Don’t you wish you had more quality time on YOUR hands?

What? You don’t believe us? CHECK OUT THESE ARTICLES, TRUSTAFARIANS.

In this fine piece of journalism, the Times informs us that the KIDZ in Williamsburg are having a tough time of it.

Famed for its concentration of heavily subsidized 20-something residents — also nicknamed trust-funders or trustafarians — Williamsburg is showing signs of trouble. Parents whose money helped fuel one of the city’s most radical gentrifications in recent years have stopped buying their children new luxury condos, subsidizing rents and providing cash to spend at Bedford Avenue’s boutiques and coffee houses.

And then there’s the story of the 26-year-old construction worker.

Eric Gross, 26, a construction worker, was going to buy, with help from his father, a $600,000 one-bedroom condo with city views at Northside Piers, a luxury building, he said. But his father, who works in the auto industry, said he had to reduce his contribution. “He’s pulling back the lifeline,” Mr. Gross said.

Okay, this a real what-the-fuck moment. WHAT KIND OF 26-year-old CONSTRUCTION WORKER IS BUYING A MOTHERFUCKING CONDO IN A LUXURY BUILDING IN THE BURG? Doesn’t he know that he should be writing a novel or doing some graphic design or going to grad school? Oh wait, he’s a construction worker because he’s DOING RESEARCH for his future NOVEL ABOUT CONSTRUCTION WORKERS WHO LIVE IN PENTHOUSES.

Now that the Times has adequately covered the real estate travails of rich-rich kids, let’s move on to SARTORIAL PURSUITS, aka, you’ll never guess who’s shopping at Goodwill!

GRACE BELLO clutched her prize to her chest. “This Marc Jacobs dress is making my day — I need it,” she said. At that moment, Jim DePaolis, a sales associate, raced toward her with a Diane Von Furstenberg frock in one hand and a black cocktail dress in the other…A style-struck pair, Ms. Bello, a writer, and Mr. DePaolis, who has worked for Banana Republic, might have been haunting some Manhattan citadel of chic — Jeffrey in the meatpacking district or Barneys on Madison Avenue. In fact they were in Chelsea, spelunking for treasures at the Goodwill store on West 25th Street.

So do these “chic,” “style-struck” people have jobs? Of course not! They’re unemployed, er, FUNemployed!

Buoyed by severance, savings, unemployment checks or their parents, the funemployed do not spend their days poring over job listings. They travel on the cheap for weeks. They head back to school or volunteer at the neighborhood soup kitchen. And at least till the bank account dries up, they’re content living for today.

“Living for today.” We call bullshit. These kids have no idea what they’re getting into.

But as a not-quite-grown-up, times have changed. These days, poor rich kids love nothing more than some good old-fashioned quality time with Mom and Dad.

“What’s that, Mom? You want to see The Soloist? It looks like a TERRIBLY CRAPPY movie, but I’d love to go.”

“Oh, you want to have dinner on Saturday night? Oh, sounds wonderful, I have a totally HOT DATE that I will cancel so we can dine at the Gramercy Tavern.”

Accept whatever generosity your parents bestow upon you. If they want to do your laundry, lend you their car, take you to fancy dinners, or go to a movie, DO IT. It beats sitting at home. Parents = new best friends.

We love you, Mom and Dad. Happy Mom and Pop’s Day.

dont you miss thursday nights at the [redacted]? what about bipolar bartenders (not [redacted] of course)? for all you recessionistas come join me for my birthday for $8 pitchers because lets face it, these days none of you can afford $20 vodka tonics on the lower east side.

AND:

In This Economy

Forget $15 haute cocktails

Lines of bridge and tunnelers & bouncers who rule the scene

Come celebrate my 25th with me at the dive of all dives in [redacted]. There will be cheap drinks, sandwiches and freeze dance!

You can obviously parlay this microtrend to your advantage. Say it’s your birthday, an event you haven’t celebrated since, like, college. Throw a HOUSE PARTY (actually, say it’s a HIPSTER DANCE PARTY, which will make all the jobbies feel jealous because they have their parties in shitty BARS), promise all those recessionistas CHEAP BEER, and then PRETEND THAT YOU’RE ALL OUT OF BOOZE BY THE TIME THEY GET THERE. Obliging jobbies will go to the nearest bodega and pick up an entire case of Magic Hat because that’s what they think the poor kids drink. Everyone gets drunk and has fun, and you’ve managed to celebrate another year of non-accomplishment for free. It’s win-win-win. You might even get laid, but oh wait, you sleep on a fucking ratty mattress.

So you charmed the shit out of some jobby’s girlfriend with your avant attitude and that worldly glisten in your eye and now she wants to “hang out.” But hold up broke-romeo, this business is not ready for your abstract fantasies of nudie movie watching. Even the PRK must go out on dates, and as everyone knows dates cost money. Maybe you already tried a trip to the museum, or maybe she’s just not that kind of gal (is she from Long Island? did she go to Vanderbilt?), but rest assured there are plenty of cheap dates, and  we’re not talking about cruising the LES for lonely, drunk 18-year-olds at 3am. We present PRK Dating Tip #3: Roosevelt Island.

Established in 1921 as Welfare Island, this sliver of land between midtown and Queens is the perfect spot for your PRK date.

Why: Although it’s just a stones throw away from Manhattan, no one ever goes there. Filled with a rich history of prisons, psych wards, and syphilis containment centers, the old hospital buildings are something between a tour of Scottish castles and a good ol’ scary movie–either way, a total panty-dropper.

What to do: Check out the old Octagon lunatic asylum (now luxury apartments with an art gallery in the lobby). When you are done there head down main street to the one diner/bar (Trellis, 549 Main St.) for a couple of cold ones, before taking a sunset walk down the east-river-front promenade.

How to get there: You can take a subway there, but be sure to catch the cable car back, as the sun goes down over midtown and the stars begin to twinkle over the Bronx, this ride is the perfect spot to make your move.

But you had the foresight to bring a flask!

You take out your flask and pass it around, telling everyone that this flask–monogrammed, obviously, and bought off Ebay!–belonged to your grandfather, who was some famous Salingerian New Yorky half-WASP, even though you are full-time Jewish–who gives a shit, you could be Hindu! You claim that you would go get everyone drinks, it’s just that the bar is so fucking crowded–isn’t this easier? The girls are left shaking their heads at what a classy guy you are. The bros are jealous of your seemingly endless supply of the sauce. The flask is an incredibly easy way to exude class while simultaneously–and secretly– maintaining cheapness.

As a bonus, you can put cheap, well whiskey inside and tell everyone it’s Johnny Walker Black. No one will know the difference, because all flask-alcohol tastes disgustingly similar. Just beware of bouncers, who will kick you out of the bar for bringing in outside alcohol, and of your friend’s friend Melanie, whom everyone knows has mouth-herpes.

When a PRK decides it’s time to buck up and get back to the workplace, conflicting emotions can arise. Thoughts may be troubled. Situations may be sticky. And I don’t even mean that nasty freight elevator that you take up the shared office space where your new Craigslist-found job is housed. As an Employed Ally of PRK, I thought it would behoove me to share some insights with you regarding those those first few weeks back as a cog in the good ole fashioned working wheel of America.

Disclaimer: I am 4 months back in action and still frequently harbor these thoughts.

1. While in bathroom (your 4th bathroom break of the day, just to avoid hyperventilating at your cubicle): Should I take some of these extra toilet paper rolls home with me?

2. In aforementioned claustrophobic/chinese food reeking cubicle: Free staples, too?!

3. While in cafeteria with your new work “friends”: FREE FORKS & KNIVES?? HOLY SHIT WORKING IS AWESOME!!!

4. After your 4th meeting of the day to discuss “brand initiatives”: so wait, trolling facebook and gmail for 45 minutes isn’t considered graphic design work? How else am I supposed to get inspired and free up brain space?

5. FREE LONG DISTANCE CALLING!?!?

6. Do you think I can get high from all of this white-out?

7. What’s up with Karl’s BO?

8. I wonder if Karl has a girlfriend?  Is he wearing a wedding ring or is that bro-riffic tribal jewelry?

8. Do unicorns really exist?

9. What does “brand initiative” mean?

You get the idea, my aspiringly industrious friends.  Work is hard work.  It’s confusing.  It’s larceny-inducing.  I wish you good luck.

In today’s New York Times, food writer Kim Severson brings us the latest in Poor Rich Adult technology–Dining well for less on PORK TACOS. What? A pork shoulder is only $1.60/LB? Who knew? Calling to mind the puritan chastity and frugality on which our great nation was founded, Severson manages to feed six people on a measly $50. In these times of trouble (its the recession, stupid) I’m so glad the NYT has the sort of grace and perspective blah blah. FUCK YOU. You can feed someone for $8.50? All you had to do was spend a little more than the cost of a gourmet sandwich? per person? times six? Also, lets account for all the test recipes and prep, lets account for pantries full of super expensive food writerly ingredients,  lets account for the fact that you could have taken everyone out for mexican on that budget. With these kind of economic advisers, who needs fund managers?

Bring up the RECESSION in every conversation you have. Do not allow yourself to feel out of the loop just because you don’t know what a credit default swap is: even though the RECESSION has not materially affected you – hell, YOUR life has been stagflating since you graduated college 3-7 years ago – pretend that it has. Blame your misfortunes on the RECESSION, just like everybody else.

• Your parents’ friend Mr. Friedman rudely inquires into your never-ending ‘job hunt’: “Oh, you know Mr. Friedman, things are just so tough in this RECESSION. Isn’t your [asshole] son Mikey out of work also? Looks like this RECESSION hasn’t spared anyone!”

• Your parents demand to know why you charged $50 to their credit card at CVS: “With this RECESSION, Mom and Dad, I just can’t afford regular things like cold medicine. And I’m not eligible for Medicare yet, remember?”

• An ex-girlfriend inquires as to why you, you fucking famous writer, haven’t published anything in years: “With this RECESSION, Sally, all the magazines have tragically stopped publishing. ALL OF THEM. Now I write for myself, for my art.”

• A jobby friend asks you to go to an overpriced dinner: “That’s pretty decadent in this RECESSION, don’t you think? Won’t the masses be outside Jean Georges with their pitchforks? Aren’t you SCARED of SOCIALISM and REVOLUTION? I mean, we can’t ALWAYS just tell them to fuck off and eat cake.”

• A jobby friend goes on vacation to Europe, but this time, it’s your turn to make HIM/HER feel bad: “Oh, they still have PLANES, do they? Didn’t realize anything was still going up in the air in this RECESSION.”

This can go on and on; the RECESSION EXCUSE, thank you US GUV, is suitable for any occasion. For the poor rich kid, the RECESSION is the cure-all, the great equalizer, the great democratizer, the last beacon of hope in a world beyond repair. And fuck you Sally, I hope Goldman goes under and you lose your fucking job FOREVER.

Jobby types are always saying “time is money, dammit steve, TIME IS MONEY!” or some such bullshit. Maybe in a world where you are paid $400/hour to read emails or whatever it is those people do when they are “at the office” time is money, but for the PRK time is mostly, well, time. So while expensing sushi actually makes sense if you are planning to spend the next three hours earning $1200 to read Bloomberg, snort blow, and masturbate in the handicap bathroom, the PRK must find other solutions for dinner. Fear not, in a world where time is absolutely meaningless…fuck it: this shit will take a while, but it is super cheap and way delicious.

THE PRK ROAST PORK TACO:

1/2 pork butt/shoulder — $3.79

this is sold at fancy butcher shops as pork butt, but at the Bravo supermarket on 128th and St. Nicholas its labeled plainly as pork shoulder and sells for $1.69/lb.

Olive oil — $0.15

Though not generally considered cheap, you rarely need very much. Like Vogue Magazine might say about an absurdly priced YSL bag — consider some decent oil an investment piece.

2 carrots –  $0.10

1 onion — negligible

2 cups old wine/1 half-drunk Presidente — $0.65–$1.75.

two cups of wine may seem like an expense until I tell you that super cheep wine is not only OK, but will actually be great, because all the extra sugar will work wonders on your cut. Half a beer is a) cheep b) the second half is a little gift to yourself for being so diligent.

1 bay leaf –  $0.06

If you are anything like us, your roommate bought a huge box of these for some notion that may or may not have panned out. And no one minds you taking one of their bay leaves because no one can imagine going through an entire box of bay leaves. They really up-sell you on that, don’t they?

1 glug apple cider vinegar — $0.06

1 tbsp chilli black bean paste –  $0.12

Admittedly an odd thing to have in your fridge–and I would only use this if I already had some–but I highly recommend keeping some around. You can get it all over Chinatown and it can do wonders on nights when your fridge and cupboards are looking particularly empty.

2 tbsp tomato paste — $0.06

Learning how to keep stuff in your fridge is a good skill that keeps on giving, teach a man to fish and all that. You can buy tomato paste in big cans and save it in a plastic take-away container for over a month.

salt and pepper — if you dont have salt and pepper, then this recipe may not be for you.

tap water.

small corn tortillas — 20 for $0.75
TOTAL: $5.99

On the stove top, in a dutch oven or any pot that can go both on the stove and in the oven, heat up the olive oil just until it starts to smoke. Put in the pork fat side down and toast until the skin starts to brown and crackle. Deglaze the pan with wine/beer, meaning pour in the alcohol and scrape the sides of the pot so that all crispy meat bits end up in the broth.

Meanwhile, preheat your oven to 275 degrees.

Dice carrots and onions, and add the rest of the ingredients to the pot. Fill the pot with water until the roast is covered about 3/4. Make sure at this point that the fat/skin side is up. place the lid on the pot and place the whole kit into the oven. SET IT AND FORGET IT. Every now and again check on it, flipping the roast over, every couple of hours. Do this for 3 to 7 hours. As a PRK this should be no problem because most likely you are at home working or just plain avoiding spending any money.

When the meat is done braising (touch it, it should be getting soft) put the shoulder, fat side up, into a roasting pan and place back in the oven, basting with the braising liquid as the broth slowly becomes gravy on the stove. If you don’t have the time to do this all at once, its fine to stop and start again, especially in between the braising and the roasting. At this temperature, with constant basting the meat can cook almost indefinitely.

When the meat is so tender that it starts to fall off the bone, its done. Take a fork and knife to the roast and pull it apart, place a few ladles (there won’t be much more left after its cooked down) the gravy liquid over the pulled meat. Your done! Keep this in a Tupperware, it can be heated up by the spoonful in a frying pan, but definitely try at least one taco when it first comes out the oven.

Place your small tortilla directly over the flame on your oven or toast in  small frying pan. Fill with pork and gravy — dont ignore the fat and skin, but a little bit goes a long way.

For $0.30 per you have just made a perfectly cooked pork taco. For an extra treat and a dime added, fry up an egg-over-medium, throw it in and call it breakfast.

So you’ve spent all winter hibernating and now it’s spring/summer and it’s your birthday and your parents, so proud of their son/daughter for thinking about graduate school, bestow upon you presents. And there you have it: $250-$400 of disposable moneys!

What to do with this windfall? It’s not enough cash to upgrade your lifestyle – you can’t pick up and move to a nice apartment, and you’d feel weird going to to nice restaurants for like two-three weeks and then suddenly being poor again. But you do need a break: the stress of being a writer or a graphic artist is really getting to you. It’s time to expand your horizons through travel.

VACATION!

You buy a ticket to visit another Poor Rich Kid friend who’s opened up a PRK chapter in Buffalo or Chicago or Portland. You hop on a plane and then sit around your friend’s place for a week doing nothing. You commiserate about life. If you’re feeling ambitious, you might go to a museum. Then you fly back.

Back at home, you can tell all your jobby friends who went to Europe or South America that really, the good old U.S. of A. is where it’s at. I mean, the Art Institute of Chicago is fantastic! Portland has a thriving restaurant scene! Buffalo has such a gritty charm! It was just so nice, well, to get away from it all.

QUIT BOTHERING ME ABOUT WRITING IN ALL CAPS.  I’M WORKING ON THIS VERY IMPORTANT EXCEL SPREADSHEET AND CANNOT BE HASSLED WITH SWITCHING BACK TO LOWERCASE.  DEAL WITH IT. YOU’RE PROBABLY JUST LOOKING AT INTERNET PORN OR SELLING SOMETHING ON CRAIGSLIST ANYWAY.  GET A JOB, JERK.

LOVE,

YOU KNOW WHO

Scarface says, “First you get the drugs, then you get the money, then you get the woman.” While this is generally how it works, in these times you really don’t want to be depending on a game that requires SURPRISE trips to Dubai or diamond tennis bracelets “just because you’re looking so pretty today, honey.”

And you definitely don’t want to end up like the emasculated type-A exes of these ladies.

Now you might think: “This is all well and good once she ‘gets to know’ the real me, but what about the pick up? Isn’t that all roses and paying for drinks?” Fear not: we at PRK have developed a patented technology that will have her saying “what’s a birthday present” in no time.

First: never let on that you feel bad about being a broke, jobless, loser (mostly because you don’t). Here, just a touch of condescension is everything. Some hot-shot starts talking about how much he loves “making money” you come out blazing with some high-brow crap like “the intrinsic value of what you do” and ask this D-BAG squarely, and in FRONT OF EVERYBODY, if he feels like his job means anything. This works great especially if you have already put yourself on a PRK career path like “Graphic Design” or “Being a writer.” So you come out looking like an asshole, but then you pull her aside and whisper, “I just think we should all be making a difference” and she looks up all doe-eyed thinking to herself, “How lucky I am to be talking to such a magical SHAMAN of the new economy.” Game, set, match.

The New York Times

The first chapter of the Times’ tripartite saga is about a young blue-blood named Caitlin Macy, who became a writer to “pay off debts to her parents and buy a car.” Hers is a harrowing story of generations of downward mobility:

She went through boarding school (Kent) and college (Yale) on “deep financial aid,” as she put it; her grandfather was a blue blood who dissipated a family fortune among his four wives. Her husband has been let go abruptly from high-profile jobs at J. P. Morgan and a hedge fund in London. And two years ago, when it was time to send their older daughter to kindergarten, she did not get into any of the private schools to which they had applied (Brearley, Spence, Chapin)

“It was brutal,” Ms. Macy said in an interview in the Upper East Side apartment she shares with her husband and two daughters. “We did not go through the process particularly well. We didn’t write the letters that everyone is supposed to write, telling the schools how much our child would love to go there. We had some notion that we were well-educated people with interesting careers, and that would come through.”

If only you’d have been a graphic designer or gone to graduate school or been a writer who didn’t actually publish, your kids might have gotten into Brearley (spoiler alert: if you read the entire article, you will find out, apropos of nothing, that Macy’s husband has an enormous penis, which we suppose is still something of a commodity in a down economy). But you just didn’t know how to play the game, sucka.

Meanwhile, uptown, Samantha was getting her nails done while Mr. Big was crashing the markets… WRONG STORY, NYTIMES…. We digress… Here’s the second installment of the day, or “I’m so poor I can’t afford private school anymore!“

Tuition next year at Grace Church School in Manhattan, which gives aid to 19 percent of its 417 students, will be $31,000. The school will give more aid next year: So far, about a dozen more families hit by the economy have asked for help. A few just need some unaccustomed advice about how to put their houses in order — or on the market, if it’s a second or third home.

“We’ll say, ‘You can’t really go to Vail this year and ask for financial aid,’ ” said George Davison, the head of Grace Church. “And they look surprised and say, ‘But we already paid for the tickets!’ ”

Ms. Hall, a corporate counsel, began ducking the school’s calls. Where was her deposit toward the $22,000 tuition? The school had an eager waiting list. Her son, 4, knew the answer: “I can’t go here next year because Mommy didn’t get a big enough bonus.”

“Mommy didn’t get a big enough bonus,” huh? Looks like us poor rich kids won’t be hanging out with you anytime soon, now that you’ve sold your homes and all. No potlucks in the Hamptons, friends! Why bother with private school if you can’t even winter in Vail?

And then there’s the whole trend of unemployed 60-year-old hipsters/people we actually feel bad for cruising for “work.” Looks like they may as well stay at home and bitch with those terrible, terrible Macys about how “brutal” it is to not get their kids into Brearley!

The unemployment rate for adults age 55 and older was 5.2 percent in January 2009, the highest since July 1992; 1.7 million adults 55 and older were unemployed, almost twice as many as in November 2007.When Ms. Johnson started organizing job fairs in 1999, the majority attending were recent college grads and a lot were looking for advice on how to climb the corporate ladder, ask for a raise, start a business. Now, she said, the majority are baby boomers or older and they just want to work again.

Looks like it’s time for that old post-BAC.

At this rate, by mid-2010, the struggling Times will have succesfully transformed itself into a popular blog called Poor Rich Adults.

So the rich-rich are constantly saying things like “I just took a vacation.” What, to where? What are you talking about. While the Poor-Rich are often jealous of the JOBS held by their Jobby friends, it is really their leisure time that we’re after. This is why every Poor Rich Kid keeps a list of FRIENDS WITH LEISURE HOMES.

It is one of those open secrets that people with cool vacation houses have more friends. Why? Because in all reality a vacation house is only as good as the fascinating and, in the best case, envious guests you can fill it with “for the weekend” and, in the great biological scheme of symbiosis, a rich friend is only as good as the piteous scraps of luxury you can scrounge from their glorious and glamorous wake.

So Jason is sort of a dick and fingered your girlfriend TWICE in college. Who gives a shit, he has this sweet spread in VERMONT right on the slope.

So Leonora is way less pretty than she thinks and is always talking about her haircut? Big EFFING DEAL, her house in the Long Island is totally worth it. And you both know it.

If played right, every winter, spring, summer, and fall you too will be able to say shit like “I was just in the Hamptons.” But be careful, nothing in life is really free, so mind the hidden charges. These can be: “throwing down for groceries” which will always include stupid bullshit like kobe beef hamburger meat and “the good” mayonnaise, or the even more annoying “So my parents bought all these groceries do you think you guys can get the booze?” The list goes on so try to avoid the houses of someone who might just spring for a hand carved ice-luge and ask everyone to chip in!