Pretty Sure I Deserve A “Wife Bonus”

"Access to your husband’s money might feel good. But it can’t buy you the power you get by being the one who earns."

The Business of Sitting on Airplanes

There is an option, sometimes, like on an airline like Delta, where you can buy "trip extras" in advance. I always buy the Wi-Fi passes ahead of time because they're $16, rather than $34 if you're buying them during your flight. For $15, you can buy a "priority boarding" pass, which allows you to be one of the first passengers on the plane, giving you early access to the overhead bins and allowing you ample time to get comfortable in your seat.

Waiting for That One Job

A few years out of college, my younger brother has been unable to find a full-time job working in early childhood education, so he has cobbled together employment with three part-time jobs: working with pre-schoolers at a private school, doing administrative work at a non-profit, and retail work. He lives at home, and the majority of his money goes to car payments, health care and student loans. "I'm trying to save, but it's hard," he told me. He was mostly at his a-few-dollars-above-minimum-wage retail job during the holidays, working early shifts in the stock room ("people buy a lot of stuff, and then they return a lot of stuff," he explained). I bought him dinner and we talked about his career prospects. "I've been looking for that one job, but it hasn't appeared yet," he said. "I'm mostly just tired."

How Our Childhood County Affects Our Future Incomes

According to new data put out by the NYT's The Upshot, kids who grow up in my home county (Lewis County) in families with average incomes end up making 8 percent more than their peers, nationwide.

The Internet as Safety Net

If I were experiencing an Accident: Personal Crisis, I would absolutely get on a crowdfunding site and ask my friends for help. It would probably be about the sixth or seventh plan down the list, after maxing out my credit cards and the rest of it, but I would ask.

The Unreachable American Dream

A recent New York Times poll found "that only 64 percent of respondents said they still believed in the American dream, the lowest result in roughly two decades."

Job Of The Day: Fake Celebrity

Want to get the celebrity treatment? Here's a job for you: go to rural China and let a real-estate developer present you as one of the famous models or actors who just happen to enjoy hanging around this brand-new property.

When Harvard Met Obamacare: A Reverse Rom-Com

Professors throughout Cambridge are outraged that the health care reform reform many of them helped champion means that, though more people will be served and protected, they might also experience slight increases in cost.

Latina Working for the Grey Lady Tells All

Awesome excerpts are available in Salon from Daisy Hernandez’s upcoming book about working at the New York Times. Spoiler alert: she did not have a great time. The hardest part was trying to negotiate a White Male workspace. “Black boys consistently do badly in school,” her editor told her at one point, when she pitched a story about racism. “It’s like it’s genetic!” 

Still, for a long time, getting her dream job meant independence, career advancement, and the kind of financial security her parents desperately wanted for her.

At the Times, people spend their days writing and then get paid every two weeks. It happens even if you disagree with Mr. Flaco or if you write a bad piece that needs tons of editing. You still get paid. So, convinced that this life can’t be mine, I insist on taking my intern paycheck to the bank every two weeks and cashing it. Each time the black teller hands me the stack of hundred dollar bills, I feel that I am real and that this is really happening to me. It is a lesson I learned from my mother.

On Fridays, if she had been paid at the factory, Tía Chuchi would take my sister and me to meet my mother at the bank, where she would be waiting on line with a check, that precious slip of paper in her hand. She would take the money from the bank teller in one swift move, as if someone was going to steal it from her, and then she would move over to the side and count the bills, slipping them into a small envelope the way she would place a pillow in a pillowcase. Those dollars were freedom. We could afford an evening meal at McDonald’s and pasteles, too.