New Uses for Trashy Things

My sister Jess went to Zambia this past month, and brought back a whole bunch of these bags.

Aren’t they gorgeous?

They’re made by the Chikumbuso Widows and Orphan’s Project, and they’re made from plastic bags.

That’s right. They’re made from garbage.

This is by far the best example of upcycling I’ve seen. In fact, ever since I realized that watering my plants with leftover pasta water made them extra-happy, I’ve been searching for similar substitutions: ways to use stuff that I’d otherwise throw out. None of my projects are as awesome as the Chikumbuso bags, but they still save stuff from landfill.

Here are some of the things I’ve found useful:

  1. Yogurt tubs and toilet-paper rolls make excellent containers for starting garden seedlings. (Toilet paper rolls are particularly useful, since they’re biodegradable — you can just plop the whole thing in your garden come spring.)
  2. Coffee grinds get rid of that lingering garlic smell on your hands after mincing a few cloves – put your morning brew’s leftovers into a margarine tub by the sink, and rub a little on your palms after you cook. Plus, grinds are excellent garden fertilizer, and many coffee shops (including my local Starbucks) give away the stuff for free.
  3. Desiccant packages (the little paper packs that come with new shoes, labeled “do not eat!”) are useful for protecting electronics from water damage while traveling. Put your cords (or camera, or small computer, or whathaveyou) in a sturdy ziplock bag, and throw in a few of these, and most disasters can be avoided.
  4. When I come to the end of a jar of mustard, I’ve learned to add balsamic vinegar, olive oil, and dried herbs right to the (unwashed) jar. The leftover mustard emulsifies the mixture into delicious salad dressing. (Here’s a recipe, but I generally just do it by feel.)
  5. Speaking of jars, it turns out that a clean, washed tomato-sauce jar is just the right size to hold the contents of a bag of chocolate chips. At this time of year, mice tend to move into our century-old house. Putting all our pantry stuff in jars and canisters prevents them from staying too long.

Apart from stuff I’ve actually done, the internet, and, it turns out, the folks sitting around the table in my mother’s kitchen, are full of other good ideas. For example:

  1. The canopy from a broken umbrella makes a great shopping bag
  2. This nifty gadget turns old gift cards into guitar picks
  3. Who needs silver polish? A neighbour taught me this trick: take some aluminum foil, put it in a pan, cover it with water, and stick your tarnished silver in the mixture. And wait. An hour or so will have your silver shining new. Since this list is about reusing trash, I suggest that you use once-used, washed foil for this job.
  4. Empty mesh onion bags, say the internet, make great potato scrubbers.
  5. I’d be failing family tradition if I didn’t include the last one: empty 1 lb coffee cans make great hair curlers. My mother’s instructions: Wash your locks before bed. Wrap strands of your wet hair around an empty can, secure with hair pins. And sleep. I don’t think she ever explained how one manages the last bit.

There is one thing, though, that foils my every upcycle attempt: bread tags. Seriously, there is nothing you can do with them. I thought I’d come across an answer when google turned up “bread tag earrings” – but this is what bread tag earrings look like. It’s not an improvement.

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Me & The Moneyless Man

I’ve been thinking about two ideas this week:

“Do the work in front of you” and “Have a low overhead.”

Sometimes you don’t want to do the work in front of you. For example, I have this blog. And mostly I don’t write in it. I get lazy. Also, my first few entries were how-to entries, and that was a bad precedent. I can’t generate lots of financial how-tos because I don’t have a lot of financial how-to knowledge. Most of the time, I’m not living with money. Most of the time, I’m improvising because I have none.

Sometimes, too, you don’t recognize the work in front of you. I’ve done a lot of complaining about job-searching lately. And two of the people I complained to would probably have offered me a job, if I’d asked them. In both cases, I realized that thirty seconds after complaining. And then I felt foolish.

The second phrase was a piece of advice to would-be writers. I forget who said it. It’s good advice. Writing won’t make you rich. Writing might not pay you at all – this blog, for example – so you should make sure you can do the least amount of joe-work possible and still cover your expenses.

My overhead is extremely low. It could get lower if I started living in a tent and dumpster-dove for food, but I don’t want to do that. This is as low as I go.

(Or nearly. I’m going to try foraging for dandelion leaves this afternoon. I’ve heard they’re tasty.)

I read a book last year about someone who did the things I don’t want to do. His name’s Mark Boyle. His book is called The Moneyless Man. He decided to try going without money for a year. And it worked so well that he decided to go without money forever.

This is a radical decision. But it’s also both of the ideas I started with. Mark’s got a low overhead. He’s got the lowest overhead. He does the work in front of him. He trades labour on an organic farm for food and a place to put his camper. He forages for food. And he participates in networks that teach skills.

He’s better at both these things than I am. But I think they’re a kind of yoga. Recognizing what needs to be done and living simply are two things we have to work at. We get better with practice.

I hope.

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Sweet Nothings

Fake ice cream is not delicious.

I was at the grocery store earlier this afternoon. I went to buy some parchment paper, because I’ve decided to follow Michael Pollan’s decree: “Eat all the junk food you want, as long as you make it yourself.”

I took my parchment paper, and pecans, and two boxes of free-after-coupon cereal, and went to the cashier. And ahead of me, there was a guy with four tubs of Breyers. He was really excited about the deal he was getting.

“Two litres of ice cream for only two dollars!” he said to the cashier. “I couldn’t believe my eyes!”

Indeed, he shouldn’t have believed his eyes. What he was buying wasn’t ice cream – it was frozen dessert.

This may not mean anything to you. It didn’t mean anything to me, either, until a survey company called me a couple of weeks ago to ask my opinion on supermarkets putting frozen dessert next to ice cream.

“Would it surprise you,” they asked, “to find out that frozen dessert was actually an edible oil product?”

Yes, it did. Also, it grossed me out.

(This isn’t true in other countries. “Frozen dessert” can be a catchphrase for ice cream, gelato, sorbet, etc. But in Canada, it means that the thing doesn’t meet the legal requirements for ice cream. Which, ew.)

I didn’t tell the guy in front of me what he was buying. I decided that it wasn’t my responsibility to make other people read the ingredients.

This is a pretty good illustration of the problem of cheap, come to think of it. Cheap doesn’t care about value, just about price. Cheap doesn’t check to see what they’re consuming – whether it’s made from oil, or sewn in a sweatshop in Thailand, or grown on a factory farm. Cheap just wants to spend as little money as possible.

And Cheap gets what they pay for. In this case, a carton of emulsified, frozen corn oil. Strawberry-flavoured.

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Living While Female

Photo by Alfred Eisenstaedt.

This morning, I sent off applications to a bunch of jobs, and then gave myself a manicure.

As I was smoothing on a no-nonsense topcoat of Essie Mademoiselle (highly recommended), I thought about the cost of being a girl.

That is, the cost of being a girl according to gender expectations.

Helpfully – or rather, not at all helpfully – I have a book that breaks it down.

In Camilla Morton’s frothy pink volume on Living While Female (actual title: How to Walk in High Heels), she lists the minimum essential grooming treatments as follows:

    Brazilian: every 2-3 weeks
    Underarms: wax every 2-3 weeks
    Legs: every 3-4 weeks (or shave as required). Note: half leg in winter, full leg in summer
    Eyebrows: treatment of your choice once a month
    Facial: every 6 weeks
    Pedicure/manicure: once a month
    Lip hair: if necessary, wax once a month

Perhaps this seems reasonable to Ms. Morton – she works as a fashion editor, so this schedule is probably de rigeour. However, for those of us who would have to pay for such services (fashion editors, you ken, generally do not), it’s less reasonable.

For example, here are some average prices for such services, here in Toronto. I figured them out by looking at the price list for salons and spas I use personally (notably, Lily Of The Valley and Haartek). I also worked as an office manager for a year at a medical aesthetics spa, and these prices are in line with the regular industry research I did during that job. Prices estimated include tax and tip.

    Brazilian: $75
    Underarms: $28
    Legs: Full: $75; Lower: $45
    Eyebrows: $25
    Facial: $130
    Manicure/Pedicure: $85
    Lip: $20

When you tot it up, according to the schedule that Morton provides, this means that you’re spending about $5600 a year on spa services. And that doesn’t include product.

Minimum essentials, my ass.

Morton’s book is a fun and frothy read, but there’s no way that list is acceptable for the average woman. Canadian census data shows that in 2000, the average income for women between the ages of 25 and 44 was $30K – before tax & deductions.

Given the other data provided (stats for 1995), it seems reasonable that the 2011 average income for women in this bracket probably hovers closer to $35K.

If that’s true, $5600 represents 16% of the cash we actually get to bring home.

I think this underlines the real problem with the fashion industry. It’s not the image of beauty they portray that’s the snake in the apple tree; no, it’s the idea that being an ideal woman is something you buy. Specifically, it’s something you MUST buy. Both male and female roles are achieved with a credit card and professional help. I’m betraying my gender by sitting at home with my $9 bottle of nail polish and a non-disposable file.

Once, when I worked at the aesthetics clinic I mentioned above, I served a woman who bought a series of 10 facials using her husband’s business credit card. She had paid $1200 for them.

“It’s so important, don’t you think?” she said, examining herself in my office mirror.

“Hmm?” I said, putting her payment through.

“It’s so important to look your best. It’s what you owe people. And I look so much better, don’t I?”

“You look happy,” I said, prevaricating.

“Do you think I look better, though?” she asked.

“You’re certainly glowing,” I said.

“Oh thank you,” she said. “I knew I needed these treatments. I knew my husband needed me to get them.”

Dear reader, that exchange made me sad. No one needs us to spend $5600 a year on grooming.

No one, except the people who make fashion magazines.

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When the going gets tough, the tough eliminate the non-essentials from their budgets

A couple months ago, I put together an emergency budget. My academic funding was set to run out by the end of April, and I wanted to have a plan in case I didn’t immediately find a second job.

Boy, am I glad I did that exercise.

It’s mid-May, and I’m still job-hunting. I’m living off of my bookstore earnings, plus the occasional sale of something on eBay and the income from a few odd jobs. (For example, I worked as a poll clerk in the recent federal election. It was quite the experience.) The resulting cashflow is manageable, just, and it means I don’t have to tap my reserves.

Some of the adjustments I made were easy. My yoga teacher doesn’t hold classes over the summer, so it was no big deal to eliminate that part of the budget. I can practice on my own for a few months.

Having a few more meatless days slims down my food budget. I’ve been much stricter about bag lunches, and so far I’ve managed to avoid dropping in to the convenience store next to my place of work for a snack.

I stopped funding the savings account earmarked for a house down-payment. While I miss having a Metropass, the weather’s nice – mostly – and nearly everything I need is within walking or biking distance. (I have, however, expanded my concept of “within walking or biking distance” to mean “anywhere that takes 45 minutes or less to get to”.)

The hard part is a pervading sense of anxiety.

It’s a little ridiculous, I know. There’s no impending doom. My bills are paid, my cupboards stocked, and my fridge is full. On top of that, I have an emergency fund, should I need it.

It’s just that there isn’t much of a margin for error. Or a margin for opportunity.

There’s a new Canadian personal finance book called Moolala, and I was flipping through it at work the other day. In it, the author asks an interesting question: What is your money for? His answer is “adventure.” After thinking about it for a couple days, my answer is “security.”

Which is why I worry.

It’s going to be fine. I’ll go put some beans to soak, and pack a slice of home-made chicken pot pie and salad for dinner at work this evening, and when I get home this evening I’ll fire off a couple of job applications.

And then I’ll stand in front of the mirror, look myself firmly in the eye, and remind myself that there’s no need to look into selling a kidney. Not yet.

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Things I’ve Stopped Buying (and you can, too!)

A few years ago, I was in the grocery store. ‘Salad dressing’ was on the list, and I was reaching for my favourite (Renee’s Sweet Onion & Poppyseed) when I looked at the price.

“Hm,” I thought. ‘Maybe I should try making this instead.”

I still love Renee’s products, and haven’t been able to perfectly replicate the Sweet Onion & Poppyseed mix (nothing tastes better on a strawberry & spinach salad).

But I also love my standard homemade dressing (3 parts olive oil, 1 part balsamic vineagar, schmear of mustard, whatever herbs you have handy). It takes 30 seconds to whip up, and I can make only the amount I need, which means it can be customized every time.

Dressing, therefore, is one of the things that I’ve (mostly) stopped buying.

Here are five others:

  1. Mailing supplies – My company recycles a huge amount of manila envelopes, padded mailers, boxes, packing paper and bubble wrap. I rescue what I need for reuse. My letter envelopes are those that charities mail me, optimistically looking for donations. I use file folder labels to cover up the printed text.
  2. Kleenex – Cloth hankies feel way better on a sore nose, and they multitask with ease – I’ve used them to clean off dirt and bike oil, as napkins, and as bandages.
  3. Silver polish – Turns out toothpaste works just as well
  4. Household cleaning supplies – Whatever Mr. Clean can do, baking powder and vinegar can do better.
  5. Pens & pencils – I’m a university student, and it is unbelievable how many writing utensils get left behind after class and in the library. I’ve got enough to see me through to graduation.

What about you, readers? What have you replaced with homemade, reuseable or free equivalents?

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Failing At My Budget – In My Pants

The title is a Vlog Brothers joke. It would be more accurate to say “failing at my budget – and at fitting in my pants.”

I’ve got a lot of side hustles. I sell stuff on Amazon, Craigslist and eBay. I complete surveys for Ipsos-Reid. And I participate in various university studies.

I’ve been doing stuff on and off for a nutrition genetics study for the last four years. They keep calling me back and asking me to do more stuff, and then they pay me, and I pay down more of my student loan.

Everyone wins. (Except when they wanted me to taste the bitterest of all bitter liquids, in which case my tastebuds lost. I still have no idea what that was. ETA: It was phenylthiocarbamide.)

Anyway, I’m writing this post because a month ago they asked me to come back and do another part of the study, and it involved taking my height and weight.

I was shocked at the results.

I’m the same height I’ve been since I was 18, but I am… not so much the same weight.

In fact, over the last year and a half, I’ve put on 20 pounds.

And I know why.

It’s a combination of my Starbucks habit, chemistry class, and taking transit.

I find chem really difficult, but I’ve had to take a lot of chemistry classes for my current degree. So I leave at the last possible minute – thus making it necessary to take transit instead of biking – and on the way in, I stop at one of the campus Starbucks’ for a peppermint mocha (which the Starbucks website tells me has 210 calories) and a piece of banana bread (a whopping 490 calories – 30% from fat).

That way, at least I have something to look forward to.

Writing it out this way makes the problems obvious, but I wasn’t conscious of what I was doing. Not until I had to stop and think about where that extra 20 pounds had come from.

So now I’m avoiding Starbucks like the plague. I’ve been waking up earlier and making breakfast (usually steel-cut oatmeal), and making my own, significantly healthier, mocha to take with me to class. Since it’s November, I don’t particularly want to break out my bike again, but I’m trying to get out one subway stop early and walk part of the way to class.

I haven’t weighed myself yet, but my clothes fit better, and there’s more cash in my bank account. Not only were those morning stops wrecking my waistline, they were putting a serious ding in my food budget.

More than anything, figuring out this particular problem has reminded me how insidious bad spending (and eating!) habits can be. It took until someone else said my weight out loud for me to realize there was a problem – even though I’d bought clothes over the last year and noticed that I’d gone up a size; even though I record everything I spend and balance my spending against a digital register daily. I’d been completely blocking it out.

I’ve got another early-morning chem class next semester. This time ‘round, I’m going to work hard at making it more enjoyable (dirty mnemonics!) and I’ll be careful not to sabotage my health or my finances because of it. Fingers crossed.

Posted in budget, food, side-hustles | Leave a comment

Making Your Own Benefit Plan

It’s been hard times in the book industry lately, and the store where I worked chose, recently, to cut its benefit plan to the bone. I saw it coming. Christmas bonus checks disappeared a few years ago, and while the RRSP match program was generous, I had always wondered how the company could afford it.

Although I miss both examples of free money, I can’t really complain. The store provides for me in many unexpected ways, far beyond my paycheque.

Here are some examples:

  1. The Lending Library My bookstore wants its staff to be well-read. The easiest way to achieve this is to let them borrow stock. As long as it returns in pristine condition, everyone wins.
  2. Packaging Every week, the store receives an enormous amount of boxes, padded envelopes, packing paper and bubble wrap. This all goes to recycling and landfill, unless staff can rescue some of it. (We also quite happily give it away for free to anyone who asks – take note!) Every time I’ve moved, I’ve taken boxes from the store to do it. And all the stuff I sell online gets wrapped in used packing paper and packaged in once-used padded mailers.
  3. Dropped cash The display bins in front of the cash register are penny magnets. For a while, I could make $10 a month by judiciously cleaning out the bins at the end of the day. (I knew the recession was in full force when this amount dwindled to nearly nothing.)
  4. Music Many of the music magazines we carry arrive with a free compilation CD. At the end of the month, unsold mags have to be sent back to the publisher – and the publisher generally doesn’t want the CDs back. I’ve discovered some of my favourite artists this way
  5. Display items We rent out the front window of our store to publishers as advertising space. Frequently, they’ll send kits of stuff for use in building displays. They never want the things back, and they’re of no use in general bookstore life, so the staff get to choose what they want. Among other things, I’ve netted a Hibachi and 6 wine glasses from dismantled displays.
  6. Promos Publishing houses are always trying to think up new ways of promoting their wares. Apart from the obvious – advance copies of books – over the years I’ve received canvas bookbags, t-shirts, waterbottles (expensive Sig reusuable ones!), a collapsible nylon grocery bag in a tiny pouch, keychains, umbrellas, Moleskine notebooks, pens and pencils, and endless sticky pads. Many of these have made excellent quirky gifts – my father, for example, loves his Captain Underpants t-shirt more than I could have guessed.
  7. Entertainment My store has a great deal with the Toronto Fringe Festival: we let them use us as a pick-up point for their (free) programs during the summer when the Fringe is on. As thanks, they send us vouchers for free tickets. Everyone wins. We also regularly get movie tickets for prescreenings from local cinema marketers. And, of course, there’s the endless parade of bizarre customer interactions (yes, I’ll cop to it – I submitted that one), which make for excellent party stories.
  8. And last but not least, the Lost And Found. We do our best to return things, when possible, but gloves, sunglasses and umbrellas pile up like no-ones business. In addition, I’ve found many, many books (why do people forget their own books while in a bookstore? I don’t know), about $300 dollars worth of (new) MAC products, a bag of plums, umpteen reading glasses, a Santa hat and a silk shawl. Both I, Better World Books, and various glasses drives have benefited.

My point here is not that working in a bookstore is so great (although I think it is!) but that every workplace has benefits – sometimes intangible – that aren’t part of your official package. They’re not always as obvious as the things I’ve listed. Frequently, companies arrange discounts with certain retailers, which you might not know about unless you ask the right person. Maybe your company buys movie or sports tickets in bulk, for employees to repurchase at a discount.

The benefits may be even more informal – who knows what skills or information your coworkers have that they might be willing to share?

As the recession drags on, it’s easy to bemoan the loss of official benefits – but the things that actually make jobs great are frequently more nebulous. Official perquisites don’t necessarily make a job bearable, but watercooler conversation about the latest (terrible) Adam Sandler movie – which you all saw for free the night before with promo tickets – might. It’s not logical, but there you have it.

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One Man’s Garbage

Last week, on my way to do the grocery shopping, I dropped by The Beer Store to return a few bottles.

When I walked in the door, the clerk was in the middle of counting the returns of the people ahead of me, an elderly Chinese couple who spoke little English. They had four push carts with them, each full of bottles, and two extra clear garbage bags, too, full of cans. The profit from their returns? Sixty-five dollars.

“Hi,” I said when I got to the register. “In contrast, I have just six bottles.”

The clerk smiled and handed me my 60 cents.

“That was quite the haul,” I said, looking out the door at the couple pushing their carts across the parking lot.

“Yep,” he said. “They must do a lot of walking. You know, they’re in here every day.”

“Weekends too?” I asked

“Every day,” he confirmed.

“I suppose if you don’t have a lot of options, it’s a good deal,” I noted. And then I left.

And then, as I walked home, I did the math.

Assuming that $65 is a normal day – and since I wasn’t there on a holiday, or the day after folks in our neighbourhood put out their recycling, it seems plausible that it was – that couple is taking home around $24K in cash a year. It probably varies. There must be days when they make up to $100 or more, and in the bitterest winter they probably bring in less.

Still, given what I saw, $24K seems reasonable. And geez, that’s nothing to sneeze at. In addition, that $24K isn’t taxable, which means that the money they made from their side hustle is the equivalent of a 30K per annum job.

Basically, they’re making the equivalent of a full-time retail job.

After I figured that out, my pity was replaced with admiration. It seems fair to say that rooting through strangers’ recycling bins is something you only do when you don’t have other options. However, this is one of those times when there’s significant profit to be made by doing something that others won’t.

One man’s garbage, another’s tax-free income.

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Relaunching this blog

I had to delete all the Living With Money files, thanks to some malware that made its way onto the site. I’m still not sure how it got here – it’s possible that there was a vulnerability in WordPress 3.0; it’s also possible that there was a vulnerability in Google Ads. In any case, I’m taking the opportunity to retool. More to come!

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