Inheritance of the Lost

First of all, Miss Cheapist is so happy that Obama was elected the 44^th President of the United States. She will take a tremendous risk and say that her faith in democracy is restored, and she looks to the future reconnected with her own past idealism. The news of his victory also marked the end of her two- month long period of writer’s block, and she was finally able to finish this post.

With the stock market seeming to fall to the same odds as tugging the slot machines in AC and the profitability of real estate debunked, Miss Cheapist feels more confidently than ever that inheriting money is the only reliable way to get rich. However, acceptance of family money can also bring with it certain obligations and complicity, and as a result, cannot be over-analyzed or relied upon. If anything, the current financial crisis confirms that being really rich requires the exploitation of others, in effect, rendering all big money (old or new) somewhat dirty. Regardless, family money always will be highly valued and worth discussing because its influence (and absence) remains with us always; it begins with childhood narratives, evolves into adult hang-ups and with time, shapes retirement realities.

Miss Cheapist has noticed that in every family, children are given a certain message about money. More often than not, it is shrouded in mystery, and parents present themselves as either richer or poorer than they really are, with the hopes that it will cultivate a certain work ethic in their child. Those who fear that their children will become spoiled may lecture about how they must struggle to carve out a middle class existence and can still barely afford anything; all the while hiding the truth that they are indeed the ‘millionaires next door.’ Such parents promote anti-materialism and austerity plans, even charging market-value rent when a 30-something moves back home. Others, fearing their children will become anxious among peers with more spending power, reassure them that the coffers are well maintained, buy everything that “other kids have,” and promise that money will flow freely for generations to come—even when such security may not really exist. As time passes, new messages about money can emerge, depending upon what seems to motivate the descendant. Money is only doled out as an incentive or reward, while for others, the lesson of doing things just for the sake of contributing is emphasized, and as a result, material rewards are withheld. Some self-made parents may simply create distance between their own wealth and that of their children, taking greater pride in the possibility that their own tenacity and “tough love” will create another generation of Horatio Algers, and not complacent pleasure seeking parasites of the trust fund ilk. To Miss Cheapist, these are all different versions of the same mind-fuck that persists in the parent-child relationship, where control trumps all else, even when tinged with good intentions. Perhaps in a Part II installation of this post, she can bore you with various anecdotes about family money and the lessons learned--from Tori Spelling to her own peers who have inherited money as a result of family tragedy, the stories are far too extensive to tell here.

While an elite group of Gordon Geckos and their reptiles in training have sacked the country with 700 billion plus dollars of bad investments, the rest of us must wait helplessly to witness the true impact of this nasty “correction.” Is this really what we wanted? Will New York become affordable for ordinary working people, or does our reliance on these scions of industry now force us to tumble down with them? Will socialism reign supreme? Sadly it seems that the classes are so economically intertwined that a sort of family drama is playing itself out on a national scale: the fallen paternal figure and a second generation that must suffer the consequences. Seems many of us have become infantilized by the paternal negligence of a free market, and as we outgrow our illusion of rugged individualism, it’s very possible that our collective inheritance will drift even farther from reach.

On Hiding Privilege

Old School Hall at Punahou: to deny or embrace?

To the disappointment of those who believe that economic difference trumps all other identities, race and gender continue to define the Presidential race. Yet discussions of whether or not America ready for a Black President, or if a female candidate will promote the best interests of women only offer opportunities for speculation and delusional spurts of optimism. It seems that many Americans want a President who inspires their trust¸ and since no one wants to explicitly talk about race or age, questions about Obama and McCain’s class backgrounds surround both campaigns. Both have been called out for being too privileged to understand that ambiguous demographic of the “average American,” group becoming more important to woo as the economy speeds south.

Obama’s so-called ‘out-of touch’ comments about ‘bitter, gun-loving,’ working class white people were assumed to be a reflection of his elite education and lack of experience. McCain’s resume includes an heiress wife, a decorated naval family, and so many homes that he can’t keep count. McCain even had to placate voters with an absurd announcement of his own victim-hood: “Once I did not even have a kitchen table!” Obama represents his prep school experience in Hawaii as one where he was one of the only African-American males there, and instead of his education at Punahou being something that made him a member of an elite group, it helped form his racial identity where in the future, he could empathize with those who felt marginalized in society.

In spite of the fact that Obama has ignited a movement of people who were previously disenchanted with the system, as well as millions of others from many different backgrounds, politics and the social climate of this country demands that he play down his intelligence and access to education. Unfortunately this is a pressure that many minorities feel they must submit to in order to fit in, both on the playground and professionally. This is not an experience limited to minorities—after all, some twenty-somethings with trust funds adopt the urban vernacular for street ‘cred and volunteer in the third world to shed the stigma of a sheltered, privileged existence. Unfortunately, this habit of understating ones ability and fortune seems to have more negative effects for men of color, and for Obama, who is always seen as an exception to any norm, his privilege offers him contradictory liabilities and opportunities. That he has the resources to play down puts him on an even playing field with elite men like McCain, Bush and Gore, as his credentials help him to be perceived as “Presidential.” As a result, Miss Cheapist, in her novice attempt at punditry, would say it’s not worth it for him to be too humble…while being relatively new to the game works to his advantage, so does the experience that preceded this moment. Recently Miss Cheapist overheard an undecided woman voter stating what many are afraid to utter: “I know I should vote for Obama. Obviously he’s qualified because of he went to Punahou and Harvard, but I don’t know if I want to risk it.” While George Bush was somehow able to mask his genteel background and Andover education with a contrived Southern “folksiness,” Obama, and probably McCain as well, has to cultivate a different type of class identity that appeals those who, for whatever reason, find them out of touch. Fortunately, Obama, with his mixed race and cultural background, as well as his years as a community organizer, has earned a reputation of objectivity; a listener willing to look at new solutions. Ironically, this ability to see things from different points of view seems to come from being in the greatest position of privilege possible, something difficult and unnecessary to disguise.

Miss Cheapist takes in the campus.

Finally, it’s important to mention that downplaying the Punahou prep school experience is something shared by many alum, political hopefuls and otherwise. Whenever Miss Cheapist told others in Hawaii that she attended the elite institution, she was disdainfully mocked for attending the “rich white school,” and assumed to be a snob. She would hesitate to tell people where she went to school for fear that she would be pre-judged, or worse yet, harrassed. At the age of 16, her own driving teacher commented to her that the reason she failed the driving test three times was she was unable to “come down to our level, honey,” rather than a lack of comfort on the road. Even as an adult, it was assumed that she was unable to relate to others simply because she had the chance to attend an incredible school that boasted an Olympic swimming pool, a glass-blowing lab, fourteen tennis courts and Ivy League college placement. Yes, of course her schooling made her a snob who believed she deserved it all, but at the same time, she appreciated the opportunity she gained. She later came to learn that where you went to school is as random as what family you were born into, and really depended on what you made of your education. But humility does not require deception. An education is nothing to hide, especially for someone who does not have a legacy to fall back on, and needs all the help she can get. At first Miss Cheapist gravitated toward Obama because they shared a common experience, and he seemed to really understand the complexity of identity in the 21^st century. Now she realizes it is exactly his ability to reach the majority without necessarily identifying with them that made him so special.

In search of six figures

a spread of appetizers for dinner party discussed below

Recently, at a dinner party where everyone was drunk and well-fed enough to share a series of glib confessions, Miss Cheapist announced, “My goal is to make six figures.” Silence fell over the table, then laughter, until one of her friends, also a colleague, responded, “What are you going to do, sell crack to your students?” Readers, you know Miss Cheapist works in a humble profession—teaching—where few imagine room for growth or prosperity. Yes, some make more when they enter the tedium of administrative work, but they claim do it for a higher purpose, and not for the love of money. How telling that he felt she could only earn six figures as a drug dealer. Was this how he viewed Miss Cheapist’s potential as an individual, or did it reflect his low expectations for himself and others working in the same field? As guilt pervades the not-for-profit sector, Miss Cheapist often received the message that to truly serve others, she must abandon any dreams of adequate compensation. After being a seasoned professional, Miss Cheapist refuses to buy that argument. Although she too was once paralyzed with class guilt, “entitlement role models” taught her that in order to help others, she could not go cheap on herself.

One such role model was Miss Cheapist’s friend, L., who worked with her at a previous job as a fund-raiser. On the job, L. referred often to her marketing background, wielding her Microsoft Office chops and her ability to translate corporate vernacular into a lingo of not-for-profit self-improvement with great confidence and charm. But L.’s most inspiring achievement took place before she even started. Recognizing that she was accustomed to a particular standard of living, and aware of her own self worth, L. negotiated a salary that was higher than anyone else who worked at the organization, aside from the boss himself. At that time, it was a mere $46,000, but as not-for-profit workers are made aware of the fact that their salaries are the product of donations and as a result must hover below market rate, the amount, when leaked, made her the subject of great envy and distrust. Miss Cheapist was initially miffed by L.’s aggressive self advocacy because it seemed to devalue her own achievements, but over time, L.’s relentless work ethic and generous spirit won her over. Moreover, she realized that L.’s brave negotiation set the bar higher for everyone else at the job to be paid more.

In making L. an ally, Miss Cheapist learned a valuable lesson about the workplace: if you are effective and work hard, you should be able to ask for what you want. Many avoid demanding more from the workplace because they fear it will lead to employer harassment or jealousy from peers, and quickly they end up feeling bitter and exploited, unable to stand up for themselves. Ironically, although L. was able to secure her salary, her boss never let her forget how privileged she was to receive that amount, often accusing her of being too “corporate” and out of touch with the mission of the organization. It's six years later, and she has left that job, now holding a Master’s Degree and lucrative job offer abroad. Although nobody’s life is perfect, her trajectory offers important lessons for all. If your boss begrudges you a desired salary, your future with him/her is probably limited. Ask and you might get more: have your requests be denied and receive a little more information about how the job may be unsuitable for the long term. So many organizations, not-for- profit and otherwise, seem to suffer from huge turnover when workers feel their ambition subtly stifled and requests made for an improved work place unreasonably dismissed. More importantly, how can someone help others if they are constantly worried about money? Inevitably, corners will be cut, and people burn out.

Miss Cheapist is still brainstorming ways to reach her goal. Her own mother recently emailed her in a business-like manner, noting that as Miss Cheapist has yet to "make it," she should not feel entitled to any of the objects from her family home. Make your own money first, then ask your parents for help (because you won't really need it) was the official message of self-made, tough love. Since her mother is obviously the best arbiter of reality, Miss Cheapist feels even more motivated to apply herself, and come up with a get-rich-quick scheme. Perhaps by adding greater specificity to her ambitions, she will finally arrive. If you have a formula for success, please feel free to comment and offer details on the sacrifices and caveats found along the path to wealth. In the past year we have discussed downward mobility, fantasies and secrets (see past posts if just tuning in now). A relationship between all these themes is slowly emerging. But is Miss Cheapist moving in the right direction?

Miss Cheapist and even cheaper sister

Sister Cheapist taking the ocean breezes of Venice Beach, CA

Miss Cheapist received the news in May that her sister, A., planned to move to Lost Angeles after the summer to pursue a degree in architecture, abandoning her lucrative job as a software consultant for something more artistic. A.’s pending departure marked the year anniversary of the blog (which was inspired by the Virginia suburb that she called home, as well as her frugal spending habits), and also reflected the general themes of East Coast abandonment that served as the subtext for Miss Cheapist’s regular musings. Given that everyone else found a better life in California, why wouldn’t A.? Who could resist its still developing cultural landscape, coastal modernism, and the chance to sight celebrities? When the feeling of being the remaining survivor after a nuclear holocaust gave way to quiet acceptance, Miss Cheapist went south to help her sister pack and move. In that experience, she learned quickly that her interpretation of cheapism was generational, as her sister lived in a realm simply known as “cheap.” Anxious that becoming a full-time graduate student would leave her a pauper, A. practiced a risky approach to cheapness, gambling in the world of Craigslist commerce.

Sister, cousin and Miss Cheapist (left to right) in the early 90s . All following pictures are of items sold online and photographed by A.

Miss Cheapist always thought of Craigslist as a place inhabited by amateur and seasoned child prostitutes, wanna-bes and their greatest fans. As many of her teenage students marketed themselves and found inappropriate friends through this medium, her assessment of the site fell just right of Nancy Reagan. For the less deviant, Craigslist is better known as a clearing-house for “stuff,” obviously a front for its greater purpose of bartering and subjugating bodies (to crudely borrow from postmodernism). What a great way for axe murderers to seduce twenty-somethings with limited budgets and expensive tastes: advertise a stylish piece of furniture and invite Net-faithful young’ uns to ones lair under a “cash and carry" policy. Or better yet, troll the site for college co-eds looking to sell their belongings online…and then access to their homes with little suspicion. But don't worry. Miss Cheapist is malleable. Those who see Craigslist as a rebellion against the retail industrial complex and a means of Paglia-esque female empowerment will be glad to know that through a few experiences with A., her opinion of the site did change. She came to learn:

Kind, hard-working people really need cheap stuff. The first couple to call was very persistent about a specific meeting time to view A.’s couch. Miss Cheapist saw their rigidity as an indicator that they were controlling freaks and warned her sister of confrontation if the meeting in person went sour. Please cancel, she said, and A. did not listen. When the couch coveters finally arrived, they appeared to be perfectly normal: a sweet, newly engaged South Asian couple (both architects by training) who had just moved from Texas and wanted to furnish their new life, cheaply. A., in an effort to make the situation legitimate, often asked buyers about their professions, reasons for purchasing the item and even their educational backgrounds. Perhaps it made for comforting small talk as strangers entered her home. Or maybe it was important that these beloved possessions go to people who met her approval. It turned out the couch was too expensive for the couple; they asked A. for a lower price, but she refused. Even when it seemed the couch was out of reach, they still sat and chatted for twenty minutes, the man leaving with her undergraduate duplicate packet of HBS case studies (estimated value of $100) for ten dollars. Miss Cheapist was so touched by their congeniality and humility that she almost convinced her sister to give the couch away to them. After all, they clearly deserved a prize for not being axe murderers; just average Americans pursuing a dream of cheap domesticity.

Some people take the time to give things away for free, and others are willing to go the distance to help them. One critical piece of advice Miss Cheapist gave A. was to purchase quality moving boxes. A. instead collected several odd-sized and partially deconstructed boxes from random hallways, with the intention of finding ways to “make it work.” After much insistence from Miss Cheapist, she finally sought out better boxes…by looking on Craigslist. Within minutes she found a woman who had 10-15 boxes to give away (side-note: 20-somethings really know how to use search engines). The woman just moved and was looking for someone to take away her boxes. Again, Miss Cheapist was very suspicious, and warned her sister not to allow herself to risk her life and precious packing time just to save a few dollars. A. ignored her, and Miss Cheapist reluctantly followed her sister on the fifteen minute drive to the woman’s apartment. Again, the visit was surprisingly fruitful: the woman was not an impersonator, and she had genuine intentions. She even helped to bring down some of the boxes from her fourth floor walk-up and offered a few words of advice on moving.

Some people find it difficult to buy new items at retail prices, and at the same time, they have the resources to move a three piece sectional within a moment's notice. The second couple that came to see the couch at 9:30 PM had visited other sellers that day and seemed ready to seal the deal. The woman unfolded herself into the couch and put her feet up, marking her territory. Within five minutes of saying she would take it, her brother-in-law arrived in the parking lot, ready to help carry and transport it home in a large van. A few minutes later, Miss Cheapist found herself watching “Girlfriends” reruns from the floor, while her sister fingered the $800 cash in hand. The transaction ran so smoothly that Miss Cheapist even considered selling something on-line. Unfortunately nothing of value, short of herself, came to mind.

The outcome: Based upon the spreadsheet A. created, (20-somethings are very comfortable with Excel), she was able to earn back at least 50% of what she spent on all belongings purchased in Virginia over her years of residence there. Because she kept her prices high, she was even able to make a profit on some items bought previously at a lower price on Craigslist. Winning this strange gamble between frugality and personal safety, she emerged victorious. Still in one piece, she was able to use the extra cash for the move and shed herself the burden of shipping all her possessions across the country. She did good business and learned to live more simply. Freed from attachment to her former life as a corporate stiff, she gained a chance to acquire more, in a new city. It would be only a matter of time that something caught her eye online, and she would have to get it. And the cycle of risk and reward would continue…

Secrets: Miss Cheapist will never tell...

Remember when friendships were defined by our ability to divulge everything? The sign of a true friend was someone you with whom you could unload all your secrets: vices, sexual preferences, hidden mistakes, family scandals, and all other unspeakables in between. Miss Cheapist formed an unexpected bond with a college classmate named J. after he disclosed his dirty little secret. Before that, their relationship had not extended beyond witty party banter and academic de-briefing. But one day, after a particularly charged class about “historical trauma,” J. pulled her aside and admitted that his high school research of family roots yielded the discovery of a slaveholding past, quite a source of shame given his liberal, open-minded ways and his family’s commitment to civil rights. Later he also admitted to being strangely attracted to women of color, and felt guilty about it, hoping that he wasn’t objectifying them for their “otherness.” Although there was probably no connection between the two secrets, his ability to articulate and admit both these things seemed to seal their friendship for life. Although Miss Cheapist has broken her promise in the name of online self- promotion, it’s important to note the point made here. Someone who is openly racist is completely déclassé, but someone who recognizes the contradictions of their views, and knows when to conceal, and when to share, was highly evolved. What self-awareness! The fact that they attended college in the era defined by “political-correctness” made his frankness all the more courageous.

But somewhere between elementary school and our early twenties (when Carrie and SATC brunch buddies set the norm on sharing), an unexpected discretion has taken over. Friend M. recently mentioned this culture of secrecy to Miss Cheapist, wondering how it was possible to have genuine friendships when everything from money to pregnancy seemed suddenly off-limits. In a variety of social settings, her questions meant to show sincere personal interest were received with off-putting comments and a huffy wall of silence. Did her behavior suddenly take a turn for the socially inappropriate or had people become too sensitive? If the latter is true, it seems a shame that friendships no longer require us to share our responses to life’s various passages, both celebratory and tragic. Clearly no one wants to unintentionally alienate their nearest and dearest, but Miss Cheapist suspects there is some benefit to secrecy or at least some reason for this new cheapness of candor!

To further investigate this matter, Miss Cheapist probed her friend N., who still believed in the comfort of a long phone conversation and the healing power of confessionals. Always known for her insight and her pithy one-liners, N. theorized that people are keeping secrets for a number of reasons. 1) They are making a lot of money and they don’t want one anyone to know. 2) They aren’t making money or feeling professional fulfillment and want no one to know. 3) They are desperately unhappy and are ashamed about it, either because they suspect friends will minimize their feelings or feel they are far to fortunate to be so miserable. Given all these different limitations, it is no surprise friends aren’t talking...if N. is right, somewhere between the concerns of both the blessed and the scorned, everything has become taboo! With this explanation, it’s clear that withholding is not personal, or a statement of ones trustworthiness. Instead, secrecy has become a coping mechanism, a testament to the power of denial. After all, if we don’t talk about it, it doesn’t exist. Miss Cheapist thinks something's gotta change.

The Formula for Good Fortune

Just a few months in and tragic events have revealed that the Year of the Rat has been most unlucky. Miss Cheapist finds herself reeling from deaths of two significant figures in her life, trying to make sense of seemingly unpredictable cycles of fate. Shortly after the Lunar New Year, Miss Cheapist held a small dumpling party and then set off to a vacation in Akumal, Mexico. The vacation was long awaited, and one of the few in recent years that did not require her to fulfill any obligations or accommodate the needs of others. In effect, it was the first “selfish” trip that she and her partner had taken since their nuptials two years earlier (i.e. no weddings to attend or family in attendance)…quite a luxury indeed. Not that they were complaining; the past few years had granted them great fortune: a blowout island wedding, generous support from loved ones, and several subsidized family vacations (as documented in this blog). Actually, there were moments where Miss Cheapist really didn’t believe she deserved any of it, and felt that with the excess of good fortune, there would be some kind of ‘correction,’ when the proverbial ‘other shoe would drop.’ She tried to commit a few good deeds in an effort to compensate for the footprint of indulgence that she was leaving behind. Gratuitous, yes, it seemed perfectly reasonable at the time. You see, in spite of her complaints about expensive urban life and her sense of entitlement to the accoutrements of a neo-Gilded Age NYC, Miss Cheapist secretly felt quite blessed.

So when they received the call informing them that a parent had suddenly died on their first day of the vacation, it seemed that it was their turn to experience something unimaginably unfortunate. Although the two were no strangers to unexpected deaths and familial loss, their previous streak of good luck and their unwavering desire to take a vacation on their own, as well as the eternal nature of their parents made this loss seem particularly unjust. In those first days of shock, so much was uttered in grief, and even more they feared to say out loud. It was at this time when the natural feelings of their own special-ness surfaced, the sense that bad things could not possibly happen to good people. After all, this can’t be our life.

Without organized religion or coherent faith in a higher being, it seemed that the universe was guided by a nameless cheap bastard who only doled out happiness in small servings, and decided quite arbitrarily and prematurely whose turn was next. For the believer, one might similarly wrestle with the deeper meaning of loss, and yet might find comfort in the fact that “everything happens for a reason,” that human beings do not belong to the world of the living, but instead are gifts from God, spending time on earth for a limited time to leave an imprint, but little more. And of course, there is the belief that the deceased enter a world where they feel no suffering, a place that we can’t even pay to get into.

Miss Cheapist may be entering the dangerous territory of uninformed religious interpretation, so she will pause, only to say that in a time period when faith is consumable and believers can vote with their feet, all these points of view were examined in the process of grieving. Even superstition and a curiosity about “crossing over,” were entertained. Dreams were interrogated for deeper messages from the dead, and Miss Cheapist wondered if we receive clues that our lives will be cut short. In effect, do some live larger because they know even more than others, that nothing lasts forever? Should we all just try to live excessively, and throw caution to the wind? Or is caution necessary to prevent accidents and injury? In a world that seemed so possible to control and organize, Miss Cheapist saw all the patterns recede and the equations of fate impossible to balance. Although it was just two months ago that all this happened, time stopped and stretched thin, and Miss Cheapist remained in the world of the living, wondering just what the future held.

Chinese for a Week: Happy New Year!

Today Manhattan’s Chinatown was abuzz with activity, and Miss Cheapist appreciated it all with the gaze of an Orientalist. There was nothing more satisfying than seeing her own culture as an outsider and preserving it into idealized images, frozen in time. She embraced everything: gold paper glittering from sidewalk stands, a woman carrying plum blossoms wrapped in brown paper, burnt reds of roast duck hanging from windows and customers crowding the markets in search of fresh produce for Thursday’s feast. Chortles of new year greetings rang across alleys and doorframes. Merchants even happily allowed Miss Cheapist to photograph their colorful interiors.

To beat the February blues, Miss Cheapist recommends throwing a Lunar New Year party, if only for an excuse to experience the bargains and festivity of a Chinese supermarket. Her favorite one-stop store for first-timers is "Dynasty" at the northeast corner of Hester and Grand streets. All kinds of supplies can be found here. You can also wander around the area to supplement what you buy there. For any Lunar New Year party, you can find the following items (with preparation suggestions):

Dumplings (a category unto themselves): You can buy different varieties of frozen dumplings and play them off as your own creation, or make them from scratch. The very adventurous can make their own skins; but fresh dumpling skins are found in every grocery store. Round skins are for fried/steamed dumplings (gyoza) and the square ones for won tons. Communal dumpling making is a delightful way to entertain guests, popular in China, especially in the North. You can easily find dumpling recipe online, but remember to always include these ingredients when you create the filling: white pepper (grind the peppercorns whole), Shaoxing cooking wine, a couple tablespoons of cornstarch (so the meat doesn’t become dry), green onions (minced), and Chinese dark soy sauce ("Kikkoman" will not cut it for this dish). If you don't like pork, experiment with shellfish, or ground turkey and chicken, but make sure you use lots of cornstarch and season appropriately. Go light on the sesame oil--just a few dashes will be enough.

The Sauces/Dried Goods Section:

While you are in the sauce section, pick up Japanese rice vinegar and oyster sauce to mix together for a dumpling dipping sauce, and for guests who like to prove their mettle with spicy foods, choose the funkiest hot-sauce you can find on the shelf. Many prefer the Vietnamese brand Siriacha, but Miss Cheapist likes something darker, chunkier and oilier. Other condiments to try are chive oil, peanut sauce and hoisin. In these aisles, you will find many instant marinades to experiment with as well. Each bottle is usually between $1 to $2, so it's worth it to try things out. In light of recent scares, avoid sauces made in mainland China, go for those bottled in Taiwan, Hong Kong, California or New Jersey. Read the fine print! After all, it should be in English.

Stock up on tea, and remember to serve after the meal. Miss Cheapist likes to buy tins of loose leaf oolong, jasmine and green tea. She also likes chrysanthemum tea with a touch of honey, but word on the street is bugs creep their way into the dried flower during the drying and bagging process. Drink at your own risk.

Frozen Food Section:

The scallion pancake: it's a crowd pleaser and you don’t have to make it from scratch. Pick up a frozen package, and fry in a cast iron pan or wok with generous amounts of oil. Cut into triangles with cooking shears, and use the same dumpling sauce.

Edamame/Soybeans: Although corner greengrocers north of Grand Street charge about $3.00 for a bag, you can find sacks (even the shelled variety) of these tasty morsels for at least a dollar less in Chinatown. Stock your freezer!

Sweets: Frozen mochi balls ("tong yun") with red bean or black sesame centers can be quickly boiled and served in a jasmine ginger tea broth for a delicate and surprising dessert. This section also contains Asian flavored ice creams and sorbets. Miss Cheapist likes corn and green bean popsicles, but they are hard to find. Some have stated that Chinese cuisine suffers from a paucity of quality desserts, but that is just not accurate. For more sweets, check out a Chinese bakery. Miss Cheapist likes Fay Da, a bakery with many locations in Manhattan Chinatown and Flushing. More tips on navigating a Chinese bakery later...

Meats: Some grocery stores will have small, affordable trays of thinly carved meats which can be used for a Korean BBQ dish or shabu shabu (hotpot) dinner options.

Fresh Produce: Greens and Fruits
Many different types of greens can be found in an Asian grocery store. Most have made it into mainstream Western diets, so the novelty may have worn off for readers. But to state the obvious: the bittersweet, crisp flavors of these dark veggies make wonderful additions to dishes, or can be served on their own: mustard greens, baby bok choy, gai lan (looks like a slightly larger broccoli rabe), oong choi (looks like watercress)… And don’t forget to spice up your dishes with the herbs: scallions, chives, and cilantro. All these greens are incredibly affordable in Chinatown. To prepare, Miss Cheapist's mother recommends shaving off the tough edges of the greens, chopping them into smaller pieces, and then boiling a few tablespoons water in the pan with dashes of vegetable oil and soy sauce. When the water bubbles, blanche the greens with the cover on until they are still crunchy but well done. Partway through the cooking process, add cooking wine, salt and white pepper. Remove water before everything becomes soggy.

At the end of the meal, you can also serve a medley of exotic fresh fruits such as lichee, long an (see mystery fruit in first picture), durian, fresh tangerine, persimmon or asian pear. Or just stick with an old standby--oranges, served cut against the grain, with skins intact. Fruits at the end of the meal are believed to ease digestion and cleanse the palate.

Prepared Foods:
To kick it up a notch, or to avoid cooking, buy 2 pounds each of roast duck, char siu (BBQ pork) and soy sauce chicken from the prepared foods section. This should cost you no more than $35.00 and you can serve about 20 people with these amounts.

While this guide is by no means comprehensive, it is a start. For every party, remember to decorate with red and gold, invite a diverse group of friends, and make sure everyone has enough to eat and drink! There will be no cheapness in hospitality…bad luck ah.

The Kind that Bind

At the start of a road trip from San Francisco to Los Angeles with her family over the holidays, Miss Cheapist enjoyed the intimacy of the parent/child relationship. She reveled in being able to have mature, non-judgmental conversations with her mother where “active listening” prevailed. It was initially comforting to be with someone who knew her every flaw and made sure she stayed hydrated and ate fruits and vegetables. Miss Cheapist even entertained the fantasy of moving closer to her mother, for good. But after days of zipping through long highways, dry canyons, palm-lined boulevards and broad coastlines, she unconsciously began to regress into her 15-year old self. The car walls folded in on her, and she wanted to argue, sulk, and respond defensively, even without provocation. Not even an “In-and-Out” burger along Highway 101 took the edge off as she struggled with the contradictory impulses to draw her family closer, and at the same time, pull away. All this made her wonder, is it an asset or a liability to live near those who reared us? What is our obligation to our parents as adults, and can we afford to be cheap?

According to H., a childhood friend who moved to Manhattan immediately after graduating from an unnamed Northeastern women’s college, the city is divided into two groups: A) those who stayed/moved back into the city and remain close to their parent(s) and B) those who left their hometowns with many dreams, uncertain of when they would return home and reestablish those bonds. On this same topic, H. also offered an observation about “Sex and the City,” commenting that although the show thoroughly reviewed many topics, rarely were parents and their influence on urban life explored. Why? Is family too complicated to be sexy?

Western psychoanalytic theory argues that in order to fully thrive, one must separate herself from her parents and develop an independent identity. Yet many native New Yorkers, even those who worship at the altar of analysis, still cherish those ties that bind, living in their parents’ homes (or next door), having weekly dinners, seeking advice on all major decisions, relying on familiar networks for employment, and frequenting the establishments they grew up with. To a certain extent, this loyalty and closeness is enviable; in a city that is based upon relationships and insular communities, who wants to start from ground zero all the time? The benefits of maintaining a commitment to ones family are innumerable, and those who weather the highs and lows seem to be well rewarded. On the outside, it appears that tolerating the low level buzz of dysfunction is a cost worth taking on. After all, we were probably far more annoying as teenagers.

But for many, such closeness makes it difficult to break from the conventions and expectations of childhood. Even if we experienced periods of rebellion, it becomes so easy to reinforce the past. Deep into our thirties, we wonder if we can even recognize ourselves in the thick of our own inherited prejudices and idiosyncrasies. For this reason just as many New Yorkers have left for other cities like San Francisco, Chicago, Shanghai and Buenos Aires, looking to gain space, find themselves, and put down new roots. However, is it so easy to just pick up and leave? As the years pass, there is increased responsibility to care for parents who, may become frail or just yearn for a closer connection to their children. Although many see this as a burden, there is nothing more satisfying that being able to provide for them as adults, and to have few regrets about abandonment or fears that our own children will do the same to us.

But what about Miss Cheapist? She moved away from home years ago filled with possibility of gaining greater opportunity in New York, wanting to make everyone proud of her accomplishments. With time and many transitions, Miss Cheapist discovered that one can live a morally sound, fun, and rather unexceptional life in New York, and dreams don’t easily transpire into reality. And worse, many of her native New Yorker friends do inaccurately view her as indulged in her autonomy, and belonging to a tribe of people who have temporarily settled here. Although the city, her relationship to a lifelong mate and the mission of her profession still holds great meaning for her, Miss Cheapist is always haunted by the possibility that she may be making a terrible mistake. Is she being emotionally cheap by maintaining this distance, or is she waiting to mature into someone with greater resilience, and perhaps even more needed? As she wrestles with this matter, she can’t take for granted that it is a luxury to have a happy and healthy parent. She can afford a bit of freedom, but not ingratitude. For the time being, she will remain a child.