It’s become pretty in vogue these days to rant about the cornucopia of failures and shortcomings of the American capitalist system of the late ’90s that has led us to the circumstances in which we now find ourselves. Rejoice though, right-wingers and twelve year-old girls, because in this time of economic disparity, our peers on the Slope Day Programming Board have decided to illuminate, in all its scantily clad glory, the wonders of capitalism: the Pussycat Dolls are coming to Cornell.

Since the economy has gone down faster than Jenna Jameson at “Action!,” for many students, the meaning of “The Gap Year” has changed from the title of a potential khaki-zombie film about the year-long attempt of a few brave leather-clad heroes to stave off an epidemic of cable knit sweaters of various, yet still somehow generic muted hues — to the potential horrifying reality of 365 days spent finding a passion, a job, an income, and — dear God, no, anything but that — an understanding of “yourself.”

As incoming provost Kent Fuchs begins his transition to his new post I call upon him to consider a new graduation requirement for seniors: a workshop in personal finance. The changing of the guard at the University’s highest academic office offers a unique opportunity for Cornell to become a leader among its peer institutions by educating its students in not only the writings of philosophers, the theories of physicists, or the greatest works of artists and architects, but also in pertinent subjects such as credit card debt, mortgages, and saving for retirement.

Nothing makes me feel more like a failed sexual predator than the interview process. I first discover this cute little business on Careernet, the Match.com of the desperate and jobless. Her description catches my eye with words like, “exciting,” “experienced,” and “willing to take any major” (you saucy minx, I know what that means). After exchanging a couple emails explicitly describing how my past experience has prepared me to fulfill her every need and each secret desire, she coyly holds off for a few days.

Do I call her? Did she forget about me? Am I not good enough? Once I begin to convince myself I never needed her in the first place, the cheeky dame offers to meet me somewhere — somewhere private.

Just a week before the Presidential election, with unsettling economic news continuing to dominate the headlines, Cornell students have been asking me what they should do in order to succeed professionally in turbulent times. In September, the U.S. economy lost some 159,000 jobs, representing the ninth straight month of job decline, and that seems to have gotten the attention of many people, especially students who will be completing their degrees this year.

As the news about the economy gets worse and worse, it seems increasingly likely that we’re headed for a repeat of the 1930s: jobs disappearing, houses being seized, millions wandering the nation despondent and hopeless. So just as we had to rename the Great War, we may soon find ourselves calling the ’30s “The First Depression.”

And thus a few weeks ago I started making contingency plans. As my six months in the Boy Scouts taught me, it always counts to be prepared, and when the econopalypse strikes I want to be ready.

I have been dreading, since deciding to quit grad school to pursue journalism, the ego-crushing task of finding a job — the unreturned calls and emails, submitted résumés lost to the abyss of corporate career sites and the self-doubt and desperation that come with rejection. Given the economy, perhaps now was not the best time to make this decision, but one of my personal traits is a penchant for deciding on a course of action with only minimal consideration of its feasibility. Perhaps this (naïve but motivating) faith in my ability to accomplish things is what made looking for jobs so discouraging the first time I did so.

Before I begin this, I would first like to respond to all my detractors from two weeks ago. Yes, the Ron Paul folks sent me countless emails and left countless more comments on cornellsun.com. Although I was tempted to just print the same column again, to drive home a point, I instead decided to do some research and “oil my gears with the truth.” The conclusion? They have an agenda and I don’t. And who was that guy who wrote to me that, “as a senior citizen and an observer of economic trends over the last 45 years … [more libertarian agenda]”? Was that you, Dr. Paul? I looked it up and 45 years is actually about how long Ron Paul has been claiming to understand the economy. Ron Paulites, you made this personal.

Ever since the first I.Q. test was administered in 1914, standardized testing has developed rapidly in the U.S. In true capitalist fashion, “prep” or “crash” courses have developed even more rapidly, and at the present time they are in full bloom of speculation and swindling.

If you are considering becoming an Atticus Finch Esq., Dr. House, Warren Buffett, or just want to be a professional student, you know you need to take the LSAT, MCAT, GMAT, or GRE respectively. Although many may coddle you — saying your score doesn’t matter — you know that the closer you get to 180/ 45T/ 800/1600, the closer you get to moving out of your parents’ basement. If that’s not enough pressure, your score often dictates the amount of scholarship funding available to you.

“Don’t try to understand ’em, just rope, pull and brand ’em.”

So goes the theme song to the classic early television show Rawhide, about a seemingly endless cattle drive through the Old West, which included a young Clint Eastwood as drover Rowdy Yates.

A maverick, of course, is a term originally applied to an unbranded cattle, or a person unbought, unbossed and unbeholden to anyone but his or herself. The term dates to Sam Maverick, a 19th century Texas rancher, and his decision to buck tradition and leave his cattle unbranded.