of the year. And with a little extra moola, who knows what you could do, right? Maybe you'll only make enough dough for the pizza (or in my case popsicles), but we all prefer life with pizza and popsicles rather than without, right?

So what are your solutions to making a little extra money for the pizza/popsicles of your life?

(Disclaimer: all photos today were chosen with abject weirdness in mind and may or may not have actual relevance to the subject. But... I do like popsicles.)

Cake. C-A-K-E. CAKE!!!!

It's my birthday again this coming week. I thought it was a good time for us to talk about The Cake.

I've been eating The Cake for a long time. I make it for my birthday every year, as I have since I was 16 and found the original recipe in one of the Salt Lake City newspapers. I try not to eat it in between. (Otherwise too many people find out about it and they whine. A lot. "When are you going to make us another cake, Marti." Bah. Whiners. Never.)

The Cake has changed since I was sixteen. The recipe has evolved. It's de-evolved. And then re-evolved and "gone foodie." And even then, it varies greatly.

There's "The Picnic Cake" which is pretty similar to "The Church Party cake." (Cool Whip. Ugh. "I'll just have a sliver. I brought this for you, anyway, right?" Right.)

There's a "Marti Doesn't know the Oven Cake" version. (See the darkly browned sides and bottom? Yeah. No!)

Also a "My Friend's Kids Are Diving In Cake" version. (There's something wonderfully "Dr. Seuss" about this particular shot, don't you think?)

There is "Dinner with College BFF and Hubs Who Are Also Foodies Cake" and as well as a "Dinner with People Who Will Eat ANYTHING" (my grade school pals in March) version.

It was spectacular watching them eat The Cake because, well, it was just so darned great to see them all again. I love a good "Happily Ever After," so having a whole room of them was swell. Just swell.

There is "Houseguests Feel The Love Cake," as modeled here by Greg. Still in his jammies. He was leaving the next day. Very little of this cake ever goes to waist. Er, waste. Freudian.

This was the "Best Family I Ever Shacked Up With Cake" version (long story involving short-term housing) which was very well received. Great lighting, eh? As if their household had some sort of inner light.

This was one of my favorites: "The Cake with Beloved College Roommate" who, after figuring out what leaving me alone in her kitchen on my birthday would mean, regularly left me alone in her kitchen on my birthday. Suh-weet!

When I started to write this post, I thought I would fit some metaphor of life into this blog. But as I got into writing it, turned out it I just like posting pictures of The Cake. Other than that, the subject of my birth is about as deep as, well, The Cake, but without the whipped cream and berries.

HELP! I've Fallen and I Can't Get Up!

I have a bit of conundrum right now and I thought I should get your advice. I'm in a sort of "Chinese Finger Trap" in my world, and struggling to get out.

A few posts back, I mentioned I was given a "second chance," and felt deeply touched by the generosity of it.

Here's where it landed me: I've become involved in a professional project where I am expected to produce something (which I very much want to produce), but so far, am unable to offer the expected results.

I should state upfront that the people who gave me this chance have been continually patient and helpful and supportive. Every question has been answered with a generosity of spirit that I've rarely seen. These people are kindness itself to me.

Part of the conundrum is that the more patient they are with my efforts, the more determined I become to succeed and the harder I try. But so far, success eludes me. Seriously, I've not been so frustrated with something in a very long time.

It's a bit like this:

I feel caught in a vise from which I desperately want to escape into the ease of reporting I've previously enjoyed. But instead, I struggle, study and practice for hours, and am trying harder than I have tried, or ever had to try, in the course of my career. And yet... I sort of stink at it.

In a "Chinese Finger Trap," the answer is to relax and let go. But so far, I've found myself unable to do that and the harder I try, whether to study or work harder or even to "let go," the more strained and painful my product seems to become. Which is not helpful.

I've often been told that one of the best parts of my work in journalism was that I made it look effortless. I've always inwardly laughed because my "effortless delivery" came from studying the material to internalize it. And then would I relax. I could relax and effortlessly talk about what I knew because I had done the due diligence and I did know it.

This latest isn't coming easily. It isn't coming with study. It hasn't arrived after hours of struggling. And not only am I frustrated, but so are those who have been so generous with their own time and efforts to help me. So...

Suggestions?

Alongside All that Fur...

The visit to Utah went well. The fur coats kept arriving, removed from the hallway in front of my apartment by an obliging neighbor until I could return home to open the boxes and air out the furs. Many of them need copious amounts of air.

They are interesting furs. Some are exactly as described: thick, luxurious and pretty in a "formerly alive" sort of way. Not something I want to sit around and "pet," but they're attractive. One felt damp; it traveled from the UK, so perhaps it came by that naturally. One is yellow; not white, as advertised. Most are more than 20 years old (with one about 70, I believe... my mother was four when that fur came to be) and all are intriguing.

Now they've been joined by... a wedding dress. And not just any wedding dress, but... well, you take a look. Here it is:



If it were featured in a catalog, this is one possible description:

"This vintage candlelight white bridal gown is hand-made of yards and yards of the finest silk duppioni fabric with a fitted bodice and features a round neckline, mutton sleeves gathered to a fitted lower sleeve, set off by lace embroidered with seed pearls at the wrist. The view from the back sets off the bride's tiny waist with a full, multi-tiered bustle bedecked with handmade (from the same silk fabric) roses."

To put it more succinctly, it's ugly, out of style and even when it was in style, it just wouldn't do. It's also a size 6 (4?), so this description applies in more ways than one.

What's it doing in my closet? When I told "Mum" about the fur coats (which are reproducing in that closet and now number 11) she said she had a wedding dress to donate to my various projects. So I returned from Utah with a wedding dress, but no husband.

Mother tries so hard, but alas, that "Abra-ca-dabrah!" thing doesn't work. (Whew!)

But the dress has had a side effect. Just looking at it makes me happy, once again, that I am single.

(Editor's note: this dress was made by my mother, at the express and explicit direction of a bride who wore it, alas, to her "FIRST" wedding. Which says it all, don't you agree?)

8 Fur Coats... or Why My Folks Are Waiting at the Airport

People who ask "when did you last visited your parents" often get the Stink Eye from me. I don't like their inquisitive tone as I am a person who has long believed in asking but not answering personal questions. It's the nature of my profession and I follow that tradition religiously.

And I remind them that people who don't have steady income streams are wise in not spending small bits of discretionary income on elective long distance trips.

"Bad choices and lack of discipline are the things that have put this country where it is," I say loftily, "which is painted into a corner."

My parents understand my fiscal theories. Who do you think taught me the dratted frugality that has kept me out of trouble for all these months?

So while I've had a lot of time on my hands in the last couple of years, I haven't spent much of it in airports. Or Western states.

But last week, I got news that means I will soon have MORE discretionary funds and LESS discretionary time. In fact, I'll work a lot of 7 day weeks. Sounds about right. It never rains, but it pours.

And after digesting this news for a bit, I suddenly thought "Ah, well, perhaps I'll use this time to go visit the folks."

Except that somewhere between here and there, I bought 8 fur coats. (Maybe 9 by 24 hours from now, but that one won't figure in)

It sounds like a bad movie title, doesn't it? "Eight Fur Coats." I bet I could write that movie's plot and script in an airport over the next weekend. And it'd fit right in with the rest of my life. But let me explain.

I had this idea for something I wanted to make. Have you noticed that I don't do things in small ways? Perhaps you don't recall the year I decided to import and sell pet iguanas as Christmas gifts out of my second bedroom in Omaha? The time I went to an auction and came home with jewelry so substantial that I was forced into a sit-down with an insurance agent? (yawn) Or even a couple of years ago when I bought "a few cigar boxes" at a yard sale and then went back for the rest of them the next day? (Yes, I do have 223 cigar boxes in a storage locker in Los Angeles. Why do you ask?)

The point is, when I get an idea that I want to toy with, I go long. I go large. I go admittedly... overboard. I don't do "small."

Now I had this idea and needed some fur. I looked on ebay.com.

There's a certain charm to the photo above, don't you agree? The pose alone was worth the price. It was my first purchase: a 1940's muskrat cape. The price was incredibly low (70 years old... ya think?) and it reminded me of an episode of The Beverly Hillbillies with someone named "Rudy Vallee" who wore a muskrat coat, in keeping with the college boy fashion of the era. Shoot, the auction itself was entertaining than most other things. Of course I bought it!

Then I bought this long-haired mahogany mink. Isn't that the prettiest thing you've seen in awhile? It's coming all the way from the UK and is the coat for which I paid the highest price.

I think it as the way the light hit it from the side. I had this image of myself, floating down a long staircase, bathed in candlelight.

Ha! No I didn't. I don't intend to wear any of these. And if you're environmentally sensitive, please know that no minks (which are nasty mean-tempered rodents, by the way) were killed in the making of my craft project. These rodents are LONG DEAD. I'm buying a lot of used fur, so you may feel free to view this as my own personal "recycling project."

(If that doesn't make you feel better, keep in mind, I grew up on a farm. They're all rodents to me, including the bunnies I cuddled, raised and ate as a child. That's right. I'm not vegan.)

To be honest, in many of these cases, I consider that I'm doing the world a favor, dissecting some of the most unattractive coats imaginable. Seriously, this is an UG-LEE coat.

Anyway, I bought. And bought. And bought. Until I felt quite certain I could have a lot of fun with my project. A lot of variety to keep my interest going. Variety is the spice of life, right? Altogether, I've spent about $330, including insurance and shipping.

It's been fun. Only one problem. About the time I got over the rush of "new job!" and realized I was going to be seriously busy for the first time in a long time, I realized I should go visit the folks next week. Except that I have eight fur coats rolling in my door, most expect to arrive next week.

I also don't want the neighbors to suspect anything.

So far, all they've seen coming and going are things in Goodwill bags and large packages of tofu and salad from Costco. The poverty period has been interesting but I haven't been rolling in the dough. Or furs. Until now.

And now I'm going to be rolling in fur. (I'm considering a "cash and furs scene" like the one in "Indecent Proposal" for my movie script. Yes?)

So please, give it some thought. I could use a suggestion or three. What to do about a week of fur coat deliveries in absentia?

A New Day at The New York Times

24 hours and counting.

On Monday afternoon at 2pm EST, The New York Times website will institute a paywall. They explained it all in a recent "Letter to Readers." They will start requiring readers to pay for their product. And journalists everywhere will breathe quietly, listening to hear the response.

For about ten years now, The New York Times and a lot of other news outlets that used to make a living by selling subscription service have been giving their work away for free. They tried to attract site traffic and utilize it. They tried to get by putting up advertisements. They've done small ads on the side. They've done huge pop-ups that scroll down to fill the page. They've put up video commercials before multi-media presentations. Somewhere in here, the bottom fell out of the classified section. It was killed by craigslist.org.

The paper also had huge cut-backs. They let a lot of incredibly talented people go. They hired writers and reporters who professionally were at what should have still been the learning part of their careers instead of being hard-headed scrappers at the peak of their careers. I give those newbies a lot of credit. The quality didn't drop off as consistently as say, The Washington Post, which is an embarrassing shadow of what it used to be. But the losses are noted. And they were emblematic of a situation in newsrooms everywhere. Some newspapers didn't survive.

So March 28 begins a new era. When you think about whether to begin paying for your news, keep in mind that you paid for it until a few years ago. Your parents paid for it. And in this case, you get what you pay for.

I remember about 18 months ago, saying to a news executive "What I don't get is... since it's obvious the newspapers and Associated Press can't make it without charging, why don't they put up the paywall and stop giving it away for free?"

He said, "It's too late, Marti. They've already jumped off the cliff." (Sidenote: non-creative thinkers excel in management except when creative solutions and strategies are needed. Exception: journalism.)

At the time, I shook my head and said "Just because you jump off the cliff doesn't mean you can't go to the hospital."

Congratulations NYTimes.com. I'll come to your blood drive.

Best Gift... Ever

I just got what is possibly the best give one person can give another: a second chance.

Think about it. It's sometimes hard to get a first chance. To get a second? Really? Boggles the mind in today's culture, doesn't it?

I can't really explain much more about the chance I was given. It's a matter of discretion to the giver. I'm not embarrassed that I needed a second chance. (Probably ought to be, but I've been in media too long. I have little shame left.) To be honest, I was absolutely stunned at what I was given. I'm getting a second chance from someone who is a relative stranger. I'm stunned by the kindness and, considering that I'm hoping to form an ongoing professional relationship with this person, it speaks loads to me about how desirable involvement with such a person would be in my life.

I've always thought the best gifts were homemade, but sometimes, they can leave you speechless.