After election day, we gave Sarah Palin a simple five-step plan for her future success. But today, she continues to spend her time insulting bloggers and SNL. Time for an advice update. Listen, Sarah:

These times are difficult for everyone: Even if you don't actually need to curtail your spending, you're obliged to pretend that you do, and even if you went out of your way to marry rich, you're probably expected to dial down your profligacy a notch. But what about arguably the city's most important demographic group, single women? The glossy playground of Cosmos and Louboutins that Carrie Bradshaw enjoyed in the late '90s is but a distant memory, and today there's an entirely new reality to adapt to. As always, we're here to help: After the jump, some vital tips for unattached women who have been forced to count the pennies, but still want to participate in New York's notoriously cut-throat dating scene.

Only 50 more days of President George W. Bush. So many feelings, right? ABC has released the transcript of a Charlie Gibson sit-down interview airing tonight, and it must be said that our current president was, and remains, a very stupid man. For example, he blames the current recession on "a lot of the decisions that were made on Wall Street took place over a decade or so, before I arrived in president." But now is a time to look forward. Is there a future for the man who wrecked our nation and the world? Yes, and his stupidity is what makes it work. Take our advice and prosper, George; here are the five keys to the revival of your image:

It's almost impossible to believe that anyone would dare—or want—to do the "looking over the shoulder to scan the room" trick when talking to Fabiola Beracasa at a party, but no: "People do it all the time and it's so rude," says the beloved social fixture, who gives readers of December's Allure tips on how not to disgrace yourself this party season. (The article is not online, unfortunately.) As well as always maintaining eye contact with whomever you're talking to, her other directives include magnanimously ignoring a companion's mispronounciation of a politician or designer—"correcting her will embarrass her, and you'll look like a know-it-all"—and resisting making a big exit: "When people say goodbye, it can be a buzz kill... tell one or two close friends you're leaving, then quietly kiss the host good-night and go." Oh, Fabi, as if your sudden absence wouldn't kill a party anyway, but it's a point well taken for the rest of us.

After we went to all the trouble of offering Spitzer hooker Ashley Dupre seven—seven!—different career choices yesterday, what does she do? She goes and tells Diane Sawyer, "I want to go after my music and do what I love. And not lose track of who I am on the way. I'm trying to pursue my music. I'm still living for it. I'm not gonna give up my dream. I'm not going to change. I'm not going to let this change who I am. And what I love." All of those short declarative sentences do not change the fact that your song "All We Want" is just the sort of generic R&B bullshit blathering that has already largely destroyed our nation's airwaves. We say this as a friend! Regrettably, Ashley is listening to her other friends: her MySpace friends. Like Whitney Houston, and "Fin" from Williamsburg:

Let's do the math here: Ashley Alexandra Dupre, America's most famous hooker, hits the news in March when her fortuitous association with Eliot Spitzer becomes public. Except for some vague second-hand insinuations that she wants a record contract, she doesn't make any real career moves until now, when she decides to do her first interviews with the press. We're pretty sure that she's been getting advice—but are her advisers looking out for her interests as much as we, the gossip bloggers, are? Doubtful. We've put together a complete guide to career options for Ashley—or any woman who finds herself famous after a sex scandal—after the jump. Simply select one and go, Ashley:

As you've probably heard, the real estate market has softened and developers and apartment owners are getting increasingly desperate as they try to unload condos and co-ops. Real estate scion/Observer owner Jared Kushner has a few tips on navigating the market: "There is nothing too obnoxious you can ask for right now," he advises. "For the first time in a long time, brokers have to earn their commissions." Video of his remarks is to your left. [The Real Deal]

Neel Kashkari, where has your steely-eyed charm gone? When the Ferrari-loving young Republican banker took on the post as our nation's new Head of All Money, we had such high hopes for him. His eagle-like visage commanded respect; his brash overconfidence meant he was destined for greatness. But yesterday the markets tanked after his first big speech, and now the media is grumbling about his performance. Neel, what's wrong? Allow us to help, my rich bald friend. The Post says reporters and finance people alike were pissed yesterday because he only answered two or three questions, and those with "a tone of impatience." And how do you expect to excite the markets with a speech like this?:

The world belongs to Nate Silver! Briefly. Silver, the number-crunching baseball stat geek who decided to become a political poll-cruncher in his spare time and only turned out to be the most freakishly accurate election predictor ever, is now the toast of the media, Obamaphiles, and stat nerds alike. The Times has even weighed in now, several months behind the curve! Now is your chance to capitalize, Nate; screw this up and you'll soon return to the depths of nerd-only notoriety. After the jump, our professional advice to Nate about building his entire future in five easy steps—five being a number that statistics show gets a lot of page views!: 1. Stay off of television: You got yourself a (well-deserved) spot as a TV election pundit during the election cycle, Nate. But your future is behind a computer. You're not particularly telegenic (don't feel bad, neither are we!), and besides, the punditocracy is already overflowing. We don't need another talking head; we need a true guru. Plus, TV appearances require you to learn to apply makeup, which the Times has already packaged as an anecdote to poke fun at you. Don't fall into this trap. 2. Follow the money: Statistics show (never gets old) that corporate America has all the money. Baseball fans and political junkies are fine people, but they're not the ones holding an extravagant portion of the world's wealth in their dessicated, greedy hands. In order to have a long-term career you're going to have to do something that appeals to the corporate types. Luckily, they love numbers too! 3. Open a consultancy: "Consultant" is the best job of all. You get to sell your advice for steep prices—then, if your advice turns out to be awful, it doesn't matter because you already got paid. Your future is in selling your statistical magic to evil corporate overlords. And you're already ahead of the game, because you have a catchy name. "Silver Consultants" or something like that should look good on a business card. 4. Don't be evil: Just because we stole this slogan from The Google doesn't mean it's bad advice. Just as there are plenty of TV pundits, there are also plenty of consultants willing to pimp out their expertise to the highest bidder, regardless of how many sweatshops they run. Your advantage, Nate, is that you're actually better than your competition right now, which gives you some leverage over your clients. That means you can pre-screen to ensure that Silver Consultants does not provide its trademarked Mystical Statisticals to any firm that wants to do terrible awful things with the knowledge! In this way you become both rich and ethical, at least by the standards of the rich. 5. In four years, sign on with Obama: Might as well make it official. This election was your audition. We all know it. Everyone knows you're good. You have three years to get your consultancy up and running, make a pile of money, and then become the chief pollster for Obama '12. This is truly Living The Dream. Nate Silver, you are the new Mark Penn. Only younger, smarter, and less evil. We hope. [Pic via Newsweek]

¡Que lastima, Sarah Palin! Is this the end for the heroic Alaskan everywoman, who came out of nowhere to bravely humiliate herself on the national stage in one brief flash of incomprehensible fuck-upitude? No, liberals, no. And why don't you all stop lying: you crave more Sarah Palin. She is the political equivalent of hate sex. But it's obvious now that Palin's future isn't in politics; a (winning) presidential run in 2012 is a pipe dream. Her future is in the media! She can barely speak English, but fellas sure do like to hear her anyhow. With that in mind, we present—free of charge, in the spirit of unity—the simple five-step plan for Sarah Palin's upcoming national stardom: 1. Leave Alaska. You can't even get a media job living in Philadelphia, and that's just down the road from NYC. You have to move to New York, Sarah. You'd probably like the Murray Hill area. 2. Fashion Endorsements For Wal-Mart. Remember how you gave that speech and then all these people ran out and bought the glasses you were wearing? And then you spent $150,000 on clothes and everybody paid attention? It all adds up to two words, and those words are "Fashion icon." Is moose the next hot fabric for the fall season? Why don't you tell us, by appearing in middlebrow fashion advertisements for America's top discount retailer? 3. Have An Affair. That guy you're with, the snow racer? Yea, I'm sure he's nice and everything but he's not really sizzling tabloid material. Why not go and fuck A-Rod, or possibly be spotted going down on a male hooker in the bathroom at the Beatrice Inn? These are proven techniques that can work for you. 4. Ghostwritten Column For Ladies Home Journal. What are some Pretty Pillow Projects and Bad Hair Day tips that you learned on the campaign trail? Have your ghostwriter make some up, to be published. Republican housewives eat that shit up. 5. Join the cast of The View. This is where it all ends for you, Sarah. You were never going to be President. You never had a shot to be Vice President. You never even had the potential to be a serious political figure of any magnitude outside the strange and backwards frozen state of Alaska. But with a little perseverance you could end up on a couch, on daytime television, flanked by Barbara Walters and Joy Behar, arguing about Michelle Obama's wardrobe. Embrace your destiny, Sarah Palin. Elizabeth Hasselbeck can't hang on there forever.

Presidential elections aren't just about the candidates; they're about all the random crazy people only tangentially related to the candidates and their campaigns, the ones who are hyped into momentary superstardom by political reporters desperate for storylines. Or by the candidates themselves, desperate to deflect attention. The question for these random people is, how to capitalize on this brief and undeserved moment of fame? Joe the Plumber is determined to become a country music star! And he's just one of multitudes. We're here to help, fame whores! After the jump, we tell the incidental stars of this godforsaken election cycle what they should do with their lives after November 4, so that they may not be forgotten:

Dolphin-like Olympic champ Michael Phelps is like that dude in the poem who has come to two roads that diverge in the woods. Except Michael Phelps has far more money at stake than that guy. Now that Phelps has won the races and gripped the strippers, his full-time job is endorsing products in return for sweet cash, the nectar of life. Even his mom is in on it! But Phelps is already screwing up. Now is when you determine whether you're the next Tiger Woods or the next [obscure swimmer], Mike. We're here to help, for a small cut. Micheal Phelps' current endorsements include Speedo, Visa, Kellogg's, AT&T, Rosetta Stone, PureSport Beverages. The first would be better if it was Nike or Adidas. The last two are crap niche products that will bring down Phelps' brand value. The middle three are okay (although Wheaties would have been preferable to Corn Pops). What Phelps has to realize is that there are only two paths for athlete endorsers to take: the Nerd path, personified by Tiger Woods, or the Badass path, personified by Ray Lewis. It's simple, really. Can a middle-aged white businessman imagine hanging out with you for a day, and maybe making friends? Then you're a Nerd. Tiger is the uber-nerd, and he's made it work to the tune of hundreds of millions of dollars. Do you think Tiger motherfucking Woods drives a Buick? No, old people drive Buicks. But Tiger is nonthreatening enough that old people can imagine him plausibly driving one to their cocktail party, and then hitting a few putts in the putting green in their den. Pals. Ray Lewis is a superstar linebacker for the Baltimore Ravens. He was on the cover of Madden 2005. He's also been indicted on murder charges. He will end you. Do you think Ray Lewis is going to come over to your apartment and sit on your couch and play Madden with you and offer you a high five and drink your Capri Sun in a spirit of friendly sportsmanship? No. You fear Ray Lewis, and that is why he's an effective endorser. This is a spectrum, but everyone falls on one side or the other. Michael Jordan is at the friendly end of Badass. Donovan McNabb is at the cooler end of Nerd. Michael Phelps has placed himself squarely on the nerd track. The question is, is that the way to go. Look, Phelps: you're young. You're going to be a tabloid star. You don't want to be Tiger Woods, a cold-blooded machine with an icy, beautiful wife, a billion bucks in the bank, and a Buick in the driveway. You want to be the Jordan of swimming: towering and inapproachable in the pool, and a relaxed, smiling cigar-smoker out of it, surrounded by women as you play craps with money that Cuba Gooding Jr. gave you for the privilege of wearing your underwear. So lose the Speedo and the Rosetta Stone. Take up with Adidas and some Italian airline that will buy you your own villa. Keep up the aggressive grip. Grow rich and prosper. Send us 2%. [I know you're actually a nerd, Mike. It's irrelevant.]

Nine signs your boss is about to fire you. [BusinessSheet]

Suze Orman is, essentially, a hustler. It's not that she necessarily gives bad advice—it's that she sells the idea that anyone needs Suze Orman to give them advice in the first place. Here's an example: the strongly-haired CNBC personality wrote a book called Women and Money. You know what women need to know about money? The exact same stuff that men need to know. Stuff which is primarily available for free, on the internet. Like "don't spend money on books full of facts available for free elsewhere." Unfortunately, Americans are more seduced than ever before by Suze Orman's steely gaze. She's not your friend! During the total economic meltdown of our nation's financial system, who do people turn to? Suze freaking Orman. She's now the face of FDIC, for god's sake. She may not be as dangerous as her closest competitor, mad man Jim Cramer, who actually gives specific advice that will cause you to lose your life savings. But she's insidious nonetheless; if people want financial advice, they definitely shouldn't turn to someone who's really an ad pitchwoman.

Now that the cat has tumbled mewling out of the divorce bag and she's begun saying nasty things about her husband in public, pop icon (popcon?) Madonna is at a metaphorical crossroads. Where do you go once you've escaped suburban Detroit banality, conquered the grimy 1980's New York City club scene, become a music and fashion superstar, attempted acting in movies and Broadway plays, borne approximately 143 reinvention comebacks from your be-hot-panted loins, settled down with a film director husband and cobbled together a hodgepodge of children, become a fitness-obsessed British lady, written children's books, directed your own film, worked your arms into clobbering, veiny horror shows, and then suddenly the happy quiet marriage dissolves and you're free to be yourself again? What's a material girl to do? We'll offer some suggestions after the jump. Become a Worldly, Knowing Head of State She's not tearing up the charts like she used to, she's not setting hearts aflutter, she's not even shocking anyone anymore. It's time we all—bourgeoisie and rebel—face the Music: the Age of Madonna has ended. Hell, the Age of Britney has ended. The pop music world is now dominated by skinny, moaning white boys, fiercely syncopated black ladies, and throwbacky retro British chicks. There's no room, really, for a 50-year-old with a message. Which is why Madge ought to hang up the riding crop and rest comfortably on her throne as the lifetime achievement Queen of Pop. (There's a spot next to hers where Michael Jackson should be sitting, but that whole thing went off the rails somewhere a few years back). Let the young ones claw their way around the industry, hoping for some attention. They're all trying to be Madonna anyway. Why mess with a classic and release subpar albums and muddle through rickety tours? Take a break, babe. You deserve it. And hey, now that your husband's out of the picture, you can declare Prima Nocta and bed every Joe and Jim Jonas who comes sexually blossoming across your path. They're yours by right. By Godly cree. Pause For Some Introspection The great thing about being a fabulous, wealthy, creative superstar is that when you fuck up or are fucked over, you get to stern your face up, put on some amazingly big sunglasses and be strong about it. People will call you a hero simply for breathing in and out, putting one foot in front of the other. So maybe Madonna should emulate her adopted country's stiff upper lip, turn inwards, and then a year or so from now, release some quiet, heartfelt album about what it means to be 50-years-old and alone again (save for those kids, but whatevs). Pen some soaring tunes with lyrics that talk about change and rebirth and the mystical cycles of things—the moon spins and so do wheels and carousels and what's so amazing that keeps us stargazing and how are we moving forward if all we're doing is turning around and around. That kind of thing. People will call her brave and reinvigorated and the definitive voice of her generation. (The funny thing being that Madonna's fans have generally always been just slightly younger than her.) She'll play Carnegie Hall and maybe even chat with someone on NPR and she'll finally get that classiness she's so desperately craved ever since she had a fleeting taste of it back in the Bedtime Stories/Evita days. Go Crazy Yeah, maybe she should just go nuts. Turn into an eccentric woman-of-a-certain-age. Hole up in her London apartment and emerge only to yell at songbirds or snatch cats off the street or go floating down the street swathed in caftans and turbans. She could say big, sweeping, beautiful things like "What a world it used to be, the old world. It's dead now. Dead and gone. In the old world we had parties every day and nobody cried because they were sad. Even when we were sad, we were happy." And she could become a drunk and always have some glass of amber-colored something or other swirling around. And maybe she could grab beautiful young men by the ears and cock her head a little nuttily and say, almost to herself, "so pretty. Pretty pretty little pet. I wonder how much you are. Everything's so expensive these days. Everything costs so very much. Don't they, pretty pet? Don't they..." and then she'll glide off cackling. It could be pretty fucking awesome, and at the young age of 50, she'd be getting a good head start on it. It could grow and change and evolve over the next 30-plus years! By the time she's 85, she could be writing long, curious letters to the editors of various newspapers in South America, accusing lampposts of being Nazis and calling the neighbor's dog Mussolini. And it would be fabulous. Or, you know, she could just continue working out and raising her children and maybe spend a little more time in New York than she has been and that will be that. Maybe she'll move to Connecticut and buy a Volvo. The world will just have to wait and watch. And really, isn't that the wonderful thing about Madonna? You just never know what's coming next.

So you made a lot of money on Wall Street during the boom years, and you still have a lot of money despite the economic crisis. Good for you. But you may not want to be too conspicuous about your good fortune. Lots of your friends, colleagues, and neighbors haven't been so lucky. And you don't want everyone to hate you, do you? (If they don't hate you already, that is.) Fortunately, Bloomberg News comes to the rescue with some advice on how to tone down your outrageous lifestyle to fit with these somber times. It's all about "stealth wealth," you see: You still get to be filthy rich, it's just that you don't advertise it any more!

Whoa, Jim Cramer has fully turned around as much as a man can possibly turn around! The shouty CNBC (poor) stock picker—who as recently as last November was trumpeting "10 Reasons to Be Bullish" ("1. The stock market is cheap")—went on the Today show this morning to virtually beg Americans to pull all the money they might need in the next five years out of the stock market, no matter what the cost. He looks like he's about to cry. This will be one of the defining moments in the media narrative of our nation's impending financial doom. Click to watch an emotional money man embrace his inner Bear.

That trend story on 'heebsters' that you're pitching: remember that New York is full of young Jewish writers and one of them has doubtless gotten there first.

Just in case you missed this the first time around—and because today seems like an awfully fitting day for this sort of thing—our handy guide to coping with the fact that your investment bank/law firm/media company has decided you're redundant. [Cityfile]

Do you ever wonder how to dress for the coming clima(c)tic apocalypse? Fear not. This week, WSJ fashion reporter Teri Agins answered urgent questions from fashion-minded readers. When one fretting citizen wrote in wondering what Agins thought "of the 'rule' on not wearing white after Labor Day," she thoughtfully responded: