A Wonderful, Awful Idea

It's not like I want to be a criminal. In fact, I'm not even sure that what I'm about to do is a crime...I know there's something not quite right about it, but criminal is such an ugly word. I prefer creative.

As one of the roughly 8 kajillion writer/editors to be recently downsized, I have a problem: How to pay for stuff. (You say you have this problem, too?)

With gainful employment a suddenly elusive prospect and no credit to speak of (really, I refuse to speak of it) my options are limited. Shoplift? Make wealthy friends and sponge off them? Start some sort of pyramid scheme? Last week, I considered formulating an updated version of the scam Lucy and Ethel came up with while trying to finance a trip to Europe, a faux-charity called "The Ladies Overseas Aid." Alas, in the end of the episode it turned out there really was a charity by that name which stepped in and collected all the cash Lucy and Ethel raised raffling off a television set. With my luck, those slapstick 30 minutes would wrap with cops carting me off.

And then...like the Grinch before me: I had an idea. An awful idea. I had a wonderful, awful idea. Working as a journalist, I've been scoring schwag for years, even if most of it was stuff I never wanted in the first place, like the Talking Elmo I had to review for a holiday toy article or the t-shirts with blinking neon lights all over them (I don't know how those people got my address). PR types will give you just about anything if you promise them press in return; sometimes, even the mere suggestion of publicity wins you prizes.

So what if I use my media savvy to acquire things I really want - concert tickets, non-blinking clothes, shoes, gadgets I could otherwise never afford - even if I'm not necessarily going to give said items any actual press? Not that I wouldn't love to write legit reviews all the livelong day, but, as I mentioned before, journo jobs are few and far between and freelance competition is fierce. Truly, I have no choice. I am Jean Valjean, an honest man forced to steal a loaf of bread. I am Robin Hood, taking from the rich to give to the poor (me)! I am Winona Ryder, snatching jewelry from a high-end store to "research a role."

No, forget that last one. Winona Ryder, like me, was deluded, but unlike me, was not broke.

Naturally, to prevent total destruction of my professional reputation, I'll have to adopt a pseudonym and invent a publication. ("The Ladies Overseas Press," perhaps?)

Will my demented plan work? Stay tuned...